#points to you if you can guess who any of these were said about

[mssainz]

PART 7 | AFTER FIVE YEARS

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary: Carlos Sainz finally met his son he had with her ex-wife, Y/N.

Warning: Nothing just wholesome

Cael is excitedly showing Carlos his toy car collection. “I have this Volkswagen Golf GTS from Uncle Danny. And this is my Ferrari Sf90 Stradale that Mama bought me on my birthday,” Cael said, presenting his toys to his father. “You have some really impressive cars, my love. Which one is your favorite?” Carlos asked, gently stroking Cael's hair.

Quickly, Cael rummages through his bag to find his favorite car. “This one, Papa. I have many favorites. But recently, mine’s this LaFerrari. Uncle Charles gave it to me when he won a podium.” Carlos smiled at the way he pronounced LaFerrari, with an emphasis on the 'r' sound. “Wow, you also have a LaFerrari? What do you like about it?” Carlos asked, pleased that Cael was so assertive and easy to converse with.

“It's incredibly fast, Papa. And Uncle Charles said it uses electric hybrid power. I don't really know what that means, but 'hybrid' plus 'power' sounds cool to me,” Cael replied, causing Carlos to chuckle at his innocence.

From the doorway, you've been watching your boys talk about cars. They've been inseparable since the afternoon. Clearing your throat to catch their attention, you ask, “It's already time for dinner. What do you want to eat?”

Carlos turned to Cael, “Baby, what do you want to eat?”

“Anything delicious, Papa. Something without pistachios,” Cael responded, causing Carlos to laugh as he recalled Cael's reaction to pistachio ice cream. “Okay, anything delicious without pistachio coming right up,” Carlos said, lifting Cael, who giggled in response.

“Let me cook for you two,” Carlos suggested as he passed you, heading for the kitchen. “Okay. Thanks, I guess,” you replied, following them downstairs.

In the kitchen, Carlos handed Cael back to you and began to prepare the meal. “Your fridge is well-stocked for someone just on vacation here,” he commented. “Does Cael have any food allergies?” he asked you.

“No, luckily he doesn’t have any food allergies,” you replied.

“Not even strawberries?” Carlos asked, aware of your own allergy.

“No, he is not allergic to strawberries,” you confirmed.

While Carlos cooked, you and Cael played at the counter. Carlos would occasionally glance over, smiling at the domestic scene.

“Why am I getting so many kisses from you, Sebastian Cael?” you asked, amused by your son's affectionate nature.

“You did nothing, Mama. I just love you,” he replied.

“Can I get kisses too?” Carlos interjected, also wanting some affection.

“Of course, Papa,” Cael said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I love you, Mama. I love you, Papa,” he added, hugging both of you.

You enjoyed the hug but felt uncomfortable with the close proximity to Carlos. As you were about to point out the food spilling from the pot, Carlos noticed and rushed to the stove, causing both you and Cael to laugh.

After dinner, you took care of the dishes while the boys continued their playtime until well past 10 pm.

"Carlos, I think it's time for you to go. It's already past ten, and Cael needs to sleep. You should get some rest too," you said. Carlos looked at you, surprised at how time had flown.

"No, Mama," Cael instantly clung to Carlos when he heard talk of bedtime. "Baby, it's already past your bedtime. You need rest. Papa needs to rest too," you tried to convince your son.

Carlos attempted to gently remove Cael’s hand from his neck. "Papa, no! Don't leave, Papa," Cael protested, starting to cry. Tears blurred your vision as you felt a pang of sympathy for him. Carlos returned your gaze, his own eyes brimming with tears.

"Papa, please stay," Cael begged. Carlos comforted his son, trying to explain the situation. "Oh baby, as much as I want to stay, Papa has to go to prepare for the upcoming race," Carlos told the still sobbing Cael.

“Aww baby,” Carlos said, wiping away his tears. You approached them, gently rubbing Cael's back. “Cael, look at Papa. I have to go tonight, but I promise I'll fetch you on Sunday and take you to the paddock to watch me race. I'll even let you ride in Papa’s Formula 1 car. Is that okay, my love?” Carlos proposed, hoping to appease his son.

Cael, still sniffing and sobbing, managed to nod. “Stop crying, baby. Papa has already agreed to let you watch his race. We'll go to the paddock, okay? You'll watch him race in the Ferrari garage, honey,” you added.

Slowly calming down, Cael agreed to come with you. “Bye, Papa. Drive safely,” he said, kissing Carlos goodbye. “Thank you, baby. Papa will see you on Sunday, okay? Be a good boy for Mama, hmm?” Carlos said, ruffling his son's hair. Cael gave a small nod in response.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Carlos said to you, receiving a nod and a smile in return. “Drive home safely, Carlos,” you reminded him before walking him to his car with your son. Carlos kissed Cael on the cheek and, without thinking, kissed your temple before entering the car. You didn't have time to react as you were holding Cael, but your cheeks flushed at the unexpected gesture.

Carlos arrived home, grinning as he headed to his room. He couldn't shake off his smile; the upcoming practice race didn't even cross his mind. He was merely thrilled about the day he had spent with you and Cael. Unexpectedly, he found his father standing in the corner of his room.

"Dios Mio, Papa, what are you doing there?" Carlos asked, startled.

His father replied with a raised eyebrow, "You've been humming and smiling like a teenager since you got here, Carlos. What's going on?"

Carlos continued to smile at his father, responding, "Nothing, Papa. I'm just happy."

His father squinted at him, pressing for an answer. "Are you drunk or on drugs?"

"No, Papa, I'm completely sober. I'm not on drugs either. Something really special just happened today," Carlos began.

His father interjected, "Did you sign a new contract?"

"That would be nice, Papa. But something even more special happened," Carlos said, pausing for effect. "I met my son!"

His father put his hand on his forehead, "You're on drugs. I'm sure of it."

"Papa, no. I'm telling the truth," Carlos said, showing him his phone wallpaper. It was a picture of you and Cael, smiling at each other in the kitchen.

"Wait, is that Y/N? You and Y/n have a son? When did you get back together?" his father asked, forehead furrowed in confusion.

"We're not together yet, Papa. But, we do have a son and today, I finally introduced myself to our son and spent time with him," Carlos explained.

"So you're telling me I have a grandson?" his father asked for confirmation.

"Yes, Papa. His name is Sebastian Cael Sainz. But, please don't tell Mama yet. I want to tell her myself, or maybe even surprise her with Cael," Carlos requested.

"Well, I can't tell her now. She's already asleep," his father replied. Carlos chuckled at this.

"So when can I meet our little Sainz?" his father asked.

Carlos' Wallpaper

AN: I was also sobbing while writing the part where Carlos has to go home. I hope you like this part. Let me know your thoughts or if you wanna be added to the taglist. Thank y'all!

TAGLIST:

@seasonswinter @charizznorizz @itsjustkhaos @celesteablack @timmychalametsstuff @viennakarma @i-love-ptv @evie-119 @somepeoplemaybe @amberpanda99 @gotthatname @karlossainz @khaylin27 @hc-dutch @avengers-assemble123456 @likedbygaslyy @xoscar03 @yukiotadako @barcelonaloverf1life @heyheyheyggg @sunny44 @mxdi0 @casperlikej @ironmaiden1313 @biitch-with-wifi @elia-the-bibliophile @nataliazzzz @bernelflo @lillunna @loloekie @jinimon-tr @glai1023-blog @not-nyasa @jolixtreesunn @changetyre @thatsusbitch @distancedss @miarabanana @voidsfics @jasminesacademia @glow-ish @ccallistata @carpediem241108 @thearchieves @kenzeyeballs @formula1simp @dessxoxsworld @hoeforsirius @norwayxo

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula one x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz #afterfiveyears #f1 imagines

[yunqitv]

THE BOY IS MINE PT 1 _ ENHYPEN _ JAKE

💜 GENRE : COLLEGE STUDENTS, FRIENDS TO LOVERS, CHEATING, BULLYING

💜 PAIRING: college!student!jake x college!student!male reader

inspired by "why r u? kr. ver"

“My M/n!” M/n perked up from his notebook at the sudden coo of his name being called out. He was sitting in the quad on campus, textbook and stationary sprawled out on the table as he set them where he wanted since he was by himself, well, not anymore.

A dark-haired male came jogging towards him, bag on his shoulder bouncing just like his hair in rhythm of steps. M/n sighed, snatching the reading glasses from his face. “Can you be any louder, Jake?” He grumbled.

“My M/n~” Jake repeated, throwing his bag on the table on top of M/n’s stuff carelessly as he wrapped his arms around M/n’s neck from behind, lifting the latter’s face as he gave him an unconditional amount of forehead kisses.

“Ugh, Jake! Gross, you fucking dog,” M/n whined, referring to Jake’s justifiable nickname, Golden Retriever.

Jake giggled, completely unfazed by M/n’s slaps and kicks as he pulled away and sat uncomfortably close to M/n on the bench. “What are you doing?”

“I was preparing for mid-terms, but I just got assaulted by a puppy and now I want to go home.” M/n huffed, gathering his stuff together. Jake reached out to M/n’s hands, taking them just for a second but M/n took them away, giving him a grim look.

Jake’s big smile stuck on his face even after rejection, “Should we go to a party?”

“Why?”

“‘Cause, I wanna drink with my favorite best friend!” Jake screeched, a little too happy to announce his title. M/n rolled his eyes, resuming his packing.

“You won’t be asking if you weren’t already planning. Who’s party?”

“May’s birthday gathering at the pub. She misses you, y’know.”

Oh, right. May. Jake’s girlfriend of two, almost three years now. You would almost forget all about her when just the two M/n and Jake were together.

M/n shuttered. “You’re not asking me to go to her birthday party with you, you’re asking me to be her gift because you forgot, right?”

Jake pouted but lowered his head and nodded, “I’ve been so busy with these sets for the theatre department, that I completely forgot to make her something.” M/n almost felt bad when Jake returned to his chipper self, “But once she sees you, no one else’s gifts will matter. So, you gotta come!”

Going to this party was M/n’s first mistake. Just a group of maybe twelve students from the university all drinking shots like a fish drinking water, causally sipping after every sentence. About a third of them were probably already tipsy by now and it was only the first thirty minutes.

M/n sat at the end of the table, sipping his beer as his eyes darted between Jake and May, who sat chatting about, close. M/n knew it was wrong not to feel a difference, but why does Jake hold May the same way he does him?

Jake was a weird kid. He’s nice to everyone and touch is his love language, but there should be no reason his touch is the same as his touch with May. That’s his girlfriend. Right?

“Hey, hey, let’s draw chopsticks, yeah? Whoever gets this red-marked one has to do something.” One of the partygoers suggested, and the table erupted in cheers.

“Ah, well how about the birthday girl chooses the dare,” Another said, pointing at May whose face is flushed red.

“Oh, well, um. I guess, I found Jake during one of these parties, right? Let’s keep the love in the air!” The table all coos, in unison. Except for M/n who’s face goes flat at the mention of the couple.

“So, how about whoever gets the stick has to kiss, um… hmm, M/n!”

M/n coughed, hand covering over his mouth. “W-What why me?”

“Well, aren’t you single? You stick around Jake so much, I hardly get to see him!” M/n chuckled, refraining with all his might not to roll his eyes.

Jake’s face dropped to a concerned one as he put a hand on May’s shoulder “Hey, maybe pick someone else. It’s obvious he’s uncomfortable, May.”

“I’ll do it,” M/n said, downing the rest of his drink. “Draw the sticks, maybe I’ll get a girlfriend today.”

M/n was being sarcastic, Jake knew this but couldn’t help but wish he hadn’t been. Because Jake didn’t want to see anyone even touch M/n in any kind of way. 

Everyone put their chopstick in a glass as M/n waited anxiously to see just who was going to meet him at his demise tonight. May swivel the chopsticks around for a few seconds before everyone reached for one without looking at the bottom.

“Okay, okay, everyone look now!” May shouted in excitement.

Everyone looked at their chopstick, then at the person next to them.

“Oh my God, Jake has it!”

The table ran silent as everyone looked at the three awkwardly. Then someone broke the silence.

“Well, it’s that bad, right? It’s just a little boy’s love kiss? Nothing real, right May?”

May’s face showed it all, she was not amused anymore.

“U-Uh, never mind we don’t have to-” Suddenly, Jake rose from his seat and shuffled towards M/n, the table ooing. Jake stopped behind M/n’s chair, placing his hand under his chin he lifted his head like he did earlier and leaned forward on the tips of his feet, “Should we kiss?” He whispered.

M/n looked up as far as he could, Jake’s smiling.

“Wah, look at Jake. He doesn’t want anyone to kiss M/n but himself!” Someone squealed. The tension is cut thin as the slam of May’s hand on the table snapped everyone’s heads in her direction.

“I-I need to use the bathroom, I’ll be back. Jake, come with, please.”

The next few days at the university were different. Jake was no longer interrupting M/n's study sessions in the quad, instead just walking past as if they didn't know each other.

May believed something was going on between the two. If it wasn’t for the jabs she took at the pub, it was the drink she threw at him while he was walking to class.His books and papers dropped down to the ground, dowsed in her drink at his feet.

“I heard boyfriend stealers like to get wet. Thought I’d help you get started.” May spat. M/n hung his head low, not looking up because he knew if he looked into May’s eyes he was either going to break down crying and apologize or wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze so hard that she just might take her words back.

Either way, it didn’t matter because as quickly as a dog comes at a whistle, Jake Sim was standing in front of M/n with a paper towel, blotting his face.

“Hey, HEY” Jake shouted, smacking M/n’s face lightly as he tried to get his attention. M/n didn’t even notice it, but he was hyperventilating as tears dripped down his face like lava erupting from a volcano.

M/n didn’t remember what happened after that, somehow though, he ended up in Jake’s bedroom lying like a corpse in a casket with his hands folded on his chest. All he could do was look up at the ceiling as he recounted all the times he should’ve avoided causing problems with May. Starting with meeting Jake altogether.

Jake was leaning against the wall on his bed as well, legs crossed. “Knowing you, you’re probably thinking about how you could’ve changed all of this. You stupid Psych majors, always thinking and shit.”

Jake sighed, “But it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“But… Do you think it’s a crime to fall in love with your best friend?”

#enhypen x male reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #jake enhypen #jake sim #sim jaeyun #jake x reader #jake x y/n #jake x male reader #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #kpop #yunqitv #kpop boys

[jimraisedmeup]

TICK // 11.1 - against all odds

Rating: mature (angst, language)

Word Count: 1500

☾

How can I just let you walk away? Just let you leave without a trace When I stand here taking every breath, with you You're the only one who really knew me at all

☾

February 14, 1984 - junior year

"Your room smells nice."

"Did you expect it to smell bad? Jesus."

Eddie stared at you, standing in his bedroom. You were looking around, your piercing gaze taking in every little detail, which suddenly made Eddie self-conscious.

"Do you have, like, multiple personalities or something, Buckley? I'm getting whiplash from your mood swings," he muttered, dropping the keys to his van on the dresser.

You scoffed, removing your jacket and scarf before laying them out on his bed. You sat on your jacket like it was some kind of protective barrier between yourself and his bedsheets. 

The strange action made Eddie roll his eyes.

Taking time to look at you, Eddie was sure now that you were going through some shit. Your hair was still pristine as always, but the bags under your eyes made you look like a goddamn ghoul.

"Hot chocolate?" you reminded him, running your hands over the tops of your thighs.

Eddie shifted awkwardly. "Uh, yeah, about that. I don't have any hot chocolate, I just said that to lure you in here."

"Again with the homicidal implications, huh, Munson?"

"I do love implications, sunshine," he snapped back with a quick wink. "Woah, woah!"

Standing up suddenly, you grabbed your jacket and made for the door. On your way out, you stopped in front of Eddie.

"Stop calling me sunshine. I don’t like pet names. I’m not your pet," you spat.

Ignoring the jab at his bruised heart, Eddie sneered at you, second-guessing why he even bothered to bring you there to talk. 

"At this point, I think the only thing I know about you is that you're a total asshole."

You paused in the hallway outside of his bedroom. You seemed defeated, like a car that ran out of gas, like a bird giving up after trying to fly with a broken wing.

"Look, I can tell you're not having a great time lately. Obviously," he said, gesturing towards you as a whole, "you're a little off your rocker."

When you didn't respond, Eddie continued. "Let me help you get back on your rocker. Talk to me, tell me things, anything. Tell me about your shitty parents, tell me about your dirty dreams. I care, you know. I'm not about to judge you."

He worried that his pleading would chase you out the door faster, which honestly could be the last straw for Eddie. There was a fine line between trying to help the girl who was hell bent on pushing everyone away and maintaining his own self-respect.

And then you nearly crumpled to the floor, rubbing your eyes with your fingertips.

"I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry about ghosting you again, for leaving after what happened on New Years."

He hadn't expected an apology from you. Sure, he wanted one - but he sure as hell didn’t expect one. 

And then the very last thing he expected from you was the amount of emotion on your face. A mixture of confusion, exhaustion, just a sprinkle of anger.

Unsure of what to say, Eddie scooted towards you, taking a knee on the floor near where you leaned against the dingy wall.

"It's… it's okay. I can't be mad at you. We're both going through our own shit."

"That's no excuse for me to abandon you. Twice."

Eddie chuckled grimly. "Huh, yeah. You did ditch me twice, didn't you?"

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You mean, besides being a typical teenage girl?" He tried to joke, but immediately felt bad. "Is it about your parents?"

And finally, after months of wondering what the hell you were hiding, the wall you were desperately holding up… fell down.

☾

How can you just walk away from me? When all I can do is watch you leave 'Cos we've shared the laughter and the pain and even shared the tears You're the only one who really knew me at all

☾

You told him about your family. You told him about your religion, or ex-religion at this point, and how much it affected the dynamic of you and your parent's relationship.

You had been so used to maintaining your stoic appearance even before you changed your mind about religion. Since you were a small girl, your parents scolded you for crying. If you even laughed too loudly in public, your mother would pinch your arm. You're embarrassing yourself, child.

Your parent's recent divorce was the talk of housewives all over Hawkins, but not necessarily as big as Eddie's father's arrest. More like the hottest gossip amongst adults since back when Hopper went off the rails and banged nearly every woman in town.

You felt responsible for the entire thing. You told Robin about your father's affair, who in turn told your mother. The whole situation was a complete cluster fuck, ending up with your mother moving to Indianapolis and now the Buckley sisters only had your shitty dad. Not that either of you really needed him, though.

Confiding in Eddie about Robin's sexuality and your parent's ridicule was the hardest part, a lone tear crawling down your cheek for the first time in years. You had never said the words out loud before, even to Robin herself. It had always been an unspoken thing between you two.

You were a girl with a lot of feelings built up inside of you, anger bubbling at the surface of your impassive image. 

After growing up in a vicious, judgemental household, Eddie could see exactly why you were so distrusting of others.

Especially new, unpredictable people. Like himself.

And Eddie sat in silence, sitting across the narrow hallway from you. He absorbed every word you spoke. He felt like he was receiving a precious gift, a priceless artifact, deserving of being protected inside of his heart forever. 

In your close proximity, the Munson boy wrapped his outstretched legs loosely around your own legs. You didn't seem to mind.

"Thank you for telling me. Thank you for telling me about your life, Buckley," he mumbled, after a long stretch of silence between them. 

"Are you okay?"

"What?" he questioned, puzzled. 

"About your dad…"

Your eyes lifted to meet his, and Eddie felt like he saw a new clarity there. Your fixed stare was lucid, like a dirty window that was cleaned after years of neglect. And hell, Eddie would cut off one of his limbs to become the worn out rag that cleaned that window forever.

It seemed like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. He admired you, not only for overcoming obstacles in life, but as a physical being. Sour conversation aside, Eddie wanted to hold you. He was still afraid you would run away, disappear for a third time.

"Eddie?"

He coughed, distracted, looking down the hallway. "Oh, um, well… my dad got locked up for dealing drugs. Now I live here. Not much to say about that."

"But are you okay?"

Thinking for a moment, he tapped his boot against your hip. "I'll be okay. I was planning to move here anyways, remember? No more drunken screaming fights, no more locking me out of the house on a weekly basis. No more broken guitars, either," he laughed. "I've actually been keeping my favorite guitar here at my uncle's for years because of that old angry bastard."

"Really?"

"Unfortunately, Buckley, you aren't the only one with dysfunctional parents. Hate to break it to you." He had one more question for you. "But, on a more personal note. Did I do something wrong?"

You fidgeted in your seat on the floor. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"I guess I know better by now than to take these last few months too personally. We're human, life has its ups and downs. But are we still friends? Why did our friendship, or whatever the hell it was, become collateral damage in all of this?"

No answer from you.

"Are you going to stick around this time? I'm developing abandonment issues over here," he smirked.

His grin grew wider as you actually smiled back at him. Your eyes seemed to glow at him from across the hallway.

"I don't know, you tell me. Can I stay?"

"I'll keep you forever if you let me."

The blush on your cheeks was displayed to him in an almost shameless way, like an offering. And then your next question would have knocked him off his feet if he hadn't already been seated on the floor.

"No, I mean can I stay here tonight?"

☾

Take a good look at me now, 'cos I'll still be standin' here And you coming back to me is against all odds It's the chance I've gotta take

☾

(song lyrics credit: "Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now)" by Phil Collins)

TAGLIST for this series if you would like to be notified when I post new chapters!

taglist: @siriuslysmoking @emesis-nemisis @ishouldclean @thegirlblogstuff @insert-geeky-things-here @melonmonstereater @well-be-okay-dear-valentine @mewchiili @maridevial @sp1dyb0y1008 @totallynani @the-historical-biscuit2468 @borhapgirlforlife19 @amandaauroraelli @daggerdear @nvrendfangirl @lausnotverybright @salvinaa @psychotickoda @hiimerinhime @heyyallitsnaomi @trixyvixx

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddiemunson #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #eddie munson slow burn #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x buckley!reader

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 24

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 23 🟣 Part 25

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: Fluff, ongoing vampire shenanigans, mentions of drug abuse, addiction, tragic backstory, August's completely unwarranted hatred of jellybeans.

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: Family trip!!!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2

“Tell me something,” you whispered to Mike, who was sitting in the way too comfortable chair next to you, reclining the seat — probably without feeling any guilt towards Marshall and Sherlock, who were sitting behind him. They had plenty of leg room left. “How are we flying first class right now?”

“August refuses to fly coach,” Marshall answered that question for Mike. The answer didn't surprise you. Like, at all.

“It’s not like we can't afford it,” August snapped from the seat in front of you. The one next to him was empty.

“Charles would be proud of you,” Mike taunted. You didn't see the smack that followed, but you heard Mike's pained grunt all too clearly.

“Please don't break him,” you laughed. Mike snuggled into your side, glaring at the seat in front of him and kicking it for good measure. “And you can stop this tantrum right now, or sit next to August.” It was a good thing he was so damn cute.

“He's not wrong, though,” Sherlock pointed out, a hint of amusement to his voice. “Charles is the only other member of our family with the same insistence on certain levels of luxury.”

“Do I count as a member of your family?” you chuckled. All of your guys looked at you as if you'd gone crazy. And it was a silly question; of course you were a member of the family. “Because I think I might just be learning to appreciate those standards.”

“And exactly how expensive are dates going to get now?” Mike asked with a smile. “Because… Just because they are all fucking loaded, doesn't mean I have unlimited access to those funds…”

“Mostly because an ungodly amount would be spent on Jelly Beans, and an even more ridiculous amount would be spent on videogames,” August sneered. Mike just shrugged — he could hardly deny it; the fact that your arrangement meant Mike didn't need his mountains of Jelly Beans anymore, hadn't exactly meant he wasn't still eating plenty of them, much to August's chagrin.

“August, just because you live a boring, joyless, Jelly Beanless life, doesn't mean I have to,” Mike sighed.

“How long has this been going on?” You asked Marshall and Sherlock.

“I'd say since the invention of the Jelly Bean,” Sherlock said, “but Mike wasn't around back then. I believe that happened somewhere in the late eighteen hundreds…”

“As long as Mike has been around, then?” you asked, not wanting to ask them too many invasive questions such as ‘how in the hell do you know when the Jelly Bean was invented?’

“At least for as long as they've known each other,” Marshall answered, explaining that that hadn't happened until about thirty years ago. Still, that was a long time to have a whole feud over candy, you pointed out.

“It's a long time to be addicted to candy,” August growled.

“Eh, I guess an “addiction" to Jelly Beans beats all of those other addictions I had,” Mike shrugged. “Oh…” His cheeks flushed when he saw the troubled look on your face. “I guess I never told you…”

“Much of anything, Mike,” you said softly.

“It's not the best story.” He tried to shrug it off, but you could tell something was bothering him. “It's, eh… It's not exactly a version of me I want you to know about, either.” He looked at you, the sadness in his eyes becoming more and more pronounced as time went by, and it took some serious effort to convince him you loved him for the man he was now, not who he was forty years ago.

“Alright, fine,” he sighed. “What do you know? So I know where to start…”

“That Marshall ran into you in the eighties and that you were hanging out with a bunch of goths and goth-adjacent figures,” you summed up quickly, eager to get to the rest of the story.

“Alright, well… What’s important is that you know we're talking about Berlin in the eighties. My dad got a job there, so we moved from here to Berlin when I was six or something. That went well for a few years, and then my dad died when I was fourteen. I didn't think much of it at the time, but over the years… Something about it doesn't check out, and I honestly wouldn't be surprised if my mom killed him because he had an affair with his secretary, but whatever. Water under the bridge, I guess.”

“Mike! The fuck?” He said it so casually…

“Sweetcheeks, it doesn't matter, okay? Dad was gone, mom worked all the time to keep a roof over our heads, and I became completely unbearable—”

“And that never went away,” August said. You could tell he was smiling.

“Hey, thanks!” Mike replied, rolling his eyes. “Anyway. I'm a completely unmanageable teen at this point, and Berlin in the eighties was not the place for that. Like, it goes wrong shockingly quickly. I think I was sixteen when it really started going south.  Like I said; Berlin in the eighties was something else.”

“There were two things the government couldn't exactly get a handle on,” Marshall interjected. “One was vampirism, the other heroin. The two went hand in hand, more or less.” He looked down at his hands, clearly not at ease.

You had just decided not to press the matter when Sherlock offered an explanation. “Junkies were… not simply easy targets, although it would be hard to deny that they were.” It actually took you a while to notice that Sherlock and Mike had switched place, and that while you were looking straight at Sherlock, who was now sitting next to you. “Back in the day, addicts and vampires were connected by the mutual illegitimacy of their existences — although the vampires naturally had several advantages over humans from marginalized communities—”

“Anyway,” Mike cleared his throat and appeared next to you again. “The thing about a junkie is that they'll do pretty much anything for a fix. Including volunteering to feed vampires in exchange for some cash. Now, those were not the people you've heard us talking about up until now…”

Apparently, the goths you'd heard about had been the ones who took Mike in, the ones who tried to get him clean. “And they succeeded,” Mike said with an apologetic grin on his face. “Several times, even. My mom had stopped caring at that point, and then when I was nineteen — a few weeks before Julia, my ex, ran into Marshall — mom died, too…”

“He found out what I was not much later,” Marshall said.

“How?”

“I walked in on them, after Julia and I broke up, except I didn't walk in on what I at first expected to be walking in on, if you catch my drift.”

“Went about as well as you'd expect from the guy who's pretty much okay with everything,” Marshall laughed. “We did really well for a few years.”

“We'll spare you the lengthy, boring part with all the domestic bliss,” Mike swooped in before Marshall could elaborate. “When I was… twenty-two? Fairly sure I was twenty-two, yeah… Anyway, I met a girl—”

“Of course you did,” you blurted out before you could help it, immediately looking up at Mike with what must have been the guiltiest look of your entire life so far on your face.

“I don't blame you for that. Anyway… She was in trouble — the kind of trouble I'd been out of for years, at that point, and I thought I could be to her what Julia and Iris had been for me, but—”

“You relapsed?” you tried. Right on the money.

“Yep… Even years later, Hedwig — that was her name — pulled me right back under. Wasn't her fault, of course. It's not like she put a gun to my head and forced me to stick a needle in my arm or anything. Can't even say it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't met her. Anyway, the point is; it happened… Not a great time. I—” He nervously fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I’m happy to tell you the rest, but… later?”

You took his skittish look at the other passengers to mean he’d prefer a more private setting. Deal.

A left turn and the change from smooth asphalt to crunching gravel beneath the tires of the car startled you enough to let out a loud, disapproving hum and lift your head. You hadn’t been asleep, per se, but definitely dozing off a little, your head resting comfortably on Marshall’s shoulder. Mike’s hand was on your thigh, eerily — vampirically — still ever since you’d asked him for the third time if he could stop moving it because it tickled. He enjoyed tickling you, you were not a fan.

“We’re here, princess,” August said from the front seat, and you leaned over to look out the window, seeing nothing but forest, forest and more forest.

“We’re where?” you asked, surprised at the absence of the house you’d expected to see.

“The estate,” Marshall noted calmly. And exactly how big was this estate? “Big enough.”

“Charles likes his privacy,” Mike noted. His fingers were tapping a gentle rhythm on your knee now, and his legs restlessly bounced up and down with excitement. “You’ll love this place!”

The car finally pulled into something that actually looked like a driveway — that is to say, it was the same gravel, the same road, but you could finally see that there was a house attached to it. Mansion. Villa. Actually it was closer to something resembling a small castle, but this wasn’t Europe, so…

“Charles also likes extravagance,” August snarled his answer to your unasked question.

“I can see that,” you muttered breathlessly as you followed Mike out of the car when it came to a halt in front of the stairs that led to a pretty grand front door. “Where is Sherlock?”

“Right here, darling,” he called from the top of the steps, where August was also already standing — holding both of your suitcases and your backpack.

“Wait, how did the three of you travel so… light?” And how had it not occurred to you to ask that question before now?

“We have everything we need here,” August explained. “Mike, get her up here!”

One of the heavy wooden doors opened the second Mike put you down, and a small woman stumbled through it. She was a little older than you, with long, black hair down to her waist, and she looked absolutely exhausted.

“Priya!” Sherlock said, grasping her elbow to steady her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Holmes,” she replied before turning to you and reaching out her hand. “Hi, I’m Priya. I’m—”

“Dinner.” Oh, for the love of god, why did you have to snap at her? You didn’t even know the woman, but the thought of her feeding your vampires was entirely too much. “Sorry! I—”

“I get it,” she chuckled. “My sister, Nalini, has your… talent. She’s protective of her family as well. And you’re not wrong, just a bit impolite.” You deserved that.

“I don’t know what came over me,” you said. “I’m so sorry.” Not to mention how rude you would have been if you had been wrong… What if this woman hadn’t even had any idea she was visiting vampires?

“Are you sure you’re okay, Priya?” Mike asked, his brow furrowed, and his voice concerned.

“I’m alright, guys,” she laughed — but it took a lot of effort to do so. “I’ve been sick before, I always survived.” With the back of her hand, she wiped the sheen of sweat from her brow, and you noticed an intricate reddish design on her palms. She caught you as you tried to get a better look. “From my eldest sister’s wedding,” she said. “I can show you pictures later this week, but I really have to go. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can start sleeping off this cold, or whatever it is.”

“Please let us know when you get home,” Sherlock said as he walked her to the cab you’d just stepped out of.

“That was unnecessarily rude, princess,” August snapped when the car drove off.

“I said I was sorry,” you muttered quietly, not daring to look August in the eye. “I… You’ve all known her for a while, haven’t you?”

“She’s been coming here for years. About a year before Sherlock and Mike moved away,” Marshall explained. “Now, what’s really bothering you about this?”

“I thought you’d never been in this kind of… arrangement before,” you muttered, also avoiding Walter’s eyes.

“And we haven’t. You heard her; she’s not like you.” Marshall ushered you into the hallway, where the others were already waiting. The sound of the door falling shut behind you made you jump. “Charles was willing to pay a small fortune to drive her out here. Once a month, just as usual. And all the rules of the Bank still applied, just as usual. So, if you’re worried for so much as a second that you’re not special to us, you can stop that now.”

“Did she say she would be back later this week?” you asked softly. Part of you hated the thought of anyone but you feeding your vampires — even the ones you hadn’t met yet…

“She’s a friend of the family, not just… dinner.” The unfamiliar voice behind you startled you more than the closing door had, and you spun around as quickly as you could — but not quicker than the owner of the voice, who had apparently already walked around you, and was now standing behind you. “Would you stand still and let me do the moving, please?”

Two hands descended on your shoulders and gently turned you around, so that you were now face to face with the ‘new’ vampire. He was handsome, his face all angles and edges, with kind eyes and a charming smile. Judging from the sour look on August’s face, this had to be Charles.

“Charles Brandon, pleasure to meet you,” he said softly as he took your hand in his and shook it briefly. Perhaps too briefly? The charm of his smile almost made you overlook the sadness behind those kind blue eyes. Almost.

Next to you, Mike was swaying back and forth on his feet, waiting for introductions to come to an end so he could— Before Charles had even fully let go of your hand, Mike lunged forward to hug the man. “Alright, kid,” Charles laughed, “you’re home. It’s okay.”

“Where’s…” Mike asked as he let go so the others could subject Charles to similar treatment of warm ‘glad to be back’-hugs. Of course, the one between August and Charles was short and tense, but other than that, it was a perfect display of warm familiarity.

“Right behind you,” another unfamiliar voice spoke. This time, you didn’t bother to turn around — a wise call, as a split second later, another man appeared before you.

“Melot,” he said as he reached for your hand, raising it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. For some reason, it made your heart skip a beat. Melot looked much younger than Charles, or any of the others — younger than Mike, even — and you were fairly sure it didn’t have much to do with the dark, shoulder-length curls that framed his face. “I’m glad you’re finally here.”

“He’d ask you how your trip was, but… he already knows,” Charles noted, adding to your confusion. “I see she hasn’t been told much about him? Does the same apply to me?”

“She knows enough,” August growled, followed by a grunt as Marshall kicked him in the shins.

“August, that’s enough, go to your room!” Sherlock snapped. It was absolutely hilarious to hear those words from him, but what really had you in stitches was the fact that he actually walked away — presumably to the aforementioned room.

You only stopped laughing when Mike gently nudged your side with his elbow, at which point you looked at the others in the hallway, who were all looking at Sherlock in bewilderment. After a strange, tense silence that lasted far too long, August joined you again.

“Would someone fucking explain to me why he got to do that, here?” he sneered.

Melot chuckled softly. “It would seem that our hierarchy changed with the coming of our queen.”

#mike hellraiser fic #mike hellraiser #mike (hellraiser) #hellraiser mike #mike hellraiser fanfiction #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #walter marshall #hc sherlock #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #august walker #august walker fanfiction #natural fic #naturalfic

[spacemancharisma]

ways i’ve described being attracted to people:

“I want to braid her hair and watch movies at a sleepover with her”

“I want to work in his household. I want to bake bread for that man”

“I want to chew on him like a rubber ball”

“I want to sit at her feet and have her pet me like a little dog and tell me what to do”

“I want to do bad things to him. like, legitimately morally bankrupt things”

“I want to build an altar and worship her as a deity”

“I want to wash his hair and put him in a baby bjorn”

“I have a pathological need to chew on that man’s tiddies”

“I want to have a complicated years-long homoerotic friendship with her”

“I have never wanted to suck a dick so bad in my life, I swear”

“I need to have had that man on a leash yesterday”

“I had a dream that he kissed my neck and I got the lipstick mark tattooed”

“I have never understood the urge to call someone I’m attracted to ‘mommy’ but I get it now”

“ohhh my god I need to put eyeliner on him right now”

“I want to go on a lord of the rings-style quest with him”

“I just want him to know I’m available if he ever needs his pussy ate. like, I’m here for you”

#hashtag bisexual momence #points to you if you can guess who any of these were said about #personal #sex ment

[tardis--dreams]

Some of those doctors make hating oat milk their entire personality. I hate them. Cannot pretend to find them funny or like i give a shit. Fucking pretentious assholes

#also my colleague (the girl i had my shift with) is the exact opposite of me in all aspects. asked me if I'd ever worked in customer service #because i couldn't care less about being fake friendly to assholes and don't care if they like the service or not #like bitch those people don't have any other choice but drink our fucking coffee it's not like I'm competing with anyone #or like they pay us in any way. i get paid for doing the dumb work i have to do not for stroking some dumb ass doctors' egos #they come out of their rooms once an hour to get coffee and we have the cups on the table and i wouldn't even Think of #HANDING them the cups and smiling sweetly at them and asking 'coffee? tea?? :))' #I'll just assume these grown adults will get their stupid coffee or tea when they want some. it's not like they don't know where it is #(and i AM friendly and smile when someone is coming in our direction but why the fuck do you need to get so disgustingly friendly with them #if someone held up a cup asking if i.want some coffee I'd leave immediately even if i came just for coffee. it's creepy) #anyway. she's nice. I'm not. #there's normal people who will get their coffee and maybe ask if the milk in the little jug is cow milk to which I'll happily reply 'yes #:)'. then there's the other people who see the oat milk and make it clear they are the most insufferable people on the planet #(and i pity their patients so much. not much to choose from i guess but if i had that as a doctor I'd happily just die) #like everyone who took oatmilk could do it without making a fuss about the cow milk on the table. the cow milk lovers could never #'the oat milk is in front of the actual milk. this is unacceptable. i hate such healthy bullshit' lol okay #'OAT milk?? I'll leave this to the horses! THANK GOD you have actual milk!' #my favorite was the one who really took personal offense with its sheer presence. as if it had killed half of his patients lmao #'we had 50 patients with xyz problem. ALL of them drink oat milk. they cannot see the connection. it's really unhealthy' #at this point i just said i didn't care and stopped paying attention and he started complaining to his doctor colleague about how #oat milk is advertised to be healthy and how it's actually the opposite and i just find that very funny compared to the first comment #from that one guy who doesn't like such healthy bullshit. you guys need to find a consensus on the oatmilk issue i think. no one takes you #seriously if you contradict yourself like this. also i couldn't care less about the healthiness of the milk alternative of my choice. bitch. #next week I'll end up killing someone. i hope they all die from their cow milk. (but not the ones who took cow milk and didn't say anything #about the oat milk. they can continue living as they didn't annoy me) #void screams #some of these doctors were actually quite nice (most of them even). one even brought an applicant to us telling her to get some coffee #(which we are not allowed to give to applicants. but i don't care. I'd rather they get something than some of the asshole jury members #who hate oat milk (which is not the issue. the issue is them making it everybody else's issue that they don't like oat milk))

[wherela]

one of those crying in the shower kind of days

#my 'best friend' stood me up today #and by stood me up i don't mean canceled last minute i mean didn't show up and only responded to my calls and texts after 45 min #why? she was hanging out with some guy (she met him last week. he's not a christian.) and lost track of time #she's also initiated no contact with me over the last few weeks #the explenation was she thought i was busy with my thesis. as if you can't check in on someone when they're busy #she also gosted me for 3 days (like a month ago??) cause she was asked to share at student group and i couldn't go CAUSE I WAS SICK #I'm just so tired of it at this point #but it's also made me realise i dont really have any close friends #i have lots of friends. sure. and i trust them too. but it's not the kind of close where i can write to them when I've got a problem #like maybe I'd tell them live if they asked me? but I wouldn't really write to them it would just be weird #and so who do I tell that I met S's parents yesterday and even though so many things have happened since then already thats the only one #I can think about???? or that he actually CALLED ME afterwards specifically to tell me what they thought of our church #or that his mom apparently asked him if our relationship was still weird and he said 'yes' and I've been overthinking it cause i thought we #were finally okay and normal and genuinely just friends? #or that his mom said my look is that i dress vintage and it made me SO HAPPY!! that's my look!!! that's how I'm recognisable!!! #the answer is nobody. i have no one to tell :( #mine #s #I'm sorry I guess I had to vent this prolly turned out really really long

[munamania]

sorry bitterness consumes the soul etc etc <33 i will say though. depending on what is going through her head this could all be really fucking cruel lmfao

#like. alright. idk if she Knows i have feelings for her but given the whole blocked stories thing and whatever like. who knows #what bf said. and whether she is or was at any point genuinely confused or something because she does like him but we. hit it off. and it #was all just a Lot. like that doesn’t give the excuse for the times when it felt like she was sorta.. leading me on. yk. though maybe i was #truly delusional and stupid last semester i don’t know. maybe she just also enjoys talking to me on a friendly level and that’s fine and all #but it’d be really weird if she like. also refuses to acknowledge me outside of class? or anything like that.. #or like. basically was just using me to stroke her ego in that sense if she does Know. like that would be shitty #would i like to be friends sure do i think this would absolutely crush my soul probably. #and i’d like to say ohh i don’t think she’s doing xy or z but i truly don’t know her. you know. beyond the little bits #of time we’ve had to talk about our lives and whatever #and anyway. it is stupid that i’ve spent so long trying to guess at what’s on her mind cause i’ll never know unless you know. #we’re ever close enough that we can talk about it or. whatever. #so. i definitely think when i see her again i’m going to take any chance i can to say something about last semester. um yk. in a way that #makes sense i’m not just insane. though i do hope that i can subtly make boyfriend seem really paranoid and weird. sorry. lol. but he was! #honestly if i were hitting on her or trying to make a move i’d understand him being like that but i was polite and friendly #so he has no business getting involved in my personal feelings! yeah i #don’t like him yeah i have feelings for his gf but you get what i mean i’m not. Trying to be an asshole here. #do i wish they’d break up? if she’s not happy. but am i going to like literally be a homewrecker? obviously not again who knows #if i even have the sway to. SORRY i’m being soooo insane one thing about me i can talk about a topic #a million times. anyway. #i just hope it’s not insane emotional manipulation or anything on anyones part i don’t know. #we have a really easy banter so i think it’ll be easy enough to talk to her and then hopefully. have a little bit more clarity as to where #we stand. yk. #abby talks #might delete this later if i decide i’m being a little tooooo 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 #i guess what i’m trying to say is. because this isn’t all the clear and obviously it’d be fine if we’re just friends. but the way we #interact is a little. idk. like we tease each other a lot and it’s like girl idk u tho… i’m having fun but huh?

[scientia-rex]

When I was in ninth grade I wanted to challenge what I saw as a very stupid dress code policy (not being allowed to wear spikes regardless of the size or sharpness of the spikes). My dad said to me, “What is your objective?”

He said it over and over. I contemplated that. I wanted to change an unfair dress code. What did I stand to gain? What did I stand to lose? If what I really wanted was to change the dress code, what would be my most effective potential approach? (He also gave me Discourses on the Fall of Rome by Titus Livius, Machiavelli’s magnum opus. Of course he’d already given me The Prince, Five Rings, and The Art of War.)

I ultimately printed out that phrase, coated it in Mod Podge, and clipped it to my bathroom mirror so I would look at it and think about it every day.

What is your objective?

Forget about how you feel. Ask yourself, what do you want to see happen? And then ask, how can you make it happen? Who needs to agree with you? Who has the power to implement this change? What are the points where you have leverage over them? If you use that leverage now, will you impair your ability to use it in the future? Getting what you want is about effectiveness. It is not about being an alpha or a sigma or whatever other bullshit the men’s right whiners are on about now. You won’t find any MRA talking points in Musashi, because they are not relevant.

I had no clear leverage on the dress code issue. My parents were not on the PTA; neither were any of my friend’s parents who liked me. The teachers did not care about this. Ultimately I just wore what I wanted, my patent leather collar from Hot Topic with large but flattened spikes, and I had guessed correctly—the teachers also did not care enough to discipline me.

I often see people on tumblr, mostly the very young, flail around in discourse. They don’t have an objective. They don’t know what they want to achieve, and they have never thought about strategizing and interpersonal effectiveness. No one can get everything they want by being an asshole. You must be able to work with other people, and that includes smiling when you hate them.

Read Machiavelli. Start with The Prince, but then move on to Discourses. Read Musashi’s Five Rings. Read The Art of War. They’re classics for a reason. They can’t cover all situations, but they can do more for how you think about strategizing than anything you’re getting in middle school and high school curricula.

Don’t vote third party unless you can tell me not only what your objective is but also why this action stands a meaningful chance of accomplishing it. Otherwise, back up and approach your strategy from a new angle. I don’t care how angry you are with Biden right now. He knows about it, and he is both trying to do something and not doing enough. I care about what will happen to millions of people if we have another Trump presidency. Look up Ross Perot, and learn from our past. Find your objective. If it is to stop the genocide in Palestine now, call your elected representatives now. They don’t care about emails; they care about phone calls, because they live in the past. I know this because I shadowed a lobbyist, because knowing how power works is critical to using it.

How do you think I have gotten two clinics to start including gender care in their planning?

Start small. Chip away. Keep working. Find your leverage; figure out how and when to effectively use it. Choose your battles, so that you can concentrate on the battle at hand instead of wasting your resources in many directions. Learn from the accumulated wisdom of people who spent their lives learning by doing, by making mistakes, by watching the mistakes of their enemies.

Don’t be a dickhead. Be smarter than I was at 14. Ask yourself: what is your objective?

[amu-says-hav-says]

I can’t believe I went through all of Season 2 assuming Nina was the stand-in for Crowley when you actually pay attention it’s so CLEAR that she’s Aziraphale. I was tricked by her spiky, sarcastic, cynical outer shell and lulled into a false sense of security by Maggie’s bubbly optimism and wholesome goodness, because on the surface they reflect the ineffable husbands perfectly, in their personalities, their aesthetics, even many of their actions and morals. but not, and this is the real key, when it comes to their “relationship”. but those first impressions really had me damn fooled. 

I missed the blatantness of Nina’s “we’re just friends. actually we’re not friends. we barely know each other.” the same thing Aziraphale said in season 1.  the way he still struggles to quantify their friendship when Nina asks. Nina’s sarcasm when Crowley asks about rain and awnings because it worked for him (we all know it LMAO). hell, that whole convo the girls have in the rain is so AziraCrow (“I know. I’m not your type” “...You have no idea” hits so much harder the second time, help meeeee.) “Lindsay” maybe being symbolic of Heaven and Aziraphale’s toxic relationship with them and their abuse? (the handwritten text messages in red pen make me think of angry notes on paperwork, anyone else?) because Crowley has never actually cared about what Hell thinks of him, just not getting into trouble (or him or Aziraphale getting hurt). Maggie is always chasing Nina. NINA NEVER GOES IN THE RECORD STORE. Just like Crowley always goes to the bookstore, to Aziraphale, Zira NEVER WENT TO THE FLAT (apart from The Swap but that doesn’t count imo). Crowley has always chased Zira, not the other way around. Always there to rescue him, always going to him for company, always relying on their shared connection, always US. OUR SIDE. All through season one, he comes to Zira every time to work together, never trying to work alongside Hell in any way that isn’t to save their skins or Earth, while Zira hides things from Crowley because he STILL thinks Heaven is ultimately good and will do the right thing if he can just show them. fix it from the inside. 

Maggie working up the courage to finally say something, to put herself out there, while Nina is utterly oblivious and then when she does realise Maggie has feelings, becoming standoffish, putting up that barrier, fighting it, denying it, ITS SO CROWLEY AND AZIRAPHALE IN THAT ORDER. the way I was fooled into thinking Nina’s trust issues are Crowley because he does have trust issues ofc he does BUT Crowley has ALWAYS TRUSTED AZIRAPHALE. has always relied on him. has always been hurt when Aziraphale doesn’t immediately reciprocate the way he expects (the holy water request, the bandstand, the “off in the stars” etc). he’s always the one putting himself forward. Aziraphale has always been the one to second guess everything, to fight their connection, their similarities, their friendship. the girls really made me think it was going to be okay when they sat Crowley down, even as my inner sirens were going haywire about Metatron interfering, they were telling Crowley he just needs to open up and it’ll all work out BUT HE’S ALREADY AT THAT POINT. he may not say it, and by gosh is that part of their damn problem, but he’s always SHOWN IT. he’s not Nina who needs time to heal and recover from her broken trust, he’s always been Maggie believing it doesn’t matter, they’ll end up together in the end anyway AND I WALKED RIGHT INTO THE TRAP THAT THIS MEANT THEY WERE GOING TO BE OKAYYYYYYYYYYY

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #GO2 #GO2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #not me going to my basically unused sideblog that isn't GO related because I NEED TO YELL THIS SOMEWHERE #I mean outside of the relationship thing there are so many ways #that Nina and Crowley line up and Zira and Maggie #but the girls story isn't about them as people #it's about this relationship the boys are tryna push on them and what that relationship reflects about the boys #anyway I'm on my first rewatch for all the clue I missed #so I imagine I'll only spot more clues to berate myself about as I go #HOW DID I FALL FOR ITTTTTT #I can't believe I was so blind #OFC the Disaster Puppy Lesbian was Crowley #and OFC the Emotionally Abused Tortoise was Aziraphale

[aashi-heartfilia]

The hypocrisy of Jinshi and MaoMao

*light novel spoilers*

I just love how hypocritical MaoMao's nature is. She yells at Jinshi for being a 'Masochist' and yet we see that she's no different. Now, by definition Masochist is a person who drives sexual gratification from their own pain and humiliation, plus it relates to Jinshi's tendency to do self harm (like burning his skin with a brand)

And what is MaoMao's most favourite thing in this world?

POISON

She literally takes pleasure in consuming it and no one can convince me otherwise. Plus she uses dangerous plants and animals and snakes whatnot in the name of her so-called experiments. Her dad may call her a 'mad Scientist' but that is a direct indication of self harm.

And she calls Jinshi a Masochist.

I mean, think about it! The amount of anxiety she gives to Jinshi! She came prepared with a vomit inducing medicine but even she had no idea whether it would work or not. She was just hoping it would work in the salt chapter.

And the same goes for her hand, on which she has conducted countless experiments. One flower even burned her skin and its marks never left her skin. She said it was all for her hobby. What kind of weird hobby is that? Maybe, our little adorable mad scientist is just like that.

One brands his own skin, while the other takes heavenly pleasure in consuming poison.

So my point is, Jinshi and MaoMao are not that different as one might think they are and that's why their dynamic works so well.

Let's look at the excerpts from volume 5:

She didn’t know how long they sat that way. All she knew was that Jinshi was looking down at her with a faintly triumphant expression, as if he saw that the breath had reached every corner of her body now. He wiped away the tears that had sprung to her eyes as she struggled to breathe. It was then that Maomao felt a flash of intense anger. “I said that if you were going to kill me, you should do it with poison,” she told him. “I refuse to let you poison yourself,” Jinshi said, his fingers tracing her lips. “You can’t pretend you didn’t know that you were one of the candidates. As much as I’m sure you’d like to.” He wasn’t done, either: “Who was that man, anyway? I’m sure you’re not a dancer.” So he had been watching them! “I was just paying for my drink,” Maomao said. “It didn’t cost much.” She tried to look away, but with his hand on her head, she really couldn’t.

Jinshi just choked her and yet he refuses to let MaoMao poison herself. A lot of people misinterpret this scene, and don't like it all that much, saying it was just fanservice stuff but this is how I see it: Jinshi wasn't trying to kill MaoMao, he was just trying to make MaoMao submit to him for once (even if the way he did it was very wrong, but guess he's kinky like that). MaoMao is actively trying to harm herself and Jinshi loves MaoMao a lot, he cannot just let her kill herself.

It was more about him trying to exert his dominance in their weirdish - complicated relationship and that also backfires on him as we see in the next volume that MaoMao escapes Jinshi's grasps using Pairin's techniques.

And then they both continue to avoid each other in the entire next volume! Because they both realised that they have crossed boundaries.

They both are hypocrites.

And they both refuse to accept their feelings.

In one of the later volumes, she gives Jinshi a piece of her mind on how he should tell her everything clearly, unequivocally, what he feels, and he literally declares that "he will make her his wife", which is nice and all but look at the wording MaoMao used here....

Excerpts from LN Vol 7, chapter 19 called "A man and a woman play the game"

"You’re forever telling me I need to use my words, Master Jinshi, but are you in any position to criticize? Everything you say to me, everything you do, it’s like it’s calculated to save you from ever having to actually say what you mean! To make me figure it all out! You know, you remind me of someone. You act exactly like a man who used to come by our brothel all the time. He was in love with one of the girls, but he would never just come out and say it. He thought it should be obvious from the way he acted. He was so sure he had a good thing going with this woman that he never sent her so much as a letter. I remember how forlorn he looked when someone else swooped in and snatched her away! He kept coming to the brothel after that—to get drunk and whine to the ladies. Well, in my opinion, he could have avoided all that heartbreak if he’d told the woman how he felt. Clearly, unequivocally, so that she knew where they stood. It was the least he could have done!”

Everything came out in a torrent. She felt like she’d said it all in one breath. It was strange, she thought, to hear so many words come out of her own mouth. She was mystified. Jinshi was no less startled, but the shock soon left his face, replaced by something else. He got up off the bed and stared down at Maomao.

Shit. Now I’ve done it. She’d given him a piece of her mind, and he was about to give her one back.

“So I should be clear, should I? Unequivocal? I should say what I mean? If I did, would you actually listen to me? Is that what you’re telling me? I’m going to hold you to that! Right this minute. I’ll say it all. Don’t plug your ears—listen to me!” He grabbed her hands as she was in the process of trying to put her fingers in her ears. He took a breath. He was looking at Maomao, but somehow he seemed almost embarrassed. Finally he managed, “Now listen to me, y—I mean, Maomao! Listen close! I am going to make you my wife!”

It's one heck of a chapter and I suggest you give it a go! The title of the chapter says "A man and a woman play the game" as if to emphasize the very fact that both Jinshi and MaoMao are playing the game.

Jinshi has never confessed his true feelings before this chapter and only implied that he wanted to make MaoMao his wife.

The implications were heavy though on Jinshi's part, and as smart as MaoMao is, anyone would have guessed that MaoMao was one of the candidates for Jinshi's consort. Even the clothes she received (the ones she wore to the banquet) were also provided by Jinshi along with the hairpin. It is never stated outright but seeing as the hairpin was from Jinshi, the clothes are also implied to be the same.

More or less she's always deliberately ignoring the possibility of having anything to do with him, that is more than professional. Some may call it denial, I call it dense. Maybe, to some extent, she herself is not aware of her feelings because she never lets herself feel anything.

Even Suiren pointed it out pretty early in the manga, that maybe it's MaoMao's way of being reserved. We need to keep in mind that MaoMao is an unreliable narrator and it's more of what she does, rather than what she says that makes a difference.

Even in the chapter that I have quoted above, she had every reason to leave Jinshi, she wasn't working for him after all. But she stayed to make tea for him, even after the fact that she had a long day too. She was almost just as exhausted as Jinshi and yet she was there preparing medicinal tea, so that he could get a better sleep.

Maybe she herself is yet to realise just how deep her feelings run. Till vol 12 she seems to have accepted them, but she still is yet to acknowledge their depth. Maybe it's because of her childhood.

It's not a traumatic backstory but MaoMao had a sad childhood nonetheless....

She was raised by her grand uncle and her real father was eccentric, who scared her. Her mother must also appear to be kind of demonic to her, since she was desperate enough to cut MaoMao's Pinky finger and send it to Lahan. So it's safe to say that MaoMao never received proper parental affection. And adding to the fact that, a brothel is not exactly an ideal place for raising a child.... especially when the birth of MaoMao was the one thing that brought the brothel to its knees...even if being born wasn't her choice.

Plus MaoMao stated it herself that when she was a baby, no one would come to sooth her until their work was finished, implying that even if MaoMao and her brothel sisters are close, they are not that close. A mother's love is different and she never received it. No one can love you more than your mother and MaoMao was deprived of that. She soon realised that no one was coming. Life is hard and she has no choice but to face it!

So, she got interested in poison.

Maybe she doesn't love herself or her life as much as she says / pretends she does. She's always like "yeah, I would very much like my head to be with my body" and "if I stay low profile maybe I can survive here" etc but maybe deep down that's not the case. Maybe that's why she loves poison so much. The implications are crazy.

And to break MaoMao's shell, Jinshi has no choice but to be a bit more forceful at times? At least that's how I interpret that choking scene. Jinshi was angry at MaoMao because she deliberately suggested him to marry consort Rishu and danced with Rikuson.

Even if Jinshi never said it outright, he was giving hints the entire time.

But well the tables turned and MaoMao topped him instead, lol (vol 7) and later we even see that our little stray cat has accepted Jinshi and she's ready to be in a relationship with him (vol 12).

Plus she is intrigued by the process of birth (she wants to eat her baby's placenta, it's kind of uggghhh.... but anyways, that MaoMao we're talking about, she's just weird that way)

Maybe not after too long she'll realise that if she has to give birth, she can only have it with Jinshi and no one else.

~Sunshine

#maomao #kusuriya no hitorigoto #kusuriya no hitorigoto manga #jinshi #jinshi x maomao #maomao x jinshi #the apothecary diaries #the Apothecary Diaries manga #tad manga #kusuriya no hitorigoto spoilers #manga #anime #spoilers #kusuriya no hitorigoto light novel #kusuriya no hitorigoto LN #the apothecary diaries anime #shoujo #shoujo couples #seinen #aashi animetalks #aashi heartfilia #mao mao #mao mao x jinshi #mao mao x reader #mao mao tad #maomao kusuriya no hitorigoto #light novel #kusuriya anime #shoujo anime #shoujo anime couples

[gay-dorito-dust]

How’d they react to you calling them bro or dude whilst in a pre-established relationship…(platonic/romantic)

Dick: he’s insulted.

Gutted.

He will try to give you the silent treatment for such a shameful thing but ultimately fails as he ends up being the one pawing at you for attention.

‘Do you still like me? Or did you just run out of cute nicknames to call me?’ He’d say one night as your both cuddling in bed together. ‘If it’s the later then I can help you find something, just please spare me and don’t call me dude or bro anymore.’

He’d rather you call him Richard-wait, no he hates that even more because to him you’re not meant to use his fully name, only cutesy nicknames that’d make a grown man sick to his stomach. Nothing else would suffice other than Dickie bird, handsome, babe, hunk, honeybun or anything that wasn’t his name.

He’s go mad or would act delusional and say that everything was fine when everyone could tell that it wasn’t. People who know him have personally came to you and begged you to stop calling him dude/bro because he kept talking their ears off about how his beloved partner is torturing him, which ends up torturing them even more upon hearing about his relationship issues.

Dick would even consult Hayley on what he did wrong, only for Hayley to look at him with those big, big eyes of hers. This was not her level of expertise unfortunately. (Head empty, no thoughts. She can’t do her abc’s guys it’s a real tragedy.)

Jason: ‘I just had my tongue down your throat just now and you had to go and ruin the mood by calling me bro. What the fuck.’ - Jason at some point.

It’s a whole mood killer for him to be honest.

He’s calling you things like chipmunk or sweetheart but here you were calling him dude and bro. He knows for a fact that he’s well and truly out of the friend zone because the shit you’ve done together isn’t platonic in any sort of way.

Thinks Roy had set you up to call him dude or bro behind his back. (He hasn’t)

Jason is petty and will get his own back by referring you as ‘just a really good friend’, ‘buddy o’ mine’ or even worse than both of those; ‘chum.’ 💀

When you go low, Jason was more then willing to go to the depths of fucking hell to the point it had become a game to see who’d call out just how stupid this all was, and at the both of you for ever thinking that this was an excellent idea in the first place.

You’ll probs get punished…I’m just going to leave it there and let your minds guess what that ‘punishment’ was exactly.

Damian:

As much as Damian hates it when you call him Dami, he hates it when you call him dude or bro even more, if that’s even possible.

Damian hates it when you call him dude or bro. He’s not your dude or bro, he’s your partner and he expects no less then darling, my heart or my beloved.

So you calling him dude or bro is more than enough reason for him to give you the silent treatment.

‘Until you learn that I am your partner, I won’t want to be anywhere near you if you’re going to keep calling me your bro or dude. It is a disservice to who I actually am to you.’ He says with a huff and beckons Titus to follow, only for the Great Dane to be left confused as to why his human parents were at a disagreement over something silly.

Also Titus, Ace, Jerry, Alfred the cat, Goliath and BatCow are children of divorce because I said so.

So it’s bests that you apologise while you still can because Damian can hold a grudge unlike any other. Even if you didn’t, you’d still crack first before Damian and quickly put an end to calling him dude/bro.

He just thinks being called a dude/bro when in a pre-established relationship is an insult.

He can take a joke but not when it’s aimed at his relationship. He’s well and truly devoted to his relationship -if we’re to completely ignore the whole being Robin thing- that it might as well be an insult towards him too at this point.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #jason todd imagines #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fluff #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff #dc fluff #nightwing x y/n #nightwing fluff #nightwing imagines #nightwing x reader

[esyra]

Killing 1300+ Jews in barbaric ways does not make you the good guys. Israel retaliating is Hamas’ fault. Hamas surrendering would mean peace. Israel surrendering would have more dead Jews. But i guess that’s the end goal.

No, we're always the barbaric terrorists. Israel is the good guy for killing 9,000+ Gazans the past 25 days, and trapping 1,000+ under the rubble which will definitely turn out dead if they ever get the proper equipment to lift it off them. Israel is the good guy for killing Shireen Abu Akleh. Israel is the good guy for killing Ahmed Erekat. Israel is the good guy for killing Nadim Nuwarah and Mohammed Salameh. Israel is the good guy for opening fire on 2,400 protesters and killing 52. Israel is the good guy for holding over 1,000 Palestinians as "administrative detainees," meaning they are held indefinitely without charges.

In fact, Israel has been the good guy ever since they got the British to help them colonize Palestine and get rid of the Arabs, as they admitted to wanting it themselves. After all, as Winston Churchill said himself, the colonization of Palestine was righteous because as the Red Indians of America, and the black people of Australia, "a stronger race, a higher grade race, or, at any rate, a more worldly-wise race, to put it that way, has come in and taken their place."

Palestinians, be it on Gaza or the West Bank, can never retaliate or defend themselves. We're to either die and be violated quietly or we are terrorists which will be gleefully eradicated with the help of every colony-based State in the world. Otherwise, we'll disturb the comfortable privilege your racism and religious intolerance ensures.

When Hamas didn't existed the occupation began and the British violently suppressed anyone who opposed. When Hamas didn't exist the Nakba happened. When Hamas didn't exist the Deir Yassin massacre happened. But, you know, that one's fine because it happened after Israel had made Palestine agree to a peace pact, and they would never act unfairly so the brutal murder of over 100 Palestinians is obviously being misunderstood. Hamas doesn't operate in the West Bank, but they're still expelled from their homes, brutalized and murdered. Since October 7, West Bank had 115 killed, more than 2,000 injured and nearly 1,000 others forcibly displaced from their homes because of violence and intimidation by Israeli forces and settlers. They'll bomb mosques with exit points created to save people from settlers' violence, then claim they were used for terrorism. Proof? They don't need it. They'll bomb first then ask questions later.

Do people who blindly defend Israel do anything other than victimize yourselves? Do you even read any actual Israeli news that said the IDF "shell[ed] houses on their occupants," because they're too incompetent to do anything other than bombing everything? Do you ever wonder why the people Israel swears were burned and beheaded always came from reports from houses absolutely destroyed by what could only be shelling? Do you ever hear testimonies from survivors of the massacre saying IDF shoot at their own civilians? Do you ever read about past al-Qassam attacks and noticed they've never had mass casualties because IDF never responded like this? Do you even know what al-Qassam is or do you live to regurgitate whatever you're fed and being spoon-fed your information?

If Hamas' militia surrenders, Gaza will be wiped out and Gazans — those who are not murdered — will be exiled into Egypt's Sinai. That's the end goal since 1948, and that's what you're defending. But who cares? Arab blood is cheaper and racism is always fashionable.

#gaza #free gaza #free palestine #palestine #israel is a colonial project whose sole purpose is erradicating palestine #west bank #free west bank

[inconveniently-discorporated]

I think I have a potentially controversial opinion on Aziraphale and the ending.

So one of the things that made me smile so, SO much, was THIS:

That PURE ABSOLUTE UTTER JOY.

We have not seen ANYTHING like that from demon Crowley. We've seen him be drunk and silly, we've seen him be amused, but we've not seen this.

Now, let's consider what we know about Heaven:

It's never fully populated. ALL of the shots are completely devoid of angels, except for a few, who are almost always just getting somewhere and never really talking to each other.

Where I thought the archangels were a tight clan, it really looks like they're super catty and prone to jealousy. No doubt they would stab each other in the back happily if it came down to it. How much of Heaven is like that, if even the archangels all hate each other?

Aziraphale already has a nervous disposition when he meets Crowley. Is he perhaps an angel that NEVER fit in? Is he familiar with being ostracized by his peers? Just how lonely IS Heaven? Crowley seems to be a pretty powerful angel, and HE doesn't even know that it's all getting shut down in 6000 years -- it's like no one talks to anyone.

Aziraphale, during their whole meeting, looks absolutely smitten. At one point, Crowley goes, "Look at you! You're gorgeous!" and Aziraphale looks over with happy surprise, just before realizing he's not looking at him but rather at what he's created. And then, when Crowley starts going on about making suggestions and asking questions, Aziraphale is IMMEDIATELY concerned and doesn't want him to get into trouble.

Aziraphale is hooked on this angel, and I cannot help but think that this is perhaps the first angel who has ever WELCOMED Aziraphale into his company.

He is hooked on this angel, and the way Crowley smiles is with the light of all the stars he's just created, and it's infectious and it brings a smile to Aziraphale's face as well. And then this angel shields him from the oncoming falling stars.

He is hooked on this angel, and then this angel goes and joins the Great Rebellion, and becomes fallen himself.

"You were an angel once," Aziraphale said, softly, at the bandstand. He remembers.

I think it's reasonable to guess that Heaven has never felt so warm as it did in the presence of millions of exploding stars, next to the (arch?)angel that may perhaps be one of the few (only?) to pay him any positive attention.

I think it's reasonable to assume that Heaven was not the same after Crowley fell. I wouldn't be surprised to find out Aziraphale had wondered about the angel, wondered if he was okay. I would imagine that Aziraphale keeps that picture of pure, angelic, unbridled joy somewhere inside of him.

So, really, is it any surprise that threaded throughout EVERY interaction, Aziraphale has this deep-down feeling that Crowley is good? Would it be any surprise that Aziraphale, an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can (which isn't always), feels that if HE is still an angel, then what was done to Crowley was a great injustice?

I think it would make sense that we are shown "before the beginning" not just because it is fun, but because THIS is the foundational context for everything Aziraphale thinks Crowley is, everything Crowley enjoys. I think he remembers this moment and wishes he could live there forever. With Crowley. The two of them with this happiness, forever.

But nothing lasts forever, as much as he wishes it did.

I'm not saying Aziraphale was right with what he did to Crowley at the end of s2. There is a lot I think he did wrong. I think he held onto this picture so tightly, he didn't realize that Crowley had long since let it go, and painted a new one with Aziraphale with all the shades of grey he picked up as he sauntered (or plummeted) vaguely downward (into a pool of boiling sulfur).

I don't think he was right, but I do think he is understandable. I think there was a lot of selfishness, but also some misguided selflessness too. I watched that first scene with angelic Crowley and my heart actually broke a little, because I thought, "What a shame this joy was taken away from him."

I think Aziraphale is trying to right the injustice he feels has been done. But I also think Aziraphale doesn't realize that Crowley can never go back. The concept of falling never crossed Crowley's mind when he suggested that he ask a few questions, and he will NEVER get that kind of innocence back. And Aziraphale doesn't understand, because Heaven has clearly always just been that way for him (he is already aware of the danger of asking questions).

Crowley does not want to go back because he can never go back. He can never be the same angel he was when he thought he could build a universal machine that would crank out stars for eons and eons. He can never be the same angel he was when he thought he could make some suggestions and ask some questions and co-create with THE Creator.

Crowley understands that, and Aziraphale doesn't. But I can understand why Aziraphale would want to try. And I think it's all because of this:

#good omens #gos2 spoilers #good omens meta #aziraphale analysis

[multific]

Motherhood

Yautja x Reader

Summary: After you gave birth to your son, it took you some time to get used to having a half-Yautja and half-human. 

You felt sore all over. 

You moved against the fur but your whole body felt sore.

You could hear your mate’s soft breathing, it immediately made you feel at ease.

Yet, something felt out of place.

As you stirred from your sleep, you sat up in your bed and looked around. Everything looked normal, except for one thing.

The little child who used to be under your heart was now in a crib beside you. 

You looked at your mate, sleeping soundly beside you.

He got used to sleeping with you to the point where he didn’t even care anymore if you moved or woke up. 

It wasn’t always like that.

He often woke up with you when he took you into his home, but he got gradually used to you being with him.

You moved over to the crib, leaving the warmth of your bed, you stood up and got your son out of his crib.

It was a little strange to call him your son, after all, he looked nothing like you.

He looked like a pure Yautja, except for his eyes, his eyes were yours.

He wasn’t sleeping when you lifted him out of his crib, instead, he was watching, learning.

You ignored all the pain in your body as you moved out of the bedroom and into what you would call a kitchen.

You got yourself a glass of water as you sat down on one of the chairs. With your child in your arms, you moved him so you could see his face.

He laid in your lap.

“Will you never cry?” But your Baby had no reply. Of course, he didn’t he wasn’t even a day old. You watched him as his eyes wandered from your eyes to your chest and hands. 

You held a finger out to him, which caught his attention and he immediately grabbed it.

He continued to watch your finger as you smiled.

This little moment reminded you that even if he looked like a Yautja, he was still a baby.

Your baby.

This little boy in your lap was not so long ago in your stomach.

It was crazy to think about.

Your house felt a little too quiet, usually you were never up without your mate. So, this felt a little strange. 

You looked at your son.

“How am I supposed to feed you?” You said as you lifted him, trying to see if he was hungry or not. He was, you didn’t know how, but you could tell.

You pulled your nightgown down and you didn’t know how, but he was a natural.

You watched as he fed. 

He truly didn’t feel like your son. You looked after so many Yautja babies when you joined their tribe, this felt almost like one of those moments.

Except for the feeding part. Only a mother can feed their child.

And your son was no exception.

While he was born into a very high place in the hunting tribe, he was still your son. 

A highly anticipated member.

Your Mate was the right had of the tribe leader, a high position with lots of responsibilities.

One of which was to bring a son into the world.

Which you just managed to do.

You had a pregnancy which left your body sore and your mate feared the worst, but thankfully, you were able to give birth without any major issues.

And now, here you were, holding him and feeding him.

Your thumb ran down his little cheek, right next to where his mandibles were.

“You are beautiful.” You smiled and the child just kept looking at you.

Once he finished eating you pulled your gown back and pulled him to your chest, laying him down.

Did Yautja babies even burp?

Guess you will find out soon.

He did burp.

A small little burp.

And soon, he was off again.

You got up from the chair and headed back to the bedroom.

You got in, the fire was still going, but now, your mate was up.

He looked at you then at your son in your arms.

“He was hungry.” You said as you put him back into his crib before climbing back on the furs.

You let out a long yawn before getting under the covers. 

Your mate made a sound before laying back down himself. You lay down closer to him as he pulled you closer.

Maybe it was a difficult thing to give birth to a Yautja baby. Maybe it was difficult being married to one as well.

But you loved them both with all of your heart and that was enough, more than enough.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer @lilliumrorum

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

#x reader #fanfiction #x female reader #yautja oc #yautja x human #yautja #alien vs predator #the predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #yautja imagines #yautja imagine #yautja x fem reader #yautja fanfic #predator wolf #aliens vs predator #predator #predator x human #predator x reader #predator x you #predator oc #predator imagine #predator imagines #the predator x reader #slasher short #slasher fandom #slasher movies #slasher #slasher x reader #slasher x you

[sungbeam]

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧

nonidol!choi san x gn!reader (no prns mentioned)

turns out your upstairs neighbor has a cat who adores climbing through your window — oh, and said neighbor is also fine as hell.

3.7k words, neighbors au (2 lovers), fluff, maybe like two swear words, drinking, lots of mentions of food

a/n: low-key just read this like ur watching the highlight reel of a romcom lol but @jaehunnyy for u 💖 i hope u like it :'))

It all started about seven months ago when a gorgeous Thai cat waltzed into your apartment via the open window. It was a late July afternoon, stifling hot and sticky, meaning you had your window opened and the mobile fan set up to blow cool air into the apartment.

You were, for once, not at work. Because the art museum you worked at downtown was currently undergoing reconstruction, you were stuck in your apartment trying (failing) to sell prints off your low-traffic Etsy shop while also trying (failing) to make popsicles.

“Why is this so complicated?” You grumbled aloud as you sat on top of your kitchen counter with your knees pulled beneath your chin. You scrolled down the recipe again on your laptop screen, nose wrinkled at the amount of convoluted steps listed. “Too fancy,” you decided, slamming your laptop lid closed.

Immediately, you hissed, lifting the lid to make sure you hadn't cracked the screen from closing it too hard. Thankfully, there were no cracks visible and you breathed out a sigh of relief. You could not afford a broken—

“Holy shit!” You nearly fell off the back of the island counter at the sight of a light gray cat with black tipped ears, paws, and tail seated on the floor before you.

The cat meowed an innocent greeting.

You pressed your hand to your hammering heart and shifted to get a grip on your position atop the counter. “How—? Where…?” Your eyes drifted to the open window.

Oh. Well, that would explain it.

You glanced back at the cat, who peered up at you once more. “Meow.”

Carefully, you climbed down from the counter as to not scare the creature with any sudden movements. “Hey, baby. Where did you come from, hm?” You cooed, extending your hand out as an offer to be sniffed.

The cat unfurled its tail out from around its body and crept toward your hand. With an experimental sniff, you were deemed safe, and the cat rubbed the side of its face affectionately against the back of your knuckles.

Your chest nearly exploded from the cute interaction. You lowered yourself to your knees, gently taking a peek at the silver charm attached around the collar. There you found the engraving of a star in the metal circle.

“I'm guessing this has something to do with your name?” You hummed, reaching up to scratch the feline behind the ears and head. At least you had an inkling that this little one belonged to someone. You just didn't know how to find out who they were.

“I guess you can hang out with me,” you sighed and stood up with your hands on your hips. You didn't mind the company, after all, and maybe this could be a point of inspiration.

About three hours later, the summer sun still hung relatively high in the sky and you were trying to figure out what to feed the cat when there came a sudden knock at your front door. Really, the “sudden knock” was a series of rushed, panicked DUDUDUDU sounds. You nearly jumped out of your skin for the second time in one afternoon, and even the cat seemed to leap.

Well, the cat only looked mildly annoyed that her nap was interrupted, but she seemed content to give a languid stretch and join you in seeing who was so alarmed at your door.

When you peered out the peephole, your eyes shot open.

There was a pretty man at your door.

You glanced down at the cat who looked back up at you. You mouthed to her, pointing at the door, ‘Do you know this guy?’

As expected, she did not answer. Lovely.

You weren't exactly in appropriate garb to see people. You had thrown on something cool enough to not make you melt like one of the popsicles you weren't able to make earlier, and enough to cover any necessary areas. You were sure your hair looked about as luxurious as a barn, and there wasn't a lick of cosmetics on your face.

It was fine, you told yourself. You probably weren't even going to see this guy ever again.

You opened the door. “Hello? Can I help you?” You asked through the chain linking the door shut.

The man flashed you a flustered, dimpled smile at you. His dark hair was damp, like he just came out of a shower, and he had on a muscle tee that was definitely doing its job, and a pair of basketball shorts. “Hi! So sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you've seen a Thai cat wandering around here about yea high—?”

“Meow.” The cat at your feet shoved her way between the gap you made with the door and out into the hallway.

Your eyes widened another smidge, until the man outside released a gasp of relief and bent down to scoop the feline up into his arms. You unlatched your door and opened it fully now, the man holding the cat to his face as if he was communicating with her telepathically.

“That's the cat, I'm guessing?” You mused.

He tucked her back into his arm and his smile became sheepish. “Yes, I am so sorry about her. I came back home from work and she wasn't in the apartment, but thank you for dealing with her for however long she was here.”

You waved off his concern with your hand, sending him a kind smile. “Don’t worry about it, really. She's adorable. What's her name, by the way?”

“Oh, this is Byeol,” he cooed, lifting Byeol's paw up to wave at you.

Swoon. Your smile widened as you waved back at them both. “Well, it was nice to meet you, both Byeol and…?”

“San,” he answered. God, he was gorgeous. That smile… “And you are?”

“Yn.” You shook each other's hands in the dim hallway light.

“Nice to meet you, too, Yn.” He lit up, pointing up to the ceiling. “Hey, I'm pretty sure I'm your upstairs neighbor!”

You opened the door to your apartment wider so you could show him your open window. “Well, that would definitely explain how she got down onto my fire escape,” you chuckled.

He whistled lowly. “Man, cats are scary sometimes. I'll definitely try to keep an eye on whenever she's near my window now.” He ran the back of his knuckles down Byeol's spine. “I don't wanna take up any more of your time, but thanks again.”

“No worries! Have a nice night.”

“You too!”

San began walking back toward the stairs at the end of the hallway, and you were about to close the door when you thought you heard him chastising his cat in hushed tones. You laughed to yourself as you locked up your front door. You wouldn't mind if Byeol came traipsing down your fire escape again.

And she would. About three times a week when San had a later shift at the boxing gym he worked at (yes, a boxing gym… good lord). Byeol oftentimes expected you to have your window open, and if you didn't already have it open, she would sit out on the fire escape until you did.

Two months into the fire escape escapades, you gave up and left the window open just enough for her to squeeze through while you returned to work.

San would always come down to your apartment to retrieve her, and at some point, decided to swing by your apartment on his way up instead just to make sure she wasn't already here.

By month four when the days were shorter and the nights dragged longer and colder, you couldn't exactly keep the window open, lest you wanted to freeze your ass off in the safety of your apartment. Byeol would hop down the fire escape in the evenings when you were back so you could let her in, only for her owner to come barreling down the stairs, dimpled cheeks flushed and exasperated.

“I swear she likes you more than me,” he guffawed from where he stood out in the hallway as he always did. He shook his head as he watched the Thai feline waltz around his legs once, then circle back into your apartment. He arched a brow at her. “Look at her strutting. She knows exactly what she's doing.”

You swore there was a dash of red gracing his cheekbones now.

You bit your lip through a smile. “Well, you're welcome to come in. I was just about to eat dinner and I don't really think I can finish this roast chicken alone.”

“Ah, I don't really wanna impose,” he drawled, scratching the back of his neck and peering at you from beneath those lengthy lashes of his. He knew what he was doing—he had to know what he was doing. If Byeol could strut, then so could Choi San.

He promised to take you up on your offer as long as you let him run upstairs to grab a bottle of wine to contribute.

The last thing you expected to happen was to hear a knock on your window less than ten minutes later. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound, folding over in laughter when you saw him waving to you on the other side with cold-bitten cheeks and a red-tipped nose. He clutched a bottle of red in one hand and gestured furiously to the window latch. “It's fucking freezing!”

“Okay, okay,” you grinned, walking over to let him inside. “Just so you know,” you said as Byeol welcomed her owner into your apartment, “usually it's just cats who come in this way.”

“Well, you might have to get used to a cat and a human coming in now,” he teased. San presented you the wine bottle with a flourish. “Milady, your beverage.”

“Why, thank you, good sir,” you jested and accepted the offering. “Make yourself at home!”

What you didn't expect was for such a statement to be taken so literally, and yet, you had no complaints.

Three months further along—making it seven in total since that first hot July day Byeol came in through the open window—you and San (and Byeol) were cooped up in your apartment as usual. It was a Friday night with dinner on the table, a TV show playing in the background, and a pair of wine glasses for the pair of you. Over the past few months, sharing a dinner together had become a weekly event wherein San would come in via window, and the two of you would have the evening together.

Sometimes it was just dinner, sometimes it was dinner and a movie, and sometimes it was even dinner, a movie, and drunk Pictionary. But every Friday night was yours and San's night.

Plus, he turned out to be a much better cook, so you definitely couldn't argue when he somehow wrestled his entire Le Creuset pot down the fire escape to feed you the most divine lobster mac 'n’ cheese you had ever tasted. (As if you'd ever had lobster mac 'n’ cheese before…)

“I feel like it would just be more convenient if I came up to your apartment instead,” you said with enthusiasm, your free arm flailing around as you melted dark chocolate on a double boiler upon the stove top. While San had the right side of the stove for his chicken and gnocchi soup, you had the left to prepare tonight's mousse for dessert. If San made dinner, you figured you could at least learn a thing or two about a dessert course.

He chuckled, “I mean, I'm not opposed if you ever get tired of hosting. I'm kind of a creature of habit though, which is why I don't mind coming down every week, but it's up to you, sweets.”

Oh, right. And the nickname. You couldn't even pinpoint when that started, but again, you weren't complaining.

“I don't mind hosting either,” you told him, “it's just that it's either you leave your super expensive cookware here or I go upstairs. I don't think Le Creuset has fire escape insurance.”

“You're not wrong about that.” You felt his hand gently brush against your waist as he slipped past you to get to the spice cabinet on your left. “Behind you,” he murmured by your ear before grabbing the jar of Himalayan salt (also his) and returning to his station behind his pot.

You couldn't deny the pitter-patter of your heart around him either. Things were coming to a point that you didn't know how to label. But perhaps that was the beauty of everything slipping into place. You carried on, “I think I've seen your apartment once, and that was when Byeol wouldn't stop meowing until I followed you guys.” You laughed to yourself at the memory. That had been an interesting night.

“If it's any consolation, your apartment has much more life in it than mine.”

“That's a lie,” you said pointedly. “Yours is just more meticulous.”

He snorted. “Meticulous. Might as well be as barren as a clinic.”

You passed him a glance. “I offered to paint your walls…”

San beamed back at you, dimples creating divots in the apples of his cheeks. “And I never said no! But—I do think that it should be something the both of us do together.”

Your brows creased as you took the chocolate off the stove to fold into the other mixture you'd set aside. “You wanna paint with me?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost bashfully. “I think it'd be a fun bonding and learning experience. And it would be cool to see you in your element, besides when you're drunk.”

The latter comment had you turning away to laugh. “Fair enough.”

When dinner was ready to be dined, and the mousse was freezing in the fridge, you and San sat at the kitchen island with your matching bowls of hot soup and glasses of lemon water for the night. Neither of you had remembered to buy wine for the week (surprisingly), but one week without alcohol wouldn't hurt.

The two of you clinked your glasses together, toasting to another week survived.

You took a sip, then spooned the soup into your mouth, wiggling around on your stool in a little happy dance as the flavors did their own dance on your tongue.

San smiled around his own bite. He swallowed, then said, “You know, I always know I did well when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“That cute little dance,” he chuckled. “I’m glad it tastes good, is what I'm saying, sweets.”

Your skin warmed, and you managed to convince yourself it was the soup or the heater or something and not the beautiful man beside you. “Then get used to the happy jig, because everything you cook tastes divine. You should be a chef, San.”

“I could've,” he shrugged, “but I kind of like this little life.” He gestured to you with his spoon, a twinkle in his eyes. “Don't you?”

For a moment, you let the smile slowly unfurl onto your lips. You lifted your own spoon in agreement. “You're right. It's a lovely, little life.”

Now that you were in agreement, you fell into a comfortable silence as you both enjoyed your dinner in one another's presence. Byeol was hunched over her own bowl of food just by the foot of your stool, against the adjacent side of the island. You'd gone out and bought her a pair of food and water bowls, as well as her preferred food. San had been touched by the gesture, and Byeol most definitely appreciated it.

San wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Oh, by the way, next week.”

You hummed. “What about it?”

“Are you doing anything?”

You perked up, eyebrows lifting to your hairline. “Why do you ask?” It was usually unsaid by now that Friday nights were set aside for the two of you to share an evening, which was why you were confused by his question.

And then he explained, “It's Valentine's Day, so I just wanted to make sure I didn't interrupt or assume anything.” He'd said it so casually and easily that you nearly missed the slight nervousness in his voice, or the minor intonation of hope. “I mean,” he fumbled, “if you do have something planned, then it's no worries, really. There are plenty of other weeks—”

You shook your head, finishing off your water after having scraped your bowl clean. “I'm not doing anything,” you said. “Well, besides what we usually do.” You chuckled to yourself, “To be honest, Valentine's Day completely slipped my mind this year.”

And if you were truly being honest with yourself, every Friday felt like Valent—no. You shouldn't think like that. It would only make things worse about how you felt for him now. Plus, these past few months with San felt far too casual, too domestic, to be like Valentine's Day. Was Valentine's Day not for grand gestures and romance? This wasn't grand… though, you could probably argue about the romantic part…

“No, I feel the same way,” he nodded. “My friend Wooyoung just asked today if I was up to go to a single's party, which was why I suddenly remembered.”

Ah. “Oh, are you planning on going?” Wine sounded pretty good right about now.

He grimaced. “Probably not. I—I was kind of hoping you wanted to still do dinner next week—but, like, it doesn't have to mean anything besides how it usually is. If that's what you're comfortable with.”

It doesn't have to mean anything besides how it usually is. What if you wanted it to mean more than how it usually was? There was nothing inherently wrong with how it usually was, but you couldn't deny that a part of you yearned for more. That part of you imagined what it was like if San didn't have to come see you via fire escape, and he was always in the same space as you.

There was a pause as you wrestled with your own conscience about how or if you were going to admit it to him.

He pressed his lips together. “I've made you uncomfortable.”

“No, you haven't made me uncomfortable,” you assured him swiftly. “I just…” You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead then returning it to your lap. “Of course, I would love to have dinner with you next week, but I’d like it to mean something else—if you are comfortable with that.”

You watched as that beautiful smile you'd come to grow more fond of blossom onto his face. “I'd be more than comfortable with that—I’d be really happy with that, actually.”

“Good,” you said softly, unable to bite your own smile away. “Then dinner next week, it is.”

There was something fundamentally different about this next Friday night compared to the others. Specifically, the context by which you and San went into the Friday evening of Valentine's Day was completely different. The apartment was aglow with the same warmth as it usually boasted, but there was a bouquet of blood red roses in a glass vase on the kitchen counter beside a bottle of red wine.

San was at the stove, finishing off the last bit for dinner before it needed to simmer for a good thirty minutes. You were in the living room portion of your apartment, flipping through the vinyl records to play before you pulled one out and set it up. As you moved the needle onto the record, you placed the empty cover back into its slot and turned toward the kitchen.

You froze in your spot, skin warming at the sight of San leaning over the island counter with an adoring look in his eyes as he watched you. “What?” You laughed, subconsciously adjusting the sleeve of your blouse.

“Nothing,” he smiled. “You're just—you’re gorgeous.”

You were sure if your face didn't give it away, there must have at least been hearts floating around your head. “You cannot just say that,” you chided weakly as you walked over to where he was, your expression growing shy.

His smile widened and he rounded the counter to stand in front of you, your back pressed against the edge of the counter. “I can, too,” he teased. He stepped back once and held his arms out, fingers flicking toward him to beckon you forward. “C'mere. Can you dance?”

“Some.” Your eyebrows arched upward as you stepped forward and took his hands in yours. “Dancing and romancing, Choi San? What magic do you hope to enchant me with tonight?” You joked, moving your left hand to his shoulder.

“Perhaps magic that will leave your window open for me on nights other than Fridays,” he said sheepishly as the two of you began to sway to the music waltzing out from the record player. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fire escape—”

You let out a laugh, ducking your head toward your chests. He did the same, an embarrassed grin coming onto his face as his nose nudged against yours.

“That was god awful,” he winced in apology.

“It was,” you agreed teasingly, “but I'll let it slide because you're cute.”

He shot you a bright smile. “Oh? So I'm cute? I guess that makes two of us.”

You weren't really sure at what point you realized you had fallen for this man. It was sometime between the Himalayan salt lectures and the dancing like an old married couple in your kitchen, maybe. You thought about the day he showed up at your door panicking about a missing cat, and to a future where you might have found yourself in his living room painting murals on his walls. Or perhaps… not his living room, but both of yours.

As you danced with your chests pressed together, hearts beating rapidly in sync, you gazed into those beautiful, dark brown irises of his and sank further and further into those feelings. They were gradually making themselves a home in your chest.

“What're you thinking about, sweets?” He murmured as you tucked your head against his shoulder and the arm he had around your waist rubbed the small of your back.

The smell of his cologne made you inhale deeply. You could get used to this—his smell, the feel of his body under your fingertips, his presence intertwined with yours taking up space in the best possible way. “I'm thinking that Byeol is a good matchmaker.”

His chuckle rumbled through him and softly into your ear. “You're definitely right about that.”

a/n: pls remember to reblog and comment if u enjoyed!

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