#I just looked up the word zoo in google images

[dedf1sh-is-missing]

Dedf1sh is Missing

Last seen playing the Xylophone at the Blank Park Zoo

#dedf1sh is missing #dedf1sh #splatoon #splatoon 2 #mizuta ahato #octo expansion #splatoon 3 #I swear to god #If this zoo has some terrible history I don't know about #I'm gonna lose it #I just looked up the word zoo in google images

[winchester-girl67]

The Grinch Wears Flannel

*I do not own these images, found on google. Aesthetic edit is mine.*

Summary: Dean sprouts green fur after the reader calls him a Grinch.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Witches Spell @spnchristmasbingo

Word Count: 2,604 

Warnings: implied violence (witch hunt), kissing/cuddling, language, a little angst, mostly fluff 

A/N: Enjoy :)

_____

“You’re gonna rot your teeth if you keep eating those,” Dean said, watching you unwrap a pink striped candy cane in the rear-view mirror. 

“They’re mini, Dean. And it’s only my second one.” 

“They’re really sweet, I can smell them all the way up here.” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, “you want one? Cherry flavour.” You asked, waving candy cane over his shoulder. You had a whole bag full with you in the backseat. 

“No.” He said, shoving your hand away. “Just quit it with the sweets before I’m holding your hair back over the toilet tonight.” 

“Geez, what crawled up your butt?” You said, falling back in your seat. Sam snorting at your comment, earning a glare from his brother in return. 

“Nothing, just not feeling the Christmas spirit this year.” He shrugged. 

“Since when? Christmas is kinda your thing, man.” Sam said, exchanging a look of concern with you when his brother didn’t answer and just shrugged again. 

You pulled up outside of the house of the supposed witch you were hunting. Dean had promised it was the last hunt for a while, since you and Sam both wanted to take a break for the holidays. 

“Hey, Dean. Can we stop at the tree lot on the way home? The one with the petting zoo on the side. Pretty please,” you asked, hopping up the steps to the stone house, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes. 

“No.”

“But-”

“Nobody's strapping a big scratchy tree to the roof of my Baby, understood?” 

“They offer delivery. Stop being such a Grinch, Dean.” You said, knocking on the heavy wooden door. Witch killing bullets at the ready, just in case. 

A week later...

"Dean, could you stop shedding, there’s green fur everywhere. I’ve gone through four rolls of sticky tape already.” You said, padding into the library. 

Sam and Dean were sitting at the table looking over the same stack of journals for the hundredth time. Dean was covered in head-to-toe lime green fur; it had sprouted out of the blue about a week ago. At first it was kind of amusing and it still kind of was, for you. You groaned trying to brush the last couple of hairs from your black skinny jeans and failing. 

“Sorry to inconvenience you, sweetheart.” He said, pursing his lips, sarcasm dripping from every word. You thought it was a little funny in his current state and had to stifle a laugh. He was growing increasingly irritable over the last couple of days, though you couldn’t blame him. But still you tried to lighten the mood. 

“I swear, it’s like I’m living with a Golden Retriever in springtime.” You teased, slumping into the chair next to him. Dean didn’t find it funny and glared at you. “Have you guys found anything yet?” 

“Sam’s gotta theory. Don’t cha, Sammy.” Dean said, closing the book he’d been reading and re-reading. 

“I’m guessing it’s not a popular theory,” you said, noting the frown he wore like it was frozen in place. 

“Dean thinks it’s too absurd, but it really makes the most sense.” Sam shrugged. 

“Let’s hear it then.” You said, placing your elbows on the table and linking your fingers under your chin. 

“Well basically I think it’s a witches’ spell. Remember the witch hunt from last week that turned out to be a coven; you guys were bickering the whole time and driving me nuts by the way, but that’s besides the point. You said and I quote, ‘stop being such a Grinch, Dean’. And next thing you know-” he gestured to Dean in his furry green glory. 

“Okay, but we already took care of them. So how do we reverse it?” 

“This is the best part.” Dean scoffed and you shushed him. 

“It’s just a theory and there isn’t a lot of lore on this, but essentially his heart needs to grow three sizes.” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous? I mean physically.” You asked. 

“I think it needs to be emotionally. The actual Grinch learned how to love and show compassion that’s why, metaphorically, his heart grew three sizes.” Sam explained, Dean rolling his eyes in protest. 

“Dude, I know how to love.” 

“You’re emotionally constipated, Dean. And I’m not saying that you’re void of emotion because that’s not true, you’d be there for either of us at the snap of a finger. But when it comes to showing that emotion, being open and vulnerable, you shy away. I am your brother, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

“Are you buying this Grinch theory, too?” Dean asked, turning to face you, he looked tired as far as you could tell. The green fuzz covering his face was much shorter than the rest. You thought for a moment and nodded, it was too much of a coincidence not to.

Sam thought you might have a better chance at getting Dean to open up. You didn’t know why he felt that way since Dean had been pushing you away the most lately, but you’d be damned if you didn’t give it a try. So, you asked him to hangout in the Dean Cave after dinner. He accepted under one condition, you weren’t allowed to play any Christmas movies. Although, eventually you talked him into watching Die Hard. He was under the impression that it was an action movie when really you knew better. 

"Why is the ac on?" You asked, halfway through the movie when you got up to get some snacks and use the bathroom. 

"I’m covered in fur and I’m so damn hot. I feel like I’m going through menopause.” He groaned, your teeth were chattering and you cranked it up a bit so you would at least be comfortable. 

“How would you know what that feels like?” You laughed outright, throwing your head back and wrapping the blanket from the back of the couch around yourself. 

“Educated guess,” he shrugged, slipping out of his flannel and tossing it onto the chair. 

You woke up on the couch alone, you couldn’t remember falling asleep but you knew you didn’t make it to the end of the movie. The room was dark and a pillow was tucked under your head that wasn’t there before. You were a little worried that Dean hadn’t woken you up to go to bed like he usually did, so you set out to find him. Padding your way down the bunker corridors until you saw the light of the bathroom filtering under the door. 

“What are you doing?” You asked, leaning against the doorway. Watching Dean lather up his chest with shaving cream. 

“What does it look like, Y/N. I’m shaving.” He said dryly, glancing at you in the mirror. 

“And you’re gonna shave it all?” 

“Yep.” He said, popping the ‘p’ and scowling at you. 

“Okay,” you didn’t say anything else, just watching as he passed the razor over his chest a couple of times. Fur falling to the ground as he slowly cleared it away, revealing his soft pink skin underneath the tuft of green. You could tell he wasn’t in the mood for company so you turned to leave when you heard him shout. 

“Son of bitch!” He growled, followed by the shattering of glass. You whipped your head back around to see him removing his fist from the mirror and shaking out his hand. “It grew back.” He looked at you with glassy eyes. “What if it can’t be reversed? What if I’m stuck like this?” 

“Shhh, Dean. It’s not forever, we’ll figure out a way. We always do.” You said, padding over to him, running your hand over his shoulders when he didn’t move. Just staring at the broken reflection of himself. “At least your fur is soft.” 

“I’m lime green, Y/N.” He groaned, turning to face you. 

“It suits you though,” you gave him a soft smile and a shrug of your shoulders, “I never noticed how green your eyes are.” 

"Shut up,” he said, rolling his eyes. You bet he was blushing too, but you couldn’t tell with his cheeks buried beneath the shorter hairs on his face. You thought it was a waste, not being able to see the effects of your teasing. 

“Now, let me fix up that hand of yours. Then you’re going to take a shower, get this foam off of you and meet me in my room afterwards.” You said, grabbing the first aid kit under the sink and disinfecting the small cuts on his knuckles. 

“Your room?” He swallowed. 

He had a thing for you since you moved into the bunker and if there was no way you’d want him before, then he definitely didn’t have a chance now. Not that he would know, since he never made a move on you. 

“Mhm.”

“You could just join me in the shower instead.” He smirked, you would’ve punched him for his cockiness had it not been the first time you’d seen him smile in a week. 

“Nice try, Winchester, but I don’t get off on smelling like wet dog. Besides, I’m not in any rush to find out the extent of your- situation.” You said, eyes lingering on his crotch long enough for him to notice before you snapped yourself back to reality. Okay, maybe you were just a little curious. 

"Oh. You'd be surprised, sweetheart." He grinned, winking at you. Heading towards the showers and leaving you to your imagination. You stood there biting your lower lip, cheeks burning. Gosh, you hoped he hadn’t noticed. 

You changed into pyjamas as you waited for Dean in your room. You were determined to get him to open up once and for all and your plan was to pamper him. You laid out a comb and hair brush, not knowing which would work best and plugged the hairdryer into the nearest outlet.

Dean burst out laughing when he entered the room, a smile on his face so wide it stretched from ear-to-ear. “What the hell are you wearing, sweetheart?” He asked, trying to catch his breath, his pearly teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The look in his eyes was lighter than you’d seen in a long time.

“It’s a onesie.” You said, the colour of it easily matching his fur with three sizes of a red heart sewn into the left breast. You’d seen it on Amazon and thought it might brighten Dean’s spirits if he wasn’t the only one being swallowed by lime green. “What do you think?” You asked, twirling to give him the full effect, Dean laughing again.

“You’re amazing, Y/N. That colour is perfect on you.” He smirked as you pulled him towards the bed, pushing him to sit on the edge. His fur was a little damp still, so the hair dryer was definitely a good idea.

"Your heart growing three sizes yet?" 

"You think you’re funny, huh?" 

"I’m hilarious and you know it, Dean.” You chuckled, crawling onto the bed behind him. “Take your shirt off.” 

“What- why?” 

“Just trust me.” You said, picking up the hairdryer. Dean tugging off his henley and tossing it on the end of bed.

Careful not to get too close and burn him, you leisurely ran the hairdryer across his shoulder blades and down his back, following the motion with your other hand so you could keep an eye on the temperature. Watching how he shivered at the feel of it all. 

After a while, you picked up the hairbrush, brushing along with the heated air. His fur reminding you of a meadow of tall grass blowing in the wind. Once you were satisfied, you repeated the motions on his chest. Dean’s eyes closed for most of it, enjoying being pampered. 

“Wow, that felt really nice.” He sighed, when you finally flicked off the hairdryer. 

“Imagine if you let me do that more often.” You said, pulling him to lay down on the bed with you. “De, you’re always so full of Christmas cheer, why is this year different?” 

“I guess... I was just feeling lonely,” he shrugged, you rolled onto your side to face him. 

“But you have me and Sam. And we’re not going anywhere.” You laced your fingers through his. They were a lot softer than usual with the fur covering his calloused fingertips. 

“Yeah, but you’re closer to Sam than me.” 

“That’s not true. Who do I go to when I have nightmares or when I get my heart broken or just to rant about the shit day I had.” You said, cocking an eyebrow. “You, Dean. Every time. It’s always you.” 

“Not lately,” he mumbled. 

“That’s because-” you bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of whether you should finish your sentence.

“Because?” He asked, looking at you now. You could see the hope in his eyes, something that wasn’t there before. 

“I’m falling for you. Harder and harder everyday and I can’t stop. Hell, I don’t want to.” You said, holding your breath and brushing the fur of his knuckles nervously. 

“Then don’t.” 

“What?”

“I’m hopelessly in love with you, Y/N. I have been since the day you said you’d move in. And the thought of you leaving someday terrifies me. Even if there’s nothing more that I want, than you getting that happy ending you’re always talking about.” He confessed, his face so close to yours you could see the green hairs move with your breath. 

“My happy ending is with you, you idiot.” 

His lips were on yours before you could squeak in surprise. Instantly responding to the kiss and deepening it. He groaned when you accidentally tugged on the fur of his chest, but it only seemed to spur him on. 

“Maybe we should slow down.” Dean breathed, pulling away from the kiss just enough so that your lips were still touching. 

“Mhm, might be a good idea.” You hummed, making no effort to move away. 

Dean pulled you into his side, laying your head against his chest as he laid on his back. You sighed, running your fingers through the thick fur of his stomach, tracing patterns until you both fell asleep with a smile on your face. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Sam said, gently knocking on your bedroom door as he pushed it open the next morning. You rubbed your eyes, yawning and sitting up to greet him. “Dean’s not in his room-” his mouth forming the shape of an ‘o’ when his brother sat up in bed next to you. 

“Mornin’, Sammy.” Dean said, stretching out. Taking a double-glance when he saw the pink skin of his arms instead of the lime green fur like he expected. 

“It’s gone,” you gasped, memorizing the freckles on his cheeks like you weren’t sure if the fur was suddenly going to grow back. His ears turning red when he caught you staring. 

“You two didn’t-” Sam started to ask, Dean whipping his pillow at him. It hit the door, slamming it shut in his face. 

“I think I liked you better with the fur!” You heard Sam shout from the hallway. 

Dean chuckled as he cupped your cheek, turning you to face him. His lips pressing into yours, soft and sweet; savouring the moment and the feel of his skin on yours. You liked this side of him, open and vulnerable; you saw it so rarely that it warmed your heart the way he trusted you, loved you. Never did you think that getting through to him would mean breaking down your own walls in the process, but it was for the best. You couldn’t imagine a better happy ending. 

_________________________

Dean/Jensen:

@akshi8278​

#dean winchester #spnchristmasbingo #dean winchester fanfic #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #spn #one shot #the grinch wears flannel

[queenshelby]

A New Life

Part Four: A Day at the Zoo

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 2,790

Warning: Fluff, Self-Esteem Issues, Body Image Issues

The following morning, Cillian picked you and Max up from your house at 8 o’clock after having borrowed a car seat from Cian.

‘Thank you for taking us to the Zoo, Cillian’ Max said excitedly as Cillian helped him into his seat.

‘That’s alright buddy’ Cillian said and you couldn’t help but be a little bit excited. Whilst you never liked going to the Zoo, you liked the fact that you and Max got to spend the day with Cillian.

He had a fantastic sense of humour and Max really seemed to like him which put you at ease quite significantly.

After Max and you sat down in the car, Cillian opened two of the windows slightly and told you that he had put some sickie bags and wet wipes into the glove box for Max just in case you needed them. Another thing he remembered was that Max often got car sick and he certainly didn’t seem to be bothered by it. In fact, he was quite well prepared.

To your surprise, Max did well in the car and was fascinated with some of the gadgets, including the TV screens in the back.

‘Made it without Max getting sick. That’s new. Thank you for taking it easy around the corners’ you said, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘You are welcome’ Cillian said before helping Max out of the car and picking up his plush bunny toy which had fallen to the floor.

‘That’s one well loved rabbit’ Cillian observed as he looked at the rather old and half destroyed fluffy toy and you explained to him that Max had this bunny since he’s been a baby. In fact, Cian had bought it for him when you were still pregnant with Max.

***

After twenty minutes, two cinnamon donuts and a take away coffee, you finally arrived at the tiger enclosure.

‘I can’t see, I can’t see’ Max said somewhat disappointed as the tiger was roaming around from the left to the right and he was simply too small to look over the larger children in front of him.

‘Sweetie, you are too heavy for me to pick up’ you said as Max pulled on your t-shirt and began to pout.

‘I can put him up on my shoulders if you want’ Cillian suggested, ensuring that you would be okay with it before saying anything to Max.

Of course, you had no objections and Max was quick to climb onto Cillian’s shoulders so that he could see the tiger, still walking from the left to the right and roaming around his enclosure.

‘Max, careful!’ you said worryingly as he was clinging onto Cillian’s hair but Cillian didn’t seem to mind.

Taking you by the hand for a brief second to pull through the crowds, Cillian moved over to the left slightly to give Max a better view and you followed him while watching Max smile with excitement.

‘Have you counted how many stripes he’s got?’ Cillian then asked your son.

‘Too many for me to count Cillian’ Max laughed before Cillian told him about the tiger, reading from the sign in front of him and asking Max questions in order to keep him engaged.

You were truly surprised how well Cillian and Max were getting on and how patient and engaging Cillian was with him.

‘Elephants next?’ Cillian asked as, eventually, the tiger went into his little cave for a rest and Max nodded.

Without Max getting down from Cillian’s shoulders, you both walked towards the Elephant enclosure.

‘Can you tell me what sounds an elephant makes?’ Cillian asked and, when Max and Cillian both pretended to be elephants, you couldn’t help but laugh.

The entire day was a blast and, for the first time in a long while, you and Max both felt comfortable being around someone new. It felt like you both had known Cillian for a long time and you were quite impressed by his character.

‘What a lovely family’ you then heard all of a sudden as one elderly women in the crowd walked past you and, whilst Cillian wanted to correct her, you simply said ‘thanks’ and laughed.

***

After your day at the zoo, Max fell asleep in the car fairly quickly and whilst you were keen to take up Cillian’s offer to have dinner in town, you didn’t think that Max would be up for it. He had a big day.

‘I am not sure if Max is up for dinner in town. He’s tuckered out completely’ you said, looking back towards him.

‘I figured that he would be tired after all this walking around’ Cillian chuckled ‘But, if you want to, I can cook something at your house instead and we can watch a movie with Max’ Cillian offered.

‘You can cook?’ you asked since no man had ever cooked for you before.

‘You seem surprised’ Cillian observed, causing you to laugh and nod before accepting his offer.

‘I suppose spaghetti would be winner, right?’ Cillian then asked and you nodded again before asking a question which you have been pondering on about for the entire day.

‘You are so good with Max. How come you never had children?’ you asked before telling Cillian that he didn’t have to answer this question if he didn’t want to.

‘My ex-wife never wanted children and I had to accept that I suppose’ Cillian explained.

‘How long were you married for?’ you then asked.

‘Ten years. But we were together for fifteen. I had one relationship after that, but it was a disaster’ Cillian chuckled and you talked about his marriage and why it ended before Cillian carefully and quietly asked about Max’s father.

You told Cillian that he had died in a car accident when Max was only two years old and that Max didn’t remember much about him.

‘We had our differences but were determined to make it work for Max. We were high school sweethearts and met when we were 16’ you explained, thinking back to all the irrational choices you made in the past.

***

An hour later, you arrived at your apartment following a small detour to the local supermarket.

‘Cillian is making us spaghetti’ you said to Max while you helped unpack the grocery bags.

‘It’s my favourite. Can I have lots of cheese please?’ Max then asked and, of course, you nodded before telling him to play in his room while you were going to help with the food.

Cillian pre-prepared the food for later with your help before you all sat down together and watched a cartoon movie which almost sent Cillian to sleep. His eyes kept shutting closed as he leaned against the large cushion on the L-shaped lounge and you had to give him a nudge now and then to make him stay awake.

Luckily, Max lost interest in the movie after thirty minutes and asked Cillian whether he wanted to see his dinosaur collection.

Sure enough, Cillian was very interested in dinosaurs and, after they managed to give each of the toys a name, you played two games of UNO before serving dinner.

‘This is much better than mum’s spaghetti’ Max observed, causing you to pout and Cillian to apologise.

‘It is pretty good’ you observed before thanking Cillian for cooking and taking you both to the zoo.

‘We had a fantastic day, didn’t we Max?’ you said and Max nodded and yawned at the same time.

***

‘I probably should drive home soon’ Cillian said after you cleaned up the dishes and Max had changed himself into his pyjamas.

‘Do you want to stay for a wine and watch a more interesting movie after I put Max to bed?’ you then quickly asked, hoping that you wouldn’t sound too desperate.

‘I suppose I could leave the car here and pick it up tomorrow’ Cillian then said, not intending to drink and drive and you nodded in agreement.

Cillian’s house was only 20 minutes by foot from your apartment and he could easily call a taxi or sleep on your lounge if he didn’t want to walk.

‘Can Cillian read me a bedtime story then?’ Max asked, clearly having overheard your conversation.

‘If that’s alright with your mum, I sure can’ Cillian offered which prompted Max to quickly find a book and his favourite bunny toy.

Listening to Cillian read a bedtime story to Max made your heart melt once again. Not only did you think that Cillian was an incredibly kind person who was good with children, but also was he rather attractive.

Quite to your surprise, you adored the small wrinkles around his eyes and the few grey hairs on his head as his hair was growing out on the sides.

Then, of course, there were those deep blue eyes and razor-sharp cheek bones and you wondered what your mind was doing to you, feeling some sort of attraction towards a man who was clearly much older than you.

***

‘Thank you for reading to him’ you said when Cillian came back into the living and you tugged Max into bed and gave him a goodnight kiss.

‘That’s perfectly fine Y/N’ Cillian assured you before sitting down while you poured two glasses of red wine.

‘So what are we watching?’ he asked and you suggested to put something on which has him in it after Cian told you that one of Cillian’s shows was on Netflix.

You had only just signed up to Netflix when you came to Ireland as, frankly, working on TV made you less interested in watching it during your spare time but, now that you were taking some time off after having resigned as a host from one of Australia’s design shows after your ex’s constant publicly stunts, this has changed.

You hadn’t seen any of Cillian’s work yet and you certainly didn’t know much about him. Unlike he did with you, you haven’t resorted to Google yet to find out more, wanting to paint your own picture about him and not being influenced by media.

‘Absolutely not. I hate watching myself’ Cillian chuckled before suggesting a different movie on Netflix. His comment made you laugh.

‘I get that. I hate watching myself too’ you chuckled and, after he turned on the movie, it didn’t take you long to get comfortable together on your small sofa and you quite enjoyed sitting so closely next to him.

As you were sitting next to him, you couldn’t help but notice the scent of his aftershave which was musky but yet fresh and sporty. Glancing over towards him without him noticing, you quickly got mesmerised with his freckled skin and you couldn’t help your eyes from wandering further down, observing his neck and the small area of exposed skin above the neckline of his t-shirt.

Clearly, he had a little bit of chest hair. Or was it a lot? You were curious as you thought that, the way it extended above the neckline of his t-shirt looked quite sexy.

Your fixation on Cillian’s skin and scent, however, soon came to an end when you received a text message from one of your closest friends in Australia.

In her text message, she linked an article from an Australian tabloid and, whilst you knew that you should probably ignore it, you couldn’t help but click on the link.

When you opened the link you couldn’t believe your eyes. Clearly, your ex-partner had shared your last holiday pictures to a water theme park in Australia’s Northern Territory and they were far from flattering.

Cillian immediately noticed that something was wrong and paused the movie before asking you whether you were alright as tears had built up in your eyes.

‘My ex is making my life miserable’ you huffed out before telling Cillian about the unflattering pictures and comments from the tabloids.

According to the online magazine you should have chosen your outfit better to hide your scars and the publisher criticised that you were hosting a design show while, according to him, you obviously didn’t care much about your own appearances.

‘Can I see?’ Cillian asked and, whilst you were almost ashamed to show him, you did, knowing that it was on the world wide web anyway.

You saw Cillian’s eyebrows rise as he read through the article before, suddenly, he started laughing.

‘What an eejit’ he chuckled and you looked at him somewhat confused.

‘Irish for idiot’ Cillian clarified before carrying on. ‘Look, these people obviously have nothing better to do than to criticise humans for being human. You wore a bikini on a water slide. Seems logical to me. I mean what else would you wear when you visit a water park in a country where it’s so fucking hot?’ Cillian said, handing you back your phone.

‘That’s not the point Cillian. My ex knows how self-conscious I am. He continuously used to put me down and, ever since my emergency c-section when I had Max, I have been trying very hard to hide my body. Obviously, I was right to do so. I mean look at this shit now’ you said rather upset.

‘Y/N, you need to stop being so hard on yourself. You are a very attractive woman and any man out there would be lucky to have you. Despite, from what I just saw, there is nothing wrong with your body. You are stunning. You’ve got a few scars, so what?’ Cillian said reassuringly while taking your hands into his.

‘And a little baby weight I never managed to get rid of’ you chuckled and, whilst you knew it wasn’t really a big deal, you felt as though, being in the public eye required you to look perfect at all times.

‘You are perfect Y/N. You really cannot let this stuff get to you and you should tell your friend not to bother sending these things to you either’ Cillian said, knowing very well what reading bad press feels like.

‘So, you actually don’t care when you read something bad about yourself?’ you asked, not realising how much press Cillian had to deal with in comparison to you.

‘I gave up caring about twenty years ago’ Cillian chuckled. ‘You should too. It feels better that way’ he then said and you couldn’t agree more. You knew you had to care less but, the truth was, you had realised that this life wasn’t for you.

‘That’s why I gave up TV and advertising. I just want to concentrate on writing and the other things I’ve been working on’ you explained before changing the topic to something more pleasant which was your upcoming theatre date and trip to Kerry.

When you mentioned your upcoming trip to Kerry, Cillian told you that Cian invited him and Laura as well and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘So, Laura…do you like her?’ you asked.

‘She is nice I guess. But, I honestly am not interested in a relationship or dating right now’ Cillian told you before advising you that he would have to head home soon. He had an early start.

***

By the time Cillian had left it was already 9 o ‘clock and you decided to have a bath and then head into bed as well.

For a minute or two, you pondered on about the article that had been published in Australia but, then, you remembered Cillian’s words. You had to ignore them.

Instead of dwelling on about them, you felt as though you wanted to know a little more about Cillian. Until this point, you had refused to google him but you realised that you didn’t even know his surname nor did you know how old he was and you certainly didn’t want to sound weird, asking him or Cian those things.

You tried your luck putting the words ‘Cillian’, ‘Actor’ and ‘Irish’ into the search tab as, surely, there couldn’t be too many actors with his name out there.

To your surprise, his name and pictures of him popped up immediately. You didn’t have to do much investigation and you were quite shocked to see his extensive filmography.

Even more so, you were surprised by the fact that he had just recently turned 45.

‘How the fuck can this man be 45 already?’ you asked yourself silently and couldn’t help yourself flicking through the many pictures.

Going through them one by one, you realised again how handsome he was and whilst you were certainly attracted to him, the fact that he was rather famous turned you off and made it much easier for you to turn off your attraction towards him. At least so you thought.

 Tag List:

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall@elenavampire21 @hanster1998@mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang@0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney@missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  @stickyknightflowerbailiff @im-constantly-fangirling @goldensunflowe-r  @tellingyouastory  @captivatedbycillianmurphy​  @namelesslosers​  @littlewhiterose​  @ttzamara​  @ttzamara @cilleveryone  ​

@peaky-cillian​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy​  

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby  @thenattitude

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy imagine

[buddiewho]

@bvckactually saw your post

What is even this? Does it even fit your request? I’ll be honest, I almost forgot to add the dinner thing, but I think I tacked it in...

They sat on the 118 sofa (a long night shift ahead of them) and Eddie couldn't stop talking about the outing he and Christopher had with Ana. "Yeah, it was a blast. We went to the zoo, because apparently that's still somewhat open in the middle of a pandemic. It was great."

"Sounds like everything is going well, then?" Buck pursed his lips, squinted his eyes a little bit. Eddie was too excited to notice.

"I think things are great. Christopher seems to be fine. We're getting along just fine. We've got a little park date planned for this weekend."

Buck smiled, but then felt the urge to crack his neck from side to side. Images of the three of them at the park using the skateboard he built flashed across his mind. They wouldn't, he reassured himself. Besides, he can get that from Eddie's garage at anytime and take Christopher himself, and ask Carla for help maybe.

"Hey! Buck!" Eddie clapped in front of his face. Buck returned to reality. Gross.

"What?" He snapped. "You just zoned out. You okay?" Eddie asked.

"I'm fine." "Okay, cool. Now, I was thinking I'd set up a little picnic. It'll be a surprise for Ana." "Yes, a picnic sounds fabulous. Refreshing, fun. Don't forget the food. Maybe just a little wine for you two, one glass couldn't hurt." "Actually, yeah, that sounds awesome," Eddie chuckled. "Didn't even think of that."

Nice one Buck. You dig your own hole and can't get out of it. He seems happy. He is happy right? "Buck, you're zoning out again." "Sorry, I think I'm a little tired."

"No worries, maybe you want to hit the bunks?" "Sure, I'll try that." Buck drags himself to the bunks. "Stupid picnics," he mutters, mocking himself. "Oh, yeah, bring some wine. Keep making this serious Buck."

__

Buck was awake. He had to look up some things on his phone. A simple google search and he actually found an immediate search of "how to keep ants away from your picnic." He found Eddie still on the sofa.

"You know I learned that the best way to keep ants from your picnic is to avoid sticky or sweet foods. Watch where you set up. Give them a barrier. Use natural scents to repel them and distract them with something else. The ground might not be a good idea."

"That's a fair point, Buck. Always forget about those pesky things. Don't really go to the park often, but I'm so excited for this."

"It shows," Buck calmly said. "So I guess then no chocolate covered strawberries. Too sweet for the ants?"

Eddie wasn't looking at him like he did before. There wasn't a fascination in his eyes, there wasn't that much amusement. In fact, to Buck it looked like Eddie was seeing through him now.

"I wasn't planning on chocolate covered strawberries, but that sounds like a great addition to this picnic."

"Of course, it does." Buck squirmed a little on the sofa. "Happy to help with more suggestions," he tried to say without sarcasm, but he was pretty sure Eddie was now oblivious to any and all of his sarcasm so he was safe.  All that matters is that Eddie is happy, you idiot so stop making this about you.

"You okay, Buck? Still tired?" At least he recognizes that you're zoning out.

"Maybe, it's kind of a dull night. I might jinx it."

"Don't you dare!" Eddie blurts out. "Oh, wait," Buck stood up, puffing his chest. "I thought Eddie Diaz didn't believe in jinxes."

"It's such a dull and...q.." Eddie jumps from the sofa and snaps a hand over his mouth. Buck felt a little better. The fact he could still mess around with Eddie like this dulled the ache of hearing about Ana all time and also hearing about what Ana is doing for or with Christopher now.

"Are you going to shut up?" Eddie reluctantly lowered his hand. "That shift was from hell last time. I don't want it to happen again."

"Fine. We'll bask in a dull night then. Or I could wake everyone up by loudly turning on that pinball machine."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "When Chimney chases you around the firestation for waking him up, I'm not going to help you."

Buck walked over to the machine and did just as he said. He and Eddie waited. Nothing happened. Apparently, it was a dull night at the 118. There's no way Buck could focus on this game. There's no way it could be a distraction from what's on his mind. Hell no, that was still ever present, toying with him.

"I should show Ana the skateboard. Does that sound like a good idea? Buck?"

Buck nearly fainted. Can you blackout from something someone said? Is that possible?

"You still have that thing?" he squeaked, not turning around from the pinball machine.

"Of course, I do."

"How about you just focus on bringing the right foods and drinks? Maybe give Christopher the task of keeping those ants away, then take a stroll. Something light, refreshing, you know?"

"Yeah, just super relaxing. Good idea Buck."

"What can I say," he turned around now, clasping his hands, "I'm full of them."

"All right, it's my turn to hit the bunks," Eddie said with a yawn. "Are you going to be good up here?"

"Just fine," Buck nodded. Eddie used the pole to head down and towards the bunks for some sleep.

Buck stood frozen, leaning against the machine. "Yeah, everything is just fine." The ache that something was missing didn't go away. If Buck let it fester it would grow, but what else could he do? Eddie seemed really happy. There's no way, Buck would ruin that. There's no way.

_

A couple nights later, the firefam is having a big dinner at the station. Ana is there and that's when Buck realizes he is definitely not going there. He won't ruin this happiness that Eddie has found. The loving glances he and Ana exchanged all night were enough to tell him that maybe he did miss his chance. Yet he was still going to miss the way Eddie looked at him when he spouted off random facts, because it still looked like he could care less now.

"Hey, Buck," they were still sitting near each other, which gave Buck some solace. "I wanted to thank you about the ants thing, because apparently, as according to Chris, there was a battalion of them about to take over our picnic. I swear it was like only ten maybe, but he took on his task very seriously."

Buck chuckled. "Happy to help." "Thanks, Buck." Eddie smiled at him. At least there were moments like this to hang on to. "She's really amazing, you know?" Eddie whispered. "I didn't really think anything of it, but damn something good did come out of that jinxed day."

"Indeed, it did," Buck nodded. He fought the urge to yell the word quiet. Don't do it. Stop being petty and be happy for him. You can pretend, you're good at that. "I'm glad it's working out for you."

"That's all we can hope for, right?" "Yes, yes it is." When all hope seemed lost, Eddie added, "You do know Christopher misses you. I told him that next weekend his Buck might take him out on the skateboard."

"Thanks, now, I have to keep that promise." "Yes, yes you do." Eddie laughed. "Thanks, Buck."

Buck sighed. Fine. There's little things, Buck can hold onto, but he'll be forever pissed that he may have missed his chance to be something more for Eddie.

He once again fought the urge to scream the word quiet throughout the firehouse.

#buddie #I think of two songs while writing this #there's no way #and just recently #someone mentioned the song #happier by ed sheeran #so yeah... #if it's not sad enough then the songs in mind making it sadder and ugh...

[mysterytickingegos]

Roadtrip

Pairing: Wilford Warfstache x Reader

Genre: Fluff. Like so god damn fluffy. The fluffiest thing this angst-lover will ever write. TOOTH ROTTING- okay you get the point.

Word Count: 1,710

Summary: Your relationship with the strange TV personality naturally leads to some pretty fun adventures, but this one might just go down in history as your favorite.

Anonymous Request: If you have time, could you please do 10, 17, and 20 with either Wilford or Yancy (and they/them pronouns)? 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 I love your writing btw ❤️

Authors Note: I think it’s safe to say I’m out of the ficlet mindset after this one. I got an idea and got waaay carried away but hopefully no one minds!  Maybe a bit out of character? I’m not completely sure.

Want to read more?

[Image Description: A gif of Wilford Warfstache from the short “Warfstache Interviews Markipler” screwing with his hair. End Description.]

The sun wasn’t even up yet, that was your biggest concern. Not that there could be some kind of emergency but that someone had the audacity to knock on your door before the sun was even up. You swung the door open to see Wilford standing there, looking much more casual than usual and grinning the moment he saw you. “Good morning, sunshine! Ready to go?”

You sighed and let your defenses down. “To go?”

“Yes, to go! To go to the big thing in Chicago!”

“Yeah I remember that, I thought we were leaving at six thirty.”

“It is six thirty.” He said, glancing down at his watch to check.

You stared at him for a moment in sleepy confusion before it finally hit you. “You meant six in the morning??”

“Well of course I meant the morning, can you imagine the traffic that time of day?” He chuckled at the thought and let himself inside. “Besides, the network made it very clear I can’t miss this. Best not to take chances.”

“...You’re lucky you’re cute.” You grumbled, fighting back a yawn as you left to get dressed and grab the bag you packed the night before.

You’d been dating Wil for somewhere close to two years at this point, and you’d been friends for longer than that, and you still never had any idea what to expect from him. There was always a new adventure or shenanigans for him to pull you into, just waiting around the corner. This was one of those times.

When you came back downstairs he took your bag, and your hands in his once it was securely over his shoulder. “Come on, cheer up! I know you took the week off so I made sure this would be worthwhile, planned some stops, made sure we had plenty of time.”

You stopped to lock up your apartment before you two started walking downstairs. “What kind of stops?”

“Sweetheart, you are just gonna have to wait and see.” He told you with a wink.

MONDAY

If Wil hadn’t stopped at a gas station, you probably wouldn’t have been able to keep yourself awake at the start of the drive, but thankfully you took the opportunity to get yourself some caffeine and something for you both to eat. After that it was pretty fun, with music blasting and the windows cracked. Every half hour or so one of you would turn the music down and get into another conversation. You had both been so busy the past few months that you had plenty to talk about. Though, the entire time he made a point to keep a folded up piece of paper out of your reach.

The first detour was through the Las Vegas strip, the only stop being a cozy barbecue place off of an exit. But it was fun to see the grand casinos and attractions nonetheless.

“Okay, this is amazing,” You said, pointing to what was left of your sandwich. “What’s the story behind this place?”

“I’ve actually never been here before, just saw it had four and a half stars.” In the middle of his explanation, he swiped a fry off your plate. “I actually haven’t stayed in Vegas since before all the smart...google...haberdashery.”

You stopped halfway to taking a drink, biting back a smile. “Haberdashery?”

He smiled back, shaking his head at you. “Don’t start.”

“So you really planned this out then, huh?”

“Yeah! I have a whole list of places we’re stopping. Did you expect anything less from me?”

“I probably shouldn’t answer that.” You teased. He gasped in mock offense before both of you burst out laughing.

“Fair enough.”

Once you got back on the road it was an extremely long eight hours, at least in the second half after another gas station stop. Your legs were cramped up and the music was getting a bit tedious and had to be turned down. Wilford assured you it was the longest stretch in the whole trip, but even he was tired by the time you guys got to stop in a small Chinese restaurant on the border of Colorado.  “I should’ve picked a closer hotel.” He mumbled through a yawn, waiting somewhat impatiently on the ‘meal for two’ special. “I really didn’t think it’d be this late.”

“How far is it?” You asked, spinning your straw in your glass.

“‘Nother two hours, I think.”

You nodded, deciding to step in. “You could barely keep your eyes open when we pulled in, you should let me drive.”

“You’re probably right...” He seemed hesitant, but neither one of you wanted this to end in a car crash. “But don’t look at the list.”

“I won’t, I won’t. Jeez”

The next two hours were nice, as it was dark now and there were hardly any cars. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for Wilford to doze off in the passenger seat after he put in the next address and you played an audiobook at a low volume to keep yourself focused. Finally the GPS buzzed; “Your destination is on the left.”

You pulled into the lot of Riverwalk inn and nudged your partner’s shoulder until he finally started to stir. “Hey, c’mon we’re here.”

TUESDAY

You heard an alarm start going off on the other side of the bed and let out a groan, pulling a pillow over your head. “What time is it?”

“It’s eight, get up and get dressed and I’ll find someplace to eat.” And with that Wilford was up and out of bed, no problems.

You on the other hand... “We can’t even sleep in a little bit?”

“Not unless you want to start crossing places off the list, my dear.” He started going through his things to look for something new to wear. “We still have to make it there by Friday...for the thing.”

You grumbled some more, finally dragging yourself out of bed after hearing a couple promises of fresh coffee. “Wilford Warfstache, this ‘thing’ better be the best thing that’ll ever happen to you.”

“I already know it will be!” He said in a sing-song voice as you grabbed your bag and vanished into the bathroom.

“What’s the plan for today anyway?” You called out.

“Nothing much, a couple breaks here and there but it’ll take most of the day to get to-” You heard him cut himself off, “to...the next place. But things’ll get good tomorrow, I promise.”

And when you drove into Oklahoma city that night, you pondered all the possibilities.

WEDNESDAY

It was much easier to get up early, mostly out of excitement. After you two stopped at a random chain restaurant to get something for breakfast, you pushed for answers again. “Come on, you have to tell me now that we’re here.”

“Well, actually I couldn’t decide.”He tore his napkin in two and pull a pen out of what seemed to be thin air. You were about to ask if he even realized he did that, as he usually didn’t, but he held both his now-paper-filled hands out. “So, you pick. Left or right, whatever the paper says is what we’ll do.”

“Okay...left.”

He tossed the other paper over his shoulder and read what yours said. “Ooh good choice.” You tried to lean over the table to see it but he closed his hand quickly, leaning closer to you. “Now, Y/n, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you want to kiss me.”

“I’ll kiss you if you tell me where we’re going.”

He laughed at you and slipped out of the booth without hesitation. “Nope! Not ruining the surprise.”

He was very insistent that it didn’t happen, even convincing you to close your eyes once you were close. He guided you out of the car, and finally let you open your eyes. You looked up at the big green sign.

“OKC Zoo and Botanical Garden.”

“Oh my- are you serious?” You had to stop yourself from jumping up in excitement, and grabbed his hand to pull him inside.

You were still beaming hours after you two left, showing him how all the photos turned out over dinner in Kansas City.

THURSDAY

The audiobook had hit a lull, and you were too sick of pop music to switch it. Wilford was much more quiet than usual, so you kept to yourself for a while after lunch, eventually nodding off for a good half-hour.

“We made it!” Your boyfriend cheered, shutting off the car as you sat up straight. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t even realize.”

“Nah it’s fine. We’re here?”

“Yep! We are officially, finally in Chicago. Ready to stretch your legs?” 

You bought some ice cream from a Dessert Dealer before driving down to the architecture center to walk around, even deciding to catch a movie before you checked into the hotel.

“This was the best. week. ever!” You exclaimed, flopping onto the bed.

Wil chuckled and laid down beside you. “It’s not over yet.”

“Well you said no detours planned on the way back, and you’ll be busy with the thing tomorrow, so...safe to say we can call it.” You shrugged, flipping onto your stomach and laying your head on your arms. “What is it anyway? A speech? Big grand opening?”

He didn’t answer you at first, contemplating the answer. “Truth be told...” He started. “The network has no idea I’m here. I just wanted to surprise you with all of this. Because...”

“Because?”

He put up a finger, staring down at his watch until-

FRIDAY

“Because, happy anniversary.” He said with a grin,

You had to pause, doing the math in your head, before sitting up straight. “That is...the sweetest thing anybody’s ever done for me. God, I love you.”

He pulled you into a hug before you started tearing up. “I love you too...In fact I didn’t think it was possible to love someone so much.”

“Me either,” You admitted, pulling back to wipe your face with your sleeve. “Happy anniversary, Wil.”

Little did you know that despite the list being complete, there was still one more surprise in store.

You know, considering the ‘top secret list’ you couldn’t look at was just to keep your attention away from the tiny black box in his suitcase?

#Wilford Warfstache x reader #Wilford Warfstache x you #markiplier egos x reader #I'd like to formally apologize for the ending I just couldn't help myself #no beta readers we die like men #Let's hope grammarly didn't let me down

[secondhand-trash]

A/N: the true mvp of this part is the fact that freehanding memes is apparently a talent of mine

Word count: 1595

(click here to see more of Osamu’s bento)

(taglist in the comments, please go to the link in my bio or send me an ask to be added to the bento taglist uwu)

-

The automatic door of the supermarket opened and closed behind you once again as another customer passed by where you had been standing at for the past moments with a confused look in their eyes at the way you stood there doing nothing.

Should you just make up some lame excuse as to why you went home empty handed? Would he believe it if you said that all supermarkets across the area of your workplace was closed down due to unknown circumstances? He wouldn’t. He could be a bit simple minded when it comes to certain things but he wasn’t dumb. You could already imagine the way he whined at how you didn’t try to go along with his efforts if you just straight up admitted that you gave up on it.

Ah...

Ah.

You had to at least give it a try, didn’t you?

You felt the pulse on your temple pulsing as you thought of what made a supposedly simple trip to the grocery store so damn complicated.

Ever since that time you opened your bento box to literally being stared down by your own lunch, you had been very careful with opening your lunchbox without anyone seeing the contents before actually eating it. The arrangements had been fairly normal since then. You had formed the habit of peaking inside from the barely lifted corner of the lid before opening it completely but there had not been anything as shocking since then. He sound so excited on the phone about his new discovery that you had expected him to keep trying and trying until he eventually got bored of it.

You had come to the conclusion that perhaps he had given up way before you thought he would or that he just couldn’t find the time and effort to think of a different design each day on top of his already heavy workload preparing for opening Onigiri Miya each day.

Either way, you let out a sigh of relieve when you opened your bento each day to see a regular, non-questionable lunch sitting inside. You almost felt guilty for saying this, given the amount of effort he must have put into that eerie lunchbox, but you just couldn’t handle opening your lunch like you were drawing a lot for some sort of weird penalty.

You should have known that something was up when Osamu handed you the cloth-wrapped bento this morning in a particularly good mood. You even heard him whistling in the kitchen as he wrapped up the bento. (”We came out with bento wrapping clothes with the Onigiri Miya logo,” he had very happily held it on his palms before putting it in your bag, “cute, right?”)  But your alert had dropped at this point, almost certain that it was just a one time occurrence and the there was nothing you needed to look out for anymore.

And so you took your bento out onto your desk as usual, laughing along a joke your colleague made as you loosened the knot on the cloth.

“Honestly, I’m so jealous that your boyfriend is so down to making your bento every day,” your friend said with a sigh, “I could barely get mine to put the seat down.”

You chuckled, trying your hardest to hide the grin on your face. Yes, yes my boyfriend was pretty great. “Trust me, he forgets to do that all the time too.”

“But if he can cook as well as yours do, I can let that slide.” they joked, twisting off the cap of their thermos.

You were still smiling when you separated the stacked up compartments of your bento box.

Until you looked down to see what was inside, and you felt the corner of your lips twitching as you felt like you pulled the wrong muscle on your face with how you tried to maintain your look of ease.

“Is something wrong?” they asked, seeing the way you seemed to have stiffened up.

“Oh, nothing,” you said, still holding the lid of your bento, “nothing...”

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the f u c k-

You brought your fingers to your temple to press down at the beating pulse point, trying to clear your head. You had no idea where you should start looking. Hell, you didn’t even know what he wanted you to get.

Why couldn’t he just send you a text like a normal person? You let out yet another heavy sigh as you pulled out your phone, your brows furrowing together as you pulled out the photo you took of the bento before you gulped it down so no one would see it.

Just... you still could not get over the impactful image that you had no choice but to stare at. You had to admit that you were very impressed by the amount of detail that was put into the pattern that was cut out from a piece of seaweed on top of the rice. He did a good job, with the technical aspect of it. But why on earth would he thinks that putting a meme on your rice was a good idea? 

Poor pepe, you silently prayed to the deceased meme that now ended up in your stomach.

Unlike last time, the message of the bento was a lot less abstract. He had opted to make things clear by directly writing out what he wanted to say thought the little speech bubble and tiny strips of seaweed. The seaweed was placed on top of sliced cheese so that it would look smoother and not be affected by the moisture from the rice which he must have learnt from the mom blogs that he had been browsing through religiously a while back.

What he didn’t take into account, was that the steam from the rice would condense on the top of the bento and slide back onto the surface as water droplets. Even though you could still faintly make out that they were supposed to be words, the small pieces of seaweed had already stuck together and was barely comprehensible by the time you landed your eyes on it.

You could understand “tomato” and “please buy”, thanks to how those few letters were mostly straight lines. But the rest... you really didn’t have a single clue what they were supposed to be.

Standing at the front door of the store, you felt an annoyance burning at your chest just by looking at how many aisle there were.

You would only prompt him to keep trying until it worked if you got it wrong, you were certain of it. With that thought in mind, you clenched your jaw and called your last two living braincells to work in this game of edible pictionary.

.

.

.

“Ohhhhhhhh!” Osamu’s eyes were near twinkling when he pulled out the items from your bag to see that it was exactly what he had wanted you to get. He snapped towards you like an excited zoo animal that just heard the sound of a nearby tourist tearing open a bag of snacks, sprinting to your side to compliment you on your good work. 

You were laying face down on the couch like a dead fish when he crouched next to you and when you exhaustedly lifted your hand, he very obediently put his head under your palm to let you take out your stress on his very soft hair.

You were tired. You were so, so tired.

 How did you manage to figure out what the rest of the list consisted of? Well, it was a whole lot of guessing and all the luck you had gathered from the good deeds you had done in your entire life. You had even put the image through google translate once in a futile effort to figure out what it was trying to say.

Grocery shopping was not supposed to be this stressful...

“You look tired, rough day at work?” you turned to the side to look at Osamu who was now at your eye level, tilting his head with your fingers still weaved into his hair.

You were so determined to tell him everything as it was, but you immediately didn’t have the heart to do it when you were met with his round eyes fixed on you.

You had it coming...

“Yeah,” you said, “we are going through this real big project right now and everyone is on edge.”

He took your hand and pressed it against his cheek. You smiled as he leaned into your touch, caressing his jaw with your thumb. He was lucky that he’s cute, you thought to yourself, silently deciding that maybe you would try to be a little bit more openminded the next time he turned your lunch into a meme canvas.

“Then I should try to bring you some excitement with your bento then! Something that both taste good and can motivate you visually!”

What? Was the pepe not exciting enough in his opinion?

“I'll start researching on food that can boost stamina and provide energy right away!” you felt like you had made the wrong move when the glint in his eyes grew and he perked up. 

Your hand was still holding out mid-air when he scurried away after giving you a light pat on your head, telling you that he would go run you a bath soon.

You paused as you collected your thoughts, and then slammed your face down onto the cushion.

It seemed like you had underestimated his will to strive for excellence...

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu imagine #miya osamu imagines

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 4

<- Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 ->

Summary: Chilton’s recovery is slow and painful, and he is a cranky traumatized bastard who might be determined to push you away.    

1,878 words

Twelve days. Six surgeries. Fifteen blood transfusions.

“Did you bring me something to eat?” he whined. Considering he could barely lift his voice above a whisper, it was an impressive feat that he could whine. “Tell me you smuggled something edible that does not go into a tube through my nose.”

“I’m sorry, honey-bear,” you pouted. “But you know I can’t until the doctors OK it.”

“I am a doctor.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re still at a high risk of going septic—no outside foods covered with outside bacteria. Besides, they won’t let you eat solids yet, anyway.”

“Sanguinaccio dolce. Mango smoothie. Crème brûlée. Yamakake Soba...” he listed off non-solid things you ought to have snuck in for his enjoyment.

“And how would I get them in there?” You rapped your knuckles on the clear acrylic of the hyperbaric oxygen therapy chamber.

He scowled. “This is not a zoo. No tapping the glass.”

You grinned and pulled a chair alongside the chamber so you were sitting next to him.

“Did you bring the laptop?”

Slinging the messenger bag you were carrying off your shoulder, you pulled out a smooth rectangular object and held it up proudly. “That I did. I’m ready to write if you’re up for it,” you said, but added with some hesitation, “Are you sure you want to do this now? You should be resting, and… I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to relive what happened.”

“I am sure,” he snapped. “I may drop dead at any moment, so we will finish this now. While I still draw breath.”

You stiffened imperceptibly in your chair. The reminder that, despite making it this long, he was far from out of the woods was an unwelcome dagger in your chest, which you quickly plucked out and stuffed away in the box of things you weren’t going to think about.

“As for the wisdom of my reliving it—I feel his teeth every time I close my eyes. I may as well profit from the experience.”

Dr. Chilton was growing anxious that it had been nearly two weeks since his encounter with Francis “The Red Dragon” Dolarhyde, and he had not yet had the chance to publish on the subject. He had wasted far too much time being unconscious and dying—he needed to send a letter in to the American Journal of Psychiatry before some know-nothing crackpot took a swing.

He was the foremost authority on the Dragon—the only person to have communicated with him and lived who was not, himself, a fugitive for murder (or a blind girlfriend, but he doubted Reba was going to publish anything). This was his achievement. His way of staying relevant. The definitive analysis of the Red Dragon for the Journal, and then a spectacular ending for his book once he had his own hands to type with again. No one would take this opportunity from him.

After living with Frederick Chilton for over three years in relative domestic harmony, there were times you forgot what you ever used to dislike about him. Why you hated him so intensely when you first met.

This was not one of those times.

As you took dictation from your glass-encased fiance, you felt a crushing wave of empathy for the man’s poor secretary. He was demanding and fussy, making you read back every sentence to him line by line and mercilessly correcting any mistakes or omissions. He spoke slowly because of his weakened lungs and raw throat, and the thick glass and lack of lips made him difficult to understand, especially with nurses walking through and machinery beeping and whirring in the background—but when you tried explaining that to justify a transcription error, he took it as a personal affront.

You had to support him no matter what, you reminded yourself. This was much harder on him than you. You can always leave if you want you; he can’t. So when he was frustrated and cranky, you were patient and kind.

It took five hours and ten rewrites to get through two thousand words he was satisfied with submitting for publication, and you were nearly crying by the time you left.

***

Thirteen days.

High protein intake is critical to a speedy recovery in burn patients, but Frederick’s mangled digestive system could not tolerate protein very well. Keeping his kidney off the precipice of failure was a tightrope walk involving dietitians planning his every calorie intake, and daily blood work monitoring.

As a medical doctor, Frederick Chilton was aware of, and understood, these things. However he still rejected them as excuses when you once again did not bring him any outside food.

“Then what is the point of you coming?” he snapped, and immediately wished he had not. You stood frozen in the doorway of his recovery room unsure what you did wrong. You were right, of course—his throat felt like he had fellated broken glass. As much as he longed to chew something flavorful, with texture, he could not have swallowed solid food anyway. He closed his eyes. Softer, he asked, “Did you bring the March issue of the Journal of Psychiatry?”

You let out a held breath, unfreezing, and pulled the magazine out of your bag, presenting it with an upbeat flourish. “Delivered to your doorstep.”

“Would you read it to me?” He sighed, humiliated. It was not only that he could not hold the publication—even if you were to flip the pages for him, with only one working eye and no reading glasses, it was hopeless. He was completely dependent on you.

A cough shook his body as if to punctuate how completely he was broken. Useless. Weak.

The metal feet of the visitor’s chair scraped on the white floor like nails on a chalkboard as you dragged it close to his bedside, making him wince until you settled down and helped him browse for an article of interest.

He could barely make himself care about the content of the study. As you read, you rested one arm on the mattress right next to his, where it lay helplessly prone alongside his body, and he could feel the warm weight of you sinking into the cushion. The pressure was uncomfortable on his inflamed tissue, but soothing to something deeper. God, he wanted to be soothed. He wanted so badly to feel any kind of comfort. Anything to latch onto. He closed his eyes and got lost in your voice. For a moment, he could almost forget about the searing pain in each of his limbs and pretend he was at home, in his bed, with you.

The soothing, steady lull stopped, and he opened his eyes, horrified to find you looking intently at his ruined face. His nostrils flared painfully. “Do not stare,” he warned.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you said. “I finished the article. I thought you fell asleep.” You searched for somewhere else to settle your eyes—the metal bar at the edge of the bed. Your lap. A flower arrangement.

You made such a show of not staring at him that he was even more certain that you had been. He was hideous. Perhaps that entertained you. You were probably already planning for Halloween. Red-hot thoughts swirled around his head like cinders.

Before you could get through a second article, a nurse came in with a tray of mushy hospital food. Humiliation stung deep for you to even see the damned tray, and it annoyed him that you did not immediately excuse yourself. There was no way in Hell he would allow you to watch such a disgusting, embarrassing process—being spoon fed like a toddler, the nurse wiping off his toothy chin of the spillage meant to be kept in check by lips.

“Go home,” he grumbled, leaving no room for argument.

You had barely been there for half an hour.

***

Fourteen days.

“Do you want to look at venues?” you offered, tucking him in with the extra blanket you had a nurse bring because he was cold.

“Venues?” he repeated with clear exasperation. He let out a weak cough.

“It’ll be fun! It’ll take your mind off things.” You grabbed your laptop off the plastic visitor chair where you’d left it, and excitedly held it up so he could see the screen from his prone position. There was already a search typed into google with preview images of scenic gardens glowing with string lights and towering ancient library ballrooms.

“I thought it went without saying our wedding date is… postponed.”

Your shoulders deflated. “I know, but… you’ll be out of the hospital by next year,” barring complications, “so we can use the time to plan. We were going to have to postpone anyway if you couldn’t pick anywhere that was good enough for your standards,” you teased.

“It is pointless.” He laughed bitterly, humorlessly, and your brief smile dropped.

“It isn’t… pointless.”

“I will not be able to visit any of the locations.”

“But we could make a list of places you want to visit when—”

“Stop!” he hissed.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “OK.” You sounded small. Too small.

“I… uh...” Frederick tried to say something. Something to make you sound less small and wounded. Fragments of thoughts and half-formed apologies stuck in his sore throat. Fuck, his skin hurt. Parts of it were starting to heal, but in the short-term that only made it worse, because now it itched, too. Pain. Itch. Guilt. Cold. You deserved so much more than him. “You should go,” he said at last, finally settling on the only way to make it better.

“Wh-what?”

“Just… go,” he croaked.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again. What do you want to talk about? Or, I can shut up and we can listen to music, or...”

You were apologizing. Again. Because he was being an asshole. It disgusted him how weak he made you. You used to be so fierce. Stubborn and unstoppable. But being with him was slowly killing your fire.

“Get out of this place. I want to be alone.”

It was better this way, he thought. It was better for you to get away from him.

You stared at him silently across what now felt like a vast distance of white laminate flooring. His beautiful, pale, mismatched eyes were fixed on the ceiling, hard and uncompromising. He blinked rapidly.

You wished you knew what was going on in his head. You wished you could fix it for him. But right now, as much as it pained you, he wanted you to leave, and maybe that was the best you could do.

“OK,” you relented. “I’ll be back tomorrow, all right? I love you.”

The only sound as you packed your laptop away and slipped your coat over your shoulders was his ragged breathing, the beeps and tones of hospital machines, and the occasional cough. He waited until you were almost out the door before replying, “I love you, too.”

#Frederick Chilton x reader #frederick chilton #hannibal #Raúl Esparza #angst #recovery angst #hospitals #here have your daily serving of pain #my writing

[carolinegrahamreview]

How To Make $500 Per Day from Launch Jacking

Launch jacking is an affiliate marketing strategy where a business can take advantage of a new product launch and write a review or blog post about their experience with the product. If your review answers the readers’ questions and convinces them to click on your Call to Action, they are taken to the product developer’s product landing page to buy the product. This strategy works for both physical and digital products.

Launch jacking is not only a strategy for earning affiliate marketing commissions, but it can be a great source to gain additional traffic and backlinks to improve your website’s domain authority. In turn, that improves your ability to get other content ranked higher in the Search Engine Results Page (SERP). For example, writing a negative review will not likely cause the reader to make a purchase. However, if yours is the only negative review, prospects will likely click on your review to learn why. This traffic tells the search engines to rank your page and domain a bit higher, helping some of your other content rank higher as well.

When a company launches a new product, the product developer generally sends out a series of emails to their email list or buys ads that include links to their product’s sales landing page. Of course, the reader of those ads or email will often not just buy the product on impulse without doing a little more research first. The higher the price of the product, the more the prospect will do research before they reach for their credit card

Knowing this, most serious product developers employ a strategy to incentivize affiliates to create brand awareness and educate prospects as part of their customer acquisition strategy. The product developers offer commissions to individuals that send a prospect to their site and buy their product. Commissions on digital products average about 50% while commissions for physical products are much lower.

Where Do Product Developers List Products?

Product developers have many options when it comes to choosing an affiliate network. Here are several popular affiliate network sites.

Click Bank

JV Zoo

Warrior Plus

Deal Guardian

Peer Fly

Connection Junction

Share Sale

Affiliate Program Amazon

Market Health

When it comes to launch jacking, your job is to have the most compelling article or post that the prospect finds during their research. The more your page can alleviate any confusion a prospect may have about the product and assuage any fears they may have, the more apt they are to click on the Call to Action links you include in your product review.

What makes launch jacking so powerful is that there is little or no competition for keywords with the product name. When the product name is paired with a few popular search words, the resulting long-tail keyword creates a blue ocean keyword that is easier to rank for. Some popular launch jacking keyword pairings are:

Product name + Review Product name + Review from Real User Product name + Discount Product name + Deal Product name + Coupon Product name + Bonus Product name + Product Creator Product name + Pros & Cons

You can also combine keywords pairings such as Product Name + Review + Discount + Bonus.

How to Find Products That Are Ready to Launch.

Here are two popular site calendars where product developers can post the date of their product launch along with other information about their product for affiliates to use in their reviews.

https://muncheye.com/ https://v3.jvnotifypro.com/account/

Most of the listings on these sites are for new launches, however, reviews can be written for existing products as well. For existing products, you take the best elements of all the preexisting reviews and give it a new twist, thereby creating a better and more in-depth review. This can cause your review to leapfrog many of the preexisting reviews and allow your new review to rank well. The higher your domain authority, the better your chances of reaching the first Search Engine Results Page (SERP) spots.

For a new launch, first you need to find a product that will be launching in a few weeks. This will give you some time to write your review. When you click on a prospective product you’re considering writing a review for, look for ones that have a link to a Joint Venture (JV) page. The Joint Venture page is where the majority of the information you can use to write your review is contained. If you’re interested in a product without a JV page you will have to do a lot more independent research and write more original content for a compelling review.

Product Research

Before you consider investing the time and energy to write a review, you need to determine if writing a launch jacking review is worth your efforts.

When you find a potential target product, one thing you want to determine is how many other reviews already exist. Begin by entering the launch jacking keyword pairings you hope to rank for such as “product name” + “review” into your search engine.

If there are plenty of other prelaunch reviews already, your next step is to check the Domain Authority (DA) and traffic from the other sites to determine how hard it may be to get your review ranked on the SERP. I use the Alexa Traffic Ranking browser extension to do a quick check of their traffic. To find a site’s Domain Authority, Moz and ahref are two popular sites that will give you a limited number of searches for free. If all the other sites that have reviews are from a website with a much higher DA and traffic count, it will be harder to get your review near the top of the SERP.

Next, you will want to use the Google Keyword Planner and enter your launch jacking keyword pairings. Look at the keyword ideas to see if you have any competition. The search will give you some alternate keywords you may want to rank for, as well as get a sense of the number of searches and relative competition. What you may discover is that there is a lot of competition for “Product Name” + “Review”, but none for “Product Name” + “Pros & Cons”.

In addition to using a search engine like Google, look on YouTube to see if there are any reviews for the physical or digital product.

If there is limited competition, the next step is to learn a bit more about the creator of the product. You will discover that it will either not have a very good launch because the creator has no brand awareness, or have a very good chance of a successful launch based on previous successful launches.

Content Sources to Write Your Launch Jacking Review

At this point, your research indicates that you have a good chance of writing a review for a launch jacking keyword pairing that will rank well. Now is the time to write a review. Two sources you will use to write your review include the product’s sales page and the Joint Venture page.

Depending upon the type of product and your reputation, you can often request special review access from the product developer. For example, if you have a site that produces camping videos, a product developer for a camping product may agree to send you one of the first products so you can test it and write about your experience. For digital products, all the product developer needs to provide is a link, so digital products are often much easier to get access to for your review. This is one reason digital products make great affiliate marketing products.

On the Joint Venture page, the product developer will generally include their contact information.

Once you collect all of your data, you will want to write your review. You can cut and paste much of the content from the Joint Venture page and the product developer’s sales landing page as the basis of your review. You can then add some of your own narrative and naturally insert your launch jacking keyword pairing into the text. You will also want to include a series of Call to Actions, which will take the reader to the affiliate link that you have set up with the product developer’s chosen affiliate networks site such as Clickbank.

How to Write a Launch Jacking Review That Will Convert.

The assumption at this point is that you have a product you want to review and an account with the affiliate network that the product developed used. When you request the link, the affiliate network will provide not only the link to the product developer’s sales landing page, but also include your unique affiliate code. This way, when your reader clicks the link and buys the product, the affiliate network will know where the lead came from so they know who earned the commission.

Even if the buyer does not buy immediately and returns sometime later to make the purchase, that user is still associated with you, so you will earn a commission on the sale.

If you hope to rank, any review you write must be greater than 800 words. In fact, 1200 plus words should be your goal. Generally speaking, the more words and more times you can naturally use the keywords in your narrative, the better your chance it will rank on the SERP.

When you write your review, you will want to follow the format of a long-form sales page and include at least three Calls to Action to buy the product. The best reviews use many images or screenshots of the product throughout the review. Don’t be afraid to change up the font and text color to appeal to the three types of consumers of internet content; Skimmers, Scanners, and Readers. Make sure that all the images, titles, captions, and alt tags include the launch jacking keyword pairing.

If you are doing a video review, you can use the time tested Infomercial format.

Be sure to use the launch jacking keyword pairing such as “product name” + “review” in the title, excerpt, snip, and the first paragraph of your review, as well as the product name multiple times in your review. To have a successful launch jacking review, you should always follow good SEO practices.

Many launch jacking reviews start with an image of the product or a screenshot at the top followed by a short introduction.

After the introduction, include your first Call to Action.

Follow this up discussing the features and the benefits. Be sure to include how the product will help the buyer. Using bullets and screenshots will help this section stand out.

After the features and benefits section, include your second Call to Action.

Next, include any bonus that the product developer is offering the buyer for being one of the first to by the product.

After the bonus section, include your third Call to Action.

When you are happy with the review, publish it so the public can read it.

How to Build Quality Backlinks to Your Review

Just because your review is public does not guarantee that anyone will read it. Now is the time to tell the search engines that it is worth ranking it in the SERP.

To improve your ranking, it is always a good idea to include at least one video in your launch jacking review from YouTube. Include a link in the YouTube video description section that points to your launch jacking review page because it will provide a valuable backlink to aid in getting your review a better SERP ranking. Since YouTube is a Google asset, it likes backlinks from YouTube. That being said, consider uploading your video on Vimeo and Dailymotion to harvest their Link Juice as well.

Many launch jacking reviews include a video that demonstrates how to unpack and set up a physical product or how to use the digital product. The producer will often have some videos on their Joint Venture page that you can simply download and include in your review.

Hopefully, you already have a Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn page. If not, set them up. You should also consider Reddit, Pinterest, and Instagram. Make a post for each social media platform that includes an image and the launch jacking keyword paring you want to rank for in the title. Add some text such as “The following is a review of …” or “Discover the pros and cons of …”, plus a link back to your review page. All of these linkbacks from video and social media sites will tell the search engines to rank your review page higher.

Optimize Your Launch Jacking Page.

Your number one goal is to get organic traffic with all the backlinks to your launch jacking review page. Remember, it’s a numbers game, because only about 5-10% of people will ever click on your affiliate link. Over time, the traffic that you consistently receive will help your Domain Authority, making future reviews rank higher.

To squeeze out some additional value from the traffic that does not click on your affiliate link, many pages will offer visitors something related for free to just to get the visitor’s email address. Once you have the visitor’s email address, you can retarget them with additional offers.

How can you use launch jacking reviews to earn affiliate commissions and drive traffic to your site?

Source: https://www.stevebizblog.com/affiliate-marketing-hack-for-bloggers-making-money-from-launch-jacking/

#launch jacking #make money as an affiliate #make money online #make money #make money fast #make money from home #make money with affiliate marketing #make money 2021 #side hustle

[orcinus-ocean]

Words

What words we use is important. Not only because the image it puts across, but because repeated use of a word actually changes the way our brains work and how we think of the thing described.

This is no less relevant in the field of animals, animal ownership, and the present controversies.

I will list the ones I can think of now, words that either need to be cleansed of their bad connotation, and those that should be reconsidered.

Pet

The word “pet” has gotten a bad taste in the mouth of the public lately. When you speak of someone’s animal, whether it be a dog, horse or tiger, as a “pet”, they feel insulted and tell you “NO, my animal is so much more to me than a pet!”

But really, what’s wrong with this word?

Let’s look at some definitions:

Google: a domestic or tamed animal kept for companionship or pleasure. Merriam-Webster: a pampered and usually spoiled child a person who is treated with unusual kindness or consideration: darling a domesticated animal kept for pleasure rather than utility Cambridge Dictionary: an animal that is kept in the home as a companion and treated kindly to be the person that someone in authority likes best and treats better than anyone else Dictionary.com: any domesticated or tamed animal that is kept as a companion and cared for affectionately. a person especially cherished or indulged; favorite Wikipedia: A pet, or companion animal, is an animal kept primarily for a person's company, entertainment or as an act of compassion such as taking in and protecting a stray cat, rather than as a working animal, livestock or laboratory animal.

In all these, we can clearly see a pattern. An animal that is beloved, treated well, and not used for any special purpose. And extended to humans, a favorite, treated especially well.

There is literally not a single negative connotation to this word. So where did the negative attitude come from? I’m not quite sure, yet I was among these people not long ago. I preferred to talk about “my animals”, or “companion animals” in general. “Pet” somehow felt as if one is talking about an animal as only a possession.

I don’t have a good answer as to where this has actually come from, but I suspect it’s just another part of the forthstriding animal rights movement. The move to view non-human animals as “people” in strange outfits, and this will show further in most of the other words.

I think “pet” needs to be cleansed and brought back to what it really means - a beloved, tame animal treated with care and affection, that is not used as livestock or a work animal.

Zoo

I suspect that a large majority of the public are still okay with going to a place called “the zoo”. But a growing number of people are not, yet they would have no problem paying money to visit a “sanctuary” or “wildlife park”. I have pondered for a few years whether zoos should go along with this cultural shift and rename themselves, for example “wildlife parks” - or if we should double down and cleanse the word “zoo”.

What is the origin of this word? Obviously, it’s from “zoology” and “zoological”, which has roots in the greek word “zoo”, put into anything relating to animals.

The 19th century had “Zoological gardens” and “Zoological parks”, and this was later shortened to a simple “Zoo”.

The only reason this word has a bad taste in the mouth of some today is because of the image of zoos. Since some people still think this...

...is how zoos work today (the photo is from the 1930s). If we give in and agree “yes, zoos need a rebranding”, I think that will only slightly delay what we don’t want to happen, which is AR orgs going for the jugular and making it impossible for zoos to exist.

TL;DR: “Zoo” is simply short for “zoological garden”, as in a place where animals are kept for public display.

Adopted/Bought

Ouch... I can’t be the only one who is getting pretty sick of this one. Definitions, again.

Google: legally take (another's child) and bring it up as one's own. Cambridge Dictionary: to legally take another person's child into your own family and take care of him or her as your own child to take an animal that has been left in a place such as a rescue centre, and keep it as your pet Merriam-Webster: to take by choice into a relationship Dictionary.com: to choose or take as one's own; make one's own by selection or assent to take and rear (the child of other parents) as one's own child, specifically by a formal legal act. Wikipedia: Adoption is a process whereby a person assumes the parenting of another, usually a child, from that person's biological or legal parent or parents.

I find it interesting that Cambridge Dictionary actually included animals as an optional definition, and that some did not mention children specifically, and thus opening it up for interpretation.

I will grant that “adopt” is also used for completely non-human things, such as “adopting a strategy”, but I think we can all agree that “adopt a pet” came directly from “adopt a child”, and is meant in the same context.

This is where I think this word is completely wrong and should not be used about animals, especially if money was involved. To buy or purchase something, simply means to exchange goods or services for money, and I don’t think I need to prove that with a dictionary.

Where we have a fork in the road is whether we consider animals “goods” or “people”. I certainly don’t think animals are objects, they are living things with feelings and needs and I wish we could have a third legal category between “object” and “person”.

But there doesn’t seem to be one now, and the AR goal is not to create one, but to move animals firmly into the “people” category, which includes things such as the right not to be owned.

If you take an animal from a shelter or other previous owner with no money involved, I can understand if you choose to use this word. But if there is any money involved at all, such as the ridiculously named “adoption fee”, hell no, you bought that animal. There is no shame in it.

Rescued

Oh gods... this one is much worse than the former. Sure, in some rare cases, animals are truly “rescued” and saved from a terrible fate. But this word has been so overused by people who want to feel good about themselves that it has nearly lost all meaning.

You found a starving cat on the street and took it in? Okay, you rescued it. A puppy mill was raided, the animals were put in the local shelter and nursed back to health? Yes, the shelter and officers involved rescued the animals.

You paid money for a random, rehomed animal at the shelter? You did not rescue it. You bought an animal from a bad pet shop? You did not rescue it. You bought an animal from someone who could no longer care for it, maybe even a really terrible owner? You did not rescue it. You bought it!

Again, there is no shame in buying an animal. And the word you use will not change the nature of the transaction, and the fact that the animal had no choice of where it went. It will just encourage the progress of the animal rights mindset in society.

Credit to BCR Watch

Sanctuary

This ones ties in both to “rescued” and “zoos”, above.

A real sanctuary, is supposed to be a place of comfort, where animals that have nowhere else to go (which is why there shouldn’t be very rare animals like white servals at a “sanctuary”) are not bred, not used for work or commercial purposes, and not put on display for the public.

If the facility does any of these things, it’s not a sanctuary.

In reality, a lot of “sanctuaries” holding exotic animals are in fact nothing but rebranded zoos, so that the owners and visitors can feel more “cozy” about the otherwise guilt-inducing “captivity of wild animals”.

The animals have no clue and can’t care about what the sign over the entrance says, or what ideology the owners of the facility believe in. They want to be cared for well, and in this regard, many exotic sanctuaries are only very poorly run roadside zoos with animal rights propaganda sprinkled on top.

Captivity

I have written about this before, and made a post based on a speech by Mark Simmons.

I really want to repeat a single quote from that speech here as well.

I was in the car, riding with a colleague of mine from Japan, and we were talking about this.

She was asking me, “Why is this a problem?” and we finally discovered, and I don’t know Japanese, but I said “Does the word you call for where your animals are in your zoos, is it the same word you use for people you put in prison?” And she went “Oh NO! Oh, that’s horrible!” And I went “Yeah but in English, it is!”

It really is a terrible word, not created by any AR agenda, but an unfortunate remnant from when we did not have the same sensibilities about capturing and keeping (or killing) wild and exotic animals.

As I showed in that other post, all the definitions and synonyms to “captivity” are negative. It is a word connected directly to imprisonment, deprivation, and punishment.

It sure is not how most animals I’ve met live their lives. Their “captivity” is one of comfort, pleasure, and a longer and healthier life than they would have if they were not “captive”, as in, prevented from leaving humans.

Even though some animals will leave when given the chance, the vast majority will have no idea what is going on but will be confused, scared, and completely unfit for a life in the wild, domesticated either by genes or by upbringing.

“Captivity” is the most important word on this list, that I think we should all completely ban from our vocabulary, in regards to animals.

#captivity #zoos #sanctuary #animal sanctuary #big cat rescue #adopt don't shop #rescue #pet #pet ownership

[falseroar]

Dark Laughter Part 4: Be Good To Yourself

((Here are links to the last part, Part 3: Mirror Images, and the start of this series, Part 1: What Dark Saw if you want them!))

Mark sat alone at the kitchen table, one hand cupped around a mug of coffee that had turned lukewarm and was driving toward cold while he stared at the nearby phone. The kitchen was still and quiet, warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the windows and providing a welcome change after a long and restless night. Even in the morning light and with Tyler’s help last night, Mark still felt like a raw bundle of damaged and fragile nerves, as if any wrong move could send him spiraling back down again.

So maybe trying to call Dark first thing after he made his way downstairs had been a bad idea, even if the call never connected. But he wanted answers, and getting them now while you were still asleep had seemed the best way to do it, so he made another call and Dr. Iplier answered.

“No, I don’t know anything about that,” the doctor had answered, and Mark thought he heard a hint of strain in the ego’s voice as he added, “The Host is saying Dark left the house this morning.”

“He left? Where would he go?”

There was a pause on the other end, and Mark could almost make out the curt tone of the Host’s response if not the actual words before Dr. Iplier said, “Um. He didn’t say. Hold on, let me ask Google.”

There was a pause as the doctor held the phone to his chest, muffling the conversation that followed although Mark clearly heard Dr. Iplier say, “I am not going to repeat that.”

When Dr. Iplier returned, he sounded more tired than ever as he said, “We don’t know, but this isn’t the first time Dark’s gotten mad and disappeared. For all we know he just goes into that other place of his until he calms down, but he always comes back eventually.”

As much as they wished he wouldn’t, Mark thought to himself, but he asked, “Does anyone know why he was upset?”

Another pause.

“Stress?” Dr. Iplier sounded unsure even as he repeated the word and then sighed. “Mark, can I let you go? The Host…overdid it this morning and I really need to check his eyes and change these bandages.”

“Sure,” Mark said and let the doctor hang up on him.

Leaving him staring at the phone and with more questions than he started out with.

Clearly, something was going on at the ego house, but the more Mark thought about it, the less certain he was that he could do anything about it. It sounded like the trouble was centered on Dark, as it usually was, so if he was out of the picture for the moment, then maybe Mark could wait and let the egos calm down before trying to get in the middle of it.

You would just make things worse, anyways.

Mark brushed the thought away when he heard footsteps on the stairs alongside the clatter of claws and managed a smile as Chica came barreling into the kitchen to greet him ahead of you.

“Look who finally dragged themselves out of bed,” he said as you went straight for the waiting coffee pot.

“You’re one to talk,” you answered. Once you poured yourself a cup and turned around to face him, Mark was sharply reminded of so many mornings in his college days, when he would come out of his room to find you chatting with Damien, leaning against a counter and hugging a mug or glass of some kind to you as if it held the secret to overcoming yet another long night caught up in studying or working or whatever project you thought worth dedicating more time and energy than you had to yet again. Even if you didn’t remember those days, some of those old habits still came through in the most unexpected moments. Usually when he had no idea how to respond to them, like now.

“You look as tired as I feel,” you said, snapping Mark out of his thought. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a rough night,” he said, not quite making eye contact with you as you stared at him over your coffee. “You?”

“I slept fine,” you said, but the yawn that immediately followed said otherwise. “Still too tired to figure out what this text message from Wilford is supposed to mean. You got any idea?”

You walked over and showed Mark your phone, and this close he couldn’t help but notice the red in your eyes, highlighted by the faint circles underneath. He seriously doubted you “slept fine”, but didn’t push as he took your phone and looked at the text message in question.

“…This is just a bunch of emojis.” Mark started to scroll up and caught himself in time. “What were you two talking about before this?”

“Nothing, he just sent me this out of the blue this morning,” you said, sitting down at the table next to Mark. “Normally he just calls, if he even has the patience for that. Every other text from him is just pictures of cute animals he’s seen, or memes Bing sent him that he doesn’t understand.”

You paused and added, “At least, I don’t think he understands them? I don’t know, it’s Wilford.”

“Well, there’s your answer,” Mark said, but he looked at the line of emojis all the same. Aside from a few random ones thrown in, such as a winky kissy face and a knife emoji, they were all animals, as if Wilford had just gone to that section and started typing randomly. Everything from a lion and monkey to a zebra and a chicken. “Oh, maybe he wants to go to the zoo with you?”

“Yeah, like we’re allowed back in there,” you said, taking your phone back and frowning down at the message. You were fairly sure that if he was talking about the zoo, there definitely would have been a penguin surrounded by red “no” symbols or something.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“…Well, you know Wilford, he’s been kicked out of just about everywhere,” you said, suddenly very focused on your phone and not looking Mark’s way at all.

“But you said ‘we.’”

“And I’ve reminded him about a hundred times we’d go somewhere tomorrow, maybe take Eric with us if he feels like it, and there’s no way he’d want to go to the zoo.”

He started to point out that you still hadn’t actually answered the question when his own phone rang. A picture of Amy popped up and as he lunged for his phone Mark saw you grin out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey Amy,” he said, his attempt to sound cool failing when you laughed.

“Hey Mark,” she said, but even over the phone Mark could hear her concern. “I just talked to Tyler, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just give me a moment,” Mark said, trying to maintain the calm and cool tone as he stood and walked out of the room.

You didn’t look up from your phone, still trying to make heads or tails of the text message. Maybe Mark had been right the first time; it wasn’t the weirdest thing Wilford had sent you, after all. You backed out of the message to check the other one you had received this morning.

Looks like rain tonight. Are you still up for it?

You looked at the bright sunlight streaming in and checked the weather app on your phone.

After a moment of hesitation, you sent a text back: It’s just a stakeout, right?

The response: Shouldn’t even have to leave the car. Might not even go that late, but thot you should know.

You stared at that typo for a second before another message came from Abe:

*thought

You smiled and responded: It’s only rain. I’ll be fine.

His only response was a time followed by a line of emoji, starting with a car and rain drops before devolving into some winky faces, a couple of detective emojis, a flashlight, cameras, and other random emojis including for some reason a pineapple.

When Mark returned to the kitchen, he found you still on your phone, your gaze distant as the screen started to darken.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You blinked and looked at him just as the screen went dark and locked. “Oh, sorry, I was just looking at the weather for tonight.”

“Yeah, we’re supposed to get a lot of rain,” he said. “You know how it is in LA, either none at all or all at once.”

You smiled, but Mark noticed that you still opened your phone and looked at the weather app again as if to confirm what you had just seen as you asked, “How’s Amy?”

“Good,” Mark said, and added, “Great. We’re thinking about spending the day together, just taking a break to unwind.”

And even just saying the words, Mark realized how much he was longing for just that. Some time to clear his head, that’s all he needed.

The rest of the morning and the drive into town was uneventful, but as you and Mark waited on the street corner outside of the parking garage, he felt the need to say again, “You can come with us, if you want to.”

You blinked and looked at him, once again as if you were returning from somewhere miles away to say, “Nah, I’m fine. I promised Abe I’d hang out with him on his stakeout, remember? Besides, you and Amy should have some alone time together.”

Mark remembered, but that didn’t mean he was thrilled at the idea of you going on a case with the Detective. “Dr. Iplier said you should be relaxing and trying to de-stress—this sounds like not that. Besides, I don’t see why he needs company, if it’s just to watch a building.”

“Says the guy who likes to have someone else in the room with him while he’s editing his videos so he doesn’t feel lonely,” you said.

“Well, that’s just completely the same thing and not at all helping my argument,” Mark said, earning a chuckle from you even as he felt a stab of embarrassment. After all of that time with a shard of your mirror in his recording room, it did feel weird to be alone in there again. It was too quiet, or at least that’s what he told you the first time he invited you to hang out in the room while he worked, even if it was just to read or play a game of your own on the other computer. He was saved from further comment when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd and waved, jumping up and down as if she hadn’t already spotted them. “Amy! Over here!”

As she made her way closer, Mark leaned over to you and whispered, “Between you and me, I think I love her. Keep it a secret, okay?”

“I don’t know, Amy’s pretty smart. I think she might already know,” you said and he laughed.

Mark was so focused on sweeping Amy up into a hug and talking to her that he failed to notice when the Detective arrived. He just turned around one moment and Abe was there, laughing and chatting with you like he had always been there.

Abe’s smile faded slightly when he caught Mark’s stare, but he was polite enough greeting Amy before saying, “Well, Partner? You ready to go?”

“Hang on Abe, can I talk to you for a minute?” Mark said, the question slipping out as soon as he thought it. “Privately?”

“Uh, sure,” Abe said, with a side glance at you before he followed Mark a short distance away.

As they walked away, Mark heard Amy whisper something to you before a laugh you couldn’t stop in time slipped out. He tried hard not to think about that and focus on what he was actually going to say, but once they were out of earshot Abe was the first to speak.

“Are you okay Mark?”

“What, did Tyler talk to everyone this morning?” Mark asked weakly.

Abe frowned. “No? You just look off today. Is something going on?”

“I’m just…” Mark struggled for words to describe even half of what had been running through his mind since that call from Dark last night, and settled for, “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“…Yeah, I get that,” Abe said. The detective reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette, but with a glance in your direction he seemed to think better of it and put it back. “We’ve all got our demons. I know how much I need someone to snap me out of it when I start to fall back into those old roles we used to play. Listen, Mark, if you ever need help, don’t be afraid to ask. Got it?”

“That has to be the third time I’ve heard that today,” Mark said. He rubbed at the side of his neck, brushing away just one of so many old pains. “Thank you. But I came over here to ask you to keep an eye on Y/N.”

“I always do that,” Abe said. “Can’t take my eyes off them.”

There was a small pause.

“In a good way.”

Mark winced and gave a hissing exhale before saying, “Yeah, not making it any better. How long is this stakeout supposed to go for?”

Abe shrugged. “No clue, but I’ll bring them home once we’re done. Safe and sound, promise.”

He put a reassuring hand on Mark’s shoulder and they went back to rejoin you and Amy, where you were laughing over the mannequin display in a nearby store’s window. As you turned back around to face them, Mark caught a glimpse of your reflections in the glass and stopped short, feeling the air leave his lungs as quickly as if he had just been punched in the stomach.

“Mark?” you asked and he blinked, the memory of what he had seen gone but leaving behind a deep uneasiness. You stepped back in surprise when Mark suddenly moved toward you before leaning into his hug.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” Mark said. It was with a wrench of effort that he let go and watched you walk away with the Detective.

He startled when Amy slipped her hand into his and then relaxed, even managing a smile. He didn’t know why he had said it, or why it felt so important to tell you that before you walked away. But then he also didn’t expect it to hurt when you held the hug for just a breath longer to add, “Same goes for you, Mark. Be good to yourself today.”

((End of Part 4. Thanks as always for reading! And hey, same thing goes for you: Be good to yourself today, okay?

In case you prefer the visual, here’s Wilford’s text:

🦁🦊🐶🐵🦆🐻😘🔪😘🐯🐺🐰🦉🐷🐮🐔

And Abe’s line of emojis:

🚘🌧💦☔️😉😉 😉🕵️‍♂️🕵️‍♂️🔦📷📸⛓🥃🚬🌡🍍

And here’s a link to Part 5: Pointless Things

Tagging: @silver-owl413  @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite  @blackaquokat  @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350  @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley  @95fangirl  @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead  @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette  @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate ))

#markiplier #fanfic #wkm actor mark #wkm y/n #wkm detective #peebles #dr. iplier #too many emojis #dark laughter #I see them so often in you #The attorney I once knew #I saw them in the glass #But their cry to help slipped past

[tessatechaitea]

Scarab #5

Scarab just learned how to use "whomst'd" correctly.

Maybe the sudden need for drugs was due to this character with my name trying to kill himself.

I hadn't actually gotten to the part where the guy notes he's on drugs or that he's surrounded by poppies so I think I just have to give credit to John Smith's writing for setting up a real "I'm fucking overdosing on pain killers" tone. Now I'm also jealous of a fictional nobody. If only I had too many painkillers right now, um, well, I'd probably never hit publish on this blog post and all five of my readers would be wondering, "When the fuck is Grunion Guy (or Tess (or Jeff (or whoever the fuck this asshole is))) ever going to finish reading Scarab?" According to my Non-Certified Sister-in-law, nutritionists have to report people for suicidal ideation. She told this to me because she's a nutritionist and I said to her one night at karaoke that my current retirement plan was to do whatever the fuck I wanted until my bank account was dry and then kill myself. But she never reported me so I guess she doesn't realize that's actually my retirement plan. Speaking of karaoke, I knocked another song off of my karaoke bucket list this week: "Like China" by Phil Collins. I fucked that song so hard on stage, some woman high-fived me and some other guy came up to me and thanked me for reminding him that the song exists. He was super drunk. Super drunk guys love me at karaoke. One time this guy whose name I believe was Creepy Kevin asked me, after I'd just sung "Everybody Knows," if I was doing it in the style of Leonard Cohen or Concrete Blonde. I said Concrete Blonde and he said, "Your voice really suits it." Which is when I stabbed him in the throat and tossed him in the dumpster out back with the leftover spring rolls from the night before because how dare he insult Johnette Napolitano! She has the voice of an angel and I have the voice of the person the angel walks on so that they don't have to get their feet dirty at the angel orgy. I know nobody is reading this and thinking, "What the fuck are you talking about?! What has happened to Scarab this issue?! Has Eleanor found her way home?!" How many people even remember that this comic book ever existed?! I just read four issues of it a week and a half ago and I almost forgot it existed! This issue is called "Paradise Defiled" which I just read although maybe my subconscious read it earlier (due to the comic being opened to that page and just sitting there on the scanner) which is why I was thinking about angel orgies. This guy Jeff is somebody Louis knows. An old woman — maybe his mother? — phones Louis to ask if he's seen him. So that's how Scarab gets involved with Jeff's suicidal problem. Meanwhile, Eleanor is sprouting ecotoplasmic rivulets. It's super gross. But this issue isn't about Scarab and Eleanor! At least I don't think it is. It's about Jeff waking up from his pleasant and relaxing overdose to find himself in an afterlife torture garden sex party. He totally hates it and I understand why. The place is first described as "a literal incarnation of a littoral world" and I have to stop myself from Googling "home lobotomy." The first tortured sex victim he meets is a guy strapped to a wheel with a bunch of knives in him spouting "Vertigo phrases." I explained "Vertigo phrases" in a previous commentary (or all of my previous Vertigo commentaries maybe?) but for those who somehow just stumbled upon this commentary because "every blog post is somebody's first" (although why Scarab #5 would be somebody's first is beyond comprehension), here's a nice example of "Vertigo phrasing."

It doesn't have to mean anything. It just needs to sound weirdly profound while making the reader feel like a real fucking smarty pants.

Jeff is taken to some Herod-like angel named Lord Colouris. He's also a bit like a cross between John Lennon and Jabba the Hutt. Did I just describe David Crosby? Lord Colouris declares he's going to make a new man out of Jeff and I don't think he means it figuratively. In the middle of the Garden stands the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. It bears the fruit of truth and whispers as skulls pile up beneath it from those feeding on its devastating pronouncements. Also, I sort of agree with what it's saying here:

Ninety-eight percent of this blog is me screaming from the anguish of losing the bliss of nonexistence.

Not that I think I'm evil. Nor do I believe in souls. But that whole anguish over the loss of nonexistence? That hits me fucking hard, bro. Look, it even made me call you bro. I'm hurting here, dude. See? I said dude too! The rest of what the tree says is meaningless gobbledygook. Something about sex tearing the flanks of God and a snake jerking it into a pot of clay like my junior high school classmate Chris Huff beating off in a breadbox. Maybe it makes sense to guilt-ridden Catholics but it's all wasted on me. I'm just wondering if I should do a Google search on a snake ejaculating. I've done it before for bats and let me tell you: there's a great video of a bat at a zoo sucking itself off in front of some kids! Truly a work of art. So privileged to live in this modern age and able to experience such wonders of this world! Lord Colouris turns Jeff into a monstrosity because he's trying to reform the lost souls that wind up in the Garden of Pain into his image before he fell from Heaven. But he can't do it because everybody who enters the Garden is tainted by their boring and uncreative lives. To finally make a work of art equal to his previous state of being, Lord Colouris releases all of his Frankenstein monsters into the world to hunt down a truly innocent and beautiful person who can provide the raw material for Lord Colouris's sculpture. Jeff is now one of them. Being uncreative morons, the monsters raid nurseries all over New York. Idiots. How many babies does it take to create an angel? Probably like millions! Some of the monsters seek out Eleanor because her leaking bodily fluids smell succulent and, I guess, virginal? I don't know. Like I said, she's gross. I hope they take her. Instead of Eleanor, the monsters accidentally take Scarab back to the Garden where he's quickly defeated by Colouris with a tree grown up through his guts. Then Scarab, like a true super hero, remembers that he can't be defeated if he just summons one last burst of strength and hope to overcome his enemy! Which he totally does by biting Lord Colouris's tongue off (because Lord Colouris was doing naughty things to Scarab. So naughty that I was embarrassed to discuss them). Then he punches Colouris in the throat and he barfs up the keys to all of his monsters' souls. Plus the key to his own soul which Monster Jeff helps Scarab find. Scarab recognizes him and thinks, "Fuck. Okay, I guess I'll just have to tell Jeff's mother he's dead." Then Scarab sticks the key in Colouris's head and the Garden dissolves into an empty room with a ticking metronome. That probably makes really smart people go, "Holy fuck! That's fucking brilliant! What a great reference or theory or idea or intelligent bit of philosophical scat!" And, um, that's totally what I said too. I'm not one of those morons who don't understand Vertigo comic books. Pshaw! Can you even believe uncool losers like that exist?! Scarab #5 Rating: You know how many things I had to look up on the Internet while reading this comic book? At least two! Maybe more but even two is a lot! Remember, I first read this in 1993 when most people didn't have Internet (and those that did were spending their time in AOL and Prodigy chat rooms with names like "Horoscope Lovers" and "Remember The A-Team?!"). So that's two things I definitely didn't understand when I read it the first time because you can believe that I was too lazy to pick up a dictionary in the middle of reading a comic book. And that's even assuming that I'm the type of person to own a dictionary! Man, stop embarrassing yourself with your lousy assumptions!

#Scarab #Vertigo #DC Comics #DC #Scot Eaton #John Smith

[flamingo-queen-writes]

“21 Questions,” or “So You’ve Been Tagged, Huh? Better stay up till 1:50 a.m.”

@glitter-cake20 was so kind as to tag me in this, and well here goes. Note: It is not her fault that I have poor time management when it comes to circadian whatsits and taking care of the good old future self. 

Tagged by: @glitter-cake20, like I said above.

Nickname: FlamingoQueen, ‘Mingo

Zodiac sign: Scorpio on the cusp of Sagittarius 

Height: 5′1″ (technically, I’m only five feet and one half of an inch, but I round up and have done so since grade school when I learned about the magic of rounding: you have one number, and you can just ... make up another number that you like better as long as you’re halfway there already. Wow. The more you know.)

Team Edward or Team Jacob: Team Winchester. Those two losers in the question need to have a little run-in with the Supernatural boys.

Last thing I googled:  Oh boy. “Perm zoo Russia.” If you’d asked earlier today, the answer would have been “that’s one big avocado.” If you’d asked before that, it would have been “fear of deep ocean” in the images search because I have that fear and sometimes like to terrify myself for no good reason at all.

Favorite musicians: Ouch. This really depends on my mood. Today, I’d lean toward Leonard Cohen. And while “Hallelujah” is certainly nice, I’m talking “Now We Take Manhattan” and stuff.

Song stuck in head: “Birdhouse in your soul” They Might be Giants

Following: 52.

Followers: 6, according to Tumblr. 3, according to my estimation of who is actually a person. Hi, you guys.

Do you get asks: Very rarely, but I love them. I think I have gotten two. Maybe three. But probably two.

Amount of sleep: Not enough? Or too much? It’s always one or the other. Striking a balance is apparently something I will learn in the afterlife at the rate I’m going. I mean, look at me now. I have work in not enough hours from now but I am still going to spend waste this time making this post.

Lucky number: 17. Used to claim 13 because everyone else was leery of it so I figured all its luck was still available to be tapped. But really, about 10-15 years ago I decided that this was a juvenile theory and that 17 was much more my style. Imagine my utter delight when that turned out to be a trigger word in MCU canon. Oh my goodness. The joy. This makes me a bad person, I realize. Poor little girl with the brown curls. Poor Bucky.

What you’re wearing: Sleeveless top, jeans, plastic belt, assorted undergarments, sandals, band-aids because I cut my heels all to shit two days ago with shoes that are now blood-stained and you know, that serves them right for turning on me like that. The shoes, not my feet. My feet are innocent victims.

Dream job: Um, the job I have right now, honestly. In a fantasy world, I’d do my current job with my current company and my current coworkers. Fun fact: Ask me that 7 weeks ago and I would have said the exact same thing as above, except instead of “the job I have right now,” and so on, it would be “literally any job other than the job I have right now” (and so on) by which I mean I would probably have said that I’d be happier eating my way through a landfill than going in to work in the mornings, even though that could only be a lie because the landfill is always tastier on the other side. Or something. 

Dream trip: Iceland, then Finland, then no return ticket home. And not because a literal troll gets me up there. Just because I really like the (pictures of the) Nordic area in general and think (but do not know firsthand that) the scenery is amazing and all that. It might be worth freezing my ass off. This question says “dream” so I feel just fine with my answer despite the utter lack of tangible evidence in the form of actually enjoying cold weather. Which I don’t. At all. Except, well, I do love it when it’s cold, it’s just that cold is often also wet and I cannot stand winter precipitation. Probably the far north is not for me. But it’s a dream. I can dream.

Instrument: That I’m any good at in the slightest: Handbells, thumb piano, ocarina (but not that Legend of Zelda shit), piano-piano. That you will, I promise you, pay good money to have me not play for you: Flute, timpani, snare drum, base drum, triangle. That I totally rock and should by all rights be famous for, a real household name, I tell you: Fucking cowbell. Also, whatever those really tall chimes are called that you hit with a mallet and they are taller than I am ( see the above question about height).

Language: English, Old English (as in Beowulf, not the Canterbury Tales, though Middle English, also, I guess, so sure, throw in the Canterbury Tales, Chaucer, you old pervert), ASL, Latin, and remedial levels of French and Spanish. I can draw a damn fine hieroglyph, but I could not tell you what it said. And in an alternate dimension where I’m any good at it at all, I’m learning Russian. I have the books, anyway. That counts for something, even if my pronunciation is somewhere between 3 months and toddler who cannot yet speak clearly at all.

Favorite songs: Anything Deuter has ever produced. “Eet” “Apres Moi” “Machine” “The Genius Next Door” “Obsolete” “Roses in Winter” “All the Rowboats” “Human of the Year” and probably everything else Regina Spektor has done. Most of what Queen has done. I could go on, but I’m saving the real rambles for the last questions on this list, you lucky, patient few. Mostly, though, I listen to soundtracks and loops of nature sounds. Not so much the waves, but 24/7 birdsong doesn’t sound bad at all.

Random fact: Crest brand toothpaste of any flavor makes me gag every time I have to use it, but I still can’t remember to bring my own toothpaste with me whenever I visit my parents. So I have to use the little sample tubes of toothpaste my dentist gives me twice a year that I just chucked in a drawer at my parents’ house two years ago and forgot about and it’s probably out of code, but that’s not why it makes me puke because it always did that, even when it was totally fresh, and that’s why I chucked them in the drawer in the first place. And therefore, I throw up a little in my mouth every single weekend while my parents continue to deteriorate. I can remember to buy them fresh food every weekend, but I apparently cannot remember to bring myself or buy myself toothpaste that doesn’t make me vomit. This is turning really morbid really fast. What a shit show. Dear three followers, I am so sorry.

Aesthetic: I’m a fan of aesthetics. I don’t think I have one of my own, though. 

I suspect I am some flavor of basic despite despising coffee of all sorts and having never owned or even worn a pair of fashionable knee-high boots, and despite not thinking a single positive thing about pumpkin pie or the spice thereof. I also do not know for sure what a Gilmore Girl is.

But I am also the sarcastic deadpan gallows-humor snarker in the corner, silently judging the shit out of everyone, including myself, while looking like I would prefer to be elsewhere and generally trying to slip out of the room and go home before anyone notices I’ve gone off somewhere. 

But also, I bake. And I knit. And I go hiking and paddleboarding. And I grew up on a farm with 37 barn cats, and some pigs, and some emus, and lots of goats, and a really fucking annoying peacock, among other creatures large and small. And I watch nature documentaries almost exclusively when I watch anything at all that isn’t a Marvel movie or a documentary about [insert natural or human-prompted disaster of some sort here] or a British comedy of some sort. 

And I volunteer to put up balloons for events I don’t care about so that other people can have a bright happy experience that I will enjoy observing from my dark corner with my homemade banana bread while pulling my handknit shawl snug over my shoulders and thinking sad thoughts about that one starfish in the arctic that got stabbed by that super-cold saltwater spear in Blue Planet, or the poor pretzel eel that dived too far down into the brine and got poisoned in the Gulf Coast in that other episode of what was probably also Blue Planet, or the oh-so-pretty way that baobab flower opens in some other-other episode of something Attenborough was narrating, which could be anything, really, because his damn fine soothing voice is every-fucking-where and I do not mind in the slightest but which is probably also-also Blue Planet. 

In short: I dunno. Little of everything? My aesthetic: Indecisive chaos with a side of self-deprecating rambling. You are welcome.

I tag: I guess anyone who wants to play?

#I think this is a meme #tagged by people #a number of questions that i have not counted but the title in the post i was tagged in said 21 and i've just kind of gone with it #why is it 2 am on a worknight #my future self loathes me i am sure #this is what i get for checking my email late at night before bed #sorry future self but also not sorry future self #dear future self: your past self is a bastard #I should not post this

[concussed-to-pieces]

Fixation; Part One

Fandom: WWE/NXT/FCW

Pairing: Jon Moxley/Leakee

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: A little MoxLea for my birthday! It's a bit of a departure from my usual thirsty fare, but I hope it's still enjoyable all the same. There will be another part to this story as well, it was just getting a bit unwieldy so I decided to make it into two pieces. Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and of course, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

[This takes place in an odd timeline where FCW is just becoming NXT but a few folks are here that wouldn't have been around for FCW, just as a heads-up!]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains an allusion to D/s play not going according to plan and a brief, vivid description of a mental fray/breakdown. Stay safe!]

It wasn’t as if he had never dealt with something like this before.

Leakee bent down to tie his sneaker and when he straightened back up, he realized he was being watched. Blue eyes were focused on him, a pink tongue darting out to absently lick at already-chapped lips.

Leakee expected the other man to look away once he was caught staring, but on the contrary. He seemed to observe even more brazenly now that he knew Leakee was on to him. The dark-haired young man finally huffed in annoyed confusion and put in his earbuds, doing his best to dismiss the creeping sensation of being watched.

He was used to it to an extent, of course. He hadn’t gotten to his impressive size without drawing some attention (mostly from cousins who outdid him by a good hundred pounds or so). It just always made him feel off-balance, like he was a zoo attraction. Less than human, but smarter than a few of the other animals behind bars.  

Leakee could still feel those eyes on him as he went through his warm-ups. “Can I help you, man?” He asked abruptly, more than irritated at this point.

He didn’t expect to be met with a shit-eating grin. “Depends. Is there a cell phone number attached to the rest of you?”

Leakee almost snorted with laughter, barely reining it in. “Definitely not.”

“Can’t blame a guy for tryin’, right? The name’s Moxley. Jon Moxley.” Jon didn’t extend a hand or anything like that, obviously not one for regular pleasantries.

“I’m Leakee.”

“Leah Key?”

“All one word. Le-ah-kee.” Leakee corrected. “You don’t need to know my last name.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?” He asked curiously.

“Mostly because I said so.” Leakee grunted. “But also because it’s not important.”

“Huh. Okay then. Lee-ah…Leakee. Shit, the little hitch is what gets me. I’ll figure it out.” Jon promised, curling his lip with a determined look.

…

There apparently was never a man more eager to get his ass kicked than Jon Moxley. Leakee understood to a degree, but Moxley’s penchant for showing up to promo attempts with his mouth busted was a thing of odd regularity. It added a touch of sincerity, Leakee thought privately. Jon could easily come off as simply abrasive or cocky without his lip a little split, his face a little bruised.

It was hard to watch sometimes, when his scabs would inevitably crack during his ranting and blood trickled to blot into his stubble (Leakee never could manage to look away, though).

Jonathan Moxley was, frankly, a mess, raised wrong, trained too hard and put away wet. The light-haired man made no bones about his life and career before this endeavor. Not that it would have mattered, a quick Google search outed him easily.

Leakee knew he should ignore him. Tolerate him at best. Definitely shouldn’t hand him a paper towel for his mouth after his promo was done. Shouldn’t smile at the way Jon still was trying to say his name right, the thinner man finally resorting to tacking the hitch in wherever he pleased or calling Leakee ‘Leeloo’.

Leakee wasn’t here to make friends. Leakee was here to make professional business acquaintances that would help him achieve his goals in the long run. As long as none of his ‘classmates’ dug too deeply into his background or tried to get too chummy, he would be fine.

Jon wasn’t even really friendly to him, that was the thing. No more than he was to anyone else. But he didn’t visibly dislike Leakee, at least not as much as he disliked Seth. Jon would snap his teeth at Rollins constantly if the two of them were in the same room. Whether it was an attempt to get into his head or into his pants was a line of reasoning Leakee didn’t devote much thought to.

Moxley would tap fists with Leakee whenever they had a training session together, and Leakee noticed with confusion that Jon only extended him that courtesy. Everyone else got a noncommittal grunt or blank stare, the line between character and reality thinner than most. Jon cultivated an image of haphazard disregard, always in motion, putting in a hundred and ten percent whether he was running heel or face moves.

“Get up!” He would yell regardless of his role, “C’mon, fight me! Is that all you’ve got? Fight me!”

Rollins had lost his temper and belted him hard in the mouth during one such session, storming off furiously when he was told to hit the showers. Jon sat in the middle of the ring, holding his jaw gingerly.

Leakee wiped his feet and climbed between the ropes, his heart in his throat as he stretched out a hand to the other man. “You okay?” He asked brusquely.

Moxley watched him with narrowed eyes, like he was expecting something. Leakee didn’t miss the way Mox’s free hand jerked up slightly when he stepped closer. “M’ fine.” Moxley replied sullenly after a minute, waving off Leakee’s help as he stood.

“Why do you do that, man?” Leakee couldn’t help asking.

“I need it.” Was Jon’s short, unsatisfying answer. The light-haired man squared his shoulders and brought his fists up. “C’mon, your turn. I’m good to go.”

“Yeah?” Leakee moved like he was about to lunge forward and Jon retreated so quickly he fell onto his back, obviously startled. His hands came up even higher, shielding his face from blows that weren’t coming. “Good to go, huh?” Leakee couldn’t resist needling, grabbing one of Mox’s hands and prying it away from his face so he could pull him back to his feet. “Take five, get your head straight.”

“Fuck you Leakee, you don’t-” Jon began angrily, flinching again when Leakee draped an arm around his shoulders. “What the hell are you doin’?”

“You’re gonna’ come with me, we’re gonna’ take a seat on the bench.” Leakee said calmly, “free up the ring.”

“Like hell we are, get--let me go!” Jon snapped, shoving at Leakee’s side as the larger man essentially strong-armed him over to sit down on one of the benches. “What the fuck is your problem, Lea, fuck’s sake, I got work to do-”

“Don’t we all, man. Settle down.” Leakee grunted. “I need you to explain this shit to me.” Moxley froze and Leakee pressed his advantage, “You and this whole…goading thing. What’s up with it?”

“Look, I can’t really--you wouldn’t get it.” Jon muttered sullenly. “It’s hard to feel real when you’re like me, when you’re running through fakey moves. It’s harder to do your best if you’re so used to...man, Leeloo, what does it fuckin’ matter?” He asked abruptly, his fingers in Leakee’s hair.

Leakee knew Mox was just trying to distract him, to deflect him like he’d probably done a thousand times before. Didn’t stop the shudder from tripping down his spine because people did not touch his hair. “It matters because it’s disruptive, Moxley.” Leakee did his best to sound stern. “You’re more focused on getting a reaction out of guys like Seth instead of focusing on your footwork or chops. Y’know, the reason you’re practicing in the first place?”

“Leakee, have you ever been in a real fight?” Moxley’s fingers stilled in his hair. “I mean a real, ‘you-or-the-other-guy’ style fight.”

“No.” Leakee responded curtly.

“Well I have, motherfucker.” Jon removed his hand, a quick, violent jerk that made the larger man start. “Time and again. This fake shit is easier on my body, yeah, but it doesn’t exactly instill a sense of urgency, y’ feel me?”

“That’s irrelevant.” Leakee grumbled. “Figure out another method of getting your work done, Mox. Nobody is gonna’ hire you to work in their promotion if you’re a belligerent, antagonistic fuckwad.”

“Harsh, Leelee.” Moxley chuckled. “You sayin’ my charming personality outside the ring doesn’t make up for that?”

“Fuck no.” Leakee found himself cracking a grin without meaning to, and he knocked his forehead into Jon’s. “Think on it. I know change doesn’t happen overnight.”

Mox refused to meet his eyes, pulling away after a second or two. “Yeah.”

…

Moxley showed up the next day with a black eye. He looked worse than usual and Leakee made sure to mention it, getting nothing but an irritated grunt in reply. That was the most he, hell, everyone got out of Jon all day. Noises, a head nod. Thumbs-up or down.

Leakee caught up with him after the day’s classes, the slender man propped up against the building and enjoying his solitary cigarette. “Mox?” Leakee addressed him cautiously. Jon exhaled heavily and rolled his head to look at Leakee. His eye looked terrible, still swollen half-shut. “What happened?”

Mox cleared his throat, taking another drag off his cigarette. He paused, then offered the cigarette to Leakee, who declined as always. “I asked for it.” Moxley rasped. His voice normally walked the line between ‘almost okay’ and ‘beginning stages of laryngitis’, but today it ventured into ‘therapeutic screaming session’ levels of gritty.

Leakee winced. “You want a cough drop or something?”

“Ha ha, fuck you.” Jon replied half-heartedly, crushing his cigarette beneath his boot. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure, uce? The mouth is one thing, but you’ve never come in with a busted-up eye before.” Maybe this was tipping his hand a little too much. It’s not as if Jon needed to know that Leakee paid attention to his mouth on the regular.

“What, you worried Leeloo?” Moxley teased with a gravelly little chuckle. “Don’t be. I ain’t goin’ to that guy anymore. Too handsy. You wouldn’t believe the amount of guys that wanna’ feel you up after they’ve kicked your ass.” He said as he shrugged, like he was talking about something totally normal.

Leakee abruptly realized breathing was difficult.

“Like, I figured I’d finally gotten the perfect gig. Guy was clean, he’d even wear gloves while he busted my mouth open. Great guy. Last night he just…he went a little further than I expected.” Jon was staring at his boots, scuffing the ground over and over. “I normally don’t lose my cool.”

“Mox, did-”

“Calm down, he didn’t get my pants off if that’s what you’re gonna’ ask.” Moxley scoffed. “Not for lack of tryin’, but he shoulda’ checked his knots before he decided on that shitty course of action.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that.” He had absolutely been about to ask that. “I was going to ask if you killed the guy.” Leakee swallowed hard when Mox gave a ragged bark of laughter.

“You’d believe me if I said I did! That’s why I like you, Lake.” Jon grinned. “No bullshit.”

“I wish you’d stop turning my name into a crime scene.” Leakee commented dryly. “I’m Lake now?”

“Lay-uhh-kee. Better?”

“I dunno’, how do you feel about being called Juh-awn-uh?” Leakee mocked, receiving a set of knuckles grazing the side of his head in response. “Could call you Mucks if you’d prefer.”

“I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you, Leeloo.”

“Yeah, reclaim those four to six words.”

…

Despite his proclamation that he would be alright, Jon only seemed to get worse as his face healed. He would scratch at his neck and bite his lower lip until it was bruised from the pressure. He picked at shaving nicks until they bled and Leakee knew he wasn’t imagining the relief in Mox’s eyes when Seth swung at him again. Without provocation this time, but Rollins had never been that even-tempered.

Mox didn’t fight back and that just seemed to piss Seth off even more. Leakee felt guilty for allowing him to get a few extra shots in before dragging him off of Jon and sending him packing.

I need this.

Jon seemed almost giddy, running his fingers over the torn skin of his bottom lip and grinning so hard he ended up pulling the split even wider. He rolled to his feet and all but threw himself at Rose (or Kruger or whatever he was calling himself now), laughing hysterically.

Adam floundered under the assault, his hands flailing wildly as Mox caught him in a tight headlock and then began cranking his head to the side. The whole time Jon was laughing that crazed laugh, the noise screeching across Leakee’s senses. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

Leakee shouted Bo’s name and then gestured at Adam, the younger man nodding in understanding after a second or two. Leakee got back into the ring and worked on prying Jon’s arm off of Rose’s neck. “Moxley.” He grunted, trying his best to keep his voice calm. “You need to let Adam go.”

Jon’s raw laughter petered out into snickering, tears starting to make their way down his face. “O-Okay.” He hiccupped, his grip sluggishly loosening. “Okay.”

“That’s it, nice and easy.” Leakee murmured, easing Rose out from beneath Jon’s arm. Dallas hauled Rose to his feet and scooted him back out of the ring, out of harm’s way.

Jon was sniffling at this point, struggling with Leakee when the dark-haired man held him tightly. “Lea-”

“Quiet.” Leakee said sternly, and he felt Jon go limp in his arms. Then a little gentler, “Quiet. I’m sure Dream is gonna’ want to talk to you. Pull yourself together, Jon.”

Moxley’s fingers dug into his back hard, the light-haired man clinging to him. “Fuck, Leakee, no. I was s’posed t’ be okay.” He blubbered, burying his face in Leakee’s shirt. “I was s’posed t’ be okay…”

...

Jon emerged from the meeting with Dream subdued, a neon yellow Band-Aid slapped on his chin. Leakee had faith that Dusty, Regal or a combination of the two had managed to talk some sense into his thick skull, so he didn’t bother trying to find Mox before he left.

But Moxley didn’t show up the next day. Or the day after that.

Concern hounded Leakee until he sought out Dusty, doing his best to be respectful while he essentially demanded to know what The Dream had said to the other man. “That’s between me and him, Baby Reigns.” Dusty answered calmly over a mountain of paperwork and barbecue sauce-stained napkins. “I told Gingersnap to work on himself, and not to come back until he could promise me no more slip-ups.”

Leakee's fists clenched at his sides. “Mr. Rhodes, what if he doesn’t come back?”

“Then I guess this wasn’t the field for him.” Dusty shrugged. “Hard work and discipline. It’ll be a shame if he doesn’t come back, I know I’ll be disappointed. He’s fun to watch, great on the mic. But he can’t stick around if he’s gonna’ fly off the handle.” Dream waved a hand dismissively. “Plus he’s got a real penchant for gettin’ punched in the mouth.”

“He said…” Leakee hesitated, unsure if this was crossing a confidentiality line. “He said he needed it, because of the other stuff he’s done.”

“’Needed it’, huh?” Dusty leaned back in his seat and fixed Leakee with a Look over his glasses. “What kind of man needs to get punched?”

“He basically said it motivated him, because when…when he got busted open, it was real.” Leakee watched Dusty rub at his scarred forehead and wondered privately whether The Dream had said anything else to Moxley.

Dusty sighed heavily after a minute. “You know where he lives, sweet Baby Reigns?”

“No sir.”

Dusty appeared surprised. “Well, seein’ as you’re the first person to inquire after him, I figured you two were close.”

“Not close enough to know his address, Mr. Rhodes.”

“Alright, gimme’ a minute.” The old desktop computer wheezed to life, Dream hen-pecking at the keys until he located the information he sought. Leakee just stood awkwardly in the doorway, listening to Dream mutter under his breath. Then, “Ah, bingo. You got a phone on you, Baby Reigns?”

Leakee ground his teeth at being called Baby Reigns, nodding curtly and taking down the address Dusty read off to him.

“I’ll cover for you today, understand?” Dream said abruptly. “You go get Moxie. Phone call isn’t personal enough.”

“Moxley.” Leakee corrected out of habit.

“He’s got Moxie, Baby Reigns. Don’t sass your elders.” The Dream scolded, pulling his glasses up so they rested on top of his head. “Look.” He continued after a moment. “I ain’t always been the sweet old grandpa figure, Baby Reigns. If I’d known the info you just shared with me, I probably would have said a few things different to that boy.”

“I told him he needed to figure something else out.”

“Well well, locker room leader.” Dream leaned back in his chair, giving Leakee an appraising look. “Jon told me he started the fight with Rollins.”

“The most recent time? No, Tyler--Seth was just having a bad day and slugged him in the teeth. Mox didn’t even fight back.” Leakee remembered Jon’s wild-eyed expression vividly, his unhinged laughter as he wrapped his arm around Rose’s neck like a python. “After Seth hit him it was like a switch flipped, like the dam broke.”

“He was trying to deal with it himself.” Dusty realized. “He’s been so damn twitchy, I saw him picking at his face.”

“He needed it.” Leakee’s heart sank. “It had been a week. Longer than that.”

“Go get him.” The Dream’s tone brooked no argument, not that Leakee would have argued. He was already halfway out the door.

…

Jon wasn’t home, but his roommate sure as hell was. Leakee could see why they had taken up together, he snapped and growled like a wild animal. “The hell are you? The fuck do you want?” The young man asked through the gap in the door, baring his teeth.

“Leakee.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I’m looking for Jonathan Moxley.”

The guy’s face softened the barest bit. “Who sent you?”

“The American goddamn Dream.” Leakee answered wryly. “Is he here or not?”

“Mox didn’t come in last night.” The guy confessed. The door closed briefly, then reopened without the chain on. “He ain’t gone to class?”

“Would I be here if he was at FCW?”

“Alright listen cockmunch, don’t get rude with me.”  The guy bristled. “Name’s Callihan. You an’ Mox buddies or somethin’?”

“Classmates.”

“So fuckbuddies…?”

“Class. Mates.” Leakee snarled, inches from grabbing Callihan around the neck and shaking Jon’s location out of him. “Do you know where he is or not?”

“I may.” Callihan leaned casually against the doorjamb.

“Well?!” Leakee asked impatiently. “Where?”

Callihan raised a finger to point over Leakee’s shoulder right as someone’s hand came down on it like a sack of bricks. Leakee whirled around, his fist already cocked back. “Wait! Wait, Jesus fuckin’ Christ Leakee, don’t kick my ass.” Jon pleaded, flinching away. His knuckles were bloodied and his face looked like he’d taken a good old-fashioned pummeling.

“Jon.” Leakee had never been simultaneously relieved and horrified in his life. “What the hell happened?”

“I see you’ve met Sami.” Mox said instead of answering the question, slipping past the two men to get into his apartment.

Leakee stormed after him, daring Callihan with his eyes to try and do something about it. “Jon, what the fuck?”

“Dream told me if I couldn’t keep it together I couldn’t come back. Well obviously I can’t keep it together.” Mox licked his bleeding knuckles, only harassing the broken skin further. “I could have really hurt Rose, man.”

“Jonathan Moxley-”

“Oo.” Callihan breathed from the doorway, snickering, “You’re in trouble now, man.”

Leakee shot him another look and Sami quickly shut his mouth. “Mox, Dream wants you to come back. He didn’t know, okay? Why did you lie to him about who started the fight?”

“Why the hell would I tell him it was Rollins?” Jon asked, grimacing in pain as he put a bag of frozen french fries against his swollen cheek. “Seth’s the future, man. I’m not anything special like him. I’m not gonna’ get him in trouble.”

“Dream wants you to come back.” Leakee repeated.

“Rollins didn’t make me try to pop Rose’s head off.” Jon said sullenly. “That was all me, man.”

“Dream says you’re great on the mic.”

That got Mox’s attention, the eye that wasn’t swollen shut widening in disbelief. “He…really?”

“He said you were fun to watch.”

“Oh damn.” Moxley sat down in a kitchen chair that looked like it was held together with duct tape, putting his head into his hands. “Dream, fuck.”

“Jon, if you come talk with him-”

“I want to. Lea, this is all I ever wanted to do with my life.” Jon interrupted him despondently. “I just…he told me to get lost until I could figure myself out.”

“I think he might have said something different if he knew it wasn’t your fault.” Leakee cautiously moved forward, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Come back with me, uce.”

“This is so fuckin’ touching I think I might puke.” Callihan huffed, making a retching noise. “Dammit Mox, just go.”

Moxley dug around in his pocket and fished out a crumpled mess of dollar bills. “I want food. You want food? Order somethin’.” He said, shoving the wad into Sami’s grasp. “There’s at least four hundred bucks. Takeout and rent.”

“Four--Christ, Mox.” Callihan sounded almost distraught. Almost.

“Hey, my face didn’t get this pretty from losing, man.” Jon grunted, chuckling when Callihan flicked the side of his head. “What do you want, Lea? I know a place that makes fuckin’ great egg rolls.”

…

Dream actually asked Leakee to be present during he and Moxley's meeting, something that Leakee really could have done without. Jon was reduced to a stammering, shaky mess under the penetrating gaze of Dusty, his hands twisting nervously in his lap. It was almost painful to watch him essentially cower in the chair in front of Dream’s desk.

Plus, Leakee really wasn’t a locker room leader. He sure as hell didn’t want to be, at any rate. He had to keep reminding himself that this had nothing to do with him.

“Leakee told me you weren’t at fault for the fight. Why didn’t you say anything, Jon?”

Moxley covered his battered face, mumbling through his fingers, “I been in the business a while, Mr. Rhodes. I know when someone’s being groomed, y’know?” He sighed. “I didn’t wanna’ ruin his chances. Seth’s a great athlete.”

“That doesn’t mean anything if he’s going to lash out at folks because he’s had a bad day.” Dusty said pointedly. “I want to help you though, Gingersnap. What can we do to help you?”

“I’ll be okay. I…I don’t…” Mox paused. “I-I guess what it comes down to is I was so used to everythin’ bein’ for real that…that I really didn’t know how to do shit any other way. S’why I’m so mouthy. Piss a guy off, he loses his cool and gets less methodical, makes mistakes, you live longer. There’s no application for it in this, but it’s a habit.”

“This is good information to have, Snap.” Dream wrote something down on the notepad by his elbow. “I want you all to be the best you can be, do the best you can do, understand?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Dusty sir.” Jon bit his lip.

“Leakee, big guy, do me a favor will you?” Dream asked him, making Leakee straighten up from his spot next to the door.

“What do you need?”

“Keep an eye out.” Was all Dusty said in reply, giving the young man a wink that was so obvious it made Mox snort.

An eye out for what? Leakee wondered later on while he sparred with Husky. Or Bray, or whatever he had decided his name was this week. I’m not a locker room leader, Jesus Christ Rhodes.

Bo whooped and hollered excitedly from the practice ring across the way, having finally mastered a top rope move…more or less. Bray took a second to chuckle at his brother’s enthusiasm. “You ever seen a happier boy, Reigns?” Bray asked conversationally.

“It’s Leakee.” He looked around, hoping that no one else had heard Bray say that. Bray and Bo, being third generation, occasionally took liberties that made Leakee grind his teeth in annoyance.

Husky just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll get used to the family name someday, Lea.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” Leakee retorted, his mood thoroughly soured. “Look at the opportunities you and Bo have, making your own characters as you go. Some of us aren’t so fortunate.” He tensed his arm on reflex, drawing attention to his tattooed shoulder.

“True enough, as always.” Husky’s eyes narrowed, and he gestured behind Leakee. “That boy, that Moxley fella’. What’s he up to?”

Leakee looked where Bray was pointing, noting with confusion that Jon was just standing in the middle of a practice ring, Rollins across from him with his hands on his hips. Leakee couldn’t hear what was being said, but Seth didn’t look too pissed off about it. He shrugged, turning back to Bray. “Maybe they’re figuring it out.”

“An’ maybe I’ll be World Heavyweight Champion someday.” Bray snickered.

“Look Son of Schyster, anything is possible in this business.”

…

“Rollins ain’t so bad.” Jon said grudgingly as he savored his cigarette.

Leakee glanced up at him from his spot slouched on the ground. “Yeah? What changed your mind? Because before all you seemed to want was for him to bone you or punch your teeth down your throat.”

“Lea’k, I’m shocked at your vulgarities.”

Leakee grinned. “The hell you are, Mox.”

“Alright, maybe not shocked but…I mean hell, Lea, I can be wrong sometimes. First time I met Rollins I used the phone number line on him and he flipped.” Jon sniffled carefully, probably trying to keep his bruised nose in one piece. “I was just tryin’ to be funny. Break the ice. I ain’t good with people.”

“He thought you were serious?”

“Yeah.” Jon mumbled. “Like, he thought I was outing him in front of everyone.”

Leakee grunted, stretching his legs and getting to his feet. “Guess that’ll do it.”

“I explained it better today, I think. I hope. He showed me a picture of his dog, so I’m pretty sure we’re square. Also apologized to Rose.” Mox seesawed his hand. “We’ll see.” He gave Leakee a curious look. “Hey, why’d you come to get me?”

“Orders from The Dream aren’t exactly something you can ignore easily.” Leakee noticed with confusion that Mox looked a little crestfallen. It’s true though, Dream told me to grab him, he reasoned with himself. Moxley had clearly been expecting a different answer. “I…I asked what he’d said to you and that got his whole process rolling.”

“You asked about me?” Ah, that was apparently what Jon was looking for, the light-haired man perking up slightly. “Were you…like, worried about me? Kinda’?”

“You gave everyone a pretty good scare the other day.” Leakee hedged, for some reason unwilling to outright answer Jon’s question.

“Scared the shit out of me, too.” Mox admitted. “I thought I was doin’ okay. Not great or nothin’, but I didn’t expect any miracles. Then he popped me in the mouth and my brain just...turned off.”

“It was the stimulus you’d been waiting for.”

“Sounds better when you say it.” Mox shrugged. “When I try to explain it I sound like a fuckin’ lunatic.” He stretched his arms over his head, yawning widely. “I’d say this has been more than enough excitement for one day. I’ll see you around, Lea.”  

Leakee's walk home seemed shorter than usual, his mind in a thousand different places. He ended up leaning on the sun-bleached railing of his apartment’s tiny deck, staring aimlessly at the traffic on the street below. His stomach rumbled in the background, reminding him that he had just been through yet another grueling day of training and that he should probably eat something, seeing as how he hadn’t had anything since the impromptu brunch of egg rolls (though Jon hadn’t been fibbing, they were great).

His apartment felt too quiet. Leakee tried his damnedest to ignore the sensation, putting in his earbuds to fill the silence. He needed to get to the laundromat at some point urgently, needed to vacuum. With a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to taking a half-day tomorrow. He doubted his father would be thrilled with the notion of his son showing up to practice wearing the same stained tank top three days in a row.

“You’re representing the whole family, Lea, I expect professionalism.”

Maybe he should wear his sports jacket. That was clean, he wasn’t sure if he’d even taken the tags off of it. He had a dress shirt and a severely-ironed pair of khaki pants as well, not exactly ring attire but for promos…

It just might work. Buy him some time on the laundry level, seeing as he was essentially out of clean clothes as of this morning. A pair of too-small boxer briefs was the sole resident of his underwear drawer at this point. Since Leakee wasn’t sticking around for the physical training, that would probably be fine.

The outfit wouldn’t work in terms of his main character, per se, but Dream and Bloom were all about experimentation, dimensions. Regal was less onboard with that aspect, but then again he had the benefit of an accent that wasn’t a drawl. Leakee still wasn’t sure what his character even was. He had some heavy-handed tribal influences but Dusty encouraged him to expand, to broaden his repertoire.

“You don’t need to be Wild Samoan three point oh, y’know.” The older man had said pointedly. “You can be whoever you want, Baby Reigns.”

Still going to be Baby Reigns though, Leakee thought with an irritated snort. You can dress me up but you can’t take me out. He got up from the table, raking a hand through his hair and heading for his closet. Might as well make sure that everything was pressed if he was going to dress up.

…

Leakee wouldn't lie and say that he was comfortable. But he did at least feel like he was giving off a different vibe, so that was pretty interesting. Sasha shot him a quick “looking good, Lea!” in the hallway, which made him grin to himself and straighten his lapels. He had opted to go sans tie, keep it casual. He still buttoned his sleeves before heading into the classroom, which took him a good five minutes because of how tiny the buttons were.

When he opened the door though, his heart sank. Because a very familiar figure was chatting with Dusty, the two men turning at the sound of the door opening. Dream gave a wolf whistle, beckoning Leakee over. “Look at you in these duds, hot shot!” He said appreciatively, “Talk about branchin’ out, eh Big Reigns?”

Sika nodded, giving his son their customary handshake. “What’s the occasion, Leakee?” He asked curiously.

“Laundry day.” Leakee could feel the entire class staring at him as his father laughed. They were probably all wondering why Sika knew his name.

Dusty chuckled and patted Leakee’s shoulder, gesturing to his empty seat. “Go on and sit down, we were just about to get started.”

The door banged open loudly behind Leakee and he heard a breathless “shit”.

“Snap, on time today! Great stuff.” Dusty praised. Leakee closed his eyes, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. If Jon so much as tried to make an off-color comment or tease him, his father would absolutely murder-

A hand grabbed his arm and tugged him to turn slightly. “Leakee, whoa! You’re always a pro but you mighta’ outdone yourself today.” Moxley said, his eyes wide in what Leakee could swear was genuine wonder. “A new character idea?”

“Laundry day.”

“I think the whole roster needs more laundry days, wow.”

Leakee narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Mox was being strange, which didn’t bode well for anyone. He was staring and his hand hadn’t left Leakee’s arm. Teeth worried the pink skin of his busted lip and was it always this hot in here…?

“Alright, let’s kick off. Settle into your seats. Mox, you’re up. I know your face is a little tender, so when you need a break…” Dusty trailed off when Jon shook his head quickly, stepping back from Leakee.

“It helps.” Mox admitted, giving Dusty and Sika an embarrassed shrug. “S’ an honor, Mr. Reigns.” Leakee felt a little queasy at the shyness in Mox’s voice.

“Just pretend I’m not here, alright son?” Sika urged, and Leakee saw that almost-imperceptible shift in Jon’s posture.

Street dog.

Jon always paced as he spoke, but today he was practically stalking back and forth between Dream's desk and the door. “I know that I shouldn’t be worried about anyone who thinks they’re better than me.” Jon slammed his hands down on Charlotte’s desk as he started, making her squeak out an amused giggle. Not much could unsettle Flair. “Ain’t no one better than me, that’s a fact. Failure is a temporary condition for Jonathan Moxley.” He snarled, looking over Charlotte's head to stare down the rest of the class.

Leakee saw Mojo shift nervously in his seat out of the corner of his eye. Mox seemed to hone in on the motion, sliding off Charlotte’s desk to saunter down the rows.

“Nobody will outdo me.” Jon whipped around to face Leakee, a fist landing on his table. “Nobody, understand?” Blue eyes snapping even in the fluorescent lighting of the room, that nervous lick of the lips so close to his face and…

And Leakee wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “Respect is earned.” He retorted, getting up from his seat and arrogantly straightening out his jacket. Jon took a step back, a cocky smile dimpling his cheeks. “Discipline and dedication, not empty posturing.” This was a far cry from his usual attempts, where Leakee would ramble about honor and fill in his silence with grand gestures. Now he smirked, brimming with an oddly heady confidence from his formal clothes, his demeanor utterly foreign.

Something different.

“Ain’t no man alive that I respect.” Mox spat, and Leakee believed every word. “Ain’t no man alive that can humble me, ain’t no man alive that can break me.” His smile was mirthless.

“No one’s ever earned your respect, sure, but I bet you’ve never earned the respect of anyone else either.” Leakee shot back with dizzying speed. “Mox’s loyalty can’t be bought or sold, we get it.” Moxley was momentarily speechless and Leakee worried he had gone too far, the other man full-on glaring at him. “You’re all talk and teeth, Moxley, always have been!” Leakee continued, trying to jar a response out of him so Dusty didn’t notice him falter.

“I’ll show you teeth, big man.” Moxley snapped his jaw shut hard enough to clack his teeth together audibly. Leakee fought back a flush. “You ever had your face broken?”

“If you managed to lay a hand on me in the ring, I’d be downright impressed.” Leakee sneered with a vitriol that was entirely unfamiliar. Moxley was regarding him warily, and well he should be. This was something new, something Leakee was trying on in (admittedly) the most ham-fisted way. He had never devoted much thought to a character like this, someone who ‘knew’ they were better due to their pedigree. Regal meets Hunter Hearst, condescending, sarcastic. Leakee advanced on Mox, forcing him to yield a step. “My bloodline speaks for me, not that it needs to. But it certainly saves time when it comes to weeding out people like you.” Leakee flicked his wrist and re-buttoned his sleeve carefully. “You’re not worth my time or my respect.”

Mox loudly exhaled a breath through his teeth. “I know.” He said finally. Before Leakee could reply, Moxley held up his fists. “That’s why I’m gonna’ beat it out of you!” He continued eagerly, his eyes lit up with what Leakee could only assume was excitement. “I'll take your respect from your cold, dead hands, and I'm gonna' love every second of it!”

He was taken aback at the glee in Mox's tone, almost missing his cue for the usual ending statement. “By all means,” Leakee inclined his head haughtily. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Moxley was still staring at him with that excited expression, as though he was seeing Leakee for the first time. Dusty finally whistled long and low. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Leakee asked hurriedly, already worried that he might have upset his father. Sika looked thoughtful.

“If I’d known you could fire back like that I’d have paired you up with Gingersnap sooner!” The Dream was obviously thrilled. “That was fun, wasn’t it? Damn, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife! Scrappy underdog and purebred fighter, crowds eat up that dynamic somethin' fierce. I’d swear you boys practiced beforehand, I ain't never seen you that quick Leakee!”

“It helps that Lea earned my respect ages ago.” Moxley replied easily. Leakee knew that gaping at Jon was not a productive thing to do, but he couldn't exactly stop it. “Definitely hang onto this character, man. The well-bred thing was working like a charm, I almost-”

“Thoroughbred.” Leakee interrupted, flushing a little.

“I like it!” Dusty announced. “What do you think, Big Reigns?”

Sika's smile was small but still genuine. “We'll have to see where it goes. I thought it was...interesting to watch.” He allowed.

Leakee exhaled a breath he didn't remember holding.

…

“You and me, we gotta' talk.” Jon grunted, grabbing Leakee's arm and dragging him off to the side of the hallway so everyone else could get around them. “What the hell was that?” The light-haired man asked when the area was finally deserted. “Shit Lea, you trying to kill me?”

Leakee floundered to answer, not really sure what he was being asked. “I don't...understand.”

“You, Jesus Christ. You've been practicing, you memorize some notes or somethin'? Also yeah, why didn't you ever tell me that your dad is Sika?” Moxley was pacing again. “You ain't never rattled off anythin' like that before, you showin' off for your pops?”

“No, I improvised. I felt like you were issuing a challenge.”

“I was, but damn. A warning before you start getting high and mighty on me would be cool, you're gonna' give me a heart attack. You look the part, and back there you sounded the part. I...” Mox swallowed hard, as though he was debating something. “Got me a little interested, I ain't gonna' lie.”

“Interested?” Leakee's voice cracked, making Jon grin. “What, because I'm a Reigns? Because I'm Sika's kid?” Leakee continued bitterly, hating himself for the way Mox's smile faded. This was why he went by his first name, because people always treated him differently when they knew who his family was. He began unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up, irritated that he was letting something like this have an effect on him yet again.

Jon's hand covered his own on his arm. “Lea, I ain't that kinda' person.” He said quietly. “It's a surprise more than anything, y'know? And I'm not gonna' blab about it, or make it weird or whatever. Dunno' if anyone else put it together.”

“We look incredibly similar.” Leakee said dully. “We also share a lot of mannerisms. If no one else realized that I'm his son, I'm a little concerned.” Mox cupped his face, startling him as he tilted Leakee's chin up.

“Look Leeloo, the fact remains that you shredded my existence earlier. I don't give a shit who you're the son of, you feel me?” Moxley knocked his forehead into Leakee's. “I wasn't lyin'. I've respected you for a while. You never seemed to care about me bein' a little...uh. Wired wrong. Take it from me, your family doesn't define you, alright?”

Leakee closed his eyes. “I wish it was that simple.”

“You can still own who you are, without it bein' the only thing you are, y'know?” Moxley's fingers were in his hair again. “I own my shit upbringing, my fighting. Everythin' that shaped me into what I am today. But I ain't gonna' slide back into bad habits. Feels like every day I'm breakin' another nasty behavior pattern, and I'm gonna' keep at it until there's none left.” He said determinedly, smiling. “I'm better than the folks that made me that way.”

Leakee dropped his forehead to rest on Jon's chest, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. Mox hummed in confusion. “It's a lot for me to handle, sometimes.” Leakee murmured.

“I know.”

I know.

The simple response stuck in his brain long after Leakee had departed the center. He scoffed to himself as he watched one of his loads of laundry swirl back and forth, the smooth motions soothing as always. He tended to hover by his washer and dryer when he did laundry so that nobody would take it upon themselves to touch his clothes; typical laundromat etiquette that he had perfected over the years.

Lugging everything home was always sweaty work, but that was the price he paid for his independence. As Leakee trudged up the stairs he decided he was taking a hot shower, putting on a clean pair of boxers that fit and tucking in early. This day had been more than enough, thank you very much. His stomach rumbled and he sighed. Dinner too, I guess.

His phone rang while he was in the shower but Leakee paid it no mind, running over the events of the day. At least Dusty had been impressed with he and Jon, that's what was important.

He had done his laundry, he vacuumed the other night, responsible adult Leakee Reigns. Leakee groaned, leaning against the wall and just letting the hot water work the tension out of his shoulders. The way Mox had looked at him when they were going back and forth abruptly returned to the forefront of his mind and Leakee groaned again, stretching languidly under the spray.

Moxley had seemed awed, thrilled. Like he believed what Leakee was saying. Like he was about to get on his knees for him.

Leakee stopped dead, the heat rising in his face. What?! But now that the image was there, it wouldn't quit. Jon unzipping his pants, lip busted, those eyes looking up at him-

Leakee hurriedly turned off the shower and stepped out, the comparatively cold air making him hiss in discomfort. Jesus Christ, I'm hooked, he realized, running a hand through his soaking wet hair. But that's not all I want. What the hell have I gotten myself into? Leakee wanted to be the one Jon could go to when he needed something, wanted to be the one to make things better for him. What the fuck, all because of how he looked at me? Really? He chided himself, roughly toweling off before he checked his phone.

An unfamiliar number had called and left no message. Leakee's eyes narrowed, his finger hovering over the call button for a good minute before he finally pressed it. The line rang once and then there was a loud click! as someone picked up. “Hey, is this Leeloo? Dream said this was your number but he mighta' been wrong.”

Leakee barely resisted the urge to slap himself on the forehead. “Sorry, I was in the shower. I just got in from the laundromat.”

“So uh, Dream might have also given me your address. Can I...can I talk to you? In person?”

Leakee hated everything, but he especially hated one American Dream right now. “Sure. Absolutely.” The knock on his apartment door startled him more than he wanted to admit and Jon chuckled nervously. “How long have you been out there?!” Leakee sputtered.

“Like ten minutes?”

“Well you're staying there for another five, I'm still nude.”

“Oh?”

Leakee hung up the phone, crumpled his towel into a ball and bit down on it instead of screaming in frustration. Did everything have to be so damn difficult? Of course once he did throw on some clothes and open his apartment door, he was stunned momentarily. Jon was wearing a button up shirt. A legitimate button up shirt, tucked into his usual ragged jeans. “Who are you and what the hell have you done with Jon Moxley?” Leakee asked, making Mox snicker.

“Weird, right?” Jon sauntered past him into his apartment. “Hey I figured if it worked for you, I could give it a shot.” He smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt self-consciously. “Whatcha' think?”

“Well, the pants throw it off a little.” Leakee teased, circling around the other man to get the full view. “This shirt is too big on you. You look like a kid wearing their dad's clothes. Next size down, maybe.” He mused thoughtfully, tugging at the fabric on Jon's shoulder and watching the way the cuff fell. “It's big on your wrists too, so you should be okay.”

“Shucks, and here I was hopin' I'd come over and impress you with my innate fashion sense.” Mox sighed, making Leakee laugh.

“No impressing required, man. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?” Leakee asked curiously.

Moxley shoved his hands into his pockets, digging the toe of his boot against the worn rug. “Leeloo, today kinda'...it got me thinkin'.” He began, seeming almost sheepish. “I...I was wondering if...I mean I can't really re-use my line since Dream gave me your number and all. Kinda' fucked myself on that one. I was just wondering if you'd ever...I-I mean, if you'd thought about...” Moxley covered his face, obviously embarrassed. Leakee felt like he couldn't breathe. “If you'd ever thought about kickin' my ass for fun.” The light-haired man blurted out between his fingers.

Leakee swallowed hard, relatively certain from Jon's hesitance that he wasn't joking. “Like whoever you went to before? The guy who wore gloves?” He asked finally.

“Uh, kinda'? Look, I...I know it's weird. M' sorry. I don't exactly want you to kick my ass. Not like how everyone else has.” Moxley inhaled deeply. “Different way.”

“What makes you believe I can do something like that?”

“I respect you for a reason, Lea.” Mox grunted. “I know if you ain't right for it, if you don’t think you can do it, you'll tell me.”

“Jon, I don’t have a mean bone in my body, how the hell could you even-” Leakee protested but Jon was already shaking his head.

“This ain’t about bein’ mean, Leakee. It’s about me trustin’ you. I know you ain’t mean. But you showed earlier that you could rip a guy to pieces without touchin’ him. Sometimes that’s what I need.” Moxley flushed. “Sometimes I need to be taken apart.”

“In what way?” Leakee didn’t mean for it to come out so sharp, briefly confused by the way Mox shivered when he spoke. “Oh. Oh.”

“I don’t like to beg.” Moxley said bluntly. “I’m awful proud for a guy that’s got nothin’. But sometimes to get my insides to shut the fuck up, I gotta’ give someone else the wheel.” He straightened up. “The last guy didn’t respect my boundaries. I know that you would, because you don’t push me to begin with.”

“Is…” Leakee forced himself to focus, to ignore the images his brain was excitedly whipping up for him. “Is this a sexual thing? I know sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t.”

“I ain’t never had it be before, but I mean…” Moxley paused, rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to make eye contact. “You’re different, man. I wouldn’t exactly be complainin’ if it was, y’know?”

“What if something goes wrong?”

Jon froze at that and Leakee’s heart sank. “You think I’ve had great luck so far, Lea? C’mon.” The light-haired man scoffed finally. “I’ve been way worse off than this. I ain’t compromisin’ my safety ever again when it comes to these situations.”

Leakee’s mouth was dry as a bone, his thoughts spastically bolting from being flattered to the terror that he would inevitably screw something up royally. “Jon, I would never hurt you intentionally.” Mox met his eyes at that. “I don’t know if I could do…what you’re asking. I’ve never had anyone approach me for this.” Okay, that was a bit of a fib, but Jon didn’t need to know about past requests. Leakee was a larger, occasionally outright imposing individual. He understood how he looked and what it would make people think. “I’m not sure that I could give you what you need, man.” He finished simply.

Jon’s eyes half-lidded. “Okay.” He replied, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “That’s fair, Lea.”

“I could try, though.” Leakee offered after a moment of heavy silence. “For you.”

“R-Really?” Those blue eyes looked suspiciously damp when Mox glanced up at Leake again. “You’d do that for me?”

“Yeah.” Leakee shrugged, gesturing around his kitchen. “You want something to eat?” He didn't wait for an answer, instead rummaging through his fridge in search of something edible while Jon just stood in the doorway, the thinner man seeming a little lost. “Sit down uce, I promise the chair won’t bite.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah.” Mox floundered, rushing to sit at the kitchen table. “Sorry, I figured this wouldn’t go so well. Now I don’t really know what to do.”

“How about you relax, for starters?” Leakee teased, getting a weak grin in reply. “You’re safe here, right?”

“Yeah, I...guess I am, ain’t I?”

Part Two

#jon moxley #leakee #jon moxley/leakee #fcw #nxt #wwe #moxlea #ambreigns #no smut #i do apologize #Also this was supposed to be done on my birthday #whoops #few days late #last year y'all got empire #this year it's fixation #but either way it's Roman or Leakee so I think you're winning #enjoy! #not so thirsty wednesday

[ayyponine]

re: my entire abuse situation

god this post goes on forever but fuck

anyway ive been having a pretty shit week so far bc 1. i saw my sister spreading love and positivity on fb as the fun relative who moved to live a perfect life abroad and getting likes frm other family members that dont know her glass house is built on a foundation of LIES aka her emotionally manipulating our mom to dish out the money for several trips abroad bc my mom had real fear for her own life and especially for mine when my piece of shit sister was still living here :)) 2. my mom’s got a bf staying over a lot and i already felt like the unwanted outsider when my sister was still here, with everyone was fawning over her child, while i got snide remarks and dirty looks and threats of physical violence bc my reaction to the trauma made me unable to act all freeminded of past shit like my mom did. so like yeah then i was the one person “stubbornly refusing to forgive and forget” and ruining the perfect picture of the clean slate family and now... mom’s dating a guy who has two younger kids and the four of them went to the zoo the other week and had a great time and i just....feel not only superfluous but a real detriment to their happiness and i feel like if i had just died like ages ago then maybe now mom wouldve merged more easily into becoming part of a new happy family but instead she’s still got to deal with this depressed good for nothing fuck of a daughter risking that everything gets ruined for her 3. related to that it’s getting sunny and beautiful outside but i still feel so fucking completely dead inside?? as if i died a long time ago but am strung along anyway from one chance at a solution to another without really feeling the motivation for it? while people have this ideal image of the person i couldve been and the difference between that and reality is just harming both them and me? the other day my mom asked me if i was ok and she seemed satisfied when i said “im not worse than usual” but like. that doesnt mean im “doing alright, not particularly good or bad, just ok, just chillin”. it means that for months on end ive had the feeling i’d rather die than be here, present and wasting space and that is just what my life has become at this point. which i know is a thing that always resurfaces and ruins any interaction including my friendships so yeah thats been agonising 4. i think a friend i trust wants to take things further with me and i just. dont know what to do abt that. part of me thinks thatd be nice, a bigger part feels like it’ll just complicate shit, i’m bound to disappoint but do the same by refusing the option and also, again, re: point 3 getting into a relationship sort of implies you dont off yourself bc thatd inconvenience yr partner p majorly and it’s not like i plan to anytime soon but just knowing there’s that option has been some sort of weird consolation for the past like, five years and so the thought of not having that ultimate escape plan available is gettin me anxious already

BUT ANYWAY i wanted to kind of look up some shit re: abuse and shove it at my mom like, she did this to me, right? you did witness her bullying me since we were kids, you saw this fester until it got physical and she started including you, right? i’m not going crazy, the face she’s presenting is constructed and her denying she had any blame in me deteriorating mental health wise is like, bullshit, right?

thing is tho my mom understands texts best in dutch and im trying to google resources backing me up in being mentally fucked up over this (which is really weird fr me...... at times i’m still hesitant re: whether or not im in the right to even call it abuse and to hear or read the word in my own language that just. seems to make it an even more serious label idk.)

anyway @ fellow dutch speaking people if you have any good websites to help me explain what i experienced to my mom thatd be great. ive been trying to find stuff on mishandeling but most of it is either abt physical abuse or violence from parents towards their children... i think huiselijk geweld is also appropriate but most resources deal with spousal abuse and it’s hard to find stuff that isn’t partner-related. and oh god i know ive reblogged a bunch of shit (referring to my abuse tag here) but idk if that translates well to dutch... subjects like gaslighting, narcissism, memory problems, low self image, implicit threatening and instinctive response, living under stress for a prolonged period of time and everything related to ptsd (which im still very careful to even self diagnose because....what if i’m overreacting and this labelling would make REAL sufferers spit @ me) it’s just like........how the fuck do i even begin to explain these terms in dutch. do we even have the words for it. can i get backed up by something more substantial than nl.wikipedia over here.

TLDR the morbs are kicking my fucking ass and i could use some help finding dutch resources to explain them doing it to me so i can get understanding and possibly even some validation from my mom, who was a witness to this gradual trainwreck of abuse ive come to call my life

#abuse #tw abuse #big block of text!! yr more than welcome to skip if yr just here for the memes tbh

[rainbow--letters]

The Drowning at a Party.

Meet me at Bart’s. Drowning at a party. Lestrade treating it as suspicious. - SH

Sounds thrilling but I’m busy. - JW

Mrs Hudson will watch Rosie. I know you’re at Speedy’s. Again. I’ll meet you outside in 5. - SH

John sighed as he stared at his not-so baby girl, and more screeching toddler. The books were right about that part.  

“Well let’s get you upstairs shall we. Daddy has to go and babysit his other child.” He leaned over and tugged Rosie’s cheek and she giggled loudly as he picked her up out of the high chair.

————————————

“Ah Molly, I was wondering what was taking you so long.” Sherlock called, he hadn't even turned to see who it was, but the lanky bastard always had a knack for knowing people by their footsteps.

John briefly glanced at Molly, and then once more when he noticed her lab coat didn’t seem to be drowning her petite frame due to a small rounded bump hidden under a large maroon jumper. It had only been a month since he last saw her hadn't it? He cocked his head in confusion and he caught what he imagined was his own expression mirrored on Lestrade’s face. Although Lestrade seemed to be eyeing him questionably.  

John just shrugged his shoulders in response and Lestrade mouthed the word ‘Tom’ to him. Now John knew that door had definitely been closed, locked and bolted. Once again he shrugged and Lestrade looked back to Molly again. John only just realised that Sherlock had been watching the  whole exchange, staring at the two of them like they were chimps in a zoo. John coughed and Lestrade shuffled his feet back towards the body. Both of their heads hung like reprimanded school boys.

“So, male victim, Ross Hall, 29, found dead in a pool at a party held for lifeguards celebrating no deaths this summer.” Lestrade started as he stood at the head of the body, Molly pulled back the sheet as he spoke.  

“You have got to be kidding me.” John whispered and laughed, mostly to himself, but he felt three sets of eyes suddenly glare at him.

“The only suspicion is the bruising to the back of his head.” Lestrade continued. “We wondered if it was-“

“Intentional? Don’t be ridiculous. I assume that even by your detective skills you found a small clear sealable bag in the mans back pocket, lined with a substance formed from the coca plant. Cocaine for those here who haven’t had much dealings with recreational drug use in their life.” Sherlock may have addressed the room but he was definitely glaring directly at John at that last part.

“And if you had even bothered to look at the photos of the crime scene I could actually be doing something much more productive with my time than spending it here with you lot.” John watched as Molly’s head bowed a little.  

“I thought you gave up on that blog post about the analysis of tobacco ash?” Sherlock didn’t bother to acknowledge John’s comment instead he held out his phone with the photo he had pulled up on Google images for the three of them to see.

“I actually thought to look up the location of the incident on the taxi ride here. And would you look at that in all of point seventy sixth of a second we have our answer. Come on Lestrade you can’t be telling me you didn’t pick up on the rocky water feature at the side of the pool? You know the glaringly obvious beacon in plain view.” His voice was thick with boredom.

“There was no sign the victim-“ Lestrade was silenced before he could barely begin.

“Fell onto the feature. Please, spare me. If you had bothered to even attempt to do your job today, you would have known this was just an accident.” Sherlock droned on as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“You can see that the feature is made from granite, to be precise. How awfully ornamental. Anyways, said victim had clearly snorted a line too many, but he intended to go for a swim on his own because he had already taken his shoes and pants off and they were most definitely dry. Terrible idea, I don’t condone it myself. Obviously, he lost his balance after taking off said trousers and fell back. His head hit the granite, without causing a bleed, which is possible Lestrade. Oh and if you bothered to compare it to the photo of the crime scene you’d clearly see the point five of a millimetre crack in the stone.” Sherlock held up his phone against a photo he’d snatched out of Greg’s pocket. John struggled to see the difference. Then again Sherlock always seemed to have an unnatural magnification ability when it came to detail.

“I mean come on I’ve seen harder Spot the Difference puzzles in a children’s magazine.” He replaced his phone back into his pocket and thrust the photo back into Greg’s hand. “So there it is. One coked up and drowned party guest.” Sherlock finished his statement and looked so bored John could imagine he probably wished it was he who was the one who had smashed his head and drowned.

“I’m sorry we wasted your time Molly. It seems Lestrade was looking for an excuse to get out of the office, no surprise when Sally Donovan is your partner.” With that he seemed to give Molly some sort of warming smile. John had definitely not seen that one before. But when Sherlock looked back towards Lestrade and himself it was replaced with his usual flat lined expression.

“No foul play here. Just a victim of a terrible irony. How sad. Now have you got anything actually worthy of me being dressed today or can I go back to being naked in my bed sheet?” He stared straight through Lestrade and John swore he saw a blush creep up over Molly’s features.

“That’s it for-“  

“Thank you, Greg. Maybe next time check you have inserted your neurons when you get out of bed in the morning.” Sherlock turned on his heels and was heading for the door when Lestrade, who seemed to ignore Sherlock’s comment, turned to Molly who was preparing the body to be placed back into refrigeration.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, when are you due.” That seemed to make Sherlock stop dead at the door.

“Oh, no it’s fine honestly, it’s getting past the point where I can hide it now. But I’m around sixteen weeks, I’m due in March.” She smiled sheepishly, laughing intermittently between her sentences out of awkwardness John suspected.  

“So, are you and the fath-“

“I’m sure Molly has better things to be doing than making small talk with you Lestrade. You know, like her actual job, whom unlike you she is rather more competent at.” Greg looked a little fed up after being cut off by Sherlock for the fourth time today. Rather than giving Sherlock another opportunity to silence him he held up his hands in defeat, waved to Molly and John and not so accidentally shoulder barged Sherlock as he pushed through the door.

“I know it’s been a while, but you should come over some time. Rosie will be thrilled to see you.” John spoke softly to Molly.

“Yeah, that sounds wonderful. How is she?” Molly’s eyes gleamed with the promise of Rosie cuddles.

“Acting too much like a two year old for a twenty month old baby.” Molly laughed, genuinely this time and her hands came to rest on her stomach. Sherlock sighed loudly from by the door and John gave Molly a look that only those special enough to know Sherlock on a personal level would understand.

“I’ll text you later. Take care Molly.” John reached out and touched her upper arm before turning to the door to see Sherlock had already left through it. By the time he had caught up to him, they were almost at the exit.  

“You know, you can huff and puff as much as you like, you didn’t have to come today. You knew that was nowhere near a seven, so why bother?” John called from behind him.

“August is such a boring month. I mean where are the murders? It’s like someone flicked a switch and all people want to do is commit petty fraud and adultery.” Sherlock threw his head backwards in frustration.

“Yes because that it so terrible… but is this why you've been so frustrated recently? It’s the closest you’ve got to a potential murder in weeks so you wanted to check it out, even though you knew it wasn’t anything more than a drug induced accident. I'm starting to think you just like seeing dead bodies.” Sherlock looked down at him with his trademark smirk and took off towards the road, John hurried behind as per usual until he reached his friend's side as they stood waiting on the curb.

"So, Molly Hooper's pregnant." John grinned impishly up at his friend, Sherlock's eyes narrowed back at him.

"Yes John, no need to state the obvious." Sherlock mumbled as he quickly pulled out his phone to check the time.

"Know, I mean come on. Who do you reckon is the father? Unless you already know, which you probably do." John asked eagerly, convinced Sherlock would have some insight on the situation.

"You're very good at asking questions John. Maybe you should use that wonderfully honed skill of yours and ask Molly yourself." Sherlock had clearly tired quickly of this conversation, as his attention became absorbed by phone and his rather pathetic looking inbox.

"Suit yourself." John muttered to himself as he pulled back his coat sleeve to check his watch. After he was reassured they were well within the time he told Mrs Hudson he would be back in to pick up Rosie, he rolled his shoulders back and stared across the road. A young woman with a child of no more than two years old were sat sharing a chocolate ice cream on a bench at the bus stop.  

John thought back to Molly. They had lost touch a little bit since Sherringford. Molly seemed to throw herself in to work, similarly to himself. Her shifts never seemed to match up to child sociable hours. And with the lack of murders, thankfully, there were less frequent visits to the morgue.  

But pregnant?  

I mean he couldn't remember her bringing up her love life. He was no fan of womanly gossip, but he definitely couldn't recall her speaking of a new love interest. Sherlock jostled beside him as he dropped his phone back into his pocket as a black cab came into view.

Anyways, she seemed delighted about the baby, so John concluded he had no reason not to be happy for her and he smiled to himself. By the looks of her she would have her baby by the end of winter, maybe spring time if she was around the gestation period he assumed by her bump. If all things went well, maybe Rosie would have a playmate in a couple of years time.

“She’s sixteen weeks and four days.” Sherlock spoke to the air in front of him.

“What?” John asked out in confusion.

“One hundred and sixteen days to be exact. And her due date is the twelfth of March. I told you before you think too loud.” Sherlock shouted as he flagged down a cab.  

Hang on.  

——————————————

John sat back in his armchair and rubbed the bridge of his nose as a dull ache throbbed behind his eye sockets. Since Sherlock's disclosure of Molly's imminent arrival, John felt as if his best friend may have been hiding something. That night after they had been to the morgue the thought hit him like a big, red London bus as he made himself his last cup of tea for the night. As the kettle clicked, the spoon in John's hand bounced off of the kitchen top.  

What if it's Sherlock?

The thought had haunted John for the next few weeks as John wrestled with theories in his head. Now Sherlock wouldn’t like to admit it, but if there’s one thing he had in common with his brother it was that they were both good at knowing things about other people. 

The likeliness of this scenario was that Molly was considered a close friend to Sherlock. Even after the events of Sherringford the pair seemed to have resolved their differences. They told John they were strictly friends. Completely platonic. John doubted this at first, after all he saw Sherlock break into pieces in that room. Yet, the dust eventually settled. Quite literally. As 221b was restored to its former bachelor pad glory and Sherlock and Molly resumed their working relationship. He suspected Sherlock wanted to know as much about Molly’s ‘situation’ because that’s just who Sherlock Holmes was.

He had always thought that maybe Ms Adler had worked her way back into his clutches. Her text tone had been very active as of late, he had noted. He always thought something was going on between them. None of it made any sense, until today happened.  

Molly had been over earlier to see Rosie again. He wasn’t sure whether it was the pregnancy hormones or the fact that Rosie was such a delightful baby, but Molly had been over a lot in the past few weeks since he’d seen her in Bart’s. The odd time that Molly had been over, Sherlock occasionally stopped by. This included today’s visit. What got to John was that Sherlock didn't seem to be coming over to see him. He spent most of his time watching Molly with Rosie. Occasionally he would pick Rosie up, point and spout dictionary definitions of inanimate objects littered around the living room. Apart from that, he would sit on the sofa with his legs crossed and observe.

It was when John had excused himself for ten minutes, to put the endless pile of washing away, he returned to the most peculiar sight. Molly was sat in the arm chair, Rosie curled awkwardly into her side and around her bump as Molly read her ‘Guess How Much I Love You.’

He hovered in the doorway, unseen by both Sherlock and Molly that he felt like an intruder in his own home. As Molly performed the actions in the book, stretching her arms out wide, Rosie copied her every move. The pair were absorbed in each other; Sherlock was absorbed by them. He watched onwards and when Molly turned her head to look at Sherlock sat opposite her, he returned such a tender and open smile that John was convinced he was an imposter.  

He was momentarily sucked into whatever this thing was between his two friends, the door creaked with his weight and the moment vanished in the blink of an eye. Sherlock stood promptly, dusted off invisible crumbs from his sleeve and Molly focused her attention back to Rosie who was starting to doze against her shoulder.  

Sherlock left without barely a word, just buttoned up his suit jacket, nodded once at John and left swiftly. Not long after Sherlock’s departure, Molly stood with Rosie still firmly attached to her. John got the message and took Rosie out of her arms as Molly put on her jacket. She made her excuses, it was her second ultrasound scan in the morning and she wanted to be well rested. She kissed both John and Rosie on the cheek and left quietly.

So now John felt he needed to put this to bed once and for all. He knew that if he asked Molly directly, she would probably deny it. And Sherlock? Well he didn't know where to begin with that conversation. Instead, he formulated a plan to try and answer the mystery which had plagued him for weeks.  

————————————

John couldn’t believe he was doing this. Who did he think he was? James Bond? He almost scoffed. He couldn’t resist, what he saw yesterday required a much deeper investigation. He knew Molly had her appointment at ten at the UCL Hospital this morning. He was always glad that Molly blabbed too much when she was nervous or uncomfortable, like last night. If he suspected what he thought was happening, then a certain curly haired, lanky git would also be there too.  

He had dropped Rosie off with Mrs Hudson for the morning. He loved her dearly but she would most definitely be a hindrance in his task. He got to the hospital relatively early and managed to find a cafe just outside the entrance to the maternity ward. After twenty minutes he saw Molly half waddle half walk down the corridor and straight past John and through the doors to the ward. John kept the broadsheet over his face until the door to the ward had almost closed behind her.

Okay, so she was alone. But John knew Sherlock better than that. He knew that if Sherlock rocked up to a hospital with a pregnant woman on his arm the media would have a field day. If he entered on his own, it was less suspicious. Almost as if on cue, not five minutes later, he breezed in from a different direction to Molly. Of course he probably used an inconspicuous entrance.  

John felt so smug with himself for being right that he almost forgot what his investigation may just have proven. Molly was, quite possibly, pregnant with Sherlock’s baby. John’s stomach sank like a stone and he suddenly felt hot and uncomfortable. He stood from the cheap MDF chair, walked out of the hospital and all the way back to Baker Street.  

He heard music and giggles coming from Mrs Hudson’s flat, but he didn’t stop in to say hi. He marched straight up the stairs and sat in his old chair and waited. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but when Sherlock eventually returned home he all but raced up the stairs like a gazelle and his face was beaming until he turned around to see John sat staring at him.

“Ah, John. Have you come to tell me you’ve fixed the visitor counter on your site again? I noticed it must have been off a few week’s back.” Sherlock mumbled as he shrugged out of his Belstaff.

“It’s you. You’re the father of Molly Hooper’s child.” John proclaimed loudly, and he watched as Sherlock glanced to the door.

“And finally the penny has dropped.” Sherlock answered unenthusiastically as he hung up his coat.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not my problem you’re so obtuse.” Sherlock all but collapsed into his chair. He popped the button on his suit jacket as he leaned back into the cushion.

"Hang on. You were trying to tell me? But Irene Adler? The text tone?” John questioned.

“A red herring. Oh and it’s surprisingly easy to set a provocative text tone onto one of your contacts.” Sherlock examined his fingernails.

“So all this time. All this time you were messaging Molly, not Irene Adler.” John struggled to hide the shock in his voice.

“Well, for the past six months. Yes. I pretty much had to plant the seed, otherwise I never thought you'd get there.” Sherlock shot John a demeaning glance.

“So you mean at Bart’s, with the drown victim?” John sat forward in his chair.

“Yes, of course John, do keep up.” Sherlock exhaled loudly and rubbed his brow.

“You dragged me to Bart’s because you knew I would see Molly and start to suspect who the father was.” John could feel himself becoming more frustrated.

“I wouldn’t say I dragged you.”

“You didn’t think to just sit me down, preferably with a pint, and tell me ‘oh guess what John, I knocked Molly Hooper up’ that would have been the much easier thing to do.” John's voice became elevated with anger.

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“You know not everything has to be a game Sherlock. And this - this baby is most definitely not a game. Neither is Molly’s life.” He was aware he sounded angry and his tone was harsh, but Sherlock had gone too far.  

“I would never treat my child or the mother of my child like a game. Is that really what you think of me?” Sherlock shot up from his chair. The mood changed so suddenly, like someone had flicked a light switch. John felt slightly threatened by his best friend as he towered over him.  

“I-I thought you two we-were-“ John stuttered out of shock.

“Completely platonic? We were for the most.” Sherlock composed himself, calmly sitting back into his chair. His fingers tapped the ends of the arms.

“Yes. I mean when did this all happen?” John asked softly. He relaxed further back into his chair.

“One hundred and thirty five days ago, if you wanted to-“  

“No, Sherlock, I don’t mean the conception of your child. I mean you and Molly.” Sherlock seemed to pause slightly at this.

“Two nights after Sherringford.” John knew that this was all he was going to get out of him on this topic. He also knew better than to ask how the child was conceived. He didn’t want to think about-

“It was the biological way.” John's thoughts were interrupted.

“I’m sorry?”  

“The baby. It was conceived through sexual intercourse. Honestly John, you may as well stream your thoughts across your forehead on a ticker banner.” Sherlock tossed his eyes back into his head.

“I wasn’t going to ask. But, erm, congratulations? I mean is it congratulations because you haven’t given much indication towards your feelings on the situation." John pried a little more.  

"It's not planned if that's what you're suggesting? Although I do feel a sense of accomplishment at passing down fifty percent of my genetic makeup to a member of the next generation. I never thought I'd find it exciting, but pregnancy is fascinating. Plus, Molly gets the baby she always wanted, and my parents get the grandchild they never thought they'd have. Also, the sex was surprisingly not as vanilla as I would have expected from Molly. She has got quite a tongue-“

“Honestly, Sherlock. There is no need to paint a picture.” John stared at the latest pending member of the fatherhood club. This was definitely Eurus’ fault. “So, do you have any plans?” John posed the question with the tone of a life councilor.

“Of course. She’s going to stay at her flat, raise the baby there. It’s three bedroomed, plenty of space and not to mention somewhat more suitable for an infant.” John watched as Sherlock’s eyes darted around the flat.

“And you’re going to remain living here? Is this what you want or what Molly wants?” John tried to wrap his head around the situation. Did Sherlock think the baby was going to be a compulsory hobby for the next eighteen years?

“Molly understands the nature of my work. My life has always been unpredictable and there are people who know me who don’t like me or what I do. People who would like to see me hurt.” John registered his friend's words carefully.  

“Ah. You're protecting them. You don’t want people to know the baby is yours. This is why you’ve both been very hush hush about the pregnancy. That also explains the text tone. You were throwing people off of the scent.” Sherlock cleared his throat and sat up straight in his chair.  

“We both agreed it’s probably for the best, for the first few months anyway. I don't want my child becoming mindless brain fodder in any form of media outlet.” John looked understandingly at Sherlock. “For the first few weeks, I will stay at Molly’s. As often as I can. I will still take on cases; Domestic only. Apparently babies are a leech on ones wallet.”

“And then…” John spread his hands out in the air in a questioning gesture.

“I’ll move back here. See Molly and the baby a few times a week, take on more cases and eventually get back into the good stuff, I suppose.” Sherlock, sat firmly back into his chair, seemingly impressed with his answer.

“You suppose? The woman you confessed your love to, albeit forced, is going to give birth to and raise your child and you're going to stay here and play Consultant Detective like always? Do you want my honest opinion?” John asked forcefully. There was no way he was leaving without throwing his tuppence worth into the ring.

“I’ve never not been with you.” Sherlock sniffed and turned his head away.

“I don’t think you’ll want to move back. Irregardless of what you think about people wanting to hurt you. You know your brother would always watch out for your family." Sherlock looked directly at him as he spoke that final word. "I think you think you can just waltz in and play happy families for a few weeks and then detach yourself. Trust me if you can hold that baby in your arms and honestly turn to me and say you can walk away from them, then I don’t know you at all Sherlock Holmes. You’re not the lone wolf you think you are.” John followed Sherlock's gaze. He was looking at a photo frame from Rosie's christening. He remembered Mrs Hudson bringing it up once the refurbishment was complete. John smiled as he cast his eyes over his late wife, then he looked to Sherlock and Molly stood side by side.  

"Do you love her?" The question seemed to hang in the air.

"Why are you so obsessed with trying to get me to play happy families?" Sherlock sounded bored, but John could tell he'd unsettled something within the Consultant Detective.

"Because you have a chance to grasp something I once had; happiness." John could feel himself becoming moved. Memories of Mary flooded his thoughts.

"Are you saying I'm not happy now?" Sherlock asked defensively, he pulled his hands down into his lap.

"No, I don't think you're as happy as you could be. You can have it all, you know? The job you've always loved and a family who will love you unconditionally. You're a good man, Sherlock. But I really do think this is your last opportunity." John recognised the look that cast a shadow over Sherlock's face. He stood up and walked over to his friend and crouched next to him.

"You're scared you'll fail." Sherlock cast John a glance. His quietness spoke more than his words ever could in this moment. "I'm not saying it will be easy, because it won't. I don't expect Molly or the baby to give you an easy ride either. If there's one thing I know about you Sherlock Bloody Holmes is you are not a failure." He firmly patted his hand on his friend's back reassuringly.  

Sherlock didn't respond at first. His hand moved to the inside of his jacket pocket and withdrew a small black and white photograph and he sat and stared at it for a small while. John watched quietly from beside him. Sherlock's face was blank but John knew the cog's in his mind were working overtime. He hoped he was filing this memory away in that palace of his. Then John did the last thing he expected himself to do and he laughed.  

“I’m sorry. Did I miss the punchline?” Sherlock stirred from his trance and raised one of his large bushy eyebrows.

“No, I just imagined you arms deep in a shit filled nappy.”

————————————————-

John took the stairs two at a time as he proceeded up the endless concrete steps. At the top, the fire door was propped open with a plastic chair and John smirked. He pushed the chair aside and walked onto the roof as the London sky line twinkled in the backdrop. The sharp Spring night air stung at his face. The figure leaning over the railings hadn’t acknowledged his presence, just kept staring out into the city, a cigarette dangling from his lips.  

John walked up beside him and reached into the pockets of his jacket and removed two whisky glasses and a hip flask. The clink of the glasses caused the tall figure to turn and look towards him.

“What are you doing?” He questioned as John placed the glasses on the ledge and poured two equal, and very strong, measurements of whiskey.

“A toast.” John answered as he handed Sherlock a glass.

“A toast?” Sherlock echoed, John nodded and joined his friend against the railings.

“To fatherhood. A thankless job with ridiculous hours and a shit wage.” He clinked his glass with Sherlock’s and let the liquor run smooth and warm down his throat. Sherlock hesitated a moment, stubbed out his cigarette then swilled the glass twice before mimicking John and polishing off the amber liquid.  

“He’s a cracker, Sherlock.” John watched as Sherlock’s lips turned upwards and he looked so proud and dare he say it, content. They stayed silent for a moment. John watched out of the corner of his eye as the emotions of pure love, adoration, fear and terror passed over Sherlock’s face all at once. The same expressions he had once worn a time ago.

“Are you going to ask me?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“Ask you what?” John feigned ignorance, but he knew exactly what Sherlock was thinking.

“Well I know I’m not holding my son in my arms but-“  

“If you could still walk away? Well could you?” A brief silence followed John's question and a sharp breeze cut through them like a knife.

“No. No, I couldn't. Just being up on this roof is torture, but I've never needed a smoke so much in all of my life. Plus, Mycroft has his army of baboons littered like roaches all over the building, which rules out the main entrances.” Sherlock shared one of his rare bedazzling smiles. John laughed and clapped his friend on the back. He knew that Sherlock was grateful deep down of the security his brother provided.

“Mrs Hudson is going to secretly miss having you around.” John spoke sadly, although his tone was lighthearted. Sherlock continued to smile out into the city. John knew then Sherlock had made his decision.

“I’m also ruling out domestic cases for the next eight weeks at least. You know newborns can recognise their parent's faces by the time they are two months old?” Sherlock spoke with the excitement of a child in a sweet shop. John responded instantly with a knowing smile, sharing his friend's excitement of his newfound fatherhood.

“You’re going to be bloody fantastic, Sherlock Holmes.”

#sherlolly #parent!lock #sherlock #molly hooper #john watson #greg lestrade #sherlock x molly #it'snow2inthemorningandi'memotionallyexhaustedfromwritingandGOT goodnight

[anabantoid]

Venturing into Indonesia and Beyond: Setting up a Biotope

In our journeys through the hobby, one way or another we will come across the term “biotope”, which is a miniaturized reproduction of a fish’s natural habitat in a captive setting. You’ve most likely seen them before without even knowing it. Think about the last time you went to the aquarium and recall the exhibits you saw. All the fish were organized by where they lived, most of the tanks probably had some real or fake plants, rocks, and driftwood. There may be resin stone outcroppings built into the background and sides to replicate the bottom of a Rift Valley lake, or fake mangrove roots choking a still water way to mimic an estuary where many brackish fish live. Even the saltwater tanks are constructed in a way that copies an approximate image of where that fish came from. Like a good zoo, a good aquarium will want to showcase the fish in the most enriching environment they can while also educating the public, and that usually means that they will replicate a fish’s home. Sometimes seeing fish like this at an aquarium can change your perspective on how to keep them, and you may want to set out and adjust their living space as you think is necessary for them to be happy, or it inspires you to want to start up a whole new tank for a specific fish or multiple species from a specific river, lake or country and make your own mini-aquarium at home. This can seem like a daunting task, and it may sometimes be hard to know where to start, and I won’t lie, there is a lot of time and research devoted into this, but the payoff is extremely rewarding.

WHERE DO I START?

Generally, it’s like planning any new tank, but in this instance, you’re going to have a narrower focus.  You usually start out knowing at least one of the fish you want to keep, so you look up where they are from. With that knowledge, you can begin to find other fish from that same area. Fish Base will be your new friend in this situation. NOTE: You won’t want to exclusively use Fish Base for things like caresheets, but it’s a great site for finding different species that inhabit the same bodies of water or country as your selected species.

For example, say you know you want a pearl gourami (Trichopodus leerii) as your centerpiece in your new 75 gallon tank but you don’t want to have one large tank with just 3 fish in it (1 male and 2 females). You’ll pop on over to Fish Base and look them up, seeing where they are from along with some basic care information such as water parameters and a habitat description.

You can scroll down to countries to see a map of their range, which includes native and introduced.

From there, you can choose which country you want to focus on. We’ll choose Indonesia. You can click on the links and take a closer look into Indonesia if you’d like, but you’ll go back to the search screen at Fish Base.

I find it easier to search with the above selections marked off.

From here, you’re basically going hunting. This can take you a while, you can narrow down which fish interest you and check to see if they are compatible with the pearl gourami. You already know you’re going to need a heavily vegetated tank with soft, acidic water and minimal lighting, so you’re looking for fish with similar needs, while also taking temperament into account. You don’t want aggressive, boisterous fish that will scare the pearls away during feeding, so you’re going to be looking for peaceful, small fish that won’t bother them. You settle on the chili rasbora (boraras brigittae), kuhli loach (pangio kuhlii) and red line rasboras (Trigonopoma pauciperforatum) as all these fish require dimly lit, soft, acidic waters with marginal current and dense vegetation with the bonus of being peaceful and small.

OKAY, SO IS THERE MORE THAT I NEED? WHAT SHOULD THE TANK BE FILLED WITH OTHER THAN JUST, WELL, FISH?

Great! You know your stock! But what do you furnish it with? And how do you find this out? At this point, you’re going to start googling. A lot. You can use youtube to find videos that may be uploaded from the natural habitats the fish are from, in this case, Sumatra and Borneo.

A lot of the time, you won’t find nice examples that you can see, but you’ll read descriptions that you can visualize. What does soft water usually have? Decaying vegetation that lowers the pH and creates soft water with a lot of dissolved organic solids, so leaf litter and driftwood would clearly be required. These fish require densely planted, dimly lit water. Finding out what plants you need is as simple as googling “aquatic plants from Borneo/Sumatra/Indonesia”. You’ll find that a lot of the plants are the common crypts, which do well in dimly lit tanks and aren’t particularly fussy to begin with. There’s a lot of diversity within crypts, so choose them as you see fit. A lot of the time, plant species will be entirely up to you and how you plan to scape your tank. Then comes the matter of substrate, which can sometimes be hard to find information on, though many caresheets nowadays will mention what substrate is best for this fish. At times you might not be able to replicate the loamy bottom of Lake Inle, so you can choose to either go with sand or try a dirted tank. Sometimes it’s simple, a hillstream or river tank will be comprised of sand and gravel, as the water movement in the wild will erode the rocks and crack them against one another, creating fragments that turn into smaller and smaller fragments over time.

If you want a different kind of biotope, you can start with a totally different kind of habitat and apply the same basic search methods. Maybe you want to stay in Indonesia but want a hillstream tank? Or an African tank? French Guyana? The same way you searched for the pearl gourami tank, you can search for all these others. If you read that a reed fish lives in soft, acidic swamps that are heavily planted with low oxygen content, then you’re going for a tank that has almost no water movement, a somewhat lower water line, and filled with a lot of leaf litter, some driftwood and lots of plants. If you want emerald dwarf rasboras and read that they live in a relatively cool, karstic, shallow but vegetated lake in Myanmar, then you’re going to be looking into a hard water tank with plants that can be found in that lake. This example is Lake Inle, where these fish are exclusively found in, so your entire focus will be pretty much on this lake, with some information on plants from Myanmar. You can even go looking into your own backyard and get hands on, planning a biotope based on native fish and learning something about your local wildlife and habitats.

WHAT ARE THE BENEFITS?

Some fish need to be kept in a natural habitat because that’s all they know, and it makes them more comfortable that way. If you have a wild caught fish in your tank, you’ll want to make sure that your tank is as close to where they came from so they can thrive. What is thriving? Beyond being alive, thriving for a fish means it displays its natural behavior, it eats regularly without issue, and may even attempt to spawn in captivity if there’s another sex of the same species in the tank. This is as close as you can get to determining whether or not a fish is “happy”.

Even if your fish is not wild caught, they will still benefit from an environment from which they evolved in over thousands or millions of years. Some fish may have never inhabited a vegetated peat swamp in their entire lives because they’ve been captive bred, but if you keep them in hard, alkaline water with no plants, their lives will be shortened and they will be unhappy and unhealthy, unable to display natural behaviors. Think of the betta splendens, a fish very much removed from its natural habitat nowadays. For a moment, pretend you have a perfectly healthy plakat. It doesn’t have the dragon scale mutation so it’s not going to be prone to tumors or cancer, it has short fins that bettas naturally have so it’s able to move about quickly like a betta is hard wired to. A betta without décor or with a sparsely planted tank maybe shy or inactive, eat irregularly and be stressed, susceptible to illness and disease.  I’m not saying this is the root cause to the issues bettas have, that’s a nebulous topic that can be another 1700 word post on its own, but in this situation we’re imagining the ideal, healthy betta. If you place this betta in a habitat that more closely mimics the one the b. splendens evolved within, it will feel more comfortable and display more of the betta-y behaviors we all know (and love). It’s difficult to change what a fish needs in its environment to thrive, a fish has evolved over time to fill a niche in a habitat and placing it within a captive setting won’t change their instincts or needs.

But does this mean every fish needs to be in a biotope? That all fish should be separated by their location, regardless of the fact they can inhabit the same conditions that a fish from another continent does? 

Nope! Biotopes, for the most part, are for the pure aesthetics of the keeper. You ultimately don’t have to find plants specific to a river, lake or country, that’s entirely up to you if you want to do that. You don’t have to place pearl gouramis with just chilis, red lines or kuhlis, you can place them with peaceful tetras, pencil fish, a pleco, corydoras and honey gouramis (which are from India, not Indonesia). A biotope is just a method of scaping a tank and keeping fish, it’s subjective. There are clear benefits to it, but those benefits can also be had by just furnishing a tank the right way. Put swords in a betta tank with rotala, barclaya, banana lilies and hygro, your betta will still feel happy and safe as long as there are a bunch of plants in there. A biotope is for you.

#fishblr #megs does guides #i literally just ripped examples from my own tank plans lmao #this was....really long? #took me two hours rip