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lovifie · 3 months

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Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 4: Midnight Snack

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

3.5K words

Warning/Notes: Soap x Reader, oral sex (m receiving), hair pulling, messy make out

This is the video from where the photo is, if you haven't seen it, You have to and if you have already, you are welcome.

The drive back to base seems neverending.

Once Price and Ghost managed to get you to stop crying and to breathe normally. The three of you pack the essentials, and by that, I mean you were hugged to Ghost like a koala while Price got what he could save from your house into a bag pack.

Most of your clothes were ripped or cut, so in the end, only some pieces of underwear, a couple of shirts, some pants and the pyjamas you were wearing were safe. Plus your jacket and shoes that were behind the door.

And that is how you found yourself now. Sobbing, sitting in the middle of the back seat, bag pack on your lap, Simon’s hand on your knee from the passenger seat as Price drives.

“Tomorrow morning, you are going to call your job, and tell them that you are going to take a couple of days off, okay?” Price asks looking at you through the rearview mirror. “And we will take everything you need, we will buy clothes, find you a better place to stay, anything you need.”

You shake your head feeling the tears come back and you hide your face behind your hands as you start to cry again. “I can't.” You cry. “What can't you do?” Simon asks turning his head to look at you.

“Miss more work days, I have already taken too many. I can't afford to lose more.” You mumble whining out of mental exhaustion.

“Hey, stop. Don't get carried away, alright?” Simon says rubbing your thigh. “Let's not think about that right now, tomorrow tell your boss the situation. Tell them that your house was broken into, that you need a couple of days to get everything in order. Depending on what your boss says, we'll work from there. Alright, birdie?”

You nod weakly as you focus on taking deep breaths. When you finally arrive, both men get out of the car and Price opens the door for you. You step out still holding your bag tight, either men try to take it from your hands and walk along between both men.

Their hands find their way to your back, Price to the bottom and Simon to the top, reassuring shielding you from the chilly breeze of the night.

“How about a cuppa?” Simon asks looking at you, a smile visible in his eyes, and you can't help it but to give him a weak smile back nodding. “Then, we will find you a room so you can sleep as much as you want.”

Sleep does sound amazing, taking into consideration that last night you had little sleep and you have been on the move ever since.

Price and Simon walk you to a lousy room, many recruits sitting together. The mess hall, you figure. In the middle of the room, there are a couple of sofas, and you quickly recognise Soap and Gaz, sprawled together in one of them looking at Gaz's phone.

Most of the soldiers that are finishing their dinner, or just enjoying each other company before going to bed look up when they hear the door opening. Their gazes linger for a second too long on you until you can feel Ghost throwing them a warning sign in the form of a look and they peel their eyes away.

Gaz and Soap look up when they hear the door open, and just for a second, they smile at you before they furrow their browns when they see everyone's expression.

“What happened? How come the wee lass so spooked?” Soap asks sitting straight and patting the seat between him and Kyle.

Price’s hand on your lower back softly pushes you forward to sit down before he answers: “She’s still a bit in shock, Soap. We’ll talk about it later.”

You sit down between Soap and Gaz, backpack still in your hands, and pull your knees up hugging your legs. Gaz points to your backpack and asks: “You sleeping over tonight? You should definitely sleep in Soap’s and my room. Ghost and Price have their own individual ones, but they snore.” He whispers the last part pulling a little smile from you.

You lean your head on Soap's shoulder when he lays his arm on the couch behind your back. The man is a living furnace and shortly after you find yourself seeking more contact.

Price sits on the second sofa in front of you and just a second later Ghost appears back, cup of tea on hand, as he gives it to you. You take it from his hands, yours still shaking just a little bit as you do, and you rest it on top of your knee for support.

Kyle's hand find its way to your other knee giving it a light squeeze. “How's your arm, luv?” You look at your elbow and shrug your shoulder. “I haven't even had time to check it, good I think, it hasn't bothered me.”

“You didn't get hurt today, did you?” Price asks focusing on your face after doing a quick check-up of you. You shake your head: “No, a headbutt on the ceiling if anything.”

Price nods, satisfied with your answer and shakes his head at the sergeant's questioning look. You look down to the tea, thoughts getting to you. You saw your neighbour get arrested, and if he had gotten free they would have told you. So it must have been someone who works for them, and if he wasn't arrested already is because they didn't really know who works for them.

“What are you thinking about, birdie?” Ghost brings you back to reality with just a question. “Am I safe here?” You ask, with a shake in your voice.

“Yes.” Price's answer is concise, full of trust in his own word, leaving no room for doubt. “As long as you are with us, nothing and nobody is getting to you.”

You look at his face, almost as if expecting him to burst laughing at you for trusting them. A voice in your head screams at you not to do it, you barely know them. But you thought you knew your neighbour and now he's trying to kill you, so.

You nod and take a sip of the tea. Warming you inside and letting you relax just a bit.

“How about a distraction?” Soap asks smiling at you. “Have we told ye aboot the time Gaz fell from a helo and was hangin’ from a rope like a yo-yo?”

“Fucking hell, Johnny. Shut up!” Gaz complains laughing next to you.

The time went a bit more smoothly when Soap decided to talk about everyone's embarrassing stories, you could still tell he wasn't telling everything, keeping the classified information for himself, but still telling enough to have you laughing, gasping and asking with interest as he told.

By the time you finished your tea, you were already in a greater mood, the attack from today moved to the back of your head. Price lends you a hand to help you stand up while Ghost takes the empty cup from you. Gaz and Soap keep their word to share the room for the night against Price and Ghost's complaint that they should let you rest alone. Until the words “I don't really want to be alone.” leave your mouth and that's the end of the bickering.

Soap and Gaz barracks are quite simple, two single beds against opposite walls, two desks, two little bookshelves and two closets. Almost as if there was a mirror in the middle of the room if it wasn't for the little trinkets and details on each side letting you know the right bed was Soap's and the one on the left was Gaz's.

After a quick rock, paper, scissor championship, it is decided you will be sharing Soap's bed. And since you are already in your pyjamas, you get inside the bed quickly, ready to be done with the day. Soap lays behind you, hugging your middle and dropping a kiss to your temple. “Sleep tight, bonnie.”

A ray of light erupts from the bathroom door that is practically closed, almost as if whoever closed was afraid the click of the door closing would wake you up. At first, you don't think most of it, Soap must have gotten up to pee. But then you listen, and it doesn't sound like that's what he is doing in the bathroom.

Little grunts can be heard as well as the sound of skin hitting skin. You stand up from the bed, curiosity taking control of your body and walking you to peak at the door. You shouldn't, you really shouldn't. But once you lay your eyes on him, you know you are fucked.

Soap is barechested, leaning against the sink with a hand supporting him while the other strokes his dick. He has his eyes closed, head low with his mouth open slightly, and small grunts and whines leave his lips.

The grey sweatpants slightly lowered, allowing you to see the curve of his lower back as well as what you trust is the girthiest dick you have ever laid your eyes onto. The tip looks red, hungry for release, pearls of precum dripping from it making your mouth water.

There is a turmoil of thoughts in your head, you keep repeating to yourself that you need to place some distance between yourself and these men. But the moment any of them show any skin or any emotion of want towards you, you throw yourself at them.

Three times have you gone through this, your mind telling you is a bad idea and your pussy pushing you at their arms. This time is not different, and before you know it, you are inside the bathroom locking the door making Soap jump.

“Steamin’ jesus, bonnie.” He says shoving his dick inside his pants and turning his back at you to hide his tent. “Knock before entering, lass.”

“Sorry.” You mutter, not feeling sorry and you slowly walk to him. “I just wanted to help…”

“What? What you me-” He gets cut mid-question when he feels your hand grazing his tip, pressing your chest to his back and surrounding his waist with your arm. You use a hand to feel his abdomen and the other to softly caress the length of his dick inside his pants.

“But I can go back to bed if you don't want…” You say looking at the back of his head. “Don't you dare.” He answers grabbing your wrist when you try to take it back and he looks at you over his shoulder.

“Ye dinnae have to do it if ye dinnae want… but if you want, I'll take anythin’ ye throw at me, bonnie.” He says turning around and cupping your face after lowering his pants again to free his erection. “I had to run to the bathroom cause ye were rubbing yer arse against me on yer sleep, I was about to explode.”

“Well then, I think it's only fair I fix it, right?” You ask looking at him cheekly. He leans down and kisses you smiling into the kiss. Little groans slide into your mouth as you stroke him and you can feel his hips thrust softly into your hand as well.

For the last two days these men have only but given to you, and as much as you have enjoyed every single second of it, it is about time you give back.

You pick Soap's hand from your cheek and push it up to your hair. “Make sure to keep my hair away from my face, all right?”

He looks at you confused but quickly gets the idea when you kneel before him. He quickly brushes your hair back with his finger, doing a ponytail at the back of your head and groans deeply when you give a kitty lick to his tip.

You pop his tip inside your mouth sucking softly as you circle it with your tongue. Stroke the rest with both your hands, unable to reach your thumb with your index because of the girth and slowly bobbing your head up and down.

Soap stays mumbling curse words under his breath, low enough to not be able to hear him and you wish you were not hiding in the bathroom and could hear him scream. You think back to when Price ate you out, did he get as turn-on satisfying you as you are getting doing it to Soap?

He opens his eyes to lock into yours and you look up to him through your lashes as you start to get more inside your mouth.

“Fokin’ hell, bonnie. Keep looking at me like that and I'm not gonna last a second.” He says struggling to keep his eyes open.

You chuckle inside your head, and keep getting closer and closer to his hipbone. You must praise Soap's self-commitment to not cum, even though you can feel the grip on your hair getting tighter. When you feel his pubes brush against your nose you pull back taking a breath and look at him. When you lock eyes with each other, you smile and say before opening your mouth: “Fuck my throat, Johnny.”

For a second you get scared that Soap will just cum as you speak when you physically see the shudder that goes through him. But then he grips your hair back making you look up to him and he kisses your mouth in a sloppy kiss. Spit, drool and precum all mixing between your tongues and when he draws back to talk a threat of spit connect your lips. “You are going to fucking kill me, lass.” He mumbles and stands up to full height.

He doesn't let go of your hair and when you stick your tongue out he slaps it with his cock. “Gonna fuck yer throat raw, bonnie. Bite if it gets too much.” He smirks before shoving his dick down your throat in a single thrust and beginning to fulfil his word.

“Fuck, bonnie.” He says slurring his words between moans. “Taking my cock so well, such a good fucking lass, so, so good, fuck.”

Your visions get blurry with the tears from fighting your gag reflex, your hands rest on Soap's thighs and you can feel them flex with each thrust. If it wasn't for your pants you know you would be literally dripping on the floor, never did you though it could turn you on this much. But seeing Soap becoming such a mess, not being even able to speak, just mumbles and curses leaving his mouth.

“Let me cum inside, bonnie, please. I wanna see you drink it, please, please, bonnie, please.” He begs looking at your face with a pained expression, and almost as if he was waiting for your answer when you slightly nod he grunts and you feel his spent travel down your throat. He stays like that for another second and finally pulls out, you open your mouth showing him your work and he smiles as he bends down to kiss you again. “Fucking beautiful, love.”

The next morning you are woken up by an alarm and just a second later a door slamming shut. “I call dibs on the bathroom!” Kyle shouts making you jump.

You turn around on Soap's arms, nuzzling your face on his chest and sighing satisfied. “Eejit” Soap mumbles with his chin resting on top of your head.

“Do we have to share the bathroom the three of us?” You ask against his chest.

“Ye didnae seem to mind sharing it with me last night.” He mumbles back and you feel his chest tumble with a laugh.

“Aw, shut up, Johnny.” You say chuckling and yawning. “What time is it, anyway? I feel like I slept just two hours.”

“0540, not too far off to be honest.” He answers and when your half-sleep brain processes what time it is you look at him as if he has just insulted you. “What?”

“Why the fuck are we up before 6 in the morning? Like, seriously, the fuck?” You ask grumpy as you sit up pulling your legs over Soap's torso. He caresses one of your calves and flexes his arm resting his head on his hand. If you were not so bothered to be awakened so early, you would admire his physique.

“This is the military, love.” He says smiling. “Ye look like an angry kitty.”

You pull the pillow from under his head and hit him with it making him laugh. “Do we need to be ready before six?”

“Yeah, actually, that's when we are supposed to have breakfast. We are meeting Lt. and Price there.” He says taking the pillow from his face. “Ye should get dressed.”

You groan standing up and picking your bag from the side of the bed. You pull your clothes out, and notice that you can barely form a full outfit; you sigh and sit on the floor looking at Soap who is now on his side, elbow on the bed and head resting on his hand. He looks at you with a confused expression and says: “That's all ye packed, lassie? I thought ye were staying more time.”

He stands up, walks to his closet and picks something from inside just to throw it to your head. An uf sound leaves your throat and you pick it up to see it, it is a sweatshirt with MacTavish written on the back. “It is cold this early in the morning, we don't want ye freezing up. Get dressed.”

He bends down to drop a kiss on your lips leaving you a bit stunned and enters the bathroom without knocking making Gaz protest from the inside. “Stop screaming, it's me. I'm just giving the wee lass some privacy, Gaz.”

You chuckle to yourself and quickly get dressed, putting on the only pair of jeans you have, and a weird t-shirt from some kind of ad you used to wear to sleep, feeling really grateful it is covered with Soap's sweatshirt.

“What are you doing here, luv?” Price asks standing up when he sees you enter the mess hall following Soap and Gaz. “Everything alright?”

The expression on your face must be portrait-worth because you can see even Simon's eyes twirl with a smile.

“What do you mean what I'm doing here?” You ask looking at Price, until you hear a little snickering coming from both Gaz and Soap and you finally put two and two together. You turn to Soap and when you finally make eye contact with him, he burst out laughing.

“I'm sorry, bonnie. It was just too perfect of an opportunity to waste it.” He says raising his hand in false innocence. He tries to side-hug you, but you move quickly raising your chin offended and walking up to Price. “I'll fetch ye breakfast as a peace offering, all right, love?”

“That's the minimum you can do!” You exclaim still offended and stick your tongue out to him as you sit between where Ghost is sitting and where Price was sitting, him following you.

“Sorry about that, love.” Price says rubbing your tight. “I told them muppets to let you sleep in today. Did you at rest good?”

Gaz sits in front of you with a smirk, and you don't know if he knows, but you are sure that if he does he will snitch on you so stay on edge making sure not to break eye contact with him.

“Yeah, I did. The bed was surprisingly comforting, and Soap was a weighted blanket so.” You answer still looking at Gaz. You can feel Price's questioning look and Ghost's smirk.

“So Soap was comfortable?” Gaz asks smiling.

“Yeah, quite comfortable.” You answer.

He knows.

He fucking knows.

You don't know how, but he knows.

“Is that why you followed him to the bathroom when he went in the middle of the night?” He asks.

Fucking Garrick.

“I don't know what you are talking about.” You respond looking at your nails.

“I'm talking about when you into the bathroom and helped-”

CLANK

Soap puts the tray of food in front of you just in time, cutting Gaz's claim and starts to enunciate the food he bought. “I got ye coffee cause it's obvious yer not a morning person, I brought ye toast, some fruits and a little cereal cause I didn't really know what ye wanted. And I bought ye chocolate pudding.” He says putting the little cup on your hands, giving you a kiss on your head. “For sucking my dick so good last night.”

Gaz bursts out laughing, happy that he didn't even need to tell anything, while Ghost chuckles under his breath and Price sighs rubbing his forehead.

“I think there is a conversation that we definitely need to have.” Price announces. “For everyone's sake.”

Hiii 💗

Hope you liked the new chapter, please please drop a comment if you like it or if there is any scenarios you would like me to include 💗

Thank you again for all the support, you guys are the best

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pinkrelish · 1 year

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶After a lifetime of questionable decisions, you moved from the big city to the sleepy town of Hawkins with your best friend, and took the first job you saw: answering phones for the most boring auto shop in the dullest place on Earth. It wasn't exactly the adventure you wanted it to be.. but attempting to win over the jaded mechanic who insisted on ignoring your existence proved entertaining.✶

NSFW — slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, flirting, mutual pining, angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, sort of grumpy x sunshine but eddie's just tired, reader and eddie are mid-late 20's

chapter: 1/20 [wc: 5.5k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 1: Surprise, Surprise

“Yes.” A simple answer which spawned as many awkward scenarios, as it did great ones. Your name was spray painted on the side of a bridge, you spent nights learning to tango on abandoned rooftops, the amount of tales you accrued of bad dates could fill a self-help book.

Whatever the question was, the answer was “yes.” Life was more exciting that way.

Well, your policy usually lended itself to exciting adventures, anyway.

Currently, you were sat behind a desk with your boss, Mr. Moore, who slouched on his black stool with his cheek propped on his fist, pointing a pencil at a customer’s pink invoice sheet in front of you, explaining who to call in the spiral-bound catalog for the parts to be shipped.

The tall counter top partially obscured the both of you from employees and customers alike, but as you soon realized, the number of employees was slightly above two, and the customers even less; and if any of them paid you any mind, you couldn’t tell from the disorienting mix of exhaust fumes, dirty oil, and grease wafting in from the glass door on the left.

Thus began the first day of your new job at David’s Auto Repair. Boring.

————

Your second and third days were hardly different. Arriving at the butt crack of dawn and beginning the routine that definitely wasn’t in the ad in the newspaper: clean the bathrooms (hey, at least they had two), start the coffee pot after scrubbing off years of neglect caked onto the inside, and organize the paperwork Mr. Moore left for you in his office.

Oh, and most importantly, after locking up your bike outside the front door, you made your way through the echoey workshop and poked your head out the back door to the parking lot–which, by all means, was a gravel alleyway with overgrown trees blocking your view beyond the sleek black car parked next to the dumpster.

“Morning!” you greeted the one employee who arrived early and stayed late. “Eddie, right?”

The man leaning against the gray brick wall didn’t bother acknowledging you. Didn’t lift his head from its dropped back position, nor open his eyes. Definitely didn’t take the cigarette out of his mouth to bestow you the gift of his chipper attitude, nor did he uncross his arms to offer you the bare minimum wave.

And much like the other days, you sat perched behind your desk and beamed up at him as he walked past you to the break room. And as usual, he slid his gaze to you. And like normal, he didn’t say anything.

But he did hold your eye contact for a fraction of a second longer, albeit, he looked a bit frightened when he did, as if he were suspicious of your smile.

You listened to the clunk of his heavy boots fade down the hallway, then return with him holding a mug of coffee.

This time, as he walked by, he remained vigilant, and your grin went ignored by his stupid big brown eyes surrounded by envious lashes.

Lucky you, the reception area was essentially a glass cage. Behind the black pleather seats for customers was the glowing blue sky, and beside you were floor to ceiling windows showcasing the artificially bright garage where the man in grease stained coveralls twisted gaudy rings off his fingers and placed them on a tray with his coffee, before picking up a dirty rag and popping open the hood of the car he worked on past closing last night.

“You’re welcome for the coffee,” you mumbled in a mocking tone, sneering at his red name patch–Eddie. “Jerk.”

————

Friday was different. You locked up your bike, chucked your backpack into your chair behind the desk, and made your way to the back of the garage for the routine, “Good morning.”

For some reason, you decided to reveal your whole self; more than your head stuck out the door, or rising above the countertop customers leaned on when trying to schmooze deals on parts–hell if you knew how to do that, anyway. You didn’t get paid enough to bargain.

You stepped onto the uneven gravel and surveyed the scenery, looking both ways down the alley to the major roads on either side leading to the heart of downtown Hawkins. Absolutely dismally silent. Void of life. Except for the small things you never noticed, like faraway birds, the hum of a distant motor, buzzing bugs before they disappeared for the cooler months. You felt the dew settling on your forearms, and swore you could smell impending rain on the cloudless day.

“Is it always this quiet?” you asked, face pinched in confusion as you took it all in. “I swear I can hear my own thoughts.”

Eddie may not have appreciated your joke, but he did surprise you.

He kept one of his arms crossed over his stomach, and took the cigarette from between his lips to flick the ashes. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked the dilapidated fence across from him.

Feeling cheeky, you schooled the thrill out of your voice from getting a response out of him, and said, “What gave it away?”

A drag on his cigarette was his wordless answer. Fair.

“I’m from New York.” The implied City followed without clarification. “Just moved here last week. My roommate’s from Hawkins, and she had to move back to help take care of her parents. They’re older and her dad has some health problems, and yeah, I couldn’t afford rent on my own, so you know, why not. Why not follow her to a town so small it’s impossible to find on a map.”

All your talking earned you a magnificent thing. Eddie finally opened his eyes, if only to pin you with a mild glare, and a skeptic pinch between his brows.

He said more to himself than you, “You must really like your roommate to come here.” The inflection at the end was both amusement and contempt, no doubt.

“We met in our first year of college and became best friends like that–!” You snapped. “Both theater kids going to school for acting, and we later made a comedy troupe with a few other people. When she asked if I wanted to move with her, I said ‘yes.’” Inclining your upper body towards him, you explained, “It’s sorta my thing. If anyone asks me anything, I say ‘yes.’ Obviously, I can veto shit that’s dangerous or crosses any boundaries, but it’s my policy to try everything. Life makes better stories that way.”

Your unique brand of wisdom furthered his obvious distaste for you.

Eddie inhaled his vice until the orange glow burned to the filter. Smoke fell from his mouth in a rush as if he were about to speak again, but he didn’t. He merely stared at you. And if he were having a staring contest, he won.

“Well, have a good day, then,” you said, spinning on the toe of your shoe.

You sat in your glass zoo for the day shuffling papers, making calls, and filling out forms. Most definitely not talking to the guy who appeared annoyed at your very existence.

Unfortunately for him, Hawkins was tiny and the pickings were slim.

Maybe it was his eyes, or the way the short layers of his choppy hair cut escaped his low bun to curl themselves in face-framing waves, or the fact he was twenty-years younger than the other two mechanics, but you took a liking to Eddie, much to his dismay. And due to your affinity for his annoyance, you noticed the subtle changes in his appearance sooner than you should.

————

Dark purple circles announced the lack of sleep under Eddie’s eyes before the bags could. Bloodshot and struggling to open past a sliver, he sucked down half his cigarette before the routine minutes of peace he carved into his strict schedule were interrupted by the newest knot in his muscles.

“Good morning!” you said.

“Morning,” he returned without thinking about it. Rookie mistake.

You stood closer this time, inching down the brick wall, approaching him as if he would startle like a wild animal to get a better look at the years wearing heavy on the fine lines etched into his face. Perhaps no longer ‘fine.’

“You good?”

He didn’t have the energy to put up his usual front. With his chin dipped to his chest, he kept his eyes closed, nearly drifting to sleep as he muttered, “Long night.”

“Ah.”

Your clumsy shuffling alerted him to your movement, and he reluctantly observed you standing a few feet in front of him, rocking on your heels. He filled his chest with an incredulous sigh before you even spoke.

“You seem like you could use some cheering up,” you beamed. “I could juggle for you! Should I do three or four?” Eddie’s jaw went slack, and the cigarette stuck to the wetness inside his chapped lips. You bent down to gather large rocks into your palms, opting for four when he didn’t answer.

You stood up and stepped back. Made a big show of tracing invisible arcs above your head with your gaze, readying your hands. Sucking in a breath. Building suspense while his expression slowly crept into one of tempered curiosity.

Tensing, you tossed all four rocks into the air, and made a genuine effort to catch them before they fell unceremoniously around you, bouncing off the gravel in your scramble.

Clasping your hands behind your back in feigned shyness, you announced, “I don’t know how to juggle.”

For a moment you thought he was going to continue to regard you as if you were a bug in his coffee.. Then his veneer cracked.

He snorted. The cute way, when someone’s trying to suppress it. A subtle shake in their shoulders, keeping their head down, and their smile hidden behind the heel of the palm.

Eddie hugged his arm tighter over his chest, and chastised himself, “Why’d I let that get me.”

And truly, when he flicked his gaze to you with the lopsided remnant of his grin, you were imprinted with the heat of his wonderment, and your body remembered that feeling. Sensing it later when you sat at your desk, tapping your pencil, rattling off a series of numbers and letters for engine parts, and you snuck a coy look over the phone at the exact moment Eddie turned around to ask Carl for a wrench instead of getting it himself from the tool box near the window.

And he felt your stare during lunch when you promised an irate customer their car would be ready by the end of business hours, and hung up the phone with the type of heavy-handedness one used when implying a ‘fuck you’ without stating it.

You pushed yourself from the desk and went to the fridge in front of the circular table in the break room, eyeing Eddie’s odd choice as you walked by. A bologna sandwich–fairly normal–but also a stained orange tupperware container with an array of dried out microwaved leftovers. A corner of spaghetti, pale instant mashed potatoes with three peas stuck on top, unidentifiable sludge that may have been beef stew at one point, and a handful of Kraft mac n cheese.

Pitiful amounts of food that most people would’ve thrown out.

Not that you should judge. Your lunch was the blandest rice-based meal your roommate’s mom made the night before. The woman had never heard of salt, much less other spices, but she was letting you live in their attic for free until you and Bobbie found a place to live.

Breaking your chain of thoughts, you smiled at Eddie on your way out.

He didn’t look up from his paperwork.

Wholly ignored.

————

Over the rest of the month, you learned there wasn’t a definitive pattern to which days of the week were hardest for Eddie, but it was clear when he was enduring the worst.

As the evenings grew cooler, you left the lobby door open, and in doing so, were wise to the bite in his words, the edge to his voice. The quick apologies to Carl when he let his frustration show. The fluidity of ‘fucks’ flying past his mouth, the way he wrung his nape while staring into the distance, and the lurking stress of bottled emotions causing his teeth to grind.

He approached you with concern spurned from the windows being painted black with night.

“You don’t have to stay behind, you know that, right?” Eddie got your attention in the doorway. You blinked at him, still seeing the words of the book you were reading swim past your vision. “I have a set of keys. I can lock up when I’m done.”

It was the most he’d said to you in two weeks. Three entire sentences composed of more words than he’d uttered if you added them all up since your juggling stunt.

“I don’t mind.”

A meager response which resulted in a standoff.

Eddie wasted no time bunching his shoulders at your defiance. He left streaky fingerprints on the door handle as he reached for his neck, and tucked his fingers under his collar to run his thumb along his chain necklace in a self-soothing gesture. A layer of grime coated his skin. His disheveled hair stuck to his sweaty, dirty neck. The front of his coveralls were blackened with grease, as was the white tank top he wore underneath, peeking above the unfastened top snap.

On the other hand, you overturned your palms and glanced around the barren room. “Is it really that much of a bother that I’m sitting in here being quiet?” you drawled.

“Yes.” Automatic irritation.

“It’s not like I have somewhere to be.”

“Don’t have a comedy routine to rehearse with your roommate?” he intoned in complete monotony.

“Ha-ha,” you replied, just as emotionless. You thought about correcting him in regards to you and Bobbie no longer doing stand up, but decided to grab your backpack and leave without putting up a fight. His concern about you staying late may not be genuine, but it was evident he wanted–or needed–you gone. You didn’t want to push his boundaries when he showed this level of discomfort, especially when the burden of fatigue wore beyond acceptable exhaustion, and he was ready to snap, no matter how hard he tried to quell it.

You surrendered, “Bye, Eddie.”

No reply.

In total darkness, you unchained your bike and hopped on, pedaling past the mailbox when you heard the thunderous slams of the service doors being lowered shut.

And you made it to the edge of the trees before coming to a screeching halt in the middle of the empty street, cracking your neck at the speed of which you whipped around to gawk.

Your heartbeat skipped, then timed itself with the extreme drum beat and opening wail of a guitar accompanied by high-pitched screamed lyrics.

The music may have been muffled, and the inside fluorescent lights struggled to penetrate the dense fog from the upper warehouse windows, but it was as if Eddie was subjecting the desolate parking lot to his own personal Judas Priest concert, hearing be damned.

You didn’t even know the dusty radio in the shop worked. But whatever helped him blow off steam, you supposed.

————

Today was a good day.

Eddie liked Fridays. Most people working weekdays did, but when he came inside early from his morning cigarette, and you hadn’t finished sweeping the shop, he made a point to idle around the orange car at the center, seeking your attention and offering an apology. Not a spoken apology, mind you. But it was rare he initiated eye contact, and when he did it with the purpose of showing deference in his softened features, you understood.

You forgave him with a gentle lift at the corner of your lips for an incident yesterday afternoon, wherein he grunted at you to leave him alone when you were telling him about one of the plays you and Bobbie acted in. Sometimes you required your own reminder of when you were being annoying, and gave him an apologetic smile for bothering him. He nodded. All was right with the world. All was forgiven and now he could get to work.

He wiped his hands down the sides of his coveralls, and leaned his upper half through the open car window to reach the latch for the hood.

The perfect opportunity to mess with him presented itself in all its glory. But first, you couldn’t resist taking a long.. long look at his backside, head tilted, mouth more than a little hung open.

“Huh?” He nearly banged his head on the roof, rounding on you with the sharpest glare in the Midwest.

Under the guise of perfect innocence, you kept brushing the broom over his work boots and toward the dust pan. “Sorry, sir, just doin’ my job. Gotta clean up the filth.”

“An actress and a comedian, huh?” he posed, allowing his smirk to foster as he gripped the edge of the door. “Gonna tell me you were a clown, next?”

“Actually..” You were interrupted by Carl coming in, followed by the near-retired Kevin who worked two days a week.

You greeted them loud and proud, overdoing it in the joy department at the ripe morning hour. Asking about Carl’s wife, and Kevin’s dog; really laying it on thick for the purpose of sending a message to the looming ghoul behind you: I’m annoying you on purpose now.

Still, as you entered the lobby, you caught sight of the sneaky grin on his face before he turned his back to you. A tight-lipped thing he was clearly trying to rid himself of while pulling his hair back into a low bun, and taking the time to tie up a bandana to keep everything out of his face, thus losing his security blanket from the world perceiving he wasn’t in a permanent bad mood.

And of course, Eddie kept up his act through lunch. Stomping through the lobby in that way people did when they were so very obviously trying to appear aloof, and coming across as anything but. Eyes staring straight ahead, but too wide and too aware to not be soliciting a reaction from their periphery. Chest out, muscles flexed. Posture the very opposite of casual, causing them to walk in a stilted manner like a robot.

And his charade continued when he came back from the break room, rounding the corner with softer steps. Slower. Hanging onto the precious milliseconds where your back was to him, and he could absorb your image freely without being noticed. Then, he lifted his chin and returned to his project, pretending you weren’t there.

Yep, so painfully obvious when he forgot reflections existed and you were surrounded by glass.

~~~

Fridays were the days he anticipated most. Work was grueling, and he had many things to finish before the break for the weekend, but he didn’t mind staying late. He preferred it.

Fridays meant he could rely on someone else handling the stressors at home, and he was free to earn his late hours at the garage, indulging in his loud music, and unwinding the constant state of tension lurking beneath the surface. It was the only way he knew how to cope. To stay sane.

Yeah, he loved Fridays. Until a surprise came running at him in her tiny pink shoes.

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and exhaled a long, hard breath through his nose.

“Sorry,” came Wayne’s earnest apology as his nephew wilted; shoulders sagging, head hung. Tapping the wrench he was holding on his thigh. Trying his best to keep it together. “Don’t mean to drop ‘er off on you, but work called me in, so I came here after picking her up.”

Turning away from the engine he was installing, Eddie assumed his authoritative voice, but it came out as a weary sigh. “Adrienne, you know the rules,” he warned lowly, “No running in the shop.” After a beat, he corrected himself. “I mean, no being in the shop at all!”

She giggled as she skipped away from him, sloppy pigtails bouncing with mirth, plastic glittery shoes slapping the concrete floor where a myriad of items she could trip on laid.

“Adrie!” He called out, but she was too busy opposing him to pay attention.

Lucky for her, a certain receptionist caught her by the shoulders before she crashed into a rogue tire.

“Whoa there, little Miss!”

You looked to Eddie for further instruction on what to do with the girl currently laughing up a storm at your feet, but he was frozen. A bit paler, and wringing the back of his neck. Unable to articulate any of the broken consonants on his tongue as he stared at you. You switched your gaze to the older man beside him, but he was equally confused as to why Eddie was having trouble speaking.

Addressing anyone who would like to volunteer an answer, you asked, “And who’s this?”

“This.. This i-is my daughter. She, I, Goddamnit–I’m sorry, can you take her inside? I swear she’ll be quiet. Right, Adrie?”

Seeing the pure desperation settle around his eyes, you assimilated into the role of babysitter, wanting to alleviate his anxiety despite the sudden surge of your own. You held your hand out for her to take, and she did so without a second thought, grasping onto you with her little fingers and standing up, being the one to lead you to your desk.

As the door closed behind you, you overheard the older man clear his throat under the strain of bad news. “The water heater is broken again, and I couldn’t– ..Before I had to leave.”

Their private conversation was sealed behind the glass. You didn’t care to eavesdrop. It was too heartbreaking watching Eddie frantically catch his fingers on his bandana before removing it so he could tangle his curls into his fist, tugging them over his face as he groaned in a fruitless effort to hide himself from the world.

But on the subject of his brunette waves..

His daughter had the same curl pattern. Almost the same cut, too. Clearly Eddie was the acting barber of the family. Something you’d find adorable if it wasn’t for the pang of rejection in your stomach.

Daughter. Family.

The words repeated themselves in your head as your eyes wandered to the black tray beside the tool cabinet. He wore several large rings. Lots of jewelry, in fact, but you couldn’t remember if any of them were a wedding band, and the embarrassment of developing a crush on a married man for weeks without taking two seconds to cross reference his left hand burned your cheeks hot.

“Hi,” his daughter said cutely, swaying from foot to foot while holding two of your fingers.

You crouched to her level. “Wanna draw while we wait?” She nodded, sucking on the tip of her thumb.

Steadying your spinny office chair while she climbed into it, you made sure she was comfortable before bringing out the black stool from Mr. Moore’s office, and sitting next to her. You opened your backpack, flipped to a clean sheet in your sketchpad, and presented it to her along with your colored pencils.

“Hmm, what should we draw?”

Adrie snatched the bubblegum pink color, and began her masterpiece. “Mrs. Teresa read us a book about a mouse.”

Thank God she said it was a mouse, because you didn’t want to be the one to guess what the two oblong circles on the page were.

Adorably, she filled you in on the parts of the story she remembered, and added a triangle of yellow cheese under the mouse, then waited for you to prompt another thing to draw. You followed the nocturnal theme and asked for an owl. She hesitated on what colors to choose, and you helped her pick out the shades of brown and tan.

“How old are you?” you asked while she inundated her bird with too many feathers.

“Four-and-a-half,” she said proudly. “How old are you?”

You raised your brows. “Certainly not four-and-a-half.”

At some point, your arm had wrapped itself around her. Maybe to help shift her closer to the desk. Maybe to collect her in a pseudo-hug when she completed her art. Maybe to let Eddie know everything was okay when he craned his neck to check on you while conversing with the man outside, and you put on your best face, grinning at the story his daughter reenacted about a cartoon she watched that morning at preschool.

“What next? What next?”

“Let’s see.. Can you draw me a bat?”

She was more sure of herself, grabbing the black pencil and outlining an entire colony of bats mid-flight with more attention to detail. “My daddy has bats.”

“He has bats?” you questioned, sweeping loose hair out of her face.

She pointed to her elbow.

Thinking on it for a moment, you perked up. “Oh! He has tattoos?” She recognized the word, nodding vigorously. “Interesting, interesting.”

She’d hardly begun to fill in their wings when Eddie opened the door, and held up the comically small backpack slung on his arm, signaling it was time to leave.

You helped her down from the chair, and she excused herself to the bathroom, which only contributed to the awkward silence when she disappeared down the hall and Eddie was forced to wait at your desk.

It didn’t have to be analyzed, nor stated. The reality.

He had an entire life outside of work.

Duh. Of course he did, but still. It was one he never shared with you. Not like you earned the privilege to know, or to be included in anything he didn’t want to divulge, but with how private he was, it came as a surprise.

Invoking the thousands of dollars you spent on acting classes, you moved on, and kept your tone light, “The butterfly backpack suits you. Not sure about the color, though. Bright pink clashes with your navy blue outfit.”

Tough crowd.

His sulky demeanor permeated in his dull gaze trained on his stained sleeves. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Dumping her on you like that. Normally my uncle has the day off work and can take care of her, but he’s gotta go in because someone called out sick, so, yeah..”

If it were at all appropriate, you would reach across the countertop to soothe him from picking at his torn cuticles. But it wasn’t appropriate. So you didn’t.

You locked your hands behind your head and leaned back in your chair. “Funnily enough, I worked a brief stint as a clown for children’s birthday parties, so I’m actually quite comfortable entertaining them.”

“I’m shocked,” he said, void of shock. Finding the strength to lift his eyes from the animals she drew on your sketchpad to the encouraging curve of your lips, he tried to match your grin, but it fell flat. “At least you can go home on time today.”

You sucked in a breath for a quick retort, but Adrie interrupted you in her tiny voice, “Daddy! I can’t reach the sink!” And maybe that was for the best before you humiliated yourself more.

Because, the truth of the matter was, you always had the ability to go home on time. It was only because Eddie stayed behind that you made excuses to sit at your desk past your scheduled hours, prattling off some nonsense about memorizing the catalog.

“C’mon,” he said to his daughter, supporting her on his hip. “Let’s get going.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t exactly patient, either. The creeping exhaustion he kept under wraps was breaking through. Stress fractures in the mask he wore around others. The sanity he gripped for dear life for the sake of Adrie.

He caught the empathetic pinch between your brows, and used the last of his energy to turn so his daughter could see you. “Say ‘bye,’ and ‘thank you’ for playing, Adrie.”

She waved with the same enthusiasm as a golden retriever wagging their tail. “Bye! Thank you!”

“Bye, Adrie,” you laughed. “Bye, Eddie.”

Like usual, he didn’t respond. Today that was okay.

————

Eddie was on the verge. He was trembling, failing to loosen a bolt on the water heater to investigate why it broke–again–when his hair was yanked–again–and his knuckles scraped a bent piece of metal–again.

He was kneeling on his kitchen floor, craving nothing more than a shower to wash away the work week until his skin burned, but he was not afforded the simple luxury.

No relaxation. Not for him. No one to call on when Wayne was gone. This was his life to fix. On his own.

After repairing cars all day, he was exhausted. Touched out. But Adrie needed something from him, something he couldn’t understand with his tired mind. All he wanted was a break. All he needed was a break from her using his coveralls to scale his body. All he sought was the energy to deal with her pulling his hair.

But he was not spared the fortune.

“Adrie, please,” he resorted to begging. And when she didn’t stop, he withdrew his arms from the closet, and pried her hands off his hair, peeling her away and setting her on the floor.

She made to grab him again, but he used his waning strength to squeeze her arms to her sides, giving her his full attention she fought for.

“Can I get you a snack? Or put something on the TV? Do you want a nap?” He listed off anything, shaking and desperate.

“I wanna play with Daddy.”

Guilt amplified the shame.

He was a shit dad. He knew. He did his best and it was never good enough.

“I know you do,” the words fluctuated in the wake of water stinging his eyes. “I know you do, but Daddy needs to fix this. I can make you a snack and you can eat it in the living room. How ‘bout that?” Under normal circumstances, that wasn’t allowed. She had a penchant for dropping sticky food on the carpet–which was just another thing he’d have to get around to cleaning–but he was willing to bend the rules for the promise of a shower.

Adrienne thought about his offer for a long while, and settled on his deal.

And yet, it was hours.. hours until he was able to sit down.

The water heater required more service than he initially thought, and his daughter wasn’t entertained by herself for very long. She came to him in intervals of minutes, climbing up his back and hanging from his neck. He stopped caring. He didn’t have it within him. He made sure she was safe, and that was it.

He fed her a dreadful dinner, and she was so happy for her overcooked noodles in pasta sauce. He saved the leftovers. Put them in the nearly-empty fridge and took out two beers for himself, cracking the tops before sinking into the couch.

Adrienne stood between his legs while he wrapped her in her favorite blanket, and placed her in his lap. The top half of his coveralls were tied by the sleeves around his waist. No matter how dirty he was, this was how they ended the night. Him staring blankly at the TV, and her cheek on his chest, ear pressed to his white tank top, listening to his heartbeat. Curling her fists into her tattered quilt in response to him nuzzling the top of her head, and resting there in a content hum. Closing his eyes. Turning off his brain. Tipping back swigs of beer until he felt better, and giving her kisses until she giggled and squirmed.

The kisses were as much for her as they were for him, giving and receiving the only affection in his life. Apologizing for earlier when he couldn’t stand to be touched.

Her hug was small, yet powerful. Clumsy, but what he needed. Another person to gather in his arms and have their weight fall asleep on his chest.

He collected Adrie, and gave her a few more doting kisses while carrying her to bed.

“Stay, Daddy.”

Sometimes he did, just to have a real bed to sleep in, but with how long it took to fix the water heater, there was only enough hot water to bathe her. He’d have to wait until the morning.

“Not tonight, Daddy’s still dirty from work.”

It hurt to walk away. It hurt more to sleep on the lumpy couch. Hurt worse when Wayne came home to crash on the roll out bed, and the sun funneled through the windows, and the day started all over again.

Hurt the most when Eddie thought about the surprised look on your face when you learned he had a daughter.

Hurt the least when he imagined a world in which you wouldn’t care, and still flirted with him come Monday morning, because fuck, it was the only thing he looked forward to after Adrie’s meltdowns on the way to school.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

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flokali · 1 month

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I just want to touch zhonglis horns or tail. Like they are so pretty

a/n: me too anon, me too ><

I love the image of a relaxed Zhongli who, after much coaxing from your part, allows a small pair of horns to adorn the top of his head. Well, it’s less that it’s small and more so that he’s big enough that almost anything that isn’t comically large looks small near him.

They look similar to Azhdaha’s horns in colour, earthy tones that make them look like Geo formations sitting atop their heads. However, Zhongli’s look just a tad bit neater, as if a gifted craftsman had taken the time to carve and polish them — which, may be possible considering how particular the former archon has become in regards to his appearance ever since your arrival.

His horns blend in their base with his hair, a dark brown colour that fades into a colour that looks akin to polished Cor Lapis. They sit comfortably atop his hair, curling upwards until the very tip where they finally look down. Long, thick vein-like carvings decorate them, their pattern looking much like the ones found in his pillars.

Whenever he uses his Geo element, which he rarely does whenever he allows himself to show his more draconian features, said carvings are filled up with elemental energy that glows a golden colour, instances in which they look much like rivers of gold flowing through him.

They’d probably be cold, at least whenever he’s not using any elemental energy, in which case they seemingly hum a soft warmth. But it never burns hot or freezingly cold, on the instances where you glide the pad of your finger through the, surprisingly, smooth surface it feels pleasant. Like an ointment that leaves your skin tingling, they seemingly buzz with energy native to Teyvat.

I also like to think that, when allowing more… draconic features of his to shine, Zhongli’s arms look similar to his Rex Lapis days. Back then, his arms were deep in colour with golden markings glowing - much like his horns, I’d think. Unlike before, the colour doesn’t seep into his neck, instead neatly ending near his shoulders and fading back into his human form’s flesh. But it’s just as striking, they almost look like gloves, but when you touch them they still feel like skin — the golden etchings in them, however, would probably feel more calloused, like scar tissue. In these instances, his arms run cold, much like stone. It’s only near the golden tissue that a semblance of warmth is found. During particularly hot summer days, they work wonders in keeping the heat away.

A tail… for some reason, I feel like he’d be extremely hesitant in showing it off. Only during private hours with you, where he’ll be absolutely certain no one other than yourself will see, will he show you. When he does, you notice how slim it is — only growing in size by the end, where it resembles a cloud. It’s essentially the same tail he possesses as Morax, where the end is filled with explosive colours that make it look like pure Geo energy materialising into the air.

Like any dragon, his tail is made out of scales - however his are surprisingly smooth, they blend into each other creating the illusion of there being no scales at all. They’re still sturdy, however, you’re pretty sure no weapon in existence could cut through them. His tail’s end… I think it’d be fur, long hairs combed into their position mimicking the clouds above Liyue Harbor during sunsets, unlike the rest of his body, I think it’d be surprisingly soft and, forgive my blasphemy, fluffy.

In these instances where he allows himself to be more vulnerable, showing bits and pieces of his most prominent and powerful forms, he grows to love your affection.

He loves it just as much when you comb his long, silken hair as when you detangle his tail. The feeling of your nails tracing the hundreds of scales that protect his tail make a shiver run down his spine, one that pleasures him as much as takes him by surprise every time.

Zhongli is rather secretive about his previous roles in life, which means that he has to trust you quite a lot to willingly expose traits of his that once belonged to the lives he once lived, which is why he’s so keen on keeping these attributes of his known only to the two of you.

If he so much as senses anybody coming near the room, his horns and tail quickly disappear - much to your disappointment. If anybody, much less someone like Venti, where to catch even so much as a glimpse of his more draconian features, you might need to physically restrain him lest he send them home with multiple injuries. It comes to a point where he mostly only cares about keeping a secret only between you and himself, rather than keeping his identity secret.

It’s why he treasures the soft moments where you lay in bed together, his head resting against your chest as you softly rub his horns with gentle motions. His ears are sharp, the beating of your heart is loud and clear to Zhongli, but it’s not bothersome at all — instead, it’s soothing to him, like the sound of soft rain against a window would be to some or waves softly crashing down into the sand. You’re too sleepy to notice, the warmth radiating from the man on top of you was simply too comfortable for you to resist the temptation of slumber, the soft purring that rumbled from his chest.

That was yet another feature of his you’d soon familiarise yourself with though, he still wanted to keep a few cards up his sleeve in case he felt you were drifting too far away from his embrace.

#๋࣭ ancient scrolls #๋࣭. hidden devotee #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin impact x reader #yandere zhongli #zhongli x reader #Genshin zhongli x reader #soft yandere zhongli #soft sagau #<- mostly written with the au in mind it #*ig #soft zhongli #Genshin x reader #sub zhongli #zhongli genshin impact

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fabled-fiction · 11 months

Note

i see you write for hobie brown omg i like audibly giggled when i read that 😭 i’m so excited he’s finally getting his recognition !!

if you write for him, maybe some relationship hcs?? (gn reader would be perfect!) bonus points if reader and hobie are around the same height

tysm!!

Hobie Brown Relationship Headcanons

Summary: Headcanons for Hobie Brown in a relationship. From PDA to your private moments to how he acts when you aren’t around

Word Count: 961

Warnings: Talk of injury, POSSIBLE SPIDERMAN ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE SPOILERS (I’m just putting this here to be careful)

A/N: I hope this is good!! I wanted to include bits and pieces of what I thought could be a glimpse into some of the softer parts of Hobie!!

🕷️ First of all, this man is a charmer

🕷️ One of his love languages is words of affirmation and trust me this man is always finding ways to compliment any and every part of you

🕷️ His goal is to show how much he appreciates you…but also he just loves seeing how hot your face can get. How flustered he can make you.

🕷️ He gets a confidence boost everytime ngl

🕷️ Especially in public.

🕷️ “Aye, ‘ow good does (Y/N) look?”

🕷️ Once you’re settled into the relationship he will never call you by your name-atleast not fully

🕷️ He expects the same. Call him Hobart and he will be visually confused and apauled

🕷️ “ Im sorry, who? I dont see a ‘obart in the room wif us.”

🕷️ Its always nicknames of your name.

🕷️ His go to pet name is “babes”

🕷️ On a seperate note, Quality time is also a super big thing whenever you get together

🕷️ Cause sometimes he’ll feel bad that his time is essentially split into thirds. Between being Spiderman on his Earth, a part of the Spider Society, and his time as Hobie Brown

🕷️ So he finds any and every opportunity to just soak you in

🕷️ Obviously you have the swing dates. Where he’ll usually take you to the top of whatever building has the best view for the night and have a picnic

🕷️ But thats usually for special occasions.

🕷️ Your usual spot it cuddled up with each other either just watching TV or a movie or sharing earbuds.

🕷️ His favorite is when you’re just doing your own things but together. Being in eachother’s presence

🕷️ Normally he’ll be tuning or playing his guitar, writing down cords that work well together while you have a book or sketchbook in your hand

🕷️ When it comes to late nights together, sleepovers and what not his favorite thing is when you two are cuddling.

🕷️ His favorite thing is to hold your face

🕷️ Because of his spider senses he gets to memorize the smallest of details on your face

🕷️ Also this man, if you get his head on your chesr earlier on in the cuddle session he is OUT

🕷️ Your heart beat is his personal lullaby. His security. It calms him down. Especially if he’s having trouble sleeping after a particularly rough patrol. Expect him to just haul your ass onto the bed and just bury himself into you.

🕷️ Also this man is not SUPER into the traditional PDA, dont expect to get any long kisses from him in public or you sitting in his lap.

🕷️ He has his own form of PDA though. He ALWAYS has to be close to you.

🕷️ If someone is standing next to you? No they’re not. Suddenly he’s (not so subtly) making his way back into HIS spot next to you and then standing shoulder to shoulder.

🕷️ This is something he will not move on, his spot is next to you and your spot is next to him. Whatever surface he is laying on or sitting on he expects you to be next to him or sitting between his legs

🕷️ He’s not a full on hand holder (the most you’ll get is a pinky hold) but he is the type to either always have his arm on you SOMEWHERE. Whether that's resting his elbow on your shoulder, arm around your shoulders. He’s just always touching you in some way.

🕷️ He’s always slinging his body over you, smothering you. THATS his favorite form of PDA.

🕷️ Or if he’s just feeling especially territorial he'll have his hand in your back pocket.

🕷️ Its not because of any superficial reason, this guy is the opposite from that. He’s just solid in the relationship, and prefers the super intimate physicalities to be just between you two.

🕷️ Unbeknownst to him though, its not really needed because this mf is ALWAYS staring at you with the most lovey dovey love sick puppy eyes.

🕷️ Whenever he talks about you to Miles or Gwen or Pavitr or Miguel…really anyone that will listen

🕷️ They usually have to tell him to get back on topic.

🕷️ Also always expect to be wearing SOME article of his. Its his way of…making sure he’s always with you. Totally not because he’s vocal about you being his ans when he’s not with you others gotta know.

🕷️ And he’s the same way. He’s always got one of your jackets around his waist or one of your tees. Anything you’ll let him wear (steal) to show off that he’s yours. It gives him the biggest shit eating grin.

🕷️ If you’ll let him, he’ll go as far as to take an old tee you were planning on getting rid off and add a patch of it to his vest.

🕷️ Also uhmm…this mf never stops texting you. ESPECIALLY if he’s away in another universe he’s sending selfs.

🕷️ He expects selfies back, and it gets to the point where his wallpaper is a collage of all the selfies you’ve taken and he’s taken…candids or not.

🕷️ Its also usually the most unreadible shit, because he’s convined he can text and swing which you’ve told him NOT to do

🕷️ On the topic of his wreckless swinging, you two have a rule

🕷️ He doesn’t want you involved with his Spider stuff. He’s got that part of the stereotypical spiderman mentality. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.

🕷️ But for your sanity, any injury he has you take care of (if you can). If gives you some sort of peace of mind to know how he’s going in and what to expect.

🕷️ Ever since you both got together he’s been more careful.

🕷️ Cause he’s actually got something to come back to on his earth.

🕷️ When you get together he’s more passionate about his cause

🕷️ Because now he has a much more personal goal to work for.

#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #x reader #marvel x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #hobie brown headcanons #headcanon #spider punk #spiderpunk x reader

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bethanythebogwitch · 7 months

Text

Welcome to a topsy-turvy Wet Beast Wednesday where I'm discussing one of my favorite cnidarians, the upside-down jellyfish. These are 8 species of jellyfish in the genus Cassiopea, which is the only member of the family Cassiopeidae. What makes these jellies notable is the fact that they spend most of their time lying upside-down on the seafloor.

(image: an upside-down jellyfish swimming. It has a light brown and white striped bell and multiple tentacles that are tuck and white. The tentacles branch and are lined with feathery, light brown structures)

While the majority of jellyfish are predators who drift through the water at the mercy of the currents, upside-down jellyfish have essentially become farmers. Their eight branched oral arms that contain symbiotic algae called zooxanthellae. These algae are photosynthetic and live in a mutualistic relationship with the jellyfish. The jellyfish gets food from the zooxanthellae and they get protection from predators and a place to live. Upside-down jellyfish can survive entirely on the nutrients produced by the zooxanthellae, but they will still feed on zooplankton and other small prey. Upside-down jellies are not the only jellyfish to utilize zooxanthellae, many other species also survive primarily on their symbiotic algae, but they are the only ones to have adapted the benthic lifestyle. They can reach a bell diameter of up to 25 cm (10 inches), or as one source for this stated: about the size of a pie pan.

(image: multiple upside-down jellyfish lying on sand. They are ov various sizes and mostly light brown, but have thicker, green tentacles sticking op)

Upside-down jellyfish are found in warm coastal waters in Florida and the Caribbean and in Micronesia, Melanesia, and parts of Polynesia. They require shallow waters to allow enough light to reach their zooxanthellae and are usually found on shady or muddy bottoms. They are highly associated with mangroves and may play an important role in the mangrove habitats by mixing the water to recirculate oxygen and nutrients. They are rarely found alone, instead congregating in large groups that can cover portions of the seafloor. They attach by using their bells as suction cups and rhythmically pulse using the edges of the bell. This pulsing forces water over the gills and can force zooplankton into the stinging cells to become food. Stung prey will fall on the oral tentacles, where it is broken down into fragments that are then intaken through the numerous tiny oral openings on the tentacles. Interestingly, some species have cycles of reduced movement, which is believed to be the first known example of sleep in an animal without a central nervous system. While upside-down jellies can swim, they will usually only do so to escape predators or if their environment becomes unsuitable.

(image: an upside-down jellyfish swimming. The majority of its body is light brown, but it has many tentacles that are dark blue and outlined in white)

While a very neat thing to see underwater, many snorkelers avoid upside-down jellyfish due to a phenomenon called stinging water. This is when people will receive the symptoms of a sting by the jellyfish without actually touching it. While the cause of this was a mystery for a long time, it was solved when a 2020 paper was published in Communications Biology by Ames et al. The scientists discovered that upside-down jellies release clumps of mucus into the water. This mucus is filled with zooxanthellae and stinging cells and many of these clumps also have ciliated cells that allow for limited swimming. These clumps, named cassiosomes, are the source of the stinging water. The paper, titled "cassiosomes are stinging-cell structures in the mucus of the upside-down jellyfish Cassiopea xamachana" speculated that the cassiosomes are used for defense and feeding. The cassiosomes could be released to sting a potential predator from a distance, discouraging it from approaching the jellyfish. Presumably snorkelers trigger this defense when they swim over the jellies, resulting in stinging water. They could also be used to catch prey as zooplankton killed by the stinging cells would have a high likelihood of falling onto the jelly that released them. Because the cassiosomes have zooanthellae in them, they could survive for likely up to several days after release.

(image: a microscope image of three cassiosomes. They are irregularly-shaped blobs somewhat similar to popcorn. They are a dark color with grey outlines. Spots of green algae and white stinging cells dot their surface)

Upside-down jellyfish are threatened by habitat loss as many mangrove forests are torn down for development. They are also threatened by pollution. They are not considered dangerous to humans. The sting of an upside-down jellyfish can result in mild to severe rashes and itching, but is not lethal.

(gif: a lone, light brown upside-down jellyfish on black sediment. The edge of its flat, circular bell regularly pulse upward to move air over its gills and tentacles. This one's pulsing has slowed, which is speculated to be the result of it going through its sleep cycle)

#wet beast wednesday #upside down jellyfish #inverted invertebrate #marine biology #biology #zoology #ecology #animal facts #jellyfish #cnidarians #invertebrate

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thewordypeach · 11 months

Text

Cream

Cream (Milk)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader word count: 2.9k warnings: 18+, NSFW!!!!, smut! smut! smut!, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v = creampie, oral, titty sucking and titty fucking, (lactation kink), implied breeding kink, squirting, etc. summary: Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it - author's note: ummm … so this sequel had me questioning my life choices. like i do not know what possessed me to take it this far lol so you better blow it up like you did with ‘Milk’ 🤭 anyways, i hope you like it <3 xoxo the wordy peach

It begins with: “You’ll never guess what they’re playing at movie night,”

You look at Joel, a single eyebrow raised. Joel wolfishly grins, his brown eyes sparkling, “Austin Powers and the Spy Who Shagged Me,”

He watches as your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Joel can’t believe you don’t remember the conversation from last week, the one that had you confessing to him that you felt like one of those fembots from the aforementioned movie. He steps closer, head dipping to your ear, whispering: “Machine gun titties,”

That’s all it takes for you to remember. And it has your cheeks flushing pink. Sheepishly, you smile at him. But, of course, the cock block herself pipes up: “The spy who what?”

Ellie, you spunky little shithead. You love her to death. You never want her to grow up. But lately, she’s been ruining your alone time with Joel. You know she just wants to be a part of the family, and she is. It never even crossed your mind to think otherwise. She’s the daughter you never had. Sometimes you wish she’d just go and make friends that aren’t you or Joel.

You look at Joel, waiting for him to answer. But Joel is expectantly gazing at you. A playful smirk ghosts across his lips. He thinks it’s your duty to explain the birds, the bees, and everything between them to Ellie. Of course, she knows most of it. But she questions absolutely everything. Just yesterday, you had the unfortunate experience of explaining anal to her; Joel walked out of the house when she asked and didn’t return until later.

You poke a finger into Joel’s chest, hissing at him, “It’s your turn,”

His face goes slack before he gives you a sullen look. He pouts those luscious lips of his, “But darlin'….”

“Don't darlin' me, mister. You owe me for yesterday,”

Joel continues to pout but eventually relents. He turns to Ellie with a face void of any emotion: “It’s a classic movie from the 2000s,”

“Yeah, but what does shagged mean?” Ellie asks. Her eyes look between you and Joel, waiting for an answer. Joel grows uncomfortable. He’s never been one to talk about this kind of stuff.

“Yeah, Joel. What does shagged mean?” You ask.

“It- it… it means…” Joel stutters and stumbles over the words. His face is turning pink. He looks flustered as he searches for the right thing to say. You’re enjoying him floundering around. In one great, big breath, Joel spills out: “It’s a British slang term for intercourse,”

Ellie blinks at him several times as she repeats what Joel just said to her. She starts chuckling, “Shagged means sex?!” Ellie turns into a mess of laughter. She’s clutching her sides. It’s not that funny. But you like watching her have fun. It brings back the innocence and reminds you of childhood. You were young when the movie came out, and the world was ravaged by fungus a few years after. So you cherish this moment of hilarity. You rub your tummy and smile at how much fun you will have raising this new baby with Joel and Ellie -

You don’t make it to movie night because you’re busy with the nursery, and the thought of walking all the way to town hall makes you cringe. You don’t like going anywhere unless it is essential. You make Joel and Ellie do everything for you. There are still some things you do yourself.

You insist Joel and Ellie go. Ellie doesn’t fight it (she’s so excited to watch a piece of history), but Joel grumbles about it. He wants to stay and help. By helping, Joel means he wants to milk you. He can’t stop helping you, and it’s the only thing on his mind - Joel swears he even dreams about it now. However, there hasn’t been a single moment for him to help you. Tommy has Joel doing everything and anything, and between his brother and Ellie, Joel hasn’t had time for his new hobby.

So, after he drops Ellie off at the movie (making sure that she is settled and making sure that Tommy will bring her home after), Joel leaves and makes his way back to you. He wants to spend every free minute with you, but more importantly, this is the perfect opportunity to do what he’s been dreaming of without any interruptions. Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it -

You hear him before you see him, and then you feel him. His arms wrap around your body, and he presses his chest into your back. You sink into the warmth, eyes closing and throat humming. His hands briefly touch your stomach before they find their rightful place. Joel cups your tits, placing each of them into his hands, and marvels at the heaviness. So full of his special cream.

“They’ve gotten bigger, haven’t they?” Joel murmurs. His cock is already hard and straining inside his pants. Hell, on the walk home, the prospect of milking you had him almost cumming right then and there.

“They’re definitely heavier,” Joel adds as he squeezes them. He notices you aren’t wearing a bra, and with one simple motion, he has his shirt on the floor (the only one that fits you). You’re facing him now, chest and belly exposed. The sight of you has him losing it. Joel feels happy and excited, and everything in between that. Joel can’t believe that you're his, and he’s yours. Nor can he believe his eyes because your tits are definitely bigger, and your nipples are already dewy with that milky nectar he loves so much.

Joel groans, latches his mouth onto your right side, and starts suckling like a starved man. Your nipple is already stiff and responsive, and you feel the sensation of milk rushing through to meet your partner’s greedy tongue. His hand expertly kneads the pillowy flesh, expressing even more of the sweet cream that has him hard as a rock. Joel starts to breathe deeper and sucks harder, causing you to moan.

Your fingers comb through Joel’s hair, and you hold him there because the pleasure of having Joel drain your tits is undeniable; in fact, the more Joel sucks and licks your nipple, the more your arousal grows. You have to remind him, “Joel…. We have less than ninety minutes -”

He grunts in response and moves his mouth to the other side he’s been neglecting. The feeling is indescribable, and you relish it. The relief Joel is giving you is insurmountable. But it also has you growing impatient with him. Your core is aching for his cock, and your hands travel over his body. You feel his muscles, thick and robust, beneath the plaid shirt. You need him now.

“Joel,” Your hand drops to the bulge in his jeans, and you gently rub it with purpose. The friction makes Joel groan, finally lifting his head from your tits. His eyes are filled with a dazy lustiness that makes you fumble with your words. Still, it doesn’t matter because Joel is suddenly pressing his lips against yours and kissing you with an ardour that makes you forget everything you are about to say.

You taste the substance that has Joel acting ravenous. It reminds you of cereal milk because it’s so sweet. You part from his lips, whispering, “Can I taste you now?”

He doesn’t have time to answer because you’re already lowering yourself to your knees, planting them on the ground in front of Joel. With one hand, you pop open the buttons of his jeans and pull down the zipper. Roughly, you tug at the opening and watch as his thick, luscious cock springs free from its confines. At the sight of it, you lick your lips. Your fingers wrap around his length and slide over his stiffness. The movement makes Joel shiver, and when your lips finally touch his cock, a groan escapes from his throat.

Joel has been so concerned about making you feel good that he forgot to consider himself. Suddenly, you thrust him inside your mouth while twisting your hand down his cock. He quickly fills your mouth, and his hand grasps your hair in hopes of controlling you. However, he’s fine with letting you have your way right now. It’s been a while since you had the opportunity to please him; Joel loves how the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you’re so adept at sucking him off that his length doesn’t make you gag anymore -

Expertly, you glide your mouth from the hilt to the tip of Joel’s cock, coating it in your saliva. Joel’s eyes nearly roll into his head because it feels so fucking good. It’s the only thing he can tell you because he’s almost lost his mind from the bliss of your mouth sheathing his cock. You don’t stop until Joel gasps for air and asks you to stop.

“Babe, babe, babe,” His voice is husky, and he roughly pulls on your hair. You gasp and gaze up at him with a thick string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. Joel quivers at the sight and has to remember what he will say. You wait patiently. Obediently.

Breathlessly, he asks, “Do you want me to fuck you here? Or…”

Without skipping a beat, you reply, “Here,”

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice and is quick to shed his jeans before he starts to help you. You lean forward onto the palm of your hands and watch as Joel goes behind and begins to slide off the sweatpants you’re always wearing. Not that Joel minds. He knows it’s the only thing that fits you because you remind him every damn day. Once the sweatpants are off, he tosses them to the side and stares lovingly at your ass. It’s so round and perky and panty-less. He’s genuinely surprised, and it makes him smile.

He caresses your fleshy cheeks, asking, “Is this for me?”

Joel can’t see your face but can tell you are blushing. Sheepishly, you admit, “As soon as you left, I took them off - for easy access,”

“Oh, darlin’,” He swoons, “You’re so sweet to think of me,”

Joel pries your sweet cheeks apart and buries his face, his tongue immediately swirling around your puckered asshole. Mewls spill forth from your mouth, and you wiggle your hips, trying to splay them apart because your body needs more. Joel’s tongue slithers down, lapping the juice practically pouring out of your needy, swollen cunt. He licks and sucks with wild abandon, groaning at your deliciousness. He doesn’t stop until you are begging him, “Joel, fuck me. Fuck me with your big cock, please. Oh god, fuck me, already!”

He removes his mouth from your exterior and replaces it with his cock. He rubs and rubs his bulbous crown between your molten wetness, gliding it back and forth until it’s coated with your slickness. When he thinks it’s enough, he pushes into your tight cunt. At first, your channel is resistant. But slowly, your velvety walls happily start devouring Joel’s cock until his entire length basks in the warmth.

You are gasping at the sensation of being stretched out. It’s almost too much in this position, and a small rock of Joel’s hips gives way to your first orgasm. Your vision swirls as a wave of ecstasy comes crashing through. Your fingers grip the carpet as your cunt swells and clenches his cock. Your back arches as you cry out, “Fuck, Joel,”

Immediately, he stops, thinking he has hurt you or the baby. Panic-stricken, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“N-n-nothing,” You stutter out, attempting to catch your breath. Your lungs greedily suck in the air, saturated with the smell of sex. You tell him, “You made me cum,”

“Already?” He murmurs and devilishly thinks about the five times he made you cum last week. Joel rocks his hips again, and you whimper at the movement. At a glacial pace, Joel pulls out before sliding back in and burying his cock to the hilt. You’re gripping the carpet and moaning like crazy. He’s sure the neighbours can hear you, which drives Joel forward. He wants them to know how good he is at fucking you.

Joel grabs your hips, nails sinking into the fleshy bits, and plows in and out of your pussy. He’s pulling all the way out and pushing all the way in, ensuring you feel every inch of his girthy length. Your body is rocking beneath his, tits swaying like udders. You reach between your legs to touch your clit. It’s pulsating and yearning to be touched. You gingerly circle it, knowing a light touch is enough to send you over the edge. And you’re right because, within seconds, your second orgasm is rolling through.

You wail, “Joel, Joel, Joel,” but Joel doesn’t stop this time. He continues to youthfully spear your pussy and watches as your creamy juices coat his cock. Vigorously, you rub your clit because a third orgasm is imminent. Your back arches and your hips are high in the air, and Joel stops, pulling out completely, to watch as your pussy trembles with another orgasm. Your thighs are dripping with your juices, and his name still spills out of your mouth. Repeatedly.

His hand squeezes your hip, “Mmm, darlin’. That’s your third one - should we slow down? Don’t want to hurt -”

“Need more,” You interrupt him, “Need to cum more, Joel,”

Joel shakes his head, “Darlin’,'' He knows you aren’t thinking straight, driven to recklessness because of the pure ecstasy that has raptured your body. You turn over, laying on your back. You splay your legs apart, and your pussy glistens in the light. It’s so swollen, so puffy. Your hand is back, and your fingers are working your clit. But from this angle, it’s a little more challenging because of your protruding belly. And it’s making you frustrated. Especially because Joel is just watching, not helping.

“Joel,” You growl, “Fuck me,”

A single eyebrow of his shoots up, and you begrudgingly mutter, “Please,”

Much to your surprise, Joel moves. However, instead, he hovers above your chest and settles his cock in the valley of your tits. His hands squeeze them, and the milk for his unborn child sprays out, sprinkling across your chest and hitting his cock. At first, Joel goes slow, his cock passing between your tits. It’s a different kind of friction and holy hell… it feels good. His cock, slippery with your juices and milk, has him gliding through your breasts with ease. He grips harder and fucks your tits faster, rocking his hips back and forth.

As he slips in and out, he milks your bountiful breasts in the process. He does it until you are soaked. He’s breathing hard, and his balls are tightening. He’s close, so fucking close. But he doesn’t want to finish like this because he knows you want more orgasms, and who is he to deny his pregnant partner? You have been carrying his baby for months, and it hasn’t been easy. And Joel knows that once the baby is born, you won’t be able to have sex for weeks. Not until you’re healed. So, why not let you live a little?

He pulls his cock out of your cleavage and moves his face to yours, kissing you passionately. His tongue swirls and mingles with yours before he shifts down. Joel latches his mouth around your nipple and practically inhales a gulp of cream into his mouth. He doesn’t swallow and comes back up, kissing you again. Messily, Joel washes your mouth with your milk. It’s sweet and warm, and it’s fucking kinky as hell. It has you moaning into Joel’s mouth. He moans back, letting you know he loves every moment of it too.

As he continues to kiss you, Joel reaches down and takes his cock, sliding it over your puffy and sensitive lips before pressing it into your velvet channel. Your body welcomes him, and your mouth drops, gasping as you effortlessly fit his entire length . Once more, Joel explores your warm depths with a vigorous youthfulness. His flesh is clapping yours over and over until you are yelling his name over and over. Your hands are gripping his forearms, nails digging into his skin.

“Mmm, Joel, mmm, Joel, gonna cum, Joel, mmm - fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your eyes roll back, and an unwavering fourth climax raptures your body. A euphoric release rolls across your body, and you undulate beneath Joel. He watches as your belly quivers, and he feels your cunt trying to expel him, and when he does finally pull out, a massive bolt of liquid escapes - he realizes you’re squirting. Something he’s only heard rumours about. He’s astonished by the amount of liquid that is coming out and by how long your orgasm is lasting.

Meanwhile, you are gasping for air, lungs greedily gulping it down. You have no idea what happened; all you know is it’s a big wet mess down there. You’re gazing at Joel, cock-drunk. Orgasm-drunk. Your brain is buzzing with satisfaction. Your fixation on cumming has been satiated. However, your partner is still rock hard. He still needs to cum, and he’s more eager than ever before. He shoves his cock back in, and the molten wetness has his cock quivering as his climax punches through, pushing him over the edge.

He doesn't warn you. He doesn’t have to - the damage is done. You’re reaping what he sowed. Joel shoots his seed as far into you as possible with a single thrust. His hands touch your belly, caressing the soft skin, and he pushes his cock even deeper, where he empties the rest of his balls. When he pulls out, his cum mixed with yours oozes out from your crease and pools onto the carpet beneath you.

You dare to smile up at him, murmuring: “Thank you, Daddy,”

#joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #thewordypeach #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlof smut #freaks only <3 #the wordy peach #thewordypeachwrites #wpw

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prentissluvr · 11 months

Text

too cold — joel (and tommy) miller

gn!reader , (future)fatherfigure!joel (and tommy tbh) , takes place a year or two after joel and ellie settle in jackson , reader is in their mid/late teens , hurt/comfort, angst , cw : brief mentions of loss of friends and family, hypothermia , wc : 3.8K , special thanks to @piggyjeans for reading this for me and motivating me to wrap up this part and get it out to you guys !! <333

at this point, you’re beginning to wonder why you even try. you wonder if there’s a point when the scraps of any family you had left, found or biological, are long gone and you’re on the brink of freezing to death yourself. you managed a fire last night, but you’re shivering beyond control even in the daylight with your sore lack of a real coat. wherever you are, it’s cold as hell and winter is setting in far faster than you could ever combat. essentially, you’re screwed. it seems like it might snow more, there’s not a building in sight, and you’re running out of bullets and food. the cold bites at your exposed nose and takes permanent root in your bones.

night falls far too quickly, bringing the thick snow that you feared almost as much as infected or people; those you could fight, but the snow? against that you have no defense but a sputtering fire, measly shelter, and a slowly thinning sleeping bag. curled into yourself as much as you can, it takes a concerningly small amount of time for you to fall asleep.

by the time you finally come back into consciousness, the struggle to open your eyes scares you even in the muddled state of your mind. the sun is far higher than ideal; already you’ve lost precious traveling time now that your only hope is to find abandoned buildings to scavenge for supplies. and yet, the last thing you want to do is get out of your sleeping bag. it’s kept you as warm as you could be, and even now in the leftover warmth sleep, you’re all too aware of the snow that blew into the small overhand of rocks you slept underneath and the way it’s freezing temperatures will soak into your feet until it reaches every nerve of your body when you continue your trek through the forest.

but, despite that heavy question of what’s the point, there’s no way you’re going to let yourself give up and waste away in the cold without trying to save someone, even if that someone is yourself. so with every struggle, you pull your hands out from their haven in the swaths of fabric, fumbling slightly to zip open the bag and pull yourself out. you’re eternally grateful that you have gloves, but within the few minutes of packing up, the cold has already started to settle in your hands, feet, and face. begrudgingly, you swing your pack onto your shoulder and shove your hands into your pockets, looking for the most direct path to higher ground to scope out any buildings.

as you start out, it seems as though travel may not be the worst. but the thick snow from last night’s flurries and the still slowly falling flakes are quick to tire your legs from the effort, and the way that your jacket lets in too much of the numbing wind hinders your pace. you find yourself exhausted, taking moments to rest against trees that stretch into minutes, maybe longer as your mind becomes foggy and consistent shivering sets in throughout your whole body.

you stumble a bit and clumsily grab hold of the nearest tree. what the hell am i doing? you wonder. you let your whole side press against the rough surface of the tree, squeezing your eyes shut, then opening them in attempts to clear your head. but that doesn’t seem to help when you start to wonder if you’re hallucinating. just meters away your eyes land on a tall brown horse, an animal you don’t think you’ve seen outside of pictures. you stare at it in wonder for a moment, but a feeling of panic sets in when you process the fact that there’s a man sitting on the horse, a large rifle strapped across his back.

with your shaky hands you fumble around to pull out your gun, but it does you no good when the rifle is pointed at you in seconds.

despite the threat, the man’s voice isn’t harsh when he calls out to you. “’s alright. ’m not here to hurt you, alright? just drop your weapon.” without much resistance, you do as he says, seeing no other choice and feeling not an ounce of energy to fight back. within moments, he’s off the horse, one hand on its reins and the other put up in the air in a careful truce as he slowly moves closer to you. when he’s near enough that the snow doesn’t obstruct his view of your face, he can see the way that you’re shivering and the unfocused look in your eyes and can immediately notice that something’s not quite right.

“i need you to tell me if you’re infected. don’t lie now, alright? i’ll shoot you if i find out you do.” at this, his voice is more stern, stirring up a bit more fear in you. but you’re able to shake your head clearly.

“no. no, ’m not infected. haven’t run into any for days,” you speak aloud for the first time since you woke up this morning, and you don’t notice the way that your speech is slurred, but he does.

“alright, then. kid, i’m gonna get you somewhere warm, okay?” in the back of your head, you’re terrified to let him closer, to let some stranger lead you somewhere, but the promise of warmth is something you desperately need. even so, you flinch away when he’s finally right next to you and reaches out. “i promise ’m not gonna hurt ya. i’ve got somewhere safe and warm for you, you’re gonna freeze to death if you don't get some help now.” he’s completely right, you realize, so you just nod. “there ya go. do’y have a coat we can get on you?” he frowns when you shake your head, but doesn’t hesitate to unzip his own padded coat. gently, he pulls your pack off your back and sets it down. you don’t even realize what he’s doing until he shrugs his own coat over your shoulders and pulls it tight over your front. the leftover warmth from his own body is heavenly, but in the action, you lose your support against the tree and unconsciously lean into his firm frame. you don’t notice, but he stiffens at this, and his frown grows deeper when he feels how cold you are to the touch.

with strong hands, he pulls you away from him slightly. wordlessly, he guides your shivering arms into the sleeves of his coat, silently grateful for the warm jacket he still has on.

“we’ve gotta get on the horse, now.”

you just nod, letting him guide you to the tall animal. but you stop short at its side, completely unsure of how you’ll get up.

“first you put your right foot in the stirrup, right here.” you don’t have to say anything for him to begin telling you what you need to. “put your hand on the saddle here to help you up. i’m gonna hold you steady, okay?” you nod, letting him place his firm hands on your waist as you put the last of your strength into lifting one foot into the stirrup. “now you’ve gotta push up with that foot to swing your other leg over the horse.” it takes all of your concentration to understand what he says, and strength that you don’t have to actually do it. it’s messy, but thanks to his help and some miracle, you find yourself on top of the horse and putting all of your effort into staying upright.

“there ya go. i’m gonna get on in front of you, don’t you fall off now.” he quickly fastens your pack onto the horse, letting out a small grunt as he pulls himself up onto the animal. his body warmth right in front of you is precious and you don’t have it in you to feel awkward in the way he does as he pulls your arms around his torso to keep you steady. “just hold on and stay awake, alright? shouldn’t be too long til we get you warm.” once again, you just nod, knowing he can feel it with the side of your face pressed against his back.

as the horse starts forward at a decent pace, his instructions of holding on prove to be harder than ideal with your weakened grip. you don’t know how much time passes until the horse’s movement stops and the man’s voice, along with another, meets your ears.

you startle when the unfamiliar voice calls out. “joel! what took you so lon– what happened?”

“sorry, tommy.” you can feel the rumble of his voice while pressed against him, and turn your head to face the source of the other voice. “found ‘em leaning against a tree just a bit off the path. think they’ve got hypothermia.”

there’s another man on a horse, probably younger, but you can’t tell much else in the snow and the state of your mind. either way, you can’t help but read him as a danger. the man in front of you, joel, you assume, must have picked up on your fear behind him

“’s alright. that’s my brother, tommy. he’s here to help too, okay?”

another nod from you, and a “damn” from tommy.

“let’s get going, then. we’ll stay in the lookout for tonight then get them back to jackson first thing in the morning. it’ll be dark soon.”

joel agrees, and with that, you set off. every so often, his voice brings you out of your daze long enough for you to nod your head against his back when he checks if you’re still awake. your sense of time is long gone; all you know when you arrive at the mentioned lookout is a vague sense of relief.

“kid?” his voice rings out and you realize the motion of the horse has finally come to a stop. you do your best to sit up, hating the biting air that immediately hits your front now that it’s not kept warm by joel’s back. your hands stay resting absentmindedly on his shoulders in order to keep you from slipping off of the horse. “tommy’s gonna help you off, okay?” you let out a small hum of acknowledgement as tommy dismounts his horse and comes to stand beside you.

“here we go,” he gives you a small, encouraging smile as he lifts his arms up for you. “put your hands on my shoulders, and i’ll get you down safe ’n sound, alright?” it’s a bit of an awkward reach, and you begin to slip down before you have a proper grasp, but his hands are quick to secure themselves under your armpits, preventing you from falling and instead pulling you into his chest. your knees buckle the moment they hit the ground; tommy’s strong grip keeps you upright. “there you are, ’s alright. god, you’re shivering like a leaf in the wind. we’ll get you nice and warm now.”

there’s a bit of a struggle getting inside, your legs practically refusing to hold your weight. an immense wave of relief washes through you when you collapse onto the couch they bring you to and you let your eyes shut in exhaustion.

“now don’t you fall asleep on us quite yet,” joel warns. “we gotta get you warm first. tommy, get some hot water going.” you force your eyes back open to see him crouching in front of you. “listen, uh. some of your clothes are a little wet from the snow, and we can’t have that.” he pauses at that, studying your face to catch any sort of reaction.

“okay,” you whisper, somehow coherent enough to still understand what he’s saying and know that he’s right.

“okay,” he repeats. “can i take these jackets off?” you nod. his grip is gentle when he pulls you up from your slouched position, allowing you to lean into him when he slips off the coat he gave you, then your own slightly damp jacket. you begin to shiver even harder, your thinning cotton shirt doing nothing to keep any cold at bay. “alright, alright,” he mumbles, half to himself as he pulls his thicker, dry coat back around you. then comes a blanket, taken from the couch and wrapped securely around your shoulders. he shifts you to rest against the back of the sofa.

that’s when he pauses, at a bit of a loss of what to do because your jeans, despite your thick boots, are soaked from the snow almost up to your knees. but there’s no way in hell he’d feel comfortable taking off your pants, much less how you’d feel.

“i’m gonna have to cut your pants,” he concludes. “promise we’ll get you new ones in town, but you’ll never get warm like this.”

“’s okay,” you mumble. so he rummages in his pack until he finds a pair of scissors, doing his best to avoid touching your bare skin with his hands or cut you with the cold metal. it’s tricky business; the jeans stick fairly close to your skin, but he manages not to even nick you with the sharp edges. the moment you’re free from any damp clothing, he wraps another blanket securely around your legs so it won’t fall off.

moments later, tommy reappears in your line of sight with exactly what joel asked for. he leans down, holding it out to you. with shaky hands, you grasp the cup, sighing in immediate relief at the warmth that spreads right into your fingers through your gloves.

“careful, now,” tommy advises. “it’s real hot, don’t burn your tongue.” you do your best to follow his instruction, weakly blowing at the hot water when you bring it close to your mouth. resisting the urge to down the whole thing, you grip it tighter and bring it to your chest, hoping to let some of the warmth permeate through other parts of your body other than your hands. it feels like a little piece of heaven when you feel the steam rising up to warm your chin, your lips, and the tip of your nose and the heat from the cup itself travel through your thin shirt and to the skin above your collarbone.

when you finally begin to sip on the warm water, it’s almost glorious; you can feel its warmth spread through your body. so once you discover it’s no longer too hot, you take long gulps and heave heavy sighs of relief. your trembling doesn’t disappear, but with the third cup, it certainly subsides.

this, and the far more relaxed expression on your face finally convinces joel that it’s safe to let you fall asleep—you’re halfway there anyways. tommy takes the empty cup from your hands before it can slip from your hold, and joel unravels your sleeping bag. at that point, you can no longer process the softly spoken words being exchanged by the brothers, but you’re vaguely aware of tommy’s arms tucking themselves under your shoulders and knees and pulling you off of the couch. then you’re being maneuvered into the sleeping bag that now lays across the surface of the couch, tommy setting you down while joel ensures that you stay properly wrapped up in the blankets. sleep claims you so quickly that you don’t hear the agreement between the two men to take turns keeping watch over you to periodically check your temperature and breathing.

joel wakes you in the morning, his gruff voice quickly recounting the events of the previous day when your jumbled state of mind after waking from such a deep sleep launches you into a panicked confusion. his explanation and comforting hands on your shoulders calm you in moments as the memories return, however vague they are due to the haze of your sickness.

“thank you,” you whisper as he helps you to sit up, his hands still gentle and supportive on your shoulders.

“course. like i said, we’ve got somewhere safe for you if you need. and at the very least, we’ve gotta get you some new pants and make sure you don’t get sick. were you travelin’ all alone?”

“not at first,” you explain, knowing he’s probably wondering about finding someone so young alone. “but now… yeah.” he sighs as if that’s the answer he expected.

“’m sorry,” he frowns. you just give a tight-lipped smile in response. “alright. we should get moving so we can get you to the town doctor. tommy’s gettin’ the horses ready.”

your eyebrows raise at his words. “town doctor?” you question. that puts a small smile on his lips that you don’t quite understand.

“yep. it’s a good place to be,” is all he offers in explanation.

“okay.” you begin untangling yourself from the blankets and sleeping bag that did the job of keeping you warm throughout the night. still covered by his coat, your upper half stays comfortable, but the feeling of your exposed calves hitting the cold air is unwelcome, not to mention the slightly embarrassing sight of the jagged edges of your jeans at such an awkward spot.

“sorry ‘bout that,” he comments, “but we’ll keep your legs wrapped up with blankets for now and get you new jeans in town.” once you nod, he grabs a hold of one of the blankets he laid on top of you after you feel asleep, a rather small piece of fabric, but the right size to help you out. he wraps it around your left leg, using ropes from his supplies to gently secure the fabric, then repeating his actions for your other leg.

as he does so, he keeps his gaze focused on his task, but his gravelly voice meets your ears. “realized we never asked your name,” he phrases it like a statement, but the obvious question is there.

to be honest, you hadn’t even realized either, first, mind clouded by the hypothermia, and up until now too caught up in the oddness of your situation. one moment you’re all on your own and on the brink of death, the next you’re saved and seemingly on the way to what sounds like some sort of miraculous safe haven even from the vague glimpses of information you hear.

you state your name, hoping with all you can muster up that this isn’t some kind of cruel trick, and that the kindness the two men have shown you is as genuine as it’s proved to be thus far.

“well then,” he repeats your name back to you as he secures the last knot, still not looking up at you, “let’s get you home.”

those words nearly knock the air from your lungs. he throws them out like they don’t mean much, but in the most confusing way, because you’re sure he did it on purpose. you’re sure he does know that they mean a whole lot more than a casual tone and avoided eye-contact, but you suppose you can’t blame him. it’s often easier to pretend they don’t mean anything, certainly much more with people you don’t really know at all, people like you. and yet, you can’t help but think he said it to reassure you. to tell you that this place he’s talking about is one where you can find that thing everyone in this world has lost. as if it’s somewhere you already belong without having set foot in it yet. and you can’t tell the difference between hope and fear in that moment, so you shove it all away.

“sure.” you stand just after he does, grabbing your sleeping bag and beginning to roll it to the best of your ability while still weak. but he stops you, quickly taking over the task of clearing and packing up the last few things in the lookout after handing you a cup of warm water, not too hot. you finish it quickly, still more than grateful for any warmth that can be provided.

joel motions towards the door once he’s finished, and on still slightly wobbly legs, you walk up to him, stopping before he can lead you out.

“thank you, joel,” your voice is quiet, but sure when you say it.

“of course,” he assures, genuine in the affirmation.

“and tommy. tommy, too, of course,” you stutter, suddenly feeling awkward.

“sure thing.” he clears his throat, one his occupied hands almost moving up to rub the back of his neck. at that he turns, and you follow him out, back into the cold.

the shivery weather is not welcome by you, but in a properly warm coat and definitively out of the worst of your condition, it’s far more bearable. you feel bad for taking over joel’s coat, but he seems just fine in his jacket that’s clearly far warmer than your old, lousy excuse of a winter garment.

tommy and the horses are waiting there, just as joel said, and he smiles upon seeing you.

“good to see you up and alive, kid,” he grins with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

you answer his playfully reassuring attitude with a bashful smile of your own. “yeah, the alive part is definitely a plus,” you say in attempts of matching his tone. the way his grin grows tells you the joke landed, putting you at even more ease than before. unfortunately, it doesn’t make the way you formally introduce yourself to him any less awkward, but he seems glad to know your name. by your side, joel tightens one last strap on the horse before placing a careful hand on your shoulder.

“i think we’re good to go now. it’ll only be a few hours of riding,” he informs.

“sure,” you nod. pausing for a moment, you cast eyes down before speaking, albeit a bit timidly. “could you.. could you help me up again?”

you completely miss the soft look on his face at your request. “course i can, kiddo. i’ll get up first and help you from there, okay?” at your affirmative, he easily mounts the horse before holding a hand out to you. “just put your foot here, grab my hand, and i’ll do all the work, alright?” he moves his leg away from the stirrup so that you can use it yourself, his grip on your hand steady the moment you place it in his palm. gratefully, you follow his instructions, doing your best to use your own strength in tandem with joel to ease the effort he has to put forth to help you up. as you swing your leg over the horse, he guides your hand to hold onto his shoulder for you to grip far easier than his hand and succeeds in getting you into the saddle behind him. with that, you’re off, traveling somewhere that you somehow dare to hope is the sort of paradise joel and tommy have described.

part two here !!

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tomicscomics · 2 months

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02/23/2024

Oh, God, you incorrigible goofball!

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JOKE-OGRAPHY: In this Bible story, God asks Abraham to kill his beloved son as a sacrifice. Abraham is surely mortified, but does as he's told, bringing Isaac to a mountaintop and setting up an altar. However, just as he's about to slaughter his son, a goat appears, and God says Abraham can sacrifice that instead of his son. For Christians, this story is both a test of Abraham's faith in God, as well as a foreshadowing of Jesus's sacrifice on the cross. While mankind deserves death for their sins, a Lamb appears -- Jesus -- and is sacrificed in our stead. While Abraham's son was spared, God's own Son faces death and triumphs. Anywho, this cartoon reimagines the moment God asks Abraham to slaughter his son, in stunning technicolor!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: 'Tis the season, it seems, for yet ANOTHER "Tomics Resurrections," where I've redrawn one of my older comics. Much like most of my original comics, the old one is very desaturated with lots of grays and browns, and while the same essential tone is kept in the new one, I've altered the dialogue to give it a little extra zing. The only part I regret having to change is "burn him alive." It's such a jarring phrase, but it's not quite correct, as God's asking for a "burnt offering," and as the custom goes, a sacrificial burnt offering would be killed before being burned, not burned alive.

So how does the new compare to the old? In this case, the old version is truly ancient (cartoon #29 according to my filing system), which I think makes it about... 10 years old...? That can't be. I still remember writing "2014" on stuff. Oh my gosh... This is a lot to process... I, uh... um... Where was I...? Oh, yeah... "Tomics Resurrection"! Woohoo! Haha...! Yeah, so the funny thing about the old version is that even IT was technically a resurrection, 'cause it was based on a cartoon I drew in a notebook back in college... before Tomics was a thing... in 2012... oy... Sorry, I have to sit down for a second...

#catholic #christian #jesus #comic #cartoon #catholic memes #jesus memes #christian memes #tomics #bible #abraham #isaac #genesis #genesis 22 #sacrifice #i feel as old as abraham right now #tomics comics

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an-eldritch-peredhel · 1 year

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You are the daughter of an angelic faerie and an elven king. You have grown up inside the only magical safe-haven of an increasingly apocalyptic land outside. You have wanted for nothing, essentially leading the perfect life, suffering and death playing little role beyond the abstract. Your father will never die, and your mother will never leave, but for tradition you are still crown princess and are educated as such. You love to dance and to sing.

You meet some kind of monster inside your mother's borders, a monster not of her or your making. It stumbled across you, dancing in the forest, bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as it stares. You are stronger than it, but you run rather than lunge for the kill. You feel pity, more than fear. And something about him makes the part of you that you inherited from your mother sing.

He tries to follow you, for a year and a day. You are stronger, and faster, and stealthier, and you let him see you sometimes anyways. You are not convinced that he is not a monster, but nor are you convinced that he is.

Spring blooms again to the tune of your song, and you let him get closer than before until you run.

But you hear him speak for the first time. He is a speaker, and perhaps to him you are the monster. You do not run, and you do not kill.

He calls you "Tinuviel"

He calls you nightingale- a little songbird, plain and brown, with a lovely voice. They are your mother's creation, but he does not know this.

He calls you daughter of twilight- perhaps for your skin and eyes and hair, but perhaps because that is when he has seen you most.

He calls you singer- creator of the very fabric of the universe, skilled enough to deserve the title.

You are the most beautiful creature the world will ever see, the daughter of an angel and a king. He does not call you beautiful, or angelic, or princess. He calls you a singer, plain and brown, dark and distant as the approaching night.

He is bloody and travel-worn and weary and wide-eyed as you dare to step closer.

He called you nightingale.

You don't know what to call him, but you hope to find out.

#my writing #my headcanons #headcanon #silm fic #lay of leithian #beren and luthien #luthien #luthien tinuviel #beren #eldritch peredhil #second person pov #sorry but the vibes demanded it #big kudos to that one post that went #'luthien probably stopped for beren bc he called her nightingale acknowledging her skill instead of her beauty'#bc that was a big inspiration here #luthien gets a lot of my love but THE RELATIONSHIP IS TWO SIDED #BEREN MAKES HER FEEL LIKE HERSELF AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR SLANDER #also incredible vibes that luthien canonically worries beren is an orc at first afaik #like maybe problematic but. an eldritch demigoddess going 'you look like you're on my parents kill list of monsters. oh well' speaks to me #not pictured is beren trying to pull himself together w/ internal screaming bc 1) that *should not have worked*#he is as smooth as sandpaper. he is a vegan hobo bogman who talks to animals and is traumatized and hasn't showered in months #2) the Creature that is Looking At Him with its head tilted and eyes pinning and stalking closer with fangs and talons out #should be doing much more for his survival instincts and much less for his libido than it is #beren is certifiably Doing His Best and i love him #banged this out in 10 minutes in a daze of blorbo squeezing lets see if people like it lol

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bambi-kinos · 4 months

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Beatles Reading List (Introductory)

Hi guys. So I saw a post floating around asking about "where to start" with the Beatles and how to find out more about them. Moeexyz's recommendation on it was to read fanfiction and this alarmed me a bit. Fanfiction just isn't a good source to get information about the band for one simple reason: fanfic authors change stuff for dramatic purposes all the time. It's just not a great way to get more information about them because fanfiction by necessity shifts things around for the sake of storytelling.

That Beatles iceberg is nice but the only way you're going to get a good picture of the Beatles is by doing a lot of reading of published sources. That's right. You're in for a lot of homework.

In an effort to combat misinformation, I asked the McLennon discord server to help me put together a rough list of introductory level books for Beatle fans that want to learn more about the band. These books are either a) read by me or b) read by someone I trust and I have included her quotes about the books she liked. I'll have color commentary talking about what they are and why they should be read. I do not consider this post finished! My server is constantly reading and discussing (we're looking at podcasts right now because they're the ones doing interviews with Liverpool citizens who were peers of the Beatles!) and they're being very gracious by contributing to this list. That means that this post may be updated in the future as I read more! If you want to keep up with updates then give my blog a follow, I'll post every time I update this list.

Some of these books are available on Archive.org but others can be gotten through your local library or through piracy. If you buy something, buy it used. Never pay more than $20 for a Beatle book.

The Whole Story

Anthology This is the documentary made by the band after John Lennon's death in 1980. It is both a documentary as well as a book (essentially a script of the documentary) which makes it very accessible. This is the version of the story that the band wanted to put out and includes interviews with Paul, George, and Ringo. They cover their beginning to their end. Anthology can be found on archive.org if you want to read it: https://archive.org/details/beatlesanthology0000unse_y2k8 The episodes are also available on Archive.org. If you search for "Beatles Anthology" and select "movies" option to search for videos then you will find it there. It's worth the watch and is all around the best introduction to the Beatles.

The Beatles - Hunter Davies This is the only sanctioned biography of the band. It's written in older language since it is contemporary to the 1960s but it's still very readable and a good intro. It is part of the media image that the band wanted to present at the time so you should make sure to think about what you are reading, who is saying what, and contemplate why he is saying it. It it still a great resource.

150 Glimpses of the Beatles - Craig Brown This is a short book that describes 150 anecdotes about the Beatles and what it was like to experience them. I recommend this because it demonstrates what a unique and personal experience the Beatles are while also demonstrating their global reach and how they became the most famous rock band in the world. It's a short read but a good one and there are many charming and thought provoking anecdotes in it. The story of the Beatles is just as much about their fans as it is about the band and you cannot understand one without looking at the other.

Books About Each Beatle

This particular section is a bit of a minefield. Many books written about the Beatles are of questionable veracity or just out and out wrong. (I can think of two that were written as blatant cash grabs and filled with libel that someone should have been sued over.) My recommendations on this may change so please check back from time to time! John Lennon

The John Lennon Letters - John Lennon, edited by Hunter Davies Primary source documents of the various letters and missives John wrote through his life. This may be the most important book on the list because it shows us who John really is: just another ordinary guy like us, trying to get through life. Also gives insight into his mindset as the decades pressed on.

The Making of John Lennon - Francis Kenny This is a very vital and heartbreaking read for people who want more insight into John. John Lennon is the most famous Beatle but he is also the one who's image is the most obscured and distorted. Francis Kenny is a Liverpool native who puts John in his proper context. To quote my server friend who read this one: Kenny, himself a Liverpudlian, takes into account how life in Liverpool in the first half of the 20th century shaped not only John but everyone he knew and his entire family. Mimi and Julia get a good critical view, and Uncle George gets his moment in the sun. He also lays out how class divides affected the Stanleys and then how Mimi took it out on John and Julia. He quotes a 1880s travel guide of London that said Liverpool was called "the New York of Europe," because of its economy and place on the ocean, and like in the Gilded Age New York that was happening concurrently across the ocean, Liverpool had pockets of wealth and splendor surrounded by poverty and rough living. Definitely a pro-read and a great insight into the culture and time John lived in. It does not fall into the pitfalls of hero worshipping John but Francis Kenny still treats John with sympathy and respect, hard qualities to come by when it comes to the cashgrabs written about John and his family.

John - Cynthia Lennon John's first wife, Cynthia, wrote two autobiographies about herself and John. This is one of them. It's a tough read in many places but a good one. Hers is a voice that doesn't shy away from John's flaws and actions but she also takes care to tell us why she and so many other people love him and remain loyal to him.

Paul McCartney

Many Years From Now - Barry Miles This is Paul's only sanctioned biography. It is formatted as a quasi-interview with Paul where there are interruptions of regular prose in each chapter. There are eyebrow raising moments where you can tell Paul is not quite telling the truth but it's important to read and identify these moments since Paul's habit of embroidering the truth is important to know and understand. Nonetheless it is still a lot more honest than I was expecting when I read it.

Paul McCartney: A Life - Peter Ames Carlin Probably the best Paul McCartney biography on the market. Peter Ames Carlin also did a similarly great bio of Paul Simon for people who are into that. To quote my friend Betty who read it: Paul gets to be a whole person here: the preternaturally talented boy wonder, the guy casting around for meaning, the less than attractive moments and qualities described without getting preachy or turning to [Paul Derangement Syndrome]. Carlin treats him with dignity instead of something to be gawked at and gossiped about. His (many) sources are cited at the end of the book. What I really appreciated was the ideas he put forth that I've only seen on Tumblr and not in Serious Official Biographies, which says to me he's writing as a fan and scholar and not a journalist trying to fill column inches.

George Harrison

I Me Mine - George Harrison Make sure to get the extended edition! George Harrison in his own words. There's a lot to say about this biography but it won't make much sense without context so I just encourage you to read it. George Harrison was, in my opinion, the best Beatle.

George Harrison: Behind the Locked Door - Graeme Thomson A good no bullshit biography about George Harrison. This covers his life as the material musician and the man seeking the divine. Graeme worked very hard to be respectful of George and his life, did extensive interviews with George's wife Olivia. Such a pro-read and definitely the best George biography written to date.

Ringo Starr

Photograph - Ringo Starr Ringo has stated that this book is his autobiography. In a few bumpers on the Beatles Sirius XM channel Ringo says that he doesn't want to write a biography like the others did but he was happy with putting this photobook together and essentially writing a bio through the captions. This is the closest that we will get for a biography for him as of right now. In time that may change but this is your best option. Piracy is the way to go when it comes to getting a copy of this, iirc it was a limited run and getting a physical copy might be very expensive these days.

Brian Epstein

A Cellarful of Noise - Brian Epstein/Derek Taylor This autobiography was ghostwritten by Brian's assistant Derek Taylor. It's not a tell-all but Brian talks about his youth and how he met the Beatles, including giving his own personal (and accurate) insights into each band member.

Conclusion

There are many, many books about the Beatles. Almost all of them offer something but most are about very niche periods in the Beatles history. When it comes to understanding the band I tried to put together a list where you can get an overview of the band and then read materials that either come straight from the Beatle in question or are not as biased as the competition. I am a McLennon shipper but for a post like this I did my best to recommend books that don't have that kind of bias in them so this is a list you can send to non-shipper friends haha.

In another post I will put together a history book list in the order of their timeline as a band, starting from the Quarrymen and on to the present. There is a LOT of ground to cover in a historical arrangement and it will take a while to compile. Please check back here regularly or give me a follow: whenever I update this post or make a new list, I'll make sure to post about it.

My plan is to make a website with all of this information that anyone can reference but it will take a long long time to make such a thing so put a pin in that one.

#the beatles #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #richard starkey #brian epstein #beatles merch #beatles books #book recommendations #book recs

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asha-mage · 26 days

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Since it's my birthday my friends got me the amazing gift of 'watching the Wheel of Time show while occasionally stopping to discuss/let me loose my mind' for which I am incredibly grateful. A few random observations from this time through, as I attempted to view it through the lens of the entirely WoT uninitiated (as my friends are)-

The group shots, where the camera passes from one of the Emond's Field 5 to another, do this clever trick where Rand is never actually standing on his own. He's always standing beside or behind someone in one of these shots, so the camera doesn't actually have to cut or pan away from someone else to get to him. This serves the purpose of highlighting him in contrast to his friends, but also to subtlety downplay his presence to the audience, and build up to the Dragon reveal in episode 7 very effectively.

The cinematography in general is so exceedingly rich and delicious- the stark white of the Whitecloak camp contrasted with the bloody reality of their actions. The bright primary colors used to make the Aes Sedai visually pop and feel magical and strange, even as they are dressed (for the most part) practically for their traveling (a complaint I had about the Witcher, aside from everything being brown and grey all the time, is that the mages show up to battles dressed in ballroom dresses instead of you know, clothing that would make sense). The subtle use of lighting and camera angle to create a sense of vast isolation of Shadar Logoth, fear and danger in the Ways, and cramp sweltering heat in the Blight.

Moiraine's opening narration in episode 1 is essentially a summary of the information we get from one of the epigraphs at the ending of the Eye of the World prologue, to whit:

"And the Shadow fell upon the land, and the world was riven, stone from stone. The oceans fled and the mountains where swallowed up. and the nations where scattered to the eight corners of the world. The moon was blood and the sun was as ashes. The seas boiled, and the living envied the dead. All was shattered, and all but memory lost, and one memory above all others, of him who brought the shadow, and the Breaking of the World. And him they named Dragon." - Aleth nin Tearin alta Camora, The Breaking of the World, author unknown, the Fourth Age "The world is broken. Many many years ago men who where born with great power attempted to cage darkness itself. The arrogance. When they failed, the seas boiled, mountains where swallowed up, cities burned, and the women of the Aes Sedai where left to pick up the pieces. These women remembered one thing above all else, the man who brought the Breaking of the World. And him, they. named Dragon." - Moiraine

This makes me suspect their was an earlier version of the script that actually used the epigraph (maybe even both of them). I have mixed on feeling on this, as the epigraphs are one of my favorite artistic choices of Jordan's and really help emphasize the history and depth of his world, but I think filtering it through Moiriane and making it slightly less opaque was a smart choice to convey the information to the audience. I also think this works on a character level as well- here is Moiraine's understanding of this information, shaped by her biases.

Every re-watch also makes me more and more comfortable in my 'the show is a future/past turning of the wheel from the books, the broad events and truths being the same, but seen in one of those endless variations we hear about' interpretation of the series. The heart of the story and characters is the same, and the broad strokes and framework are the same, but it's in the details where things emerge as different. This interpretation has the benefit of fitting really really well with the meta-narrative stuff Jordan always liked to pull, and in freeing I think the show expectations of being a one-to-one recreation.

That said I defiantly felt the cracks in the final two episodes as a result of the Covid shutter and loosing Barney Harris more strongly this time- some of that being that this is my first re watching of season 1 since I've seen season 2. You can practically see the things they wanted/planned to do that had to re-worked because of circumstances beyond their control. Mat's absence in the group argument scene (and the 'I am so tired of you two fighting over her' line that was clearly meant to be Mat's), as well as the lack of bigger/more cohesive battle scene in Tarwin's Gap. You can also tell they hadn't quite figured out how they where going to re-work season 2 yet given that the ending for season 1 had to be changed last minute (for example, their is no reason for Moiraine to just outright admit that she released Lan's bond unless they hadn't yet decided that was where their arc was going yet).

I think the show does an exceedingly good job of structuring it's exposition to the un-intiatited, trying to stagger it so that audience is largely learning new things in pace with the characters. I know people where frustrated that things like the War of Power have yet to come up in earnest even in the Latra and Lews scene, but I think the slow and steady reveal of things matches both the core idea of 'their is always more you don't know', and trying not to overwhelm the audience. My friends had no trouble following what was going and picking up the bigger implications/subtext that underpins a lot of information. 'But why did the Dragon try to cage the Dark One? It doesn't seem like it was that simple.' came up a few times especially.

The detail that what jump-starts Perrin's wolf brother connection is having his wound healed/cleaned by the wolves in that scene from episode 2 is so incredibly clever, and a good twist on the traditional 'werewolf bite' mythology.

I love the deliberate choice to incorporate so many random ruins and remnants of things in the background of shots. Not just the 'dilapidated stone buildings' that the characters camp in, but things like the trio of carved faces that Egwene and Perrin run past while fleeing the Whitecloaks, or the boundary stones Mat and Rand pass on the road, or even just the small carvings and pillars scattered about the cave where they are holding Logain. It all helps to make you feel that ancientness, that brokenness of this world more effectively.

The reoccurring use of the Dragon's Fang to symbolize violence and destruction: the Trollocs using it as a scare tactics, it appearing in the blood in the pool after Nynaeve kills the Trolloc, being burned into Siuan's ruined childhood home....and the way that contrasts with it's use in the finale episode, when we see it whole and unbroken in the seal/yin yang symbol for the first time was really really clever. One of my friends actually gasped out loud and went 'oh' at the first shot of the whole seal when it clicked.

The show does an exceedingly good job of maintaining that core idea of the series that it's about our relationship to violence- violence never being casual or simple or easy, but always raw, hard and bloody and a little bit ugly. EVen subtle things like the way the show depicts Moraine hurling stones at the Trollocs with uncomfortable frankness, trying to literalize what in most fantasy media would be an abstract. Take it from I cast stone 2, to I inflict horrible blunt force trauma on another creature. And of course everything re: Perrin and his ax.

I have more thoughts, but I think I'll save some of them for after we watch season 1, because they relate strongly to stuff from there.

#WoT #Wheel of Time #Wot On PRime #Wheel of Time on Prime #WoT s1 #WoT Meta #Wheel of time Meta #WoT Musing #Rand al'Thor #Moiraine Damodred #Perrin Aybara #Egwene al'Vere

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hanibalistic · 6 months

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WHO YOU ARE, WHO I AM | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff, angst, (semi) slow burn / arranged marriage au / strangers to lovers / 4th wall break

synopsis | when you wake up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama.

word count | 15.1k+

warning | mentions of cheating, blood / occasions of toxic marriage / one instance of violence / not edited since the first time i posted this story

note | the ending is essentially the same. i changed very little of the original story, only nearing the end. / forcing me to put fic into parts is heinous.

parts | one, two, three

You have had a fair share of envious moments before.

Whenever you see adorable and loving couples wandering across the streets, sipping a hot drink while letting their shared scarf do the deed of warming them up on a cold winter night, you want to gouge your eyes out to save yourself from the public display of chaste affection. But, at the same time, you cannot stop staring. If you stare long enough, you might just be able to replace the couple with you and your perfect, imaginary boyfriend.

You have prayed for a significant other at one time or another. Who hasn’t? Discreetly whispering towards the birthday candles, the new year’s fireworks, an abrupt desperation appearing in the middle of the night when you were jolted awake. Yet, for years, the odds were not in your favor until at this exact moment when you opened your eyes after long hours of sleep you could not remember yourself ever heading to.

The sunlight was seeping through the white mesh curtains that mirrored the fabric of an expensive wedding gown, the kind that makes you gasp in awe at the bride when she wears it down the aisle. It did nothing to help with the glaring morning gaze but you could understand why people would buy it as a decoration. Those useless and overpriced curtains, no matter what, do give the room a whimsical atmosphere. If only you ever got one.

The second you laid eyes on those mesh curtains, your eyes snapped open and the grogginess you felt from just waking up vanished immediately. Those were not yours. No, definitely not. You cared too much about sleep to allow yourself an aggressive wake by the sun. Besides, you would not be caught dead spending hundreds of dollars buying a home decoration that serves no purpose other than looking pretty.

You clenched the bedsheet and gasped in both shock and awe. Talk about the softest bed sheets you have ever felt! The blanket covering your, thankfully, fully-clothed body felt like silk yet the material was thick enough to make you feel warm like you were taking a steamy hot shower and make you sleep like you were in a coma. But the same thing applied: these bedsheets never belonged to you and possibly never will.

“Oh god,” you breathed out in a whisper as your eyes rolled around the unfamiliar room.

You were stalling at this point. The heavy presence laying next to you was far too obvious for you to ignore but you were also too afraid to look. Who could it be? You hadn’t the faintest idea. You couldn’t even recall exactly what happened last night! Did you make any plans? That would be extremely unlikely. You’ve got no friends who would invite you anywhere and you’ve got no motivation to go anywhere but slack around in your apartment!

Nothing else could explain the current situation you’ve gotten yourself in, though. Nothing but you getting very drunk and possibly handing all that was sacred about you to a complete stranger.

Slowly turning your head to the side, you let your squinted eyes fall open slowly for the big reveal. The man sleeping next to you had his body turned towards your side. His lashes fluttered even when he was unmoving and his brown locks fell just above his closed eyes in the most boyish, attractive way. The bridge of his nose arched perfectly to welcome to button tip. His lips have a natural pout to them and they somehow appeared to be glittery under the sunlight.

Oh yeah, you must be drunk last night. You were sure this man was too because no way in hell would he ever want to have anything to do with you.

You stared at the man for a brief moment. Your internal thoughts went through all five stages of confusion, with all first four of them being pure confusion and the last stage being acceptance. You felt like you opened your long hidden psychic third eye after the stage of acceptance and you have never felt smarter than before. Acceptance should have been your first instinct. What else should you have done when you wake up to find yourself sleeping next to one of, if not the most, handsome man you’ve seen on Earth?

After giving your mind a nod of approval for creating such a beautiful man, you turned on your back and closed your eyes. You went back to sleep because, obviously, this was just a lucid dream.

I would let you think you were smart for a moment, [Name], but I do believe it is about time we progress with the story and learn about who the man of your dreams was, so–I’m not sorry but up we go!

You jolted awake as if you just had a nightmare, which you did not. Your body just wanted to keep you awake, it seemed. It was as if it knew you were not in the right place, or you were in a place you have never been to before, and it wanted you to stand up and discover an escape route. Sighing in defeat, your eyes blinked at the unfamiliar room you had gotten a glimpse of before you concluded that you were in a dream.

Turning your head to the side, your eyes welcomed the sight of the man you had previously admired. The only difference this time was that he was very much awake and was blatantly staring at you with a look of utter distaste that felt more common than ever. He was not the first person to give you that unamused frown and wickedly condescending gaze but it really did add more impact to it when it came from someone as good-looking as him.

“What the fuck?” you muttered out with a hasty, croaked voice.

Minho tilted his head to the side at your obnoxious reaction, then he spoke, “Why are you on my bed?”

You furrowed your brows at him, both at how nice his voice was early in the morning and in confusion to the fact that he asked you the million-dollar question. Breathing out a short laugh, you looked away from him. “I don’t know, man. I was hoping you could tell me that.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything aside from the rules we established the first day of our marriage,” he wasted no time to say, his tone getting duller and duller as if he was really getting mad over you being on his king-sized bed.

“Oh, you’re crazy.” You rolled your eyes as you reached your hand up to ruffle your hair.

Upon the subject at hand, it was slowly coming to light the faint weight that has been resting on your fourth finger and was completely neglected by your confused state of mind. Your ruffling slowly came to a stop and, stalling time once again, you turned over to look at the stranger who was still staring at you with distaste. Something about his lack of expression, and the weight on your hand, told you he was being honest.

“Are we married?” you asked. “The thing I am feeling on my finger is not a ring, is it?”

Minho’s gaze shifted for a moment. You seemed genuinely confused, out of your usual element if he could say so himself. Truth be told, he never really paid that much attention to you. He did once in a blue moon, never enough for your presence to stick in his head. But he could definitely tell when you weren’t being yourself, when you didn’t feel like you.

“Don’t joke around with me, [Name],” he said when he regained his usual demeanor. The theory he thought about was discarded with ease. There was absolutely no way something so fiction-like could ever happen to him. The arranged marriage aside, of course.

“You know my name?” you questioned slowly, finally sitting up now that this situation was becoming creepier. Your legs inched toward the edge of the bed to leave the soft blanket and were ready to bolt out of the room for good. “I don’t even know yours.”

“Yes, you do,” Minho said, sitting up as well. “Stop messing around. Just admit that you broke the rules and slept on my bed. This amnesia act is a waste of my time.”

You squinted your eyes at him, jaw hung open in utter disbelief. His attitude fueled nothing more than the distaste for him that was currently brewing inside you. “Dude, I don’t fucking know who you are? Am I supposed to just guess your name? Something generic like Lee Minho?”

He showed you a deadpan expression immediately after your voice fell. Judging by the way his shoulders dropped in annoyance, you knew for a fact that you had guessed his name correctly. That was a generic name as you mentioned. You cursed under your breath then, recognizing how your luck was completely working against your favor.

“I–I gotta go. I have to leave!”

You let the anxiety in your body do the job as you stumbled backward and out of the bedroom. You were immediately greeted with a long and bright hallway that looked way too familiar for you to not be able to navigate around it.

You have never been here before, but you just knew. It looked like a house straight out of a drama. With the opened curtains, the velvet carpet, the random Chinese vases located in the awkward middle, and the giant wooden patterned doors—oh god, were you on secret camera right now? Did you sign some ten-page long contract you never took the time to read?

Moving to a random direction of the hallway, you grabbed the handle of the next door you could find and opened it to head inside. The lights automatically turned on when it noticed a presence, and you found yourself in what appeared to be a walk-in closet.

It was a black and white. A very minimalistic color scheme. The orange lights made you wince because it didn’t match the atmosphere. Clothing racks lined up against the wall and eventually met each other at the end, where a tall mirror stood waiting to be used. There was a door that you guessed might lead to a bathroom and a few shelves of expensive perfume and shoes. Sitting oddly in the middle was a small round desk and a cushioned chair.

You grimaced at how obnoxious and luxurious the closet was. It was everything you could have dreamed of having. Maybe even a little beyond that. There was such a thing as too big of a closet, and the idea of actually spending that much money made your skin all itchy and irritated.

Oh, [Name]–what are you doing? You have got no time to give criticism to a rich person’s closet. You have got to figure out what the fresh hell was happening!

“This makes no sense.” You clicked your feet against the carpet floor before you started to pace around.

Marriage? Minho knowing your name yet you needed to guess his? This foreign rich land you stumbled upon? There were only four solutions you could think of after having rethink every single detail.

Exhibit A: This is still a dream.

You slapped yourself after much preparation. The pain stung you like your bare hand to a burning stove. This is not a dream, it has never been.

It was funny to watch you slap yourself though, I have to say.

Exhibit B: This is a television prank.

Your drama-loving, variety-show-watching freak would definitely be able to tell. Each pranking show has its distinct element to the way they execute their plan—from the setting to their actors to their fake scenarios. This was far too obvious and far too risky for any pranking show you have watched. You could cross the option off the chalkboard!

Exhibit C: Minho is madly in love with you and has kidnapped you to be his spouse!

Interesting and unbelievable. Why would someone like him need to kidnap you to keep you with him? With that face and this kind of money? You would have caved within seconds judging by how shallow your heart could be sometimes. Besides, why would someone like you intrigue him? No way. This option is off the chalkboard too.

Well, what remained was your last resort, I suppose. May I proudly present you—Exhibit D!

The door to the closet swung open, abruptly disrupting the deep-voiced narrator in your head and pulling you back into the real world… as real as it could get, at least. Snapping your head to the side, you were greeted with an unamused Minho by the doorway and your frown deepened at his unwelcoming presence.

“Why are you in my closet?” he asked, approaching you slowly.

You blinked at him and looked around. The clothes on the racks finally made themselves clearer to you, and for the first time you could see that those were men clothes. Or, at least, pieces you would never wear outside. This wasn’t your closet, but you’ve had enough to him to admit your wrongs, so yous scoffed instead.

“Is everything yours?”

Minho raised a brow. “Besides you, yeah. I would say so.”

You closed your eyes to concentrate on holding down a fiery breath threatening to escape. Whether it was Minho or yourself it planned to head toward, exploding in the middle of a stranger’s house in an unfamiliar situation was the last thing that could help you. As much as you hated how Minho seemed to make perfect sense every time, you remained (as) calm (as you could be).

“Whatever.” Classic comeback.

“Whatever? No, this isn’t whatever,” Minho said, grabbing a fistful of a discarded topic and throwing it at your face. “Do we need to have another talk about boundaries?”

You furrowed your brows, but you weren’t confused this time. You were annoyed and in disbelief. His condescending tone scratched the part of your brain you learned to turn off during work hours, but since he wasn’t in charge of your finances, unlike your boss, you’ve had it up to the tip of your head with him. On second thought, you were better than this asshole! You would never agree to marry someone with this kind of shitty attitude! Exhibit C is back in the race!

“Did you kidnap me?” you asked with no reluctance.

Minho tilted his head at you, bewildered but not enough to lose his stoic expression. “Kidnap you? Why would I do that? You are the one head over heels for me ever since we got married.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you snorted loudly as you turned away from him. Then you pointed a finger at him, wanting to spat something with menace but you were stopped immediately by the diamond ring on your fourth finger.

Oh, that—that is heavy. That looked heavy and it felt heavy. How did you not feel it? You wanted to take it off and keep it in a glass box on display the second you laid your eyes on it.

“Did you force this on me?” you asked, pointing at the ring and discreetly feeling the rough diamond on your skin. Your eyes shifted slightly to glance at it and they widened on instinct. You couldn’t even begin to guess how expensive that piece of rock is and having it weighing down on your fourth finger felt like too much responsibility. “You freak! How much did you pay for this?”

Minho shook his head, continuously bewildered at the sudden questions fired towards him. “About five hundred–“

You held up your palm to shut him up. That number was all you needed to know. Judging from the way he was still trying to speak, the ring was definitely not just a mere five hundred dollars. And be it the word ‘thousand’ or ‘million,’ whichever comes out of his mouth would still make you fake barf and your heart pour blood. The only thing you could feel remotely glad about was the fact that he bought the ring.

“Also, for your information, I did not force the ring on you. We both agreed to get married. Besides, I didn’t need to force you to do anything,“ he replied. "Our parents did.”

"Our parents? What do you know about my parents–my mom and dad will never force me to marry anybody even though that is all they ever urge me to do these days!”

“[Name].”

For once, Minho’s deep and quiet voice was laced with something other than spite. His eyes were solemnly melancholic. They dropped like shadows as he gazed at you carefully. Without moving an inch, he spoke, “[Name], your parents have been dead for a year.”

Dead parents. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a trope you could work with. At least it has the capability of bringing your theory somewhere. Maybe on a path to insanity but still a route nonetheless.

Let me humbly do a recap of everything that went down.

A big house. A rich man, a rich and handsome man, a rich and handsome man who hates you, a rich and handsome man who hates you because you two were stuck in an arranged marriage. Dead parents.

"Oh my god,” you gasped under your breath as the reality dawned upon your once clueless mind. Everything was so clear after you figured out all the key elements, it almost felt like you could calculate the physics of the parallel universe and the meaning of existence!

You are stuck in a drama!

After some wild stumbling about in Minho’s big mansion, all thanks to your pride preventing you from asking him the exact location of ‘your’ closet, you finally found the fashion wonderland you were looking for—your walk-in closet, that was somehow separated from Minho’s even though you two were supposedly holding hands in marriage. This degree of hated in an arranged marriage wasn’t uncommon, but you thought it hard to deal with when you’re stuck in the position.

Bursting through the door, the lights automatically turning on in here as well, you gave yourself no time to admire the inner structure of how the closet was built and decorated. Instead, you immediately went for the first mirror you could find, which was just hanging on the wall above a little table.

You heaved a short sigh when you recognized your own face and body in the mirror. That fact alone reinforced the drama theory you’ve got spinning in your head. If you were to not look like yourself, there would be a possibility that your soul got switched with someone else’s and you were actually still stuck in real life. However, the person you were looking at in the mirror was you in the flesh, therefore this was not a soul-switching experience but a teleportation experience.

You got stuck in a drama. Yeah, that was it. Either that, or you got transported to yourself in an alternative universe. To you, they meant the same thing. Anything that wasn’t your reality would be fake. That was your answer. But how did you get transported here? Flipping through the television department of your memory, not once could you remember yourself ever going through anything that happened to protagonists who were teleported somewhere else.

You weren’t almost hit by a car, you didn’t almost freeze to death, you didn’t almost drown in the ocean—oh there, wait a minute. There was a pattern there. The key to the sequence is not a near-death experience. The key to all of these is only the 'near’ of the experience, not necessarily the 'death’ part of it!

“But that makes no sense?” you mumbled to yourself as you tried your best to remember what you were doing before you woke up next to Minho, but it was to no avail. All you could remember was falling asleep on a phone call with your friend. “Everyone almost does something all the time. How do you determine which one is significant?”

Marching over to pick up a random pair of shoes from the shelf, you raised it high in mid-air and let go of it. Before it could hit the ground, you immediately caught the shoes again, then you looked around the place with the most paranoid eyes. “Oh, oops! I almost dropped these shoes!”

Nothing happened. The only thing that welcomed you were the static in the air and the realization of your stupidity.

Alright. Perhaps the ‘death’ part of it was, in fact, necessary after all.

Putting the shoes back, you puffed out some air to replace a frown that would inevitably help you gain more wrinkles than needed. Walking back to the table, you stared at yourself in the mirror and gave yourself a few pinches here and there. Both to make sure you were not dreaming and to give yourself some encouragement that things would turn out fine somehow.

One thing you did come to realize after the momentary idiotic trance you got stuck in was that while you were stuck in a drama (at least a universe that seemed to act on its principles), you were also taking the place of someone else’s life. Your position belonged to a character once. You just came in and took their place. You still looked like you, for some reason, but this position was not yours to freely maneuver.

Besides, whoever ‘you’ used to be must have been transported to your body in your world. Unfortunately, judging from the kind of life they’ve led thus far, you should pray against that case because your life wasn’t the kind of suffering they could handle. You didn’t think so. Working a full time job, not being married, and being dirt poor? Your life would suck for them. You may have to be ready to find a new job when you figure out how to go home.

Nonetheless, you’ve got to be careful. You have no idea when you would magically disappear from this place, and you would hate to have someone pick up your pieces.

“Just live for now and don’t mess up,” you told yourself lazily, grimacing at the fact that you might have to comply with what Minho says from now on because, according to him, you were in love with him.

Now that the troubles were all set aside. It was finally time for you to bask in the big, extravagant closet of your dreams. You turned around and beamed at the clothes that lined up the walls and at the shoes all carefully placed in a row. This! This was much better than Minho’s closet, you knew that for certain!

Making your way to the other side of the room, you skipped with your bare feet happily. All that excitement only to have you trip on your own feet and fall forward. Your eyes widened in shock, your mouth hanging open to let out a small scream.

Your head banged against the wooden column that held up the clothing rack, and immediately you blacked out.

Opening your eyes was quite the scare for you.

Oh, how horrible it would be if you found yourself waking up next to a handsome man who happened to be your husband and also does not love you whatsoever but is extremely rich and is putting a roof over your head? You sniffed in distaste. You weren’t one for gold diggers. Money was never a big problem for you. You were poor, but you’ve got enough to get by. Loneliness and the lack of intimacy were the main issues! Not that you would outrightly acknowledge it, though.

The room you woke up in was different than the previous one. It was just as big as Minho’s bedroom but it had a more natural tone than Minho’s royal-like room. Holding your palm to your forehead, you winced in shock at the bumpy surface on your skin. You did remember tripping and falling head-on against the clothing rack but you did not think it would create that much damage. All you thought would happen was a small red spot and eternal suffering of you acknowledging how stupidly clumsy you were.

Aside from that, at least you gained a little information about yourself: you trip easy, you faint easy, and you scar easy. It was unlike your regular body; your threshold for pain and fatigue was high due to constant working, and you definitely did not use to trip on solid ground. Being teleported here has turned your body into a typical romantic drama protagonist.

Your feet touched the cold tiles. Surprisingly, there were no fluffy slippers for your them to slip into. You got out of your bed and immediately went out to the hall in hopes to search for someone. There has got to be a soul working in this mansion. You could not have possibly smeared vaseline on your forehead and tucked yourself back into bed in a state of unconsciousness.

The atmosphere was eerie as you made your way down the hall. The sound of your bare feet tapping against the carpet could be heard in this quiet house and for once, you thought perhaps having such a giant home was not the best idea in the world. It has got you missing your small and cozy apartment where most things were within reach and sight. If only it didn’t take half of your pay check every month.

“Oh, I see you’ve woken up!”

You flinched at the sudden voice, albeit it being very gentle and harmless. Turning around, you found a middle-aged lady dressed in casual clothes holding a basket of crumpled up laundry. Not wanting to act too suspicious and out of character, you gave her a small smile as you accessed her figure as quickly as you could.

She was not wearing one of those maid costumes, which was not surprising. You wouldn’t say you want to see an old lady in one either despite hoping to see an actual maid in a rich household just to experience that drama dream you’ve got stored in your head. But looking at the laundry basket she was holding, you were pretty sure she was only here to do the chores and she would leave once the day gets darker.

“Um… yeah, I have,” you replied to her as your hand reached out to softly touch the nasty bump on your forehead. You grimaced a little at the texture before you looked back at the lady, “Uh, is–is dinner ready?”

She nodded her head with a faint laugh, happy to know you haven’t lost your perception of time yet. Nudging her head to the end of the hallway, she said, “Mr.Lee went and bought home some takeout from your favorite restaurant after he got off work. They are in the kitchen if you are feeling hungry.”

You arched your brows pleasantly. Alright, that was very nice of him. Considering you weren’t holding any grudges against him yet, he did that our of sheer kindness, or responsibility—it didn’t matter. Free food is free food. You would thank him if you see him later but honestly, that would hugely depend on your mood and how he acts when you do see each other again, which you knew you would.

“Okay. Thank you very much.” You nodded at her with gratitude, mirroring her hushed voice. “Ah, and thanks for fixing my head and tucking me to bed.”

“Of course, it is what I’m supposed to do.” She smiled. Your surprised look—from mistaking that she was the person who brought you back to bed—did not go unnoticed. Immediately, she added,“But Mr.Lee was the one who brought you back to your bed. That was not me.”

You blinked at her in bewilderment. The inside of your chest fluttered just a little at the idea of someone hoisting you up bridal-style and putting you back to bed. It didn’t cross your mind once that he might have laid you on his back instead. You were dramatizing the experience. You had to because Minho did not seem like the type to fit under the romantic category. His face? Definitely. His personality? No.

Nonetheless, you were flustered at the idea of it. It was the first time someone has held you up like that since your father years and years ago.

“O–oh, that is–“ you cleared your throat and your mind, then you looked up at the lady with a smile–“um, is he home? I want to go thank him.”

“He is,” she nodded, “I believe he is just in his office room.”

Great. Location unlocked! All that remained would be how to get there.

“Thank you. I will just get going now.” You bowed slightly before you quickly spun on your heels and left the hallway.

After some more trials of opening doors that lead you to empty bathrooms and empty guest bedrooms, you were starting to hate this house more and more. At this point, you wouldn’t get a big home even if you’ve got all the money in the world. The hatred and annoyance have rooted too deep in your brain, you have automatically crossed your castle dreams off the bucket list.

Your feet tapped quickly against the carpet so your legs could take you down the hall and to the next doors quickly. Letting out a frustrated groan, you grabbed the door handle as soon as a new door was in reach and you twisted it open to reveal a rather embarrassing sight of Minho and a girl being all over him near the edge of his desk.

You couldn’t decipher whether this position was reciprocal. It was amazing that your brain could even function logically enough to think that perhaps Minho didn’t want to be stuck in this position considering how awkward the view was. You forgot for a moment you were looking at this from a spouse’s perspective, and panic surfaced when you dodged the girl’s annoyed eyes and instead looked straight into Minho’s shocked ones.

Your jaw dropped open slowly at the sight in front of you as if you were just looking at it for the first time. You were finally processing it, though. Then, for some stupid reason, you reached your hands up to your face and quickly smacked the heel of your palm to your eyes. Your back arched at the impact and you started wailing in (fake, but debatably genuine) pain. You disliked couples, also you thought it was funny to act out of the role you were destined to be: a wailing woman.

The real dilemma here was if you wanted to confront them or act as if you haven’t seen anything.

Unfortunately, confronting them may lose your status as Minho’s spouse, thus the roof over your head and the trust funds. It would be immensely entertaining to confront them, but you needed to keep everything else in mind. For now, pretending you didn’t see anything was the best response.

Minho and the girl were startled out their minds at your peculiar response. Minho’s instincts told him to stand up straight and approach you to check and see if the fall this morning was more serious than he assumed it to be. But before he could listen to his heart, your incoherent wailing started to turn into audible words.

“Oh! My eyes! I can’t feel my eyes! I can’t see!” You let your hands go free around the air and kept your eyes shut tightly to act blind. Your spun your torso about, almost dancing to a rhythm of a trot song, and your arms flailed closely beside your figure to avoid hitting the door frame. “I have not seen a thing! I’ve gone blind!”

His lips quirked up in amusement, but the amusement was quickly diminished when the girl who just recently tried to lure him into a deceptive make-out session spoke.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked out loud, possibly glaring at you but you could not see (because your eyes were closed, not because you’ve actually gone blind. You’ve got me fooled!), nor do you care.

However, you did almost let a gasp past your lips because good lord, the audacity of this woman! Did she see no problem in seducing a married man? An unhappily married man but a married, ring on the finger, contract signed, vowed spoken man nonetheless! Does ‘through sickness and health’ mean nothing to people anymore?

As much as you didn’t care for Minho, the concept of adultery is and will always be preposterous! You were thinking in big words just so you could emphasis how much you hate the act of cheating!

“It seems like somebody is being unfaithful and I am trying to make sure I don’t make a memory of it,” you replied calmly with your eyes still shut and your body turned at the wrong person. It was hard to take you seriously. When there was only silence, you muttered to yourself, “God, I hope amnesia happens when I leave this world. This is not a good sight to remember for them.”

Minho furrowed his eyebrows at you after your answer. Surely, you wouldn’t accuse him of cheating? You barged in at the wrong time. You didn’t even try to understand the situation from his perspective. His arms were crossed in front of his chest to create a more dominant stance before he commanded, “[Name], open your eyes.”

“Did you not hear what I said–ah, you probably didn’t because I muttered.” You sniffed the tense air before you shook your head. “No. I am trying not to make a memory of this.”

“[Name], I said open your eyes,” Minho repeated louder once again. He marched over to you and, impulsively, gripped a stronghold of your chin to tilt your head up. “I said look at me!”

You snapped your eyes open at the forceful tug, a strangled noise bursting from your throat at his violent action. You weren’t scared, no, not at all. You were angry, annoyed, and actively seeking retaliation you would’t have engaged in back where you came from.

Your hand reached out to grip his wrist and you squeezed tightly until Minho showed a sign of discomfort on his face. A smile almost crept their way to your face; all those years carrying bags of groceries with your mom while walking home was worth it! But the matter at hand called for a more serious demeanour. This experience concerned not just yourself but whoever was once in your place. The aftermath of your choices would change their life, and your call was to stand up for them.

Your brows furrowed and your eyes flashed with cruel disbelief as you glared at him. Shoving his hand away from you, you croaked out, “How dare you treat them like this?”

Minho looked confused. Them? What did you mean? Who were you referring to? Before he could open his mouth to ask, you took a step back and glared pointedly at him. There were droplets in your eyes that you were unable to hide completely. Nobody has ever treated you this roughly before, but you weren’t upset. Those were frustrated waters. The more visible part of your hooded eyes wore a deep-seated contempt that Minho has never seen from you before.

You felt like a completely different person to him.

“I can’t believe they love you,” you sneered. “How could anyone ever love you like this?”

Like a bullet, your words pierced through him, hitting bull's eye on his board of insecurities. He was rendered speechless at your words. All he could do was cast his gaze down at the floor and think about them. You, taking the silence as an opportunity, glanced back at the girl who stood quietly behind Minho. She didn’t quite return your gaze, possibly shocked to hear such harsh and defensive words coming out of your mouth. Not once did you consider how she was feeling. She was practically invisible until her appeared in your sight.

You rolled your eyes before you turned and left the room. All thoughts to thank him earlier vanishing in thin air, and it would take quite the journey before they come back to you.

You stomped to the living room and into the kitchen. The subtle change from the carpet floor to the marble tiles was magnified under the pressure of your feet. The cold didn’t even bother you that much, your mind was too occupied with the previous event involving Minho.

As soon as you walked into the open kitchen, you found a milk-colored paper bag sitting on the edge of the countertop with a name printed in the middle in a pretty, cursive font. Your eyes softened for a moment when you acknowledged that the bag contained the food Minho went and got for you, but the softness lasted only a millisecond as your mind repeatedly recalled the incident seconds ago.

Anger filled your eyes like an ocean. Who was he to do that? If he had let you go like a normal person and not pull that violent stunt on you, you would have never been this riled up. You didn’t care that he was cheating; it wasn’t like he was cheating on you per se. You cared that he thought it was okay to grab you (or ‘you’)!

Turning away from the takeout bag, you approached the refrigerator and opened it to search for some eggs and meat so you could cook a meal like you used to do when you finally run out of instant noodle packs to boil. After taking out the necessary ingredients, you searched through the cabinets to find a pan to use but it was to no avail. Everything was either bowls and plates or more salt and sugar.

A frustrated huff escaped your lips, your cheeks puffing out and you gritted your teeth before you slammed the cabinet door shut. You stood up from the ground with a curse under your lips and your hands on your hips. With light sweat on your forehead and your unsightly floral pajama set, [Name], you do look like someone’s grandparent at the moment.

Footsteps made you avert your attention from the hiding pan to where the sound came from. Stumbling into your sight was the girl you just saw, with Minho following shortly behind her. You met eyes with him first, and despite wanting to peel your eyes away from him, you held onto his gaze challengingly to make a point. Minho felt his hands tremble as his mind suffered a faint disassociation.

He was right. You were not the person he knew anymore.

Turning around to look at the eggs and frozen meat you set on the kitchen counter, you stared at it as if contemplating your next move, then you turned back to the two with a shrug. Your tone was beyond slurred and impolite. “Where is the pan?”

“What do you need it for?” Minho asked.

“To knock you out,” you deadpanned, then you visibly scoffed with an eye-roll. “For cooking. Have you never seen people use one before?”

“I bought the food already.”

“I know.” You made a beckoning gesture with your hand. “Tell me where the pan is.”

“You don’t even know how to cook,” the girl interjected, her brows furrowing slightly at your vindictive tone as she assumed your poor attitude here was to compensate for what you just saw of her and Minho.

“Are we friends? I don’t know you,” you said factually.

She laughed in disbelief. “You do know me. I’m Yuna.”

“Nice to meet you, Yuna, but I’m afraid I won't try to remember,” you said, eyes scratching fire on her skin. She looked taken back by your gaze, which may be the reason why she didn’t retaliate. Glaring back at Minho, you waited for him to answer your question about the location of a cooking pan. You didn’t know if he simply refused to tell you anything or if he didn’t know either, but you snapped either way as your patience reached its limit.

Widening your eyes at him in disbelief, you exclaimed, “Oh my god, Minho! Just tell me where the fucking pan is so I can make myself dinner!”

Now it was Minho who looked startled. You narrowed your eyes at him then, trying to piece together exactly who you used to be before this soul-switching event happened. Judging from how shocked both him and Yuna were, you must have been one mellow and kind person. It was not to say you didn’t possess those traits either. You definitely did, but Minho has done nothing to deserve your goodness, and you would not be the bigger person and give it to him.

“I asked a simple question.” You rolled your eyes and waved your hands in front o your chest in a dismissive manner as you moved from your spot to head out of the kitchen. “I’ll ask someone else.”

Minho watched as you stomped out of the kitchen. When you brushed past him, he wanted to reach his hand out to stop you from leaving. For what reason? He could not conclude. He wanted to answer your question, which was that he could only guess where all the cooking utensils were because he’s not once tried to make dinner. He wanted to ask you to clarify a few things, starting from what happened to you. He wanted to urge you to calm down. Mostly, he wanted to apologize for what he did to you.

But his muscles were rigid and his heart hollowed when he turned to your leaving figure. Your words echoed in his head over and over again. How could anyone ever love you like this? How could anyone ever love you like this, Minho? How?

The sound of a door slamming could be heard all the way from where he stood. Minho licked his lower lip slowly in realization, a realization that relied on a mere assumption. It could explain your sudden change of attitude, at least. The thought jolted his mind awake and he turned around, preparing to leave the kitchen and go after you for answers.

Have you stopped loving him? Or, judging by those words, have you ever loved him?

“Hey, where’re you going?” Yuna asked when he noticed his urgency.

“I’m going to talk to them,” he replied.

“But they’re mad at you–“

“I know.”

“So don’t go. They wouldn’t want to talk to you anyway,” she said with a half-smile.

“I can’t, Yuna. I need to talk to them about something important.” Minho carefully moved his hand out of her grasp. “Something is off about them, I can feel it..”

“You can wait a while, Minho.” She tugged onto his arm again. “You should let them cool off. How about we sit down and eat?”

Minho paused to consider the suggestion. You were angry. He could tell by the stomping and the glaring and the cursing. Since he has never seen you like this, there was no guessing to what intensity your anger could rise. You might start throwing sharp objects at him for all he knew. But somehow, that only made him want to ‘resolve’ the situation even more. It felt as if there was a clock hanging above your head, counting down each second of him stalling and not talking about what happened, and when the clock ticks zero it would be too late for him.

(It should have been too late for him ages ago, but ‘you’ had been patient, far too patient with him.)

“I can’t. I have to go talk to them now,” he replied and once again moved his arm away. This time, he quickly took a few steps away so he could be out of reach. He gave Yuna a short smile. “Go home, okay? Text me when you get back safely.”

Yuna watched with slumped shoulders as Minho quickly made his way up the stairs and disappeared into the hallway. Her lips pursed, confused and disappointed.

She has liked Minho for as long as she could remember now. As horrible as the arranged marriage was to her, Minho has never expressed a fondness for you and that he has never shown any form of attachment towards this arrangement. If anything, he has been nothing but spoiled and distant when it came to you. It was only because of that. That was the only reason why she reacted well with the marriage and that her love-struck mind deemed it moral to try and steal Minho away from you.

But why? Why was Minho so caught up now?

Yuna ran a hand through her long, silky hair. She glanced around the kitchen, her eyes settling on the takeout dinner. She gulped nervously. Before she left the house, she grabbed the food with her.

You were too caught up in your thoughts to hear the doors to the closet opening. Your head was lowered to stare at the ground visible between your crossed legs. One of your hand was at the mercy of your nail-biting habit while the other one was clenched into a tight fist and resting on top of your ankle. You were hunched in the middle of your enormous closet, mumbling out your thoughts.

Your initial goal was to live this life of yours as invisibly as you could. You were not going to destroy this person’s life. You were not going to destroy their relationships and definitely not their marriage. For as long as you would be here, you would try to go along pretending like you were somebody else. When you finally leave this place, you would hand this life back to the original ‘you’ as if they never left!

Your goal was facing a bit of an intrusion—Lee Minho.

Without any attachment and responsibilities, it was easy to stand up to him. Doing it for the sake of a weaker person was even easier to do. Who was he to be so rough with his spouse? What was his problem? Not to mention that incident was not the only bad example you could raise, there were so many more things about him that were unlikely and unfathomable! You were considering whether you want to help ‘you’ do the deed and cut all ties with Minho.

He was not good for you, and the original you were probably too in love to see that. That must be why they stayed, considering there was a lack of evidence for any hostage or abusive scenarios. Therefore, you would be more than happy to help them get out of this situation, even though it might hurt them in the short run. To be extra cautious, you could write a explanation letter and conduct a plan for their temporary financial coverage if confirmed that Minho was their only source of security.

You could do this. You could save a life! Hurray [Name], you’re finally doing something useful!

“What are you mumbling about?” Minho asked as he knelt on one knee in front of your hunched figure.

You snapped your head up and immediately, your thoughtful eyes turned into a glare. You rasped out a yell, “None of your business!”

His expression did not waver, so you scoffed. “What the hell are you doing here? You can’t be checking up on me.”

“Why can’t I be?” Minho tilted his head to the side.

“Because you are an asshole.” Yu rolled your eyes, finally having the sense to scoot away from him. You sat up straight, still glaring at him but the tension in your muscles has slightly relaxed upon seeing his soft, but still stoic, gaze. “Seriously, what do you want?”

“I’m checking up on you,” he replied. “What are you doing in the closet out of all places?”

“I love this closet. You wouldn’t know.” You shrugged and turned to the side, facing the light around the mirror on your table. “It is quiet. It helps me think.”

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asked, his eyes never leaving you as if he was trying to catch every detail of your movements.

You didn’t answer for a short minute, your eyes boring holes into the wooden desk. When you finally did, you have already made the difficult decision in your head, and you were completely ready to execute it.

“I am deciding if I have ever loved you. It seems like I haven’t,” you told him with a neutral expression as if you were spilling nothing but information that contained no emotional destruction within them. “Or maybe I did, but I certainly don’t now.”

Minho’s mind blanked out. There was his answer. The only thing that was circulating his head were your words, and he didn’t understand why they hurt him so much. He, too, knew he had been distant and cruel to you for most of the marriage. There was no reason for him or anybody else to believe he would ever be sad if the marriage breaks up somehow. But he was hurting. Hearing you confess your lack of endearment stung him like a needle to the skin.

Immediately putting on a facade, Minho raised an eyebrow and he leaned away a little. “Really? Well, what do you suggest we do then?”

You blinked at his cooperative response. This was going too well for your liking, but perhaps your fate had decided to finally be nice to you for once. Shrugging at him, you said, “What else can we do? Let’s talk divorce.”

His heart jumped at the word but his face controlled all that he could express. The jump was not hectic enough for him to burst out of his usual character yet. Heaving out a heavy sigh, Minho smirked with a laugh. “Yeah, right. Why would the people who forced us together agree to separate us?”

It was your turn to laugh now. Everything was going as planned. You should be suspicious of that, but you’d rather relish in the present. “Oh, Minho,” you mused. “There isn’t much you know about arranged marriages, do you?”

He furrowed his brows at you in confusion, and for once you finally let your guard down. Standing up, you urged him to do the same as you walked over to the door. “Come on. I’ll cook us some food and we’ll talk about it together.”

“Like I said, I already got food.” Minho rolled his eyes as he stood up and followed suit behind you, his heart still beating fast.

You glanced down at your slippers and hummed. Now that he’s somewhat agreed to separation, you decided you no longer have to hold a grudge against him. Having some good, expensive food and talking about the shining end to your marriage sounded like a very great end to this problem. Turning to look behind your shoulder, you nodded at him. “Alright, let’s see what you got.”

If all goes as you assumed, you were almost one hundred percent sure his mother hates your guts. Unfortunately, the way to a perfect divorce in these dramatic circumstances was always through the male protagonists’ snobby and obnoxious mother, but you’ve got that covered! You’ve consumed so much media, these archetypes of people were predictable to you.

You waited anxiously at the extravagant coffee house. It was a place for flower teas in floral China cups and overpriced cupcakes stacked in the shape of a fountain. You felt heavily out of place even with the expensive clothes you were wearing, and oh boy, were you anxious about being seen in public when your insides were scrambled with feelings of not belonging. Nobody could read your thoughts, but what if they could?

The conversation you had with Minho last night was a never-ending cycle of you trying to explain divorce to him and him shooting down all the possibilities you pull out of your pocket. He was defending this marriage like he wanted to keep it, and strangely, you would not be surprised that he did. After all, Minho could very well be that male character who was just stoic on the outside but was actually very sensitive on the inside.

However, that was none of your businesses. Who Minho was on the inside didn’t matter to you whatsoever. It poses no value if all he ever does is hide that part of him and mask himself with a terrible facade. An asshole with a secretly good heart is just an asshole. You have made the goal to divorce him, and there was that.

"Oh! There you are!”

An auntie-like voice jolted you out of your nervous state of mind, and you moved your eyes to find an old lady pulling out the chair before you and sitting down. She wore minimal makeup on her face, just enough to make her wrinkly skin shine over her old age. Her clothes were tacky and have an expensive air to them, which was typical of most expensive clothes. You supposed you were in no place to judge.

“I am so sorry for being late!” she said. “I hope you haven’t been here for too long.”

“No, I got here five minutes ago.” You shrugged dismissively, your eyes too focused on watching her movement.

She who sat before you was none other than Minho’s mother, or so you thought who would be the bitch of the century. But everything she showed was against your normal drama characterizations—no tense shoulders, no frown, no condescending gaze, and no slow talking with an old woman nasal tone.

Instead, her eyes were warm as they glanced at you as if you were a long lost child of hers. She was more polite than ever as she explained why she was late for this supposed divorce conference you planned. This was completely unexpected. You weren’t sure how to react now that the possibility of not being able to bring up a divorce has risen.

“Do you know what you want to order?”

You blinked a few times at her and glanced down at the menu. You haven’t gotten the time to look at it, but it felt like you would lose your appetite as soon as you look at the prices printed on the menu. Picking up the menu, you gave her a faint smile and opened the booklet with a thick velvet cover. You laughed a little at yourself. There were no prices labeled. Of course. Rich people need not know how much things cost. Those irresponsible midgets only pay.

“I will get the green tea cake. It is my favorite,” she mentioned, finally setting down the menu.

“Oh, really? Then I guess I should try that out too,” you quickly followed, not really bothering to decide what you feel like consuming as you were already too busy thinking of what to do with your plan.

“Okay great! Let me call the waiter over!”

You smiled at her blindly, still not paying any attention to your surroundings. Oh, you have caught yourself on another stump, [Name]. While still wanting a divorce—oh god, this word would not be leaving your mind anytime sooner—you were starting to think perhaps Minho’s sweet mother would not be the easiest way to signing the papers. She doesn’t seem to hate you at all, which only served as a disadvantage to you in this situation.

You hummed. There was that. But just because she really liked you wouldn’t mean you couldn’t talk to her about wanting to end a marriage with her son. Perhaps a more civilized conversation could be held where you two talk the arranged marriage over like actual adults, and she would most likely only convince you to rethink your decision more carefully without knowing you already did.

It was not the path you were hoping to cross but it would still be a path with the desired result at the end, so you supposed there was no harm in being honest about what you want.

“What is it that you want to talk to me about?”

Alas, a lot of things are easier said than done. I am pretty sure you knew that fairly well with your many years of experience on Earth.

“I… uh…” You clenched your fists and squinted your eyes uncomfortably. The way you kept reminding yourself to be honest did nothing to your feelings.

Minho’s mother tilted her head to the side as her forehead creased with confusion. It was an expression she has never seen you have before, an expression that looked as if you were holding something back because you have something bad to say. To her knowledge, you never needed to say anything bad enough that it punches your moral consciousness in the gut. Not to her, at least. Not even when it was about her son.

“Is it about Minho–“

“I want a divorce.”

The second your voice dropped, so did her expression. You couldn’t look at her, and the striking remorse was baffling you. None of this was your fault, nor have you spend enough time to develop a bond with Minho’s mother, so why should you feel bad about telling her you wanted to leave her son? These people were all strangers! Was this the power of innate empathy people kept yapping about needing to possess?

A look of realization was apparent in her overall troubled expression. Her eyes sparking a hint of light as it dawned on her that Minho has finally done something that reached and crossed the breaking point for you, and it has tempted you to properly ask for a divorce. After the sudden startlement came a wave of tranquility, as if she already knew this would happen sooner or later.

“We can’t do that.” That was all she told you.

“Minho already told me about everything when we discussed this yesterday,” you pressed on carefully. “Legally, I can.”

She gave you a faint look of surprise, possibly from hearing that you and Minho had already talked this over. Then she sighed with a shook of her head. "If you two do get a divorce, there would be no reason for my husband to continue sponsoring your father’s company and keep it going. Your father’s legacy will fall.”

You held back a witty remark at the fact that she was talking as if your father was some prophet who died saving the world and you were supposed to be in line for his succession. Both your father and her husband were both just the CEO of some really big company, you assumed. You didn’t even know what company it was! Cosmetic? Convenience store? Toilet seats? You’d say let it crumble, but for the sake of who would inhabit your being when you return to your world, you denied that approach.

“Why do I have to marry your son for your husband to sponsor my father’s company?” you asked instead. “Sponsorship doesn’t require marriage. It only requires money.”

“Money requires relations,” she said. “He has no reason to help your father when your family was facing bankruptcy until you and Minho got married.”

You pursed your lips together. “There is no relationship going on between me and Minho.”

“And nobody has to know that,” she said, looking at you pointedly. For the first time, the soft aura she exuded was replaced with something formal, more businesslike. “Nobody knows that your marriage is an unhappy one except for me, [Name]. You were the one who caved in and told me.”

Minho had the sense to at least pretend as if he liked you in public. That was rather unexpected even though ‘acting as if everything is okay in front of people’ has always been the first rule to these arranged marriages. And the former you, too, knew enough to not show Minho that they were both uncomfortable and unappreciated when they were with him.

Your hand flew up to your chin, and your fingertips lingered against the aftertouch of Minho’s grip. Your memories had conveniently left out the part where you dug your nails into his skin until it hurt and you never tried to see if his wrist was okay.

“I know Minho can be a little insufferable sometimes, but I hope that you can remember how much you love him whenever those times come,” she leaned forward to speak, her tone much more sympathetic now. “Of course, I am not telling you to never get mad at him. I just hope that you can love him, always, even when you hate him.”

You blinked nervously at her. That was profoundly cheesy and unrealistic. It wasn’t impossible, though. You were sure the former you had mastered the art of hating and loving Minho as a husband. But you weren’t them, and while you didn’t outrightly refuse to fall in love with Minho, he has done absolutely nothing to gain your good interest. The condescending gazes, the potential cheating, the dull voice, the rules, and bad temper—you just couldn’t like him at the moment. And if he doesn’t come back around and change his attitude, you were afraid the impression would become too hard to budge.

“And if that has become too hard for you to deal with, at least do it for your parents’ sake.”

Oh, she pulled the ‘dead parents’ card on you, [Name]! Destroying a person’s love life, even though it was a terrible love life, was a kind of guilt you believed you would get over eventually. But their parents were a whole different story. Family relationship was always a pickle. You’d hate to open the cabinet and steal the bones of those dusty skeletons with you. You wouldn’t suffer real consequences, only those your conscience imposes upon you.

You scrunched your nose up in dismay, feeling stubborn and wanting to act on it so badly, but the situation was starting to feel more and more hopeless as it went on. Biting your lower lip, you asked with a soft voice, not wanting to startle any unwanted suspicion. “Do I… do I even love him at all?”

The look she gave you was patient as if she understood your mixed feelings. She nodded her head. “You have always told me you do. Unless you are lying to me, I don’t see how you don’t love my son.”

You grimaced. No duh? She would think the former you was in love with her son unless it was found to be a lie. That sentence didn’t need to be said. Nevertheless, you glanced down at your hands and clenched them together. You felt like yourself, you looked like yourself, and you sounded like yourself. However, no matter from which part you look at, this wasn’t your life. This ‘rich husband and a bad arranged marriage’ life wasn’t yours. The ‘working overtime and dunking down ramen soup’ life was yours and where you were only qualified enough to live.

If divorcing Minho would come with a package that held more than just leaving a toxic relationship, you would rather not do it. Suffering all the other consequences wasn’t your choice to make.

Seeing the amount of stress that engulfed your body when you finally finished with lunch, your driver took the liberty to drive you all the way to a shopping mall so you could enjoy yourself and cool off some steam. It was a very heartwarming gesture, and you didn’t forget to thank him before you left the car and waited for him to drive away.

The shopping mall was regular. It was the kind of mall you would come across if you joined a tour group to travel to another country. You also liked to call it the shopping mall where you only walk in and never buy anything because every store inside was either too expensive or not of your taste. Most likely both. Despite having more than a sufficient amount of money on your hands at the moment, you just could not shake off the lack of interest for any of these high-end brands.

Puffing air into your cheeks, you chewed on the boba you just bought from a store located at a rather invisible corner. It was the only item you were willing to spend money on, and thank god the store did not try to amp up the prices as Disneyland would with a bottle of tasteless water just because it was located somewhere lavish.

Your mind has wandered off once again, as it has been doing recently. With these events happening all at once, and with your drama-obsessed brain’s absolute calculation, there was one very important thing missing from your life right now: the best friend.

It could be a man or a woman. Depending on the gender, their personalities would vary greatly in the most predictable and distasteful way ever. The man would be great; handsome, caring, smart, and unfortunately a doormat for everyone to step over. The woman, which you had a suspicion may be a role filled by Yuna already, would be terrible; beautiful but jealous and shallow. From what you’ve experienced, your best friend would mostly likely be a man. Possibly extremely in love with you but somehow never got picked, and now his opportunity has vanished due to an arranged marriage.

“Yeah–where is my super hot best friend?” You stopped in the middle of the mall, eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction and lips jutted out into a thoughtful pout. You were dying to meet him, whoever he may be, all just to get a sense of relief that you’ve got somebody to lean on at a time like this.

(You wouldn’t fool me, though. I know you want to satisfy your second-lead syndrome.)

Continuing to walk, your hearing slowly came back to reality and your ears began to pick up noises outside of those in your brain. A very familiar voice rang around your area and you paused once again to hear it more clearly.

“Come on, wouldn’t I look nice in this? Let’s go in, Minho!”

Your eyes rounded at the name and you pursed your lips together. How uncanny. You have never experienced such outrageous coincidence before. Out of all the shopping malls in this country, your husband has to be this particular one and at this particular spot. You squinted your eyes then, your straw sucking up nothing because it was pulled half-way into the air where there were no liquid. A continuous hallowing noise came through the suction, but you didn’t care. This was adding up to the scene of a misunderstanding.

What should you do, you wondered. Make a scene? Complain? Cry about your cheating husband even though he probably wasn’t cheating? If only you were at a fancy restaurant! You’ve always wanted to throw a glass of wine at someone’s face!

“Walk away, [Name],” you muttered to yourself, even after all those excited thoughts, and you fastened your pace.

“Oh–hey! Hey, [Name], is that you?”

You almost choked on the boba in your mouth. Pressing your lips together, you snapped your head up with the most menacing glare you could muster to flash it at the new intruder, and immediately you came face to face with a man with the cutest grin you have ever seen. A strangled noise blew from your throat and came out of your pursed lips, almost out of your nostrils. It was an ugly sound but you could not care less as you beamed inwardly at the sight of the man approaching you. Chubby cheeks, nice smile, not very tall but muscular!

“Oh my god,” you whispered under your breath, “it’s you.”

“Yes, is it I,” he laughed at you. “Why? Did you miss me?”

“Definitely, you have no idea.” You nodded, still chewing on your boba.

He looked surprised for a moment as he tilted his head and that bright smile dimmed. His eyes turned into those of observant ones as he started to look you up and down, then he reached out to pinch your cheek gently while he hummed.

“[Name]…” he started slowly. “You look different. Did you do something–”

“Hands off, Seo Changbin.”

Hands off—what, oh my lord. You widened your eyes at the three simple yet demanding words, and you found your stupid heart leaping at them. Pursing your lips, you lowered your head to hide a smile. God, [Name], how low are your standards? How did that manage to get your heart racing?

Minho didn’t attempt to swat Changbin’s hand away from you, the latter did it on impulse upon seeing the unamused expression on Minho’s face. Raising an eyebrow, Changbin showed nothing more than a sarcastic smile as he leaned back on his weight and stared Minho down lazily from behind you.

“Minho, how wonderful to see you here,” Changbin greeted. His eyes darted to the side to find Yuna walking up to join the gathering, and his forehead creased with light anger for a second.

Shifting his gaze to you, he was surprised to find you sipping on your drink casually as your eyes darted between Yuna and Minho, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He raised an eyebrow at you and stood up straighter, completely confused by the lack of pain flickering in your eyes.

“Hey, Minho,” you greeted. “Hello to you too, Yuna.”

They looked as if they just got called out but despite the faintly rooted embarrassment, the two of them returned the greeting politely. The tension was high and thick, you couldn’t break it with just anything. Not even with a wave of Yuna’s perfectly manicured and sharp nails, which if you’ve had tried, they’re almost impossible to chip on purpose.

“Well, if there is nothing important, I will be leaving.” You shrugged, not quite looking at Minho in the eyes. You couldn’t. Not after having lunch with his mother and after everything she has told you about him. Turning around, you smiled at Changbin. “I am hungry. Can we find somewhere to sit down and eat? Preferably a place with normal, human portion food.”

Changbin cleared his throat. Your remarks were weird. He discreetly threw a glance at Minho, not so much asking for permission but to access the sudden change of dynamic between you two. The man looked even more off-putting than you did, like he was confused and failing to pretend he understood the situation. It was hilarious. Changbin smirked to himself and nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You gave him a soft smile of gratitude, happy that he agreed with no trouble. You didn’t suspect he would anyway; he was supposed to be a pushover. When you turned to Minho again, he looked as stoic as he has always been. You shivered at his expression and gave him a grimace. “Stop frowning, Minho. Your face will get stuck like that.”

Changbin stifled a laugh while Yuna widened her eyes in displeasure. She opened her mouth to speak, but she found it hard to shoot down the truth. Minho does keep his expression on constant angry mode and, while she wouldn’t bluntly say it the way you just did, she also would not mind seeing Minho crack a smile now and then.

“How do you expect me to smile when my spouse is out with someone else?”

“Rethink your sentence.” You glanced between him and Yuna.

Minho noticed and heaved a sigh as he closed his eyes. He explained, “I didn’t plan to come out with her. She dragged me out here.”

You felt bad, and with your world’s state of capitalism and experiences of borderline free labor, feeling bad for someone that wasn’t yourself could be considered a golden empathetic response. Pursing your lips and sucking in a big, unwilling breath, you settled into a leg shaking motion to replace stomping in public like a child. You stopped after a brief moment once you realized you were too occupied with getting to know Changbin to care.

“Well,” you said, gesturing towards the heartbroken girl and already turning away. “There is no harm in letting her drag you around for another hour. You’re gonna have fun! I’ll see you at some point!”

Waving those two a generous goodbye, you quickly beckoned for Changbin to follow you before Minho could get the chance to say something your pettiness has to respond to. After walking for a little, Changbin finally breathed out a puff of air as he placed his hand on his chest to release the awkward tension.

“That was weird,” he said. “But hey, you handled that well! I am really surprised… and confused, I guess?”

“Of course I handled that well. Who do you think I am?” You rolled your eyes.

He laughed. “I guess there isn’t anything for you to worry about. You two are happily married after all.”

You blinked at his response, confused for only a short moment before you quietly exhaled an 'oh.’ Minho’s mother was telling the truth, 'you’ really did not tell anyone else aside from her about how unhappy this marriage has been for you and Minho. Not even the best friend knew.

You looked at the ground. Damn, you were hoping you could ignite some feverish fire between you two. Changbin seemed like someone who you could have amazing chemistry with, as best friends and perhaps, as lovers. However, judging by the way he acted around Minho and how he didn’t seem to mind your marriage at all, you doubted his affection for you was any more than just very close friends. The best friend zone—a delicate place, with steel walls and whatnot.

“Yeah, I really wouldn’t worry.” You smiled.

“Besides, if anything is to happen to Minho and Yuna then it would have ages ago.” Changbin shrugged. “Nothing ever did.”

You grimaced at his remark. Oh god, Yuna. You poor girl.

Minho looked up at the clock. He could feel his anxiousness increase as the clock ticked away the morning after midnight. Checking his phone again, it took him another glance at his zero missed calls and zero new texts to remember you had left your phone at home before you went outside this afternoon.

Changbin still has not read the single, semi-threatening text Minho sent before ten o'clock asking about your whereabouts and demanding him to send you home immediately. He did figure that a reply would be too generous of an act from Changbin. For one, Changbin hated Minho. For two, you were forcibly married to Minho, which only made the hatred go even deeper into the ground. At this point, Minho was one broken secret away from being torn to shreds by your best friend.

He bit his lower lip as his eyes trailed over to the clock once again.

Where were you? You have never been home this late before. Not to mention your actions today at the shopping mall! It was nothing like what Minho thought you were capable of! You had never once ditched him to hang out with Changbin. He practically doesn’t exist whenever you so much as feel Minho’s presence, not because you were scared of him but because you genuinely did love him.

You did love him, did you not? He was sure you did.

In the midst of his thoughts, the front door to the house conveniently swung open. You stepped into the living room and immediately, the old lady who you saw the other morning rushed up to you with a worried look on her face.

“Where have you been!” She lightly hit your arm as she scolded.

You gave her a faint laugh. Her harmless scolding was endearing to you. You hadn’t known you shared such an affectionate dynamic but you weren’t surprised, nor were you opposed to it.

“Changbin took me to a lot of places,” you replied. “Today was fun!”

“Oh, dear lord–and you left your phone at home too!” she said. “You got Minho worried sick–you got me worried sick! I was gonna go home but I wanted to make sure you will come back safely.”

To be frank, you had beeped her out for the most part of her words. Mildly focusing on cooing at her about how Changbin had taken very good care of you this whole day, and her looking as if you were chanting some forbidden spell because you were talking about another man, your mind lingered on the piece of information she gave you: you got Minho worried sick.

Call it your calculative and distrusting nature, but you were having a hard time believing he did it out of care. He thought you unfaithful likely just as much as you thought him. You were okay with the feelings being mutual for now.

“I’m sorry for coming back so late. I will make sure to bring my phone next time.”

“You make sure to come back home early next time!” she exclaimed. “Don’t forget your phone again!”

“Okay, I promise.” You nodded, pursing your lips into a grin.

She waved at your expression that mirrored that of an ignorant child. You were listening, you just weren’t really taking her seriously, in the most respectful and playful way possible.

“You kids,” she sighed and placed her wrinkly hand on your arm. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”

Your chest warmed and you instantly knew why. You missed your mom. She would probably pamper you like this too if you ever came home this late, and probably with a much longer and serious lecture. You wouldn’t know, though. You lived far and you were always working now that you have grown up. Once you were able to return to your world, you figured giving your parents a visit wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“I did. I ate dinner,” you said. “I am really full.”

“Are you sure? I can cut you some apples if you want. There are fruits in the kitchen! Or maybe you want some oranges?”

“No, that’s okay.” You smiled at her gratefully. “I am full. I ate so much today.”

“Okay,” she said, albeit she appeared suspicious. “If there is nothing else then I am going to go home.”

“Now? It’s really late. Why don’t you stay here?” you suggested, turning around to look out the window by the door before turning back to her.

“No worries. The driver was waiting for you to come home too so I can ask for a free ride,” she laughed as she moved over to the front door. Before she left, she turned around to face you slightly, and she nagged, “Go tell Minho you’re back!”

You only gave her a forced smile in response. As soon as those doors closed, a sarcastic and exaggerated grimace appeared on your face. You turned around, walking into the house as you mumbled mean nothings under your breath about not believing that Minho was actually worried about your whereabouts. He’s definitely got better things to do, and it wasn’t as if he cared. Why should he worry? This has to be a dignity issue.

Despite not wanting to talk to him, you found yourself walking to his office anyway. Clearing your mind and your throat, you pursed your lips together in dismay before you knocked on the door. Your eyes widened when it immediately swung open, the lack of waiting you needed to do startling you. Minho’s furrowed brows relaxed for a brief second at the acknowledgment that you were fine and back under the roof, but as usual, he returned to his annoyed state before you could catch the concern appearing in his eyes.

He thought twice about reaching over to grab your arm so he could pull you into the room; the emotional fragment in his chest still aching, even though it wasn’t his place to hurt over something he did to you. Hesitantly taking a step back, he opened the door wider and cleared his throat to put emphasis on his current, very annoyed mood. “We need to talk.”

That is never good. The words itself were fine, but the gloomy tone was never good. Despite never hearing that from anybody other than your parents, your muscles clenched at the simple idea of what that line contained, especially now that you were supposedly married. Taking a tentative step forward, you spared Minho a glance before you walked into the office and paused right in the middle of the room.

You grimaced at the memory of when you were here last time. It was not a good sight to see, not that you had many complaints about whatever really went down back then because you still, until this moment, have zero care of Minho’s love life outside of this failing marriage. The grimace on your face expanded when the door slammed shut. You turned around and eyed Minho with a surprised look.

He glared back at you, obviously angry, and you seemed to have an idea as to why that was. He walked near you, but not close enough to create too much intimidation, and he crossed his arms. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I’ve been out,” you said, calmly in hopes that it would rub off on him. “To malls and the streets. Nowhere too far away from here.”

“You were out for really long. Do you know what time it is?” He asked. “It’s way past midnight!”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that, really,” you said. “I wasn’t actively checking the time and, well, one thing led to another and by the time we finished chatting, it’s past twelve!”

Minho gulped down the competitiveness that arose when he heard that you have been out with Changbin for the entire day, having fun and chatting like a pair of best friends, which he often forget you were. It should be normal but Minho could not help the tinted jealousy that continued to pour out of his lips in the form of regrettable words. Not to mention, his feelings were magnified after the conversation you both had about a divorce.

He has really gotten too used to receiving your undivided love and attention that, upon the vaguest chance of anybody stealing the throne away, he growls and attacks to make sure he keeps it to himself. Rolling his eyes, he scoffed out a laugh, the corner of his lips quirked up into an unamused smirk. His arms fell from his chest and landed on his side where they found a place to rest on his hips.

“Oh, right, I forgot you were having fun with Changbin.”

“Oh?” The questioning sound was inaudible. Your mind spun fast to understand what he meant with those petty words, and despite being quite entertained by his reaction, you still felt bitter at how unfairly he was treating you. “Yet, you are with Yuna today.”

“Like I said, she dragged me out–“

“You are a grown, not to mention a man. You have more than enough capability to refuse any unwanted situation,” you said. “All you had to do was tell her no. She would have listened to you considering how much she likes you.”

“What? You’re just going to be mad at me about that for the rest of your life?” Minho clicked his tongue in annoyance. He ran a hand through his hair, turning away to convince himself not to explode. “You know, I’ve got plenty of reasons to be mad at you about too!”

You shrugged. “Enlighten me.”

“You went to talk to my mom about getting a divorce,” he accused, his eyes sparklingly wide. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was so upset that he was about to cry.

A part of you was shocked that she told on you, but you wouldn’t put the blame on her for talking to her own son about his relationship. You just hoped she didn’t disclose in detail what you talked to her about. After all, you have really only known Minho for a few days. Your bad opinions of him, although true, were not ideals you wanted to weigh on his back for the rest of his life. A couple of days should not sum up his entire life.

However, in the heat of this situation, your logic was completely thrown out and you both were only aiming to hurt and blame each other as much as you could.

“Huh… I see.” Your shoulder relaxed and your gaze softened as a realization dawned upon you. “You aren’t mad about me coming home late. You don’t care about that at all,” you breathed out a faint, bitter chuckle, “you’re just mad because I talked to your mom about getting a divorce and you got an earful today.”

“Oh, oh no. It is so much more than that.”

“What else are you mad about?” you asked, feeling your cheeks heat up as you desperately tried to defend yourself the same way Minho was trying to stand on his ground. “If this is about Changbin, I highly suggest you stop caring–“

“I have to care!” He raised his voice, taking a step towards you. He stopped when you took the same steps back. “We are married, and you just went running off with some other man for an entire day–”

“Let’s not act like you love me enough to care about who I am with, Minho,” you pointed out, furrowing your brows at him. “Even if we are married legally, emotionally, we are as connected as parallel lines.”

He paused at your pretentious yet still poetic line, wondering since when have you gotten the ability to talk with your chin up like that. Then he snapped back to the argument at hand, his head tilting to the side as he hardened his gaze at you. But he wasn’t that angry anymore. He was confused, or at least baffled. “You don’t think I care about you even a slightest bit?”

You heaved a sign. Well, let’s count off all the things he has done for you so far: putting you back to your bed after you fainted, buying you dinner, being a little possessive when Changbin was pinching your cheek, worrying about you being late. For sure, those were pretty heart-racing things to do, and it seemed the effect on your fragile feelings were magnified with his good-looks. But it would not be enough if he only does good things in the shadow. His pretty silhouette could never outrun the shadow that was his stone-cold facade, and he was over here chasing after the impossible sun.

“Maybe a little bit, but I don’t want to settle for a little bit of care,” you told him. “Especially when there is someone out there who is able to provide me with so much more straightforwardly.”

Minho laughed sardonically, rolling his eyes. “We just circle back to that insufferable best friend of yours–“

“No!” You snapped, clapping your hands together on impulse.

Your eyes were wide and teary now, you were really getting into the argument. It felt almost exhilarating; you have never fought with anyone like this before. Fighting over love and whatnot. It wasn’t what you hoped to do. You were really aiming for a much calmer conversation. But at the mention of Changbin, who has been nothing but patient and kind to you, you could not stop yourself from setting the record straight.

“This has nothing to do with Changbin. It has everything to do with you and your shitty attitude, Minho, starting from the first moment I met you until now!” You counted off your fingers, numbering the things he’s done. “You look at me like I’m beneath you. You talk to me like I’m not important at all. We don’t share a bed, we don’t share a closet. You set rules for me around the house. From the sound of it, I’m not even supposed to step into your room. Why is that, Minho? I am really curious about that, truly.”

You stopped talking, but you and him both knew there was more to say than all that you have spoken of.

“I have never complained about anything, have I? All I did is love you, and you took advantage of that to become a spoiled brat,” you said, your hands joined together for a moment before they released each other. Your fingers lingered on the ring, twisting it and turning it as you contemplated your next move.

Minho was speechless as he stared at the ground, but his head was positioned high enough for you to still see his expression. For the first time, he looked genuinely distressed. His fist clenched at his side and his lips trembling in realization. Of these past two days, of all the times before you were even here, of how he has treated you.

You breathed out a soft sigh after calming down. You were sure Minho must have good qualities in him that made ‘you’ fall in love with him in the first place. And, bouncing back to all the dramas you have watched, all characters like him are often too romantically incapable when it came to expressing their true feelings. It wasn’t like he didn’t love you, it was just that he didn’t know how to show it. People like him need a lot of time and comfort, which you were completely willing to give if he was willing to try.

“Look, Minho.” You volunteered to step up so you could be closer to him, closing the distance for an unreachable form of intimacy. You looked at him, an unknown feeling coming over you as you gently tipped his chin up with your fingertips. He looked at you, surprised, but he listened. “I am sure I loved you for a reason, but I can’t love you when you’re like this. I refuse to.”

“How could anyone ever love you like this?” Nobody can, Minho. Not when you couldn’t show the pile of gold locked up in your heart. What have you been so afraid of? Why wouldn’t you let it out?

Minho’s eyes watered and he bit his feelings back. “What do you want me to do?”

“If I tell you then there’s no meaning to it.” You shrugged as you let him go, and he missed the warmth of your touch. You reached for your own hand as you smiled politely at him. “You can hold onto this for me.”

You left the room after you handed him the object. The door closed behind him and Minho opened his hand. The wedding ring stood on his palm, shining bright and expensive.

It looked as if it would cost him his entire heart.

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