#10/10 go see hatching | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

1,644 Tumblr posts in 1 second.

#10/10 go see hatching

galacticnova3 · 1 year

Text

Since she has now flown off I am obligated to post the order of potato fairy extra large that I looked after for several days. Aka a gloriously chumby Polyphemus moth— the second one I’ve seen alive in over a decade— that decided to hang around our porch for most of its adult life. I saw the first live one on the same day, but he flew away when I tried to get close. But still, that’s a great sign that their population in my area is finally starting to recover! Anyways, here’s the wonderful big little creacher where I found her, which should probably make it clear as to why I moved her. Ants don’t mess around and I wasn’t gonna just leave her inches away from danger.

I was pretty glad I did, as even after her wings were fully dried and extended and everything she couldn’t actually take off. See: her first “flight”.

Big fan of the loud impact PLAP sound, really added to the already very good demonstration of gravity. Worry not, she was totally fine afterwards. Here she is that night and the day after! Very cute and fuzzy, 1000/10.

The next day I thought she had flown off, but then the day after that she was back on the porch! I could tell she was the same one because of her damaged antenna. She started laying eggs on the house and I realized that wasn’t going to be good for the caterpillars that might hatch, since it was a relatively long distance to any host plants even without including the vertical climb to reach branches of leaves. Since she clearly felt safe where she was, and I was also worried about ants and birds and possible insecticides, I ended up making a little “baby box” for her out of a thoroughly rinsed plastic container that initially held salted honey-roasted peanuts. I gave her a stick to hold on to which also gave her a route to climb out of the box if she wished, and provided various fresh oak leaves to lay her eggs on. Figured it would be a good setup because I could easily move it to a safe place once she was done, and keep an eye on the eggs until they hatched. I might even try to raise a few caterpillars if the eggs are fertile. However, during the process of me setting that whole deal up, she decided I looked like a good egg laying spot.

You can see the “glue” that sticks the eggs to surfaces! It was cool to see up close: she’d lay an egg, wait for it to dry, and then lay the next right by it. She ended up sticking four on me before I was able to gently nudge her to the egg laying box. The stick was eventually deemed an acceptable substitute, and over night she… made an egg stalactite of sorts on it? Very weird, I think, I dunno; most of what I read online said their eggs would be laid in spread out clusters of two to three on suitable host plants. I know it wasn’t because she couldn’t get out, as when I went to check on her she had already made her way to the top of the stick and was hanging off of it outside the box. I didn’t think to take a picture of that as I needed to drive to college, but source: dude trust me. Here’s a picture of the egg sculpture I took when I got home.

When I was done with that I went to move her off the porch where she had been staying safe for the last 5 or so days to the more wooded area of the yard, but she ended up flying off to the treetops on her own after I brought her into the open. I guess laying a bunch of eggs made her finally light enough to fly. Maybe she was feeling upset at me for not being able to pay child support and making her lay her eggs on a stick instead? Or she was just doing normal moth things or whatever. It was bittersweet to watch her go, but I’m glad she had the chance to soar the skies at least once before her time was up.

@onenicebugperday

#rambling #bugs #insects #moths #polyphemus moth #I will miss you potato fairy extra large

3K notes · View notes

reiding-writing · 4 months

Note

could i please request spencer reid comforting reader whos been picking at her lips? Like idk maybe he brings around chapstick for her smth. Tysm!

dermatillomania [ s.r ]

Summary:

Spencer doesn’t want you to hurt yourself. Even unintentionally. So a lot little bit of research later he’s ready to confront you about it.

WARNINGS: dermatillomania (impulsive picking at the skin), mentions of very minor self induced harm, sharing germs??? spencer would be deterred by that i’m sure, well maybe not in this case

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: pretty much straight fluff

wc: 1.5k

masterlist!!

a/n: this marks the my final fic of 2023, currently uploading at 10 past 11 pm so like less than an hour until 2024 (yay??)

i love writing for reid because it allows me to satisfy that nerdy part of my brain that endlessly thirsts for knowledge

Everyone had subconscious habits.

Yours just happened to be more physically harming than some.

You found comfort in the monotonous repetition of peeling away the layers of skin covering your lips, whether it be with your fingernails or your teeth.

It would often leave your skin red and raw, sometimes to the point where they cracked or bled.

It wasn’t usually too bad, but during times where you were over-stressed and under pressure, the small habit of yours became more of a staple of your personality.

You sigh softly as you sit at your desk, head resting in your hands as your eyes pour over the file in front of you.

Paperwork wasn’t exactly stressful when you compare it to the rest of your job, but after the week you’d just returned from it was clear that you needed a break.

Spencer glances up at you from his own desk opposite you, a small frown present on his face.

“Stop that,” His tone is soft and unchastising.

"Hm?" Your eyes flicker upwards towards his, your eyebrows knitted into a small line of clear confusion.

“Your lips. You’re going to scar yourself if you keep pulling at them like that.” Spencer’s words come out even softer than before, a small look of worry in his eyes.

"Oh-"

You pull you hands down from your face, the thumb and forefinger of your left hand that had been tugging at the cracked skin of your lower lip now tucked securely in your right as you clasp them together in your lap in fumbled embarrassment. "Sorry.."

Spencer sighs softly, and takes a brief moment to observe you. The corners of his mouth twitch downwards into a slight frown.“Don’t apologize. I just… I’d hate for you to have permanent scarring.”

You hum softly in response to his caring nature, not meeting his eyes anymore out of the small amount of shame that trickles into the back of your mind, and your tongue runs smoothly over the raw skin on your lip in an attempt at soothing the sting. "Yeah.. thanks,"

Spencer looks away for a few seconds, thinking about your actions. After a beat, he leans over his desk slightly to grab a tube of chapstick from his desk drawer and holds it out to you over the small metal hatched wall of separation between your two desks.

It’s dark blue with no writing or labelling of any kind on it and has very clearly been previously opened.

“Take care of your lips, okay? They’re very important for human expression, phonation, and sensation.”

And to be able to kiss people with.

You hesitate to take the tube from him at first, not because he’d used it, but because it was his, and you knew how much he hated sharing his personal belongings for fear of germ contamination.

“Are you- sure you want to give me this? I can go and get one after work-“ You take the tube from his hand carefully, as though it might explode if you grip it too tightly.

Spencer is slightly relieved to see you take the chapstick, and smiles brightly at you before shaking his head. “It’s fine. You clearly need some form of relief, and I doubt you want to be waiting another six hours.”

He pauses, before adding, “I’d like you to keep it. It’s pure white petroleum, it should solve any soreness or dryness in no time,”

"Thank you.." You give Spencer a grateful smile as you remove the cap and twist the bottom of the tube to extend the chapstick upwards.

You choose not to acknowledge the small dip in the balm from where Spencer had used it on his own lips in the past, fearing the inevitable flush of your cheeks if you thought about the way you were indirectly touching your lips to his for too long.

"I’m- not sure why i can’t just stop, but.. yeah- thanks.." Your half-assed explanation is more of a way for you to distract yourself from your impending emotional implosion rather than a genuine want to explain yourself.

Spencer watches you apply the chapstick, nodding once as he does. “I have some advice on how to stop, if you’d like to hear it.”

You re-cap the tube of chapstick and place it next to the pencil holder on your desk for easy later access, exhaling softly through your nose as your mouth bends into a soft smile. "Alright, have at me,"

“First things first, you should try and figure out what’s causing you to want to peel at your skin.” Spencer dives into full explanation mode once you give him the chair. “Everything has a trigger, and figuring out what yours is is the first step to stopping it,”

You give a understanding nod to Spencer’s suggestion, your mind beginning to scrub your brain for and reasons why you might have the insatiable urge to pull the skin off your lips like you would the meat from a turkey.

“You should also redirect the behaviour. When feeling the urge or the subconscious action towards picking at your skin you should instead reapply a layer of chapstick to your lips instead,” Spencer gestures towards the tube on your desk, just barely visible from his point of view past your pencil holder.

“People with dermatillomania often times don’t realise that they’re engaging in the behaviour, so having somebody who is aware of the situation to redirect your attention is also a good idea.”

He’s obviously referring to himself in this moment, indirectly telling you that he’s willing to be stuck to you like a piece of gum under a shoe until you fully manage to break your habit.

"dermatillomania?" You blink your eyes blankly at him at the unnecessarily complicated term you’d never heard of that Spencer had casually thrown into his sentence.

“It’s the term for excessive skin-picking that causes damage or scarring. That’s what you were doing to your lips just now.” Spencer nods nonchalantly at you like it was common knowledge.

“Oh-“

You can’t say you’re surprised that there’s a term for what you’re experiencing.

You also can’t say that you’re surprised that Spencer knows what it’s called.

Spencer feels the need to explain himself upon your confusion and surprise at the revelation that what you were doing had a proper medical diagnosis.

“I’ve observed you for a while now, and noticed you often picking at your lips.. So I did some research and came across dermatillomania.” There is a tiny bit of embarrassment in his tone.

"You- looked it up for me?"

Spencer Reid had gone out of his way to research something that gave him no personal benefit solely for your wellbeing.

You swear you could melt.

You probably look like you do, physically feeling the pink rise to your cheeks as they heat up in flustered gratitude.

Spencer’s cheeks mirror your own in their soft pink hue, slightly embarrassed to have outed himself to going out of his way to research something on your behalf.

“I did, yes.” He pauses. “I just… well, I didn’t want you to unintentionally do any damage to yourself.”

You let out a soft exhale that could almost constitute as a laugh, pressing your lips together to prevent a smile from breaking out on your face. “Thank you Spencer.. That’s really sweet,”

Spencer nods, diverting his eyes from yours and leaning back in his desk chair to try and look as casual as possible. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve researched countless topics to help the team, this was just one of them.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. But he wasn’t going to tell you that instead of the usual half an hour he would spend learning about something for one of his team mates he’d instead read every single publicly available medical journal on dermatillomania he could possibly find.

He turns his face back down to his work as you do the same, pushing his desk drawer closed now that nothing inside it was any longer needed.

His eyes fixed on the blue tube that rolled to his the front of the drawer as he pushed it closed.

It was identical to the one he had given you in every way.

Except for the fact that the one in his drawer was still brand new.

But you didn’t need to know that.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #asks 🫶

482 notes · View notes

animusrox · 1 year

Photo

LETTERBOXD

1. The Batman 2. Everything Everywhere All at Once 3. Prey 4. Triangle of Sadness 5. Barbarian 6. The Northman 7. Bodies Bodies Bodies 8. The Banshees of Inisherin 9. Bones and All 10. Avatar: The Way of Water

Grade A

11. Turning Red 12. The Menu 13. Babylon 14. Hit the Road 15. Cow 16. Watcher 17. Funny Pages 18. Mad God 19. On the Count of Three 20. Armageddon Time 21. Terrifier 2 22. Marcel the Shell with Shoes On 23. Smile 24. Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery 25. Holy Spider 26. Aftersun 27. The Fabelmans 28. Breaking 29. Decision to Leave 30. The Whale 31. All Quiet on the Western Front 32. Brian and Charles 33. Piggy 34. Saint Omer 35. Thirteen Lives 36. Men 37. The Fallout 38. Resurrection 39. Causeway 40. The Black Phone 41. Official Competition 42. Nope 43. Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio 44. Apollo 10½: A Space Age Childhood 45. Till 46. TÁR 47. Happening 48. A Love Song 49. The Outfit 50. The Innocents 51. Jackass Forever 52. BARDO, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths 53. Montana Story 54. Three Thousand Years of Longing 55. You Won’t Be Alone 56. The Sadness 57. Halloween Ends 58. Pearl 59. X 60. Vesper

Click "Keep Reading” For My Full List

Grade B

61. This Place Rules 62. Fresh 63. Windfall 64. Kimi 65. No Exit 66. Top Gun: Maverick 67. “Sr.” 68. Farha 69. The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent 70. Weird: The Al Yankovic Story 71. Nitram 72. Speak No Evil 73. Run Sweetheart Run 74. She Said 75. White Noise 76. Puss in Boots: The Last Wish 77. V/H/S/99 78. The Wonder 79. Women Talking 80. Hatching 81. Soft & Quiet 82. Scream 83. To Leslie 84. Hustle 85. Chip ’n Dale: Rescue Rangers 86. Dual 87. God’s Country 88. Emancipation 89. Vengeance 90. Fire of Love 91. Bullet Train 92. Incantation 93. The Valet 94. Hellraiser 95. Christmas Bloody Christmas 96. Significant Other 97. Cha Cha Real Smooth 98. Lucy and Desi 99. Not Okay 100. A Christmas Story Christmas 101. Blonde 102. Deadstream 103. Sissy

Grade C

104. The Bad Guys 105. The Cursed 106. Empire of Light 107. A Man Called Otto 108. Broker 109. Black Panther: Wakanda Forever 110. The Princess 111. Beast 112. After Yang 113. RRR 114. Fall 115. Jackass 4.5 116. Beavis and Butt-Head Do the Universe 117. Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness 118. Jennifer Lopez: Halftime 119. Lightyear 120. The Pale Blue Eye 121. The Woman King 122. Violent Night 123. God’s Creatures 124. Ambulance 125. Elvis 126. You Are Not My Mother 127. Emily the Criminal 128. Crimes of the Future 129. The Apology 130. The Lost City 131. Wendell & Wild 132. Trainwreck: Woodstock ’99 133. The Found Footage Phenomenon 134. See How They Run 135. Spiderhead 136. Studio 666 137. Bros 138. Spin Me Round 139. We’re All Going to the World’s Fair 140. Paws of Fury: The Legend of Hank 141. Honor Society

Grade D

142. Thor: Love and Thunder 143. Summering 144. Strange World 145. Glorious 146. The Gray Man 147. Devotion 148. Clerks III 149. The Forgiven 150. Enola Holmes 2 151. Father Stu 152. Jurassic World Dominion 153. DC League of Super-Pets 154. She Will 155. The Bob’s Burgers Movie 156. Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance with Somebody 157. Hellbender 158. Samaritan 159. Day Shift 160. Sonic the Hedgehog 2 161. Prey for the Devil 162. Troll 163. Uncharted 164. Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile 165. Dashcam 166. Firestarter 167. Do Revenge 168. Catwoman: Hunted 169. The Munsters 170. Amsterdam 171. Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore

Grade F

172. Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris 173. The Bubble 174. Dead for a Dollar 175. Jerry & Marge Go Large 176. Honk for Jesus. Save Your Soul. 177. Infinite Storm 178. Marry Me 179. Don’t Worry Darling 180. Spirited 181. Disney's Pinocchio 182. Alice 183. Black Adam 184. Orphan: First Kill 185. The Adam Project 186. The Invitation 187. Texas Chainsaw Massacre 188. Ticket to Paradise 189. The 355 190. Umma

Bottom 10

191. Green Lantern: Beware My Power 192. Deep Water 193. Where the Crawdads Sing 194. Blacklight 195. Mack & Rita 196. Memory 197. Me Time 198. Death on the Nile 199. Morbius 200. Moonfall

2K notes · View notes

storydays · 4 months

Text

C'mon, baby! Let's Go CRAZY

John Dory X Male! Rock Troll! Husband! Reader.

youtube

John Dory chuckled to himself as he watched his three children chase their cousins around. Currently, he was relaxing at the bar with his brothers', enjoying a drink and warm atmosphere.

After meeting Bruce, and knowing how dangerous things were, JD asked his sweet sister in law, Brandi, if he could leave his children safe on Vacay Island until either his partner came for them or he himself came back.

Of course, she happily kept the 3 Trollings. "It's honestly safer for them," she chided him before they left.

The oldest at 10 years old, Ash was a stubborn Troll and got along well with Bruce's oldest child, Cove. They were both super sarcastic but cared deeply about their siblings.

Cove would show Ash all of the cool hiding places on Vacay Island, and Ash was small enough that they could fit into the nooks and crannies that Cove couldn't reach. The two pre-teens bonded over learning about being non-binary and being true to themselves.

Ash took after John the most. Their hair color, eye color, and was a Pop Troll. Ash even wore compression gloves like their Papa, to keep their shaking hands still when drawing in their sketch book.

Then their only girl, Brooke, was an exact carbon copy of her Daddy. She was only 6 years old, but she was a wild card. She would jump off of stuff, then used her (h/c) pigtails to catch herself at the last moment. She took after John's husband in personality, looks, and even in music genre: Rock! John's favorite part was that (Y/N) and Brook shared (e/c) eyes.

Honestly, most of John's gray hair comes from that child. She was LaBreezey's little shadow. "She's just following what her big cousin does because to her, LaBreezy is her hero." Brandi laughed when John wondered outloud.

Ugh, John could just hear his husband's smirk when Brooke started talking about the government's control..or lack of it. Great, he already (Y/N) to worry about, now he's got two to deal with. Hopefully, that phase will pass soon.

The teal haired Troll hissed when he felt something tug sharply on his tail. Looking down, he brightened, seeing his youngest, Reed making grabby hands at him, demanding attention. John set his drink down before grabbing the Trolling.

"Reed! Finally up from your nap, little man?" Reed was currently struggling with speech, so he just made some babbling noises, before cuddling in his Papa's arms.

Reed was quite the surprise. John and (Y/N) thought they were done having kids, both of them in their late 30's. But one day, they woke up to Reed's egg sitting snugly in John's head.

Reed was a little miracle egg, and hatched looking like both of his fathers, John's hair, (Y/N)'s nose, but what was unique about the little dude, he had heterochromia. So his right eye was the same blue as John's and the calm (e/c) as (Y/N).

"So, where are you John Dory?" Bruce snapped his older brother out of his thoughts, making him realize his siblings' were looking at him.

"Huh?" John asked dumbly. Clay snickered, "John Dory has left the building, gentlemen." They joked, making the other brothers laugh.

"Ha ha." He chuckled, jumping slightly when he heard Brooke squeal loudly. BroZone looked over to where the little teal trolling watched excitedly as a (s/c) Troll went nacho diving.

Even though, there was salsa and cheese in their eyes, the new Troll got out yelling happily and excitedly. Bruce's children and John's older children crowed around him, chattering away.

Bruce frowned, knowing his kids wanted to copy the mysterious Troll's actions. "Ugh, that is so reckless. Now the kids are going to want to do it, and they'll be all sticky. Have you ever tried to give children in general a bath? Not to mention my kids are giants." He groaned.

John ignored his brothers' as Reed's tail excitedly wagged in his face, pointing towards the crowd.

Laughing, he adjusted the little Troll and stood up. "Okay, okay, we're going." He turned towards his brothers, with a raised brow. "Y'all coiming?"

BroZone scrambled after their brother, watching in shock as the new Troll grinned and rushed to John Dory. John stopped him with his tail, and deadpanned expression. "You are NOT touching us, until you've showered or rinsed off, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) grinned mischievously, turning towards Ash and Brooke, who bore matching grins. "Come on, kids!" "Wait, no!" John yelped when he was suddenly pushed from behind and pulled into the stream.

BroZone watched as (Y/N) held Reed in his arms, with a smug grin on his face. "Well, I rinsed off." He cackled, helping John Dory out of the water, before leaning in and kissing the grumpy Troll.

John smiled into the kiss, and kissed him back.

"Daaaadddddssss!!!!" Ash and Brooke squealed laughed, as John and (Y/N) covered their children's eyes with their tails.

Pulling back, (Y/N) pulled his children into his arms, squeezing tight. "Sorry it took so long for me to get here. This place is a good 3 day ride by caterbus. And I forgot my snacks!!!" (Y/N) whined, ears pointing down, perking up when his children giggled." So when I saw those nachos, I had to dive in and eat something."

John laughed, shaking his head. "Papa, I think our uncles' stopped working.." Ash pointed towards the frozen BroZone where their jaws dropped and stared wide eyed.

"Oh, right! (Y/N), babe, these are my brothers! Spruce, who now goes by Bruce, Clay, Floyd, and Bit-- I mean Branch. Guys, this is my husband, (Y/N)."

"Husband?" asked Clay. They were cool with it, same sex relationships weren't taboo or anything, but Clay was just surprised that John Dory of all people was in one.

"Cool." Floyd smiled.

"Papa?" Bruce whispered, a smile growing on his face.

"(Y/N)?" mumbled Branch, your name sounding familiar.

"Dada!" Reed giggled, tail wrapping around (Y/N)'s forearm.

"Uh-oh."

#brozone x reader #dreamworks trolls #trolls band together #branch #clay trolls #trolls 3 #bruce trolls #floyd trolls #john dory trolls #storydays #john dory x reader #trolls x reader #band together #Youtube

260 notes · View notes

somanyratsinthewalls · 3 months

Text

The Crew's Whore Part 7 (+18)

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your powerful fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.

Pairing: Zoro x Female Reader x Luffy

WC: 2300

TW: threesome, body use, p in v sex, no protection (don't do that), creampie (also don't do that), Luffy isn't asexual (ah), Zoro like has the biggest gay crush on his captain, facefucking, cum eating, no aftercare, being walked in on.

— —

You roll over in your bed lazily and stretch your arms over your head. It wasn’t often that you got your bed to yourself all night so you truly enjoyed the occasion. You had over 10 hours uninterrupted on your own due to your callers' schedules conflicting and you could have sworn you slept like the dead.

You slide out of bed and throw on some shorts and a sweatshirt, readying yourself for the quest to find breakfast. After sliding on your slippers, you creep quietly towards the galley and open the door. The galley smelled of coffee, melting butter, and the faint stale smell of cigarettes. You see the fresh carafe of coffee on the kitchen island and pour yourself a cup. You grab your mug of hot coffee and head towards the fridge and open it up to find something to eat.

“Y/n? My darling angel what can I get for you? Perhaps a late lunch?” Sanji comes in through the back door of the galley, snuffing out his cigarette.

“Hi Sanji- wait, late lunch? What time is it?” You cock your head as you let your body lean into Sanji’s extended arms. Sanji wraps his arms around you as you nuzzle into his chest.

“Almost 4:30, darling. You’ve been asleep, you needed the rest.” Sanji leaned down and kissed the crown of your head.

“Ah shit, I promised Zoro I’d train today. Could you whip up something now before I head up there? If I show up to a training match with Zoro on an empty stomach I’ll be spending the night in the med bay with Chopper.” You pull away from Sanji to start wrapping up your wrists for your training session.

Sanji sighed.

“Of course, my love. I’ll make you something with lots of carbs and protein. Selfishly, I must have you coming home to me, no matter how badly that brute treats you.” Sanji smirks and begins cooking.

You bring your blades into the galley and begin to sharpen them. At the counter, your eyes oscillate from your swords to Sanji preparing your meal. The way he smiled at you every time he turned around from stove to ask you your preference on something… he was such a dream. He asked you about what was going on in your life while he cooked you a pre training snack.

“Did Franky tell you about his latest project?” Sanji asks you from across the counter. You didn’t have time to respond before Sanji swiftly slides his slim body to the stove. “Do you want butter on your croissant?” Sanji changes gears as he begins to plate your meal.

“Yes please.” You respond.

Before you had time to process Sanji’s previous question, the most beautiful presentation of scrambled eggs on a French pastry was being placed in front of you.

“Jeez Sanji, if I knew I’d get this type of treatment, I’d snooze the day away more often.” Your eyebrows raise and you grab your fork.

Sanji smiles as he sprinkles a few chives on your dish before you dig in.

“Bon appetit, mon ange.”

— —

You scarfed your early dinner down and headed up to the crows nest, knowing Zoro would be waiting for you to train. You ascended the ladder and opened up the hatch to let yourself into the circular crows nest. Upon arriving to Zoro’s makeshift dojo, you find him bench pressing an impossibly heavy weight over his chest.

“You’re late.” Zoro scolds you without looking in your direction.

“Hello to you too, swordsman.” You shed your sweatshirt, leaving you in a sports bra and bike shorts.

“I told Luffy I’d practice with him later, so I’m not sparring with you tonight. We’re doing weights. Grab those over there.” Zoro nods towards a pair 40 lb dumbbells and you grabbed them. You weren’t brought onto the crew as a fighter, but as a Straw Hat you were obviously able to physically hold your own. You grab the weights and begin your routine.

“You smell like that shitty waiter.” Zoro eventually remarks after you spent nearly 30 minutes working out in silence.

“I slept late, I needed food. Leave it alone, Zoro.” You roll your eyes at him while you continued your workout.

“You were the one who said you wanted to spend time with me, and now you’re here smelling like cigarettes and male loneliness.”

You chuckle and almost lose pace in your weight lifting.

“Now that you’ve seen each other naked I figured you might be getting along better.” You smirk, purposely riling your swordsman up.

“Don’t be gross, y/n. I didn’t need to see that to know I have the bigger dick.” Zoro continues pushing the heavy weight away from his chest. Endorphins were pumping through your veins from your workout so you decide to change up your routine.

“Are you jealous, Mr Roronoa?” You pick up new weights and begin a rep of squats, making sure Zoro could see your ass flex in the tight spandex.

Zoro scoffs.

“I don’t get jealous. I just like having my girl to myself. And I know you enjoy our time together too…”

“Like last week when you had me bent over the aquarium bar?” You recall a particularly filthy instance where Zoro had taken you roughly after a tipsy night filled with sake bottles and inappropriate touches.

“Yeah…” Zoro huffs out, continuing his reps. “Just like that…”

You could feel his eyes on your body as you tried to maintain focus on your exercise. After several more minutes, Zoro puts the weighted bar back onto the rack and he breaks the silence.

“Come sit on my cock.”

You smile and set your weights down. You begin to saunter over to Zoro laying on his back on the weight bench, his pants tented.

“No romance today, swordsman?” You lift your sports bra over your head, letting your breasts bounce freely. Zoro groans at the sight of your naked tits. You slip your bike shorts down your legs and step out of them as you reach your green haired lover. “Needy, hmm?” You stroke his growing bulge over his pants and smile down at him.

“The only thing I need is for you to ride this dick and be good. Now hop up.” Zoro unfastens his pants and pushes them down his legs, freeing his now hard cock that bobbed towards his abdomen. You begin to straddle him before Zoro stops you with his powerful, scarred hands on your hips.

“Nah uh. Turn around. Wanna see that ass bounce.” Zoro swings your body around so you’re facing away from him and towards the hatch to the crows nest in the center of the room. He lifts your hips again and settles your entrance over his erection. He spits into one of his hands and smears it over the head of his cock. He sinks you onto him without any prep and you whine out.

One fully seated on Zoro’s lap, you wiggle your hips to get used to the full sensation. Zoro kneads at your ass cheeks to encourage you.

“I know it’s a lot baby, take your time.” Zoro flexes his thighs and bounces you softly, feeling your walls become slicker and accept his intrusion easier and easier by the moment.

“Fuck you’re so big, Zoro… shit…” You sigh as you feel the stretch of his cock inside of you turn into white hot pleasure. You firmly plant your feet on the floor and begin grinding on Zoro at your own pace. You find the perfect angle for Zoro to hit your sweet spot and continue your movements on top of him. You moan and throw your head back.

“How are you this tight? Fuck-“ Zoro grunts and grips your hips tighter. “Am I the only one on this ship that fucks you properly?”

Your body was alight with endorphins from the intense workout and the feeling of your lover inside of you, you couldn’t help but grin brainlessly as you bounce faster on Zoro’s cock.

“You always fuck me so good, Zoro. Love your cock so much…” You were dick drunk so fast, you hardly knew what was coming out of your mouth. You hear your lover growl from behind you at your filthy words. He grabs your arms and pulls them behind you. He uses them as leverage to pound up into you from below.

“Zoro, fuck, Zoro!” His name poured from your lips like a powerful waterfall as he held you completely powerless in his strong hands. Your body leans forward lifelessly as Zoro holds your arms from behind you. Your head bobs pathetically as he drills into your wet pussy from underneath you.

“Zoro!”

Zoro’s eyes are drawn away from your jiggling ass cheeks slamming onto his pelvis. Was that last ‘Zoro’ from you? It sounded different.

The hatch to the crows nest slams open.

“Zoro! We’re supposed to train tonight! Sanji just barbecued half of a whole sea king for me so I hope you’re ready to get your ass kicked haha!” Luffy hops up excitedly into the crows nest.

You gasp.

“Luffy!” You instinctively yell out in surprise.

“Oh, seems like you guys are still busy, huh!” Luffy chuckles out at your shocked expression.

“Oh hey Captain.” Zoro peers around your naked body atop his dick as he looks towards Luffy. “Sorry, training with y/n went a little long.” Zoro bucks his hips up again into yours and you moan. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Thats okay!” Luffy grins and walks towards you two on the weight bench. “Wow, y/n you’re really sweaty haha!” Your captain gets close enough to your to push your damp bangs off of your forehead. You had never been propositioned by Luffy, you hadn’t questioned it, just assuming he’d rather fight or eat than fuck.

“You know, Luffy…” Zoro begins. “You could take her mouth, I’m sure she’s more than willing. Right, y/n?" Zoro punctuates his last sentence with a hard thrust into your sweet spot.

“AH! Fuck, yes!” Your mouth hangs open and your tongue lolls out. “Oh yeah?” Luffy giggles. “She is already drooling everywhere. You’d share her with me, Zoro?” Luffy asks, getting closer to your face.

“Whatever my captain wants.” Zoro smirks devilishly. Luffy smiles back and begins undoing his demin shorts in front of your face. Zoro moves his hold from your arms to your wrists behind your back so you could lean down further to be at Luffy’s crotch level, all while pounding into your soaking cunt. Luffy releases himself from the confines of his clothes and his cock bobs in your face.

“Ok baby girl, time to suck off your captain. Open wide…” Zoro goads you from behind. Without having use of your hands, you clumsily take Luffy’s red, uncut tip into your mouth. You hungrily slurp down Luffy’s cock as you moan out from the powerful fucking you were getting from Zoro.

“You’re really good at that, y/n!” Luffy praises you and pets your hair gently. “Mmm, move your tongue more… mm yeah just like that!”

“Hnnmmpphh!” You groan around your captain’s thick length.

“Oooh, that’s good too! Zoro do whatever that was again, she feels so good when she moans!”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Zoro obliges and pounds into your g-spot again and again while leaving bruising fingerprints on your hips.

You try to keep your throat open as your feel your body being hurtled over the edge of orgasm.

“She’s cumming. I can feel it- oh fuck!” Zoro feels himself being wrapped up in the pleasure of your tight pussy milking him while you rode out your orgasm. Tears begin to fall from your lash line as you start to become overstimulated. So many hands on you, you didn’t know whose belonged to who… in your hair, on your breasts, squeezing your neck… you were in a world of pleasure. You whine.

“I’ll fill you up baby, don’t worry.. shit-” Zoro finished inside of you with one final thrust of his hips upward into your soft cunt.

“Me too, y/n.” Luffy remarks at you as he fucks your face. “Now don’t waste, it, okay? It’s good for you!” Before you could respond, Luffy shoots an impossibly large load down your waiting throat. You sputter and the rest of the cum you couldn’t swallow spills out around the sides of your mouth. Luffy pulls away from your face and wipes your lips with his pointer finger. He pushes it back inside of your mouth.

“All of it.” Your captain has a sinister glint in his eye as he smiles down at you.

You grin up at him stupidly, still coming down from your orgasm. Luffy quickly tucks himself back into his shorts and chuckles at you.

“Okay y/n, I’ve gotta train with Zoro. Maybe you should take a shower or something! Hah!” Luffy grabs your clothes by extending his rubbery arms and helps you off of Zoro’s dick and back into your garments. You had felt well rested earlier, but now you’re totally wiped.

“Maybe I should take it easy tonight, thanks Cap.” You pull your hair up into a messy bun and head over to the hatch of the crows nest to return to your bedroom.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep. I’m coming by after training.” Zoro calls at you.

“Oh? Maybe I’ll come too, hehe!” Luffy laughs.

“I certainly look forward to it, gentlemen.” You smirk as you lower yourself out of the hatch and go to freshen yourself… just in case round 2 was in your future.

202 notes · View notes

kedreeva · 6 months

Note

Hi! 😁 I might soon have the chance to have a garden and I've always wanted to have a few chickens, and I've started some online reasearch about keeping chickens but since you're an expert and I don't trust some of the online sources, do you have any tips for absolute beginners? 😅

I do! You can have a garden, or you can have chickens, but the two are diametrically opposed forces that do not coexist peacefully without fully enclosing one or the other. Chickens can and will obliterate gardens and landscaping if they have access to it, including absolutely destroying mulch patches by helping you spread it all over the yard.

I'll put the rest under a cut ^_^

When you acquire chickens, don't get them from a hatchery, get them from a small breeder you've looked into and spoken with about their actual birds. Hatcheries have poor quality animals, so while you may be getting a "black copper marans," they're not gonna necessarily look very nice, and they're almost certainly not going to lay that nice, deep chocolate marans are known for.

Vs straight from one of the bigger hatcheries pages, photos of their eggs:

You also are NOT going to get the breed qualities of any given breed except maybe some of the production breeds. For example, a Jersey Giant from a reputable breeder will get up to 10-13lbs, which is as big or bigger than my peafowl. Same with Brahmas and Cochins. Hatchery stock you will be lucky to see 6-8lbs, and people are OFTEN disappointed about this kind of thing. Silkies, as another example, can look WILDLY different from a hatchery vs a private breeder. A show quality silkie is a puffball:

Hatcheries also pull skeevy moves like calling easter eggers (mutts that lay blue, green, pink, brown, or white eggs) "americanas" hoping that you mistake it for "ameraucana" the pure breed that lays stark blue eggs. Then they charge you ameraucana prices (like, $25/chick) when they should be charging more like $3-5 a chick. They'll do things like call a marans/barred rock mix a "mystic marans" as if it's a new color morph of a marans chicken instead of a mixed breed mutt they invented to be able to sex their chicks at hatch easier. People get these guys expecting MARANS eggs, and they get tan barred rock eggs. Same can go for temperament and behaviors. You go anywhere that has a group of chicken owners and ask them what their favorite breed is, you will get a range of answers with reasons like "my X is so sweet" while the next person will go "mine's the devil" and if you ask, 9 times out of 10, it's hatchery stock birds. Well bred private breeders often have MUCH more stable temperaments.

vs hatchery stock

Getting from a private breeder also lets you get eggs, which can help you dodge a LOT of disease bullets. There's very little that transfers through the egg, strangely, and some of that is transferred on the surface of the eggs (like mycoplasma) so a quick santizing dip before incubation gets rid of that. I know that hatching them yourself is more of a hassle, but so is losing your flock to newcomers that came in with something entirely avoidable if you'd hatched instead. If your breeder is NPIP certified, they're getting tested for the major egg-traveling problem (pullorum) and a dip will take care of most anything else unless you're super SUPER unlucky.

Lastly on acquisitions, be prepared to get roosters. If you can't have roosters, be prepared to get them processed for yourself for food, or let the roosters go to food homes. Please please please please. There are so many, many excess roosters. They cannot all go to homes. The rooster to hen ratio in a flock is like 1:9. The rooster to hen ratio in hatching is nearly 1:1. Let someone make use of them. EVEN if you order from a hatchery, and order all pullets, they can make mistakes and send rooster babies. It's not a guarantee! Have a plan in advance! Mentally prepare yourself! Don't be one of Those People making posts in local groups about how you don't want/can't have this rooster but also no one else can eat it either. Chickens are a lot of things. Sometimes food is one of those things.

BEFORE actually acquiring the chickens, locate a vet that will see them. You are GOING to have an issue at some point in their lives, and that's not the time to start looking for a vet, that's the time to already have a vet on hand. In fact if you can support a yearly wellness check on at least one of the birds to test for communicable illnesses (like mycoplasma) and have a good relationship with your vet in advance, that's even better.

As for care, if you plan to contain the chickens, the minimum recommendation for a backyard coop and run varies wildly. For stress purposes, most chickens will find 4 feet of floor space per bird inside the coop adequate, accompanied by 10 square feet of space in a run per bird. Unlike peafowl, it doesn't matter how big the run is, the chickens will be turning the entire thing to bare soil, which is one of the reasons most people don't keep both in the same pens. I literally attempted to keep 2 standard chickens in a 1200 foot pen and they systematically went about destroying everything they could get to.

Most layer feeds are 16% protein; most layer feeds are also /production/ layer feeds, meant to feed production breeds in a space where they get NO other feed except this. If you plan to feed anything other than layer feed to them, like treats or whole foods or scratch grains, then you need to find a higher protein feed for them, because most treats are lower protein than layer feed. Avoid anything produced by Purina or Dumor (which is purina but TSC brand), except MAYBE the organic dumor 5-grain scratch grain, it's well-known as one of the worst quality fowl feeds out there. Check out your local mill and see if they have any options that are better than the big box farm stores. Kalmbach makes good feeds, as does Belstra.

Possibly counterintuitive, but stick with a smaller waterer over a larger waterer. You can keep a larger one around for if you go away for the weekend or something to make it easier on a sitter, but a smaller waterer like a 5-quart or gallon waterer will be easier to clean and make sure that you're giving fresh water more often, plus avoiding mosquitoes growing in it. Waterers can slime up really easily in the summer, so just be prepared to give it a quick swish clean every time you change the water out. Smaller waterers also make it easier to give them medication if you have something that goes in the water, especially since a lot of the water medications are "make fresh daily." Personally I don't bother with heated water bases anymore in the winter, I just have enough waterers to exchange them for a fresh one a couple times daily, while the old one thaws inside the back door on some plastic. The galvanized ones you have to use with the heated bases always got gross fast, with rust and discoloration and the stopper in the bottom always dried out and eventually cracked over the summer when we weren't using them.

Try to avoid straw bedding unless you REALLY trust the source. Straw is mostly for livestock, not poultry. It cannot catch the droppings of poultry the way shavings or sand or other beddings do, meaning the wet gunk drops to the floor under it and/or collects into grossness. It also molds easily, can carry in field parasites (since it's not treated the way shavings are often kiln fired before packaging), and breaks down into shards. I'm not saying you can't ever use it for any reason (I use it in some fashion, and have for over a decade, but not exclusively, and I trust my source, we've never gotten mites or anything, and I'm very careful about which bales I pick out), but if you have a choice, go for the wood substrates, or even for sand. A lot of people put sand in their runs because they can then rake it like kitty litter.

Look into what plants chickens can't have, and check your yard over thoroughly for them before adding chickens. Things like lilac bushes are toxic to them. Tomato and potato plants are nightshades so while they can have the fruits, the leaves and stems can be toxic. Stuff like that.

Lastly.... if anyone ever makes a claim about what something does for a chicken (example: diatomaceous earth, apple cider vinegar, pumpkin seeds, oregano, red pepper flakes, lavender, etc are all things I've seen people claim do all sorts of things from worming birds to curing respiratory infections), ask them for their source. If it's a blog post, ask them for a scientific article. If they can't provide it and you can't find one that backs up what they're saying, maybe reconsider the value of that particular advice. The thing is, the BIG production companies are VERY invested in finding cheap or organic or tricky ways to do WHATEVER it is (treat endo/ectoparasites, treat illness, make bigger or more eggs, change egg yolk color, etc), and they pour money into trying to figure out which old wives tales actually work and which ones don't. And if they haven't been able to prove it to a point where they'll spend money on it as a solution, then chances are REALLY GOOD that it's not a solution at all actually.

Things like how to clean coops, what feeds to get, what items to use for care, where to source birds, behavioral information etc, that's all stuff you can ask advice on in general public spaces. You'll still get a range of answers, and some of them will be garbage answers, but hardly any of them will do harm to your animals to do or not do. Like, for example, you can use a big waterer or a small waterer, as long as it's clean. You can vary coop and run size and still be fine. You don't have to feed exactly what someone else is feeding for your birds to be fine. You're probably going to try a few breeds before you find the one(s) you like best.

But when it comes to medical info or any kind of "treatment" type stuff? Consult a vet and/or at least look for scientific papers.

And lastly.... chicken math is Real, yo. However many chickens you think you want to get, plan on having the space for double that amount so you don't gotta rebuild anything when you ultimately decide wait, you need a couple more. The bigger space won't hurt them if you don't get more, but it'll be so much easier on you if you do ;)

#chickens #asks

227 notes · View notes

ystrike1 · 4 months

Text

Love At First Bite! - By Mango Smoothie (7.5/10)

A dragon and a maid. Sounds like a classic, until you get to the child murder part. Yes, this particular dragon once vowed to kill a child. A blameless girl who accidentally absorbed some of his dragon power. He wants it back, and he will eat this poor child to get it. The girl grows up, and she becomes a palace maid to hide in plain sight.

Shenanigans ensue.

Celia is really, really, really unlucky.

She ate a fruit.

Said fruit was actually a growing bulb of dragon power, which was under the protection of Calix.

Calix is a great dragon. He is a God among men. The Imperial Family worships him, and they are also his puppets. The ruler of the land is always approved by him, and he lives in a fabulous palace with hundreds of servants.

Celia was a little girl with black hair. She dyes it and she goes deep into hiding. She trains to become a fine maid, and she is eventually hired by the castle owner who wants her dead.

She uses her position as maid to watch his movements. Calix is a busy godly figure. His missing fruit power isn't a huuuugggeee deal. He's just weaker when he's in heat without it. The absence of power also causes insomnia, but it's nothing deadly.

.....also it was going to make him the strongest dragon ever....haha...

Turns out Calix is a huge narcissist who hasn't heard the word no since the day he was hatched. The beauty of his human form can't hide the truth. The locals fear him and he's never satisfied, and at times he's sadistic.

He's an ungodly snotty nobleman with literal firepower.

He is an effective symbol of power.

He does his job well.

He's gorgeous.

He's an endlessly wealthy immortal beast.

He does have some positive points, but that's just his shell.

He's as sweet as candy underneath it all.

Celia becomes his Special Maid. Her presence cures his insomnia. It can also cure his heat but he figures that out later.

He falls in love with Celia ORGANICALLY.

(He thinks she loves him by the way. She lied. Don't judge.)

It's not because she smells good.

It's not just because she's special.

He likes her as a person and it shows.

He takes revenge for her immediately when she is abused.

Calix is a god and a tyrant, but he's never been in love, and he's verrrrrrrryyy soft and doting with his lover.

He is.....also a narcissist. He doesn't officially date Celia for a while. She becomes his lover in a whirlwind of confused yet overly passionate courting. Calix is too darn spoiled to know how to treat a woman. He's kind of insufferable.

He does take her out on a date.

She enjoys it.

There's consent.

Celia feels guilty. She thinks it's the essence. That's why he's attracted to her. She doubts herself. She feels awful for lying.....but he did literally say he plans to shred the girl who stole from him.

She's in a pickle.

Their relationship escalates. Calix gets confused, and possessive. He doesn't know what love is. He had no interest in children before, and he's already 600 years old.

Celia is genuinely charming, and you can see why he fell for her....but the misunderstanding gets old. We know he's not going to kill her. There's no tension.

The entire story becomes fluff.

A man named Eric flirts with her, and he decides to stake his claim. Calix literally awkwardly shoves himself between the two, and he says Celia isn't allowed to love anyone but him.

Calix mistakenly believes that Celia was watching him out of love since the beginning. Celia does develop real feelings, but Calix technically fell in love first. He mistook her terrified stalking for a crush.

She did lie to him alot, but in her defense he fell in love super quick.

It's pretty funny, but a little one note.

#If You Get Caught #you'll die #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #otome #isekai #otome isekai

184 notes · View notes

formulaforza · 5 months

Text

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—07. Homegrown —word count: 15.8k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... I don't really have much to say lol... just that I love this chapter and it got a little out of hand. I hope you love it like I do!

Chris takes a personal day at work on the Thursday Charles gets into Georgia. She wants to make sure she’s the one picking him up from the airport, doesn’t want to spend a single second longer than she needs to without seeing him, hugging him, kissing him.

His flight lands at 10:15, but by the time he gets through customs, baggage, and calls Chris three times after getting lost in the Atlanta airport, it’s 11:30. She finally finds him outside the Maynard Terminal, backpack slung over his shoulders, suitcase next to him. He looks so perfectly like a boyfriend, she thinks. “I can see you,” she says. “Do you see my car?”

“No,” he laughs, and it pours from the car speakers like sweet honey. “I don’t.”

“Okay, well, stay put, then. I’m coming to you.” She manages to make her way across two lanes to be right on the curb, and then he spots her, his whole expression taking shape when their eyes lock. She rolls her window down as he approaches, and slots the car into park. “Oh my god,” she giggles. “Is that Charles Leclerc?”

He rolls his eyes. “Open the trunk?”

“Charles Leclerc wants me to open the trunk?” She says, pushing the button on her door-panel to pop the hatch open.

“Charles Leclerc wants you,” he says, hoisting his suitcase up into the back of the car, tossing his backpack there, too. “Could have stopped there,” he chuckles, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She blushes, a cheek-aching smile still on her face. He slams the trunk shut and makes his way around the car, opening the passenger door. “Hi, pretty girl,” he properly greets her. “What’s this?” He asks.

Sitting there, on the passenger seat, is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, white roses, and white carnations for passion, new romance, and luck. Filler greens and red estelles for encouragement. Manilla and sheer white tissue paper wrap the flowers, a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around the stems. Next to it, is a matching envelope with his name scribbled in purple pen. Inside the envelope is a white greeting card with “just because” printed in simple, black lettering, a handwritten note from Chris on the inside.

Chris smiles. “They’re for you.”

“For me?” He asks, the hint of a giggle in his tone. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Chris shrugs, watches him carefully pick up the flowers and the card and climb into the car where he further examines them. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “I had to go with Hannah to the florist this morning.”

“No, it’s so cool. Nobody has ever gotten me flowers before.”

Chris frowns. “Never?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “my mum once, but that doesn’t count,” and then he starts to open the envelope, but Chris stops him.

“No, please,” she says, her hand covering his. “I can’t watch you read it, I’ll die.”

He laughs, “you’re so cute.”

Her face stays straight and solemn. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he sets the flowers and the card down securely between his feet. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

Chris can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. God, she feels like such a child. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to kiss you, now.”

“Okay,” she giggles. “You’re going to kiss me, now.”

His lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It’s like they hadn’t been apart at all, the way their mouths perfectly fit together. His hand finds her cheek, thumb moving carefully over her skin, letting her deepen the kiss. They let themselves just be for a few moments, to let everything else fade away and cling onto their perfect moment. “Seriously,” he says when they pull apart, and then he gives her another quick peck. “Thank you,” and then another on her forehead. “I missed you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” she nods. “Hungry. Very hungry. How are you?”

“Hungry, also.”

“How hungry?”

“Very.”

Chris nods, kisses him again, just because she can. Because she couldn’t for so many days. “I know a place, but it’s a surprise.”

It’s a twenty-three minute drive to Pig’n’Chik Barbeque in Northern Atlanta. Charles is visibly apprehensive of the little red building and the parking lot filled with the aroma of southern barbeque, but he keeps his commentary to himself. Chris knows it’s probably a little overkill, the hole-in-the wall joint being even a little too gimmicky for her taste, but that’s the whole point. The place is supposed to be gimmicky, while also being good. Chris used to love this place as a little kid—Bill would always take the kids there whenever they’d gone to the city. It was his favorite place then, and so it will always hold a place in her heart.

Charles holds open the door, a bell attached to it announcing their entrance, eliciting a greeting from the staff, a “Hey, guys! How’re you doing?”

“Good, thank you,” Chris smiles, moving through the restaurant towards the diner-style bar at the back. She holds her hand out behind her for Charles, turns to tell him: “You might not have been able to get a seat at your sushi bar, but I can get us up at the Pig’n’Chik bar,” she laughs.

Charles matches her laugh, a playful eye roll and the shake of his head before they’re sitting down on the red leather barstools.

She’s telling him before they even have the menus in front of them what they need to order; fried pickles to split, lemonade to drink because it’s not pig’n’chik without their lemonade. She’s going to order the shrimp and grits and he absolutely needs to have the catfish.

When he cocks his head at the idea of… eating… catfish… she tells him he’s not allowed to look it up, and that he also has to trust her. “It’s the best thing on the menu,” she says.

Charles quirks a brow. “Then why aren’t you eating it?”

“Because the hushpuppies will kill me,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Honestly, you probably shouldn’t eat them, either.” The grease that comes along with eating a deep-fried batter ball isn’t good for anyone’s system, especially not someone who isn’t used to this kind of food. The last thing she needs this weekend is a boyfriend who can’t be more than three feet from a bathroom.

It’s an hour and a half, at least, until they’re pulling into what Chris affectionately calls her “driveway.” Charles thinks that anyone else would more likely call it a dirt road. A trail, even, that turns into a driveway after the trees clear and you can actually see the house.

“This is all yours?” he asks, swears her yard is the size of his apartment lobby.

She nods. “I mean, it’s mostly trees, but, yeah.”

He’s taken on a tour of the old-style farmhouse, which, by the way, is so incredibly her you’d think the place was built for her—lots of beadboard, all this delicate woodworking that a FaceTime call has never been able to do justice. Thick glass windows with the frame painted over, no central heating or cooling, a couple window air conditioners and old radiators to boot. The most like her, though, is the back porch. It’s screened in, has a creek to the floor that the dusty, antique rugs can only attempt to muffle. There’s two couches that couldn’t match less, but still somehow go with each other, both cozy with throw pillows and cushions and warmth. The whole place smells like her, sounds like her, feels like her. He’s immediately comfortable.

Chris and Charles spend most of their afternoon trying to plan out their evening. Starting tomorrow morning, their weekend is on a strict schedule, so they want to make the most of their free time tonight before their dinner with her family. They want to make the most of it so badly that they can’t decide on anything at all, and end up falling asleep on her living room couch.

When Chris’ alarm goes off—the one she’d set the first time she caught herself dozing off, realizing Charles was already passed out next to her—they grumpily get ready to head over to her parents’ house. It’s then, while Charles navigates around Chris and the countertop of her makeup, that she tells him all about Thanksgiving, about her mom pointing out the hickey, and she offers up a warning. “They’re going to pretend they hate you for like, half an hour,” she tells him. “Pretend you’re intimidated.”

“And…” Charles begins, running gelled fingers through his hair. “What if they actually don’t like me?”

“My mom likes everyone,” she says, gestures away at his words. “And my Dad, well, you’ve already met him. He liked you good enough then.”

“He liked me enough to talk to me for ten minutes,” Charles counters. “That doesn’t mean he liked me enough to date his daughter.”

Chris smiles in the mirror, carefully applying her lipstick. “Lucky for you,” she says, “he doesn’t get a say.”

– – –

His leg bounces for the entirety of the ten-minute drive, so much so that at a stop light he can feel how much he shakes the car. Despite that, he doesn’t realize just how nervous he is until they’re in the driveway—which is just as long and trail-like as Chris’ is. Their house is bigger, though. Much bigger.

His palms are clammy, and he wipes them off on his jeans—should he have worn something nicer than jeans? Jeans are really all he brought besides clothes for the wedding, for sleeping, for working out in. Jeans are fine. Jeans are good. Their driveway is a dirt road, jeans are good.

“Relax,” Chris says, trying (and failing) to hold back a little chuckle. “It’s not that serious.” He rolls his eyes because it quite literally is that serious. You only get one chance to make a first impression on your girlfriend’s parents, and when your girlfriend is as close to their family as Chris is, it’s an impression you’d really rather not screw the fuck up. “And the longer we sit here, the longer they’re going to watch from the kitchen window.”

With a deep breath, he climbs out of the car, walks up the rest of the drive and onto the porch a pace behind Chris. She raises her hand to knock twice, turning the doorknob and letting herself in before anyone could even attempt to answer the knock. He steps in behind her, into a wallpapered entryway with a tall table full of keys and pictures and discarded mail on one side, and a wooden bench with tan throw pillows on the other side. “Mom! Dad! We’re here!” She shouts into the house.

A woman’s voice calls back, “in the kitchen! Dad’s upstairs in the office.”

Chris slips off her shoes and Charles follows suit, slotting them under the wooden bench next to hers. He hadn’t worn a coat, but she ducks into a hall closet to hang hers up. He’d worn a sweatshirt over a t-shirt, and he’s pretty sure he’d already sweat through the t-shirt.

He thinks he could smell his way to the kitchen, the way the scent of the home cooked dinner fills the entire house. He follows behind Chris like a lost puppy into the kitchen, and as soon as she turns the corner and walks through the archway, she’s being greeted by her mom, wrapped into an oven-mitt clad hug. He gets a perfect view of her mom, gaze slotted over Chris’ shoulder. She’s not so scary, he thinks. He can recognize more than one of Chris’ features on her face—in the way she smiles and the shape of her eyes, too. That’s where her smile comes from, and her eyes, too.

Over her shoulder, Chris’ mom opens her eyes, waves a bangle-bracelet clad, oven-mitt covered hand in his direction. Charles steps fully into the kitchen, determined to make a good first impression. “And I take it this,” her mom says, pulling away from the hug, “is the charming gentleman you’ve been telling me nothing about?”

Chris laughs, catching his eyes when she says: “Yes, Mom, this is Charles. Charles, this is my mom, Cindy.”

“Hi,” Charles offers a handshake. His friends had reminded him—briefed him, basically—that Americans are fond of their personal space, and he figures if Chris is right, and they are going to be playing the intimidation game with him, there’s no chance he’s getting anything more than a—

“Oh, please,” Cindy laughs, swatting his hand out of the way. “We hug in this family,” and he’s already being pulled in. His surprised eyes catch Chris’, who looks back at him with an oh, my God. I’m so sorry, glance, which makes him chuckle. If this is what pretending not to like him looks like, he’d hate to see what actually liking him is all about. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he hums, finally pulling away from the hug. “I have heard so much about you.”

“I can’t say the same,” Cindy laughs pointedly at Chris. “But what I have heard has all been good.”

“Well, anything you want to know, I came tonight with my life story ready.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Cindy nods. “Her dad’ll like that a lot.”

“Mama, where’s Beans?” Chris asks, and before he knows it he’s following her out into the backyard for the introduction that he knows is actually the most important. As they stepped onto the lush, green grass, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. In the corner of the yard, the aforementioned Beans, a friendly Golden Retriever, lays beneath the growing shade of an old oak tree. The fur around his snout is a distinguished shade of white, and he looks up with wise, kind eyes as Chris approaches, his tail shaking slowly at her presence.

“Here he is, my Beanie Baby,” Chris says with affectionate enthusiasm, crouching down to stroke the dog’s ears. He follows suit, squatting down beside her. “Beanie, this is Charles.”

Charles approaches cautiously, fully aware of just how important this introduction was. He extends his hand, letting Beans sniff it gently. The elderly Golden accepts the gesture, the pace of his tail wagging picking up speed. “Hey Beans,” Charles said softly, voice warm. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Beans responds with a content sigh, his old eyes conveying the years of love and happiness he’s had in this very yard. He leans into Charles’ touch, relishing in the attention.

Chris laughs, “I think he likes you. He’s a bit slower these days, but he’s still the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet.”

After much convincing, and the promise (and fulfillment) of several treat bribes, they’re able to convince Beans to come back into the house, where he curls up on his bed with his milkbones.

Chris’ dad, who joins everyone else downstairs ten minutes later, pops into the dining room while Chris and Charles are setting the table. Chris looks up in the direction of his footsteps with that radiant smile, warm eyes, like always. “Hi, Dad,” she says, her voice drenched in affection.

“Mums,” the man smiles softly, greeting her with open arms and a gentle hug.

“You remember Charles,” she says, and he steps forward, leaving the silverware settings on the tablecloth. Charles extends his hand first, is met with Bill’s firm, heavy handshake.

“Mr. Elliott, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His voice is stiff, polite, but there’s still a touch of earnestness that betrays his nerves. “Thank you for having me, I’ve heard a lot about you and your family.”

“Now, son, if I’m bein’ completely honest with you. I never thought I was gonna see you again after Texas. I wasn’t feelin’ you out the way I should’a been, if you know what I mean?”

Charles nods, even though he thinks he picked up about seventy-five percent of what was said. “Yes, sir.” He thinks he’d probably answer any question thrown his way, if it meant when he left tonight it was in her parents’ good graces.

Her parents, Bill especially, do maintain their intimidating presence for just as long as Chris says they will. Sat at the dinner table with all of them, next to Chris and across from Cindy and Bill, he can’t help but feel the weight of the situation as they all eat.

“So, Charles,” Bill says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of wine. They’re all nursing glasses of wine, even Charles, who despite never having been particularly fond of the drink, was too scared to say no when Cindy offered. He’d glared daggers at Chris to keep her from speaking up. “Monaco, right?”

Charles nods. “That’s right.”

“A racecar driver from the rich and famous’ playground,” Bill continued. His voice is low and inquisitive. “I’m sure you can see why I might be a lil’...” he chuckles, “worried about you.”

Next to him, Chris cocks her head defensively, leans forward in her seat. “What are you trying to imply, Dad?” Charles unconsciously moves his hand to her lower back in an attempt to reassure her silently. He knows why Bill’s asking questions like this, he knows the reputation certain aspects of his life carry with them. It does put a butterfly or two in his stomach that she’s so eager to jump to his defense, though.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just quite the party lifestyle you live, isn’t it, Charles?”

“I don’t know if I would say that,” Charles laughs awkwardly. Chris takes a big sip of her wine, leans back in her chair again. He moves his hand from her back to her leg, where she interlocks it with her own under the table. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll go out with my friends when I’m in town, or we have something to celebrate, but… I’ve honestly become more of a home person these last years.”

Bill raises his brows, takes another bite of his food. “Really?” Charles nods. “That must be difficult, son, all the traveling you do. Alotta’ people in alotta’ cities. How d’ya handle that?”

Charles smiles, fully aware that Bill is just attempting to gauge his character. “It can be lonely at times, but I'm committed to a steady relationship. I like to think I’ve learned to balance my racing career and my personal life.”

“A steady relationship with our daughter.”

Chris squeezes his hand, he squeezes back, smiles softly. “A steady, committed relationship with your daughter, yes.”

Cindy takes a sip of her wine, smiles into the red liquid. She seems satisfied. Bill, not so much. “And what is it that you like most about her?” He asks.

“Dad,” Chris laughs pointedly at her father, a hint of disbelief in the action. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Charles,” Cindy interrupts with an awkward chuckle, an attempt to keep the peace before Chris lunges over the table at her dad. Charles isn’t offended by the question, so he wonders if maybe Cindy is apologizing to Chris more than she is to Charles. “He doesn’t mean to come off so investigative. Chris is just our baby, everyone has always looked out for her.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he nods, takes a bite of food. “As for the question nobody wants you to ask me,” he looks to Bill, remnants of his food still in his mouth. He speaks with the napkin over his lips. “It’s hard to even find a place to start with that, right? I mean, she…” he glances to Chris, finds that she’s already listening to him intently. He smiles, “you are an incredible person,” and he has to look away, because if he keeps going while staring into her brown eyes, he’s going to be as red as a tomato, completely and utterly smitten. “If you really want me to pick something, I guess I would say her kindness, and I’m sure you’re both familiar enough with her heart that I don’t need to ramble on about how lucky I am to have her in my life.”

Chris sinks in her seat, finishes off what’s left of her wine. “Well, now that I’m properly embarrassed for the rest of my life.”

Cindy laughs. “Oh, Chrissy, I haven’t even gotten the baby pictures out yet.” Chris turns to bury herself in Charles’ arm. He can feel how warm her face is through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and it makes him laugh.

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles.

Charles’ ears perk up. “There’s baby pictures?”

Chris nods against his arm. “She’s a scrapbooker.”

He’s so boggled by the way that they can just switch up after that, the way that they stop trying to intimidate him and welcome him with open arms. He thinks that his Mum could never, that she knows within the first thirty seconds of meeting someone if she likes them or not. When it comes to Pascale Leclerc, you’re forever categorized by her first impression. He didn’t tell Chris that, because he didn’t want to worry her more than she already was in her sweats and messy-hair in Abu Dhabi.

After the meal had been cleaned up, the four of them sat comfortably in the living room of Chris’ childhood home. Their home is so nice, so warm and welcoming. He wonders if it’s always been such a comfortable place.

Chris is sprawled out on the corner-seat of the sectional couch, Beans taking up the seat next to her, his head in her lap while she pets him mindlessly. Charles sits on the floor, back to the corner cushion, legs outstretched in front of him under the coffee table. Bill is in the recliner in the corner, working his way through a newspaper crossword puzzle, half-dozing off every ten minutes.

Cindy carries a cardboard box down the stairs, sets it down on the coffee table in the middle of the family room. It’s full to the brim with worn, leather-bound scrapbooks, with Christyn Claire neatly written on the side of the box. She sits down on the floor next to him. Carefully, she pulls one out and gently sets it on the table, brushing the dust off the black leather cover.

Charles watches as she flips open the pages, each one filled with their own vibrant photos, handwritten notes, and little trinkets that tell a story of young Chris. Charles can’t help the smile on his face when he sees the images of her in every stage of life, from a curious toddler with messy, curly pigtails to a teenager with the same smile he can’t get enough of.

Cindy’s eyes sparkle with pride, and she has an anecdote for each and every photo. He’s captivated by it, not just the snapshots, but also the obvious love Cindy carries for her daughter.

“This is Chrissy on the first day of school,” She explained, pointing to a picture of a young girl with a backpack almost as big as herself. “She was so excited to learn, has always been eager to take on new challenges.” Charles nods, hangs onto every word she says. “She’s always been a quick learner, even then.”

Cindy continues to flip through the pages, her and Charles silently sharing in knowing smiles at photos they both know Chris would find particularly embarrassing, making sure she doesn’t catch onto their shared moment from her seat on the couch. Cindy reveals photos from family vacations, birthdays, and school events. Her tales of Chris’ adventures—combined with Chris’ personal renditions added in—make for quite a delightful, and humorous, evening.

“Ah, this one,” Cindy chuckles as she turns the page, revealing a picture of a grinning Chris covered head to toe in colorful paint. “We had an art day in the backyard, and Chrissy decided she'd rather paint herself than the paper.”

He laughed along, felt like he was growing more and more connected to Chris and her family with every shared memory. Part of him wonders if this is still a part of the protective parent act. If it is, it’s definitely doing its job. You can’t be mean to someone when you look at them and imagine the tiny version of them playing dress-up in a princess themed bedroom, or helping wash Dad’s car, or taking a nap at the beach on a mermaid towel. He should get a few baby pictures from his mom, he thinks. To show them to Chris, just so that she isn’t allowed to hurt him.

“She’s always had a big heart,” Cindy said, her smile warm. “Her friends were like extended family,” she continues, pointing out a picture of Chris and several other little children. She points to a blonde, “You’ve met Hannah, right?”

“We’re going there, next, Ma,” Chris interjects.

“Oh, well. This is her when she was five. I think Chris invited her to spend the night for weeks at a time.”

Charles nods, everything he knows about her, the way that she makes friends with anyone she interacts with, it all tracks, can all be seen in these pictures. He thinks that he could sit on the floor all night and go through every single picture in every single scrapbook, and still wouldn’t have enough, wouldn’t know enough about her.

– – –

They leave the Elliott’s house a little after nine, and the air outside is cooler, now, the day fully transitioned into night. Charles sits in the passenger seat, eyeing Chris’ ability to perfectly maintain a speed two under the limit, and the way that she flipped her brights on everytime another car wasn’t cruising down the road. It seemed like this entire town was half-covered in wooded areas, so he supposes it’s better to keep an eye out for any wild animals. The warmth of the evening experience with her parents still radiates through him, but their conversation is now focused on their next destination; Chase and Hannah’s house.

Chris, in the driver’s seat, is more animated than ever. She was preparing him carefully for the meeting, the anticipation of how her best friend and brother would perceive him hung in the air. She explained on the drive from the airport earlier that day that she’d “promised Hannah she would meet you before the wedding.”

As they rolled to a stop at a red light, Charles cast a quick glance over to her, feeling the weight of her guidance. “What should I know about them? Any advice on how to impress them?”

“Gosh,” she’d said, “I don’t know. Hannah’s easy. Chase is weird, but, just talk about cars or something. He really likes, um,” she pauses. “He races with you… from Australia, I think.”

Charles mulled over the comment, committing it to memory. There’s only one Australian he can think of racing against. “Daniel?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Daniel Ricciardo. He really likes him.”

Charles absorbs the information, realizing that Daniel would serve as an excellent conversation starter about racing. The light turns green, and she checks the intersection for a comically long amount of time before proceeding. He does everything he can not to laugh, and is hit with a sudden wave of gratitude towards the way he’s been wholly and completely welcomed into her life like this. The night of endless nerves aside, the excitement of learning all the chapters of her life that predate him is something he isn’t going to take for granted.

– – –

They arrive at Chase and Hannah’s house for a relatively relaxed night in, greeted by the warm glow of a bonfire crackling in the backyard. The air was filled with the smokey scent of burning wood, and the soft lull of a country song pouring from a speaker.

“Hi!” Hannah calls before the couple is even halfway through the back gate. “Hi, Hi, Hi, oh my gosh!” she squeals, hurrying over to the gate to greet them. “It’s about fucking time,” she adds, pulling Chris into a tight hug. You’d think it was the first time they’d seen each other in weeks, but Charles knew they were together just that morning. “And you,” the blonde continues, “must be Charles. Unlike everyone else around here, I’ve actually heard a lot about you,” she laughs.

He laughs too, accepts her open-arms for a hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“William Chase,” Hannah calls to the man standing over the fire, a stoker stick in one hand, a glass beer bottle in the other. His head shoots up from the embers when he’s called. He holds his beer up as a welcoming gesture, but Hannah isn’t satisfied. “Get over here!”

He meets them halfway through the yard, in a part that’s unlit by either the house lights or the glow of the fire. “Hey,” Chase says with a relaxed smile, pulling Chris into a side hug, and then approaching Charles with an outstretched hand. “You must be Charles,” he says, the two exchanging a laid-back handshake before pulling each other into a bro-hug. “It’s good to meet you, man. You want a beer or something?”

“I can get it myself,” Charles assures, “just tell me where they are.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hannah scoffs, “You’re a guest,” she insists, and it is already halfway up the steps of the back porch. “You want one, too, Chris?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Chris smiles, her hand finding his in the space between their bodies, interlocking their fingers and pulling him over to the fire Chase has already returned to.

Chris and Charles find a cozy spot on the porch swing that sits in front of the firepit, a shared bench that seemed to be the ideal medium between two chairs and sitting on top of each other, perfect for family introductions. They sit side by side, thighs brushing against each other, his arm around her nursing his beer. Charles keeps the swing moving with his feet, but Chris has one leg crossed over the other, the base of her beer bottle leaving a darkened ring of condensation on her jeans everytime she picks it up.

“You want another one, Chris?” Chase asks, shaking his empty beer bottle by its neck when he heads back inside for another round, and per Hannah’s request, to check on Reid.

“I’m okay,” Chris smiles. She’s turned fully sideways, now, her back resting against his shoulder, both legs off the ground and onto the other end of the bench. “I’m driving home,” and then she cranes her neck to look at him. “Do you want another?”

“No,” he says, because he’s pretty sure he can already feel her dozing off while they swing, is almost certain it’s going to end up being him driving back to her place tonight. “Thank you, though,” and then he kisses the top of her head, pulls his arm out from under her body weight to wrap around her front lazily. She adjusts to his adjustment, leans into him and finds a comfortable curve in his chest.

Even among the scent of wood and fresh cut grass and smoke, he’s found himself in the perfect position to smell her hair without even trying. He thinks he’s finally nailed her shampoo, coconut and rose, he’s almost sure of it.

“Mate, Chris was telling me you’re a Daniel Ricciardo fan?” Charles asks, looking for a way to break the ice into a more active conversation, utilizing the very few tools he has at his disposal. Chase and Hannah seem both way lower-stress than Bill and Cindy did, but he'd still like to leave tonight knowing he made a good impression. Or, at least leave knowing he tried his hardest to make one.

“Yeah, man. We actually started racing at COTA in 2020, and Renault and Daniel did this thing with our team, gave me a little good-luck message and stuff. It was real cool. I’ve been a fan of him since.”

Surprised, and trying to find common ground, Charles asks: “Do you follow Formula One?”

“You know, I tried after the whole Daniel thing, but,” he shrugs nonchalantly, takes another swig of his beer and leans back in his seat. “Honestly, all respect, but there’s just nothing quite like the roar of a stock car at Daytona for me. It’s like thunder, man.”

Charles nodded, an eager grin on his face. He doesn’t know much about NASCAR, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t study up on it during the flight over. “The sound of those engines at full throttle must be crazy. It’s V8’s, right?”

“Yeah, V8. What are y’all running? Isn’t it hybrids?”

“Yes,” Charles laughs. “They’re crazy with the engineering. Basically, you have a turbo V6 combined with energy recovery systems… it all helps keep us lightweight.”

“That’s another thing that blows my mind, how light your cars are! I know you pull crazy downforce, but I swear it’s a totally different game on an oval, dude. Our cars are like, thirty-three hundo.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. He knew they were heavier, but that’s like… it’s more than double, he thinks, or has to be close to it “Oh, my God!” He laughs, taking another sip of his beer. Chris chuckles, too—he feels it in his chest. He also feels the nonsensical shapes and patterns that she traces over his sweatshirt sleeve while he talks, the way she seems completely lost in toying with the fabric.

“I know, you guys got fuckin’ feathers compared to us!” Chase gins, joining in on the laughter.

Charles leans forwards a bit, and when he does it, Chris adjusts her positioning. She’s somehow managed to slide gracefully down until she was curled up on the wooden bench, resting on her side with her head on his tights. She’d found a makeshift pillow in his lap, and he couldn’t mind it less. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he says, checking his watch so that when Chris asks him later tonight ‘when did I fall asleep?’ he can give her a proper answer. “We are all about precision, crazy aero packages. It’s not just about speed and downforce, it has to be managed so perfectly.”

“There ain’t no time for precision when you’re wheel-to-wheel at Talladega. It’s all about survival. We’re out there swapping paint and shit. Bumping and drafting are all a part of the game.”

“How crazy is that?” He questions, even though he doesn’t have more than an educated guess as to what drafting is. “The way the air affects your car when you’re always that close?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t notice it all that much because I’m so used to it, but yeah. We’re always pushing the limits, especially in the high-banked ovals. Drafting is both your best friend and your worst enemy.”

“Drafting, mate,” he peruses, taking a shot in the dark when he says: “that’s like getting the slipstream, no?”

“Exactly, yeah,” Chase nods. “All drag reduction shit.”

“It’s crazy, when we’re wheel-to-wheel, we’ll do about anything not to make contact”

“It’s ‘cause your shit weighs ten pounds,” Chase laughs. “It’ll fly away if there’s any contact.”

They go on like that for some time, comparing technicalities. There are few things Charles appreciates more in life than actually getting to sit down and talk racing with someone—true, technical, perfectionist racing. There’s no investigating what the problem with this year’s car is, or what he hopes happens next season. It’s just… how they work. How different formula racing is from stock cars. He feels like this is something he can actually talk about, a conversation he knows he can contribute knowledge to.

“Riveting stuff, boys, really,” Hannah finally interjects, sitting down into her camping chair. Charles hadn’t even noticed she’d left, but here she was popping the bottle cap off another beer, taking a big swig. “You put Chris to sleep and I’m on my fucking way.”

Charles stills, his movements suddenly gentler as he tries to crane his neck to see her face. “She’s asleep?” He asks, half-whispered.

Hannah nods, and Chase chuckles, “Dude, she’s been out cold for like half an hour.”

He smiles down at her, shaking his head, and then checks his watch again. 10:36pm, she didn’t even make it an hour and a half, poor girl. Charles brushes her hair out of her face and carries on with the conversation. His mind is completely absent to the fact that his fingers continue their exploration of her hair, a natural masterpiece of unruly waves. Each strand has its own rhythm, defying any form of order. The curls become even more pronounced as they cascade toward the nape of her neck, dancing freely with the erratic breeze.

At the root of her bangs, there’s a stubborn cowlick, and one side of her face-framing cut has a mind of its own, constantly threatening to tumble into her eyes. Amidst all that delightful chaos, small, intricate braids intermingle with the curls, held together with tiny brown elastics. His touch is reverent as he selects one, playfully twisting it around his finger while he speaks.

With painstaking care, he slides the elastic from the braid, and doesn't miss a beat in conversation with Hannah and Chase as he carefully unravels it. Their words dance in the air around him, and by the time he becomes cognizant of his actions, he’s on the last little braid.

When it’s time to turn in for the evening, when the conversations are more yawns than actual questions, Charles wakes Chris up softly. He runs his hand up and down her upper arm slowly, squeezes her elbow to coax the sleep from her heavy eyes. “Baby,” he hums softly.

Chris stirs with a groan, sits up and stares back at him with empty eyes, like she has no clue what year it is. He bites back a smile at the state of her, raises his brows and waits for her to say something, to scold him grumpily for waking her up. Chris Elliott is a force to be reckoned with when she’s woken up, and it’s something you only have to witness once to be scared of ever seeing again. She doesn’t scold, though.

Instead, a soft smile pulls on the corner of her lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles back. She’s already leaning against the far armrest of the swing, curling up into the corner like she’s going to go back to sleep. She probably will, it’s been far too easy to wake her up. His hand finds her knee, thumb rubbing circles along the denim fabric. “Are you ready to go home?”

She nods, but her eyes are already closed again. Chase is already dousing the fire with water. Hannah’s already inside cleaning up. Charles opts to leave her there, sweet and peaceful, while he collects her things from inside.

It’s the first time he’s been in the house, and it's just as ambient as the backyard is. The warm glow of the dimmed lights accentuate the charm of their modern-farmhouse decor; wooden shelves bathed in the soft radiance, full of potted succulents, framed photographs, and small artworks that offer a glimpse into their lives. Large, strategically placed windows allowed for a gentle cascade of moonlight to slow, making the entire place feel calm and serene.

Chris has been wearing a pair of Hannah’s slippers since she went inside for the first time, so the first thing he looks for is her shoes. He finds them in the entryway, just outside the door, and finds her keys on a small table there, too. Her phone is on the kitchen counter, the purple silicone case practically glowing against the black granite countertops and pristine white cabinetry. In the living room, he notices a little figure lying on the couch—Reid, he assumes, lies nestled under a Cars blanket, a scene of pure childhood innocence set against the backdrop of grown-up sophistication. The entire room excludes warmth, thanks to an oversized gray sofa and a plush rug, all enhanced by the dull LCD of the quiet television and subtle nighttime lighting. Behind a throw pillow on the same couch, he finally uncovers her purse, carefully slipping it out so as to not disturb the sleeping child.

“It’s not worth the fight sometimes,” Hannah explains, but Charles didn’t need one. He remembers the age of begging to have a sleepover on the living room couch, to stay out past his bedtime and watch shows on the big television. It was the highlight of his weekends, sometimes.

“He’s adorable,” Charles says. “I love the blanket.”

Hannah chuckles softly, crossing her arms over each other to hug her small frame. “It’s his favorite movie,” she shrugs. “Wants to be just like his dad.”

He puts all of her things in the car before he even attempts at getting her into the car. Everything is neatly put into a place, her address typed into his GPS by Hannah and plugged into the aux on the radio, and she still sleeps on the swing.

His humor buoyed by the absurdity of the situation, Charles decided to start with the slippers. He gently slid them off her feet, one by one, and handed them over to Chase, who watched on with the bemusement of an audience at a comedy show. With a soft, nearly conspiratorial tone, Charles whispers: “Chris, baby,” planting a tender kiss on her forehead.

In response, she produces a mumbling symphony of incoherent sounds. “That’s not French, mon amour,” he chides playfully, prompting a breathy laugh from her lips. His aim is to keep her here, to prolong that delicate state of semi-sleep where she tattered between slumber and annoyance. “Let’s go home, yes?” he inquired.

Chris, in her hazy state, offered a subtle nod. Charles grinned, heart painfully warm, and said, “Could you help me out?”

In response, she obligingly wraps her arms around his neck, and he effortlessly hoists her into his arms, carrying her in a bridal-style embrace. He guides her to the waiting car with gentle steps, Chase strolling alongside them to open the car door. She stirs when he sets her in the seat, fastening her seatbelt.

Chase shuts the door and the two of them exchange a classic, old-as-time bro-handshake-goodbye, a silent acknowledgement of both their meeting today and their future introductions all weekend long.

It’s not until they’re at her house, the soft purr of the engine falling silent as he properly parked in the driveway, that she’s really awake. Her sleepy eyes flutter open with the automatic cab lights.

He moves swiftly, circling the car quickly to open the door for her. As she grumpily emerges from the car, he gives her an encouraging smile. “Go get ‘em, killer.” he playfully whispers, his hands working against her shoulders. She meets him with a death-glare he could never possibly be afraid of.

Chuckling, he plucks her phone from the passenger seat, locks the car before following her up the driveway.

The journey inside concludes shortly in her room. Chris has an early morning ahead, and a late night, too. Charles marvels at the resilience; doesn’t know how she’ll manage tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. As she settles in under the comforter, he can’t help but watch her for a moment, all sweet and sleepy and beautiful, like always.

Soon enough, the exhaustion creeps up on him, too, and he finally succumbs to sleep’s gentle embrace, entwined with the woman he finds himself cherishing more with what feels like each passing breath.

– – –

He wakes up when the soft chimes of her alarm break through the morning darkness. The dim glow of the clock on the nightstand reads 6:30 am, and it was clear that daylight has yet to pierce the veil of a southern winter outside.

He can’t help but appreciate her attempts to tiptoe through her morning routine. The effort is commendable, really, but the old, creaky wooden floors and the protesting door dram betray her intentions. He doesn’t mind, though—How could he? Any moment with her, even early morning ones where she bustles around the space, is better than a moment without.

Lying in the cozy bed—which, by the way, her bed is so fucking comfortable, he allows himself to fully wake up, knows that her morning rituals would be far more entertaining than any dream he could have cocooned in sleep.

His sleepy gaze watches her as she moves through the bedroom gracefully, her face illuminated by the soft glow of dawn creeping in from the curtains. He smiles at the little sounds and routines that make up her life, the ones he never gets to see, to savor. Watching her move about is a special kind of beauty, one that makes him feel lucky, insanely so, to experience a life with her in it.

Leaving the comfort of the bed, he ventures out into the kitchen. He knew she had an early start, a long day away from him, and he was determined to steal every extra moment they could share.

She’s finishing her lunch, packing it into her backpack when he sneaks up behind her, snaking his arms around her middle and hugging her from behind. “Hi,” she laughs, turning around in his arms to face him properly.

He gives her a kiss and her lips taste like her morning coffee. He marvels at the ease with which she can make someone’s day—make his day.

She grins, and there is a special kind of mischief in her eyes when she playfully warns him: “Promise you won’t get lost in the woods and eaten by a bear today,” she says, and then, because she can’t help but add it, “At least wait until I’m there to witness it.”

With a chuckle, he teases, “I can always outrun you, they say you only have to be faster than the other guy.”

Her laughter bubbles out, filling the room, and his chest, with warmth. “You wouldn’t let me get eaten by a bear,” she replies.

He pauses for a minute, then playfully concedes, “Well, I might.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

– – –

After she left work, he found himself helpless in the war against sleep. What was the point if she wasn’t around to keep him up? If nothing was around to keep him up? It was almost eight o’clock before he finally got up for the day, feeling refreshed and ready for yet another evening of introductions.

His breakfast consists of a simple serving of toast, nothing anywhere near extravagant, but enough to stave off his hunger. Not to mention, he’d rather not make a mess in her house with the very first thing he does all day.

After breakfast, he heads out for a run, decides he’s going to try and navigate his way around without getting lost. He fails, miserably, because it seems like everywhere he looks has the same landmarks—trees, trees, and more trees. The cool air is invigorating, though, and the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement keeps his mind clear, gives him a certain appreciation for the fact that he doesn’t have to keep his eyes and ears open for anyone who might be watching him. No, here it’s just him, just Charles. There’s nothing special about it, which is what makes it so fucking special.

Returning home—to her home—he enjoys a shower that washes away the cold sweat of the run. Dressed and ready, he ponders his plans for the rest of his day. It’s hours still until Chris is home and the festivities really kick off.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes, Chase’s name popping up on the Caller ID. Hannah had insisted on him exchanging numbers with both of them the night earlier. Just in case Chris decides to fuck off to another country again without telling us, she’d said.

He answers, listens to Chase’s offer to join in on a round of 9 holes with him and Bill, considers it for only a moment, and accepts enthusiastically. He’s in the passenger seat of Chase’s truck within the half-hour.

“Survived the dragon, I see?” Chase greets Charles with a smile, clearly still amused over the previous night’s encounter.

Charles chuckles. “Just barely.”

– – –

The day was pristine for golf, with a brilliant blue sky overhead and a gentle breeze. Charles has played at some pretty impressive courses around the world, but something about this one felt special. The green really wasn’t all the lush, and the views weren’t outstandingly picturesque, but. But, there was something that felt so special about it.

Bill, the most experienced of them, begins the round with an expertly executed swing that has Charles chuckling under his breath. His ball soars through the air, landing with pinpoint accuracy in the fairway. Chase follows with a powerful drive that seems to only gain momentum as it sails. It gracefully lands not far from Bill’s.

Charles takes his stance, feels a bit like a circus clown amidst his partners, but steadies himself nonetheless. He draws the club back, manages a swing with a surprising degree of finesse. The ball leaps from the tee and manages an astonishingly straight shot that lands in a… respectable position. He’s not too far off Bill and Chase.

Charles would never call himself a golfer, but he’s grateful for Chase and Bill’s attitude—the way they are constantly pretending he’s better than he is, blaming any mistakes (he has a beach full of sand in his shoes from all the traps) on the fact he’s rented his clubs from the course.

As they stroll down the lush, sunlit fairway on one of the holes, Charles decides he’s brave enough to start a conversation, rather than just participate in one. He turns to Chase as he addresses the only topic he can think of. “So, tomorrow’s the big day, huh? You’re feeling good?”

Chase grinned, golf club slung casually over his shoulder. “Dude, more than anything. I’ve been trying to marry Hannah for a long time. I’m lucky, you know.”

Bill nodded, “Y’all are all but by now.”

“Anything specific you’re excited for?” Charles questions, can’t help but be curious about the details. “Or just a big ball of excited?”

Chase chuckles. “I’m really looking forward to the ceremony. The moment I see her walking down the aisle, it’s gonna be somethin’ else.”

Charles smiles. He wasn’t expecting such a romantic answer, not given what he’s experienced from Chase up to this point. His answer feels more like something you tell your closest friends, not your little sister’s boyfriend you’d just met for the first time the night before. “How about the holiday? Any special plans?”

Chase’s eyes lit up into a laugh. “Ah, the honeymoon. Yeah, we’re going somewhere… sometime. I don’t know, it’s not at the top of our list of things to get done.”

“All I know, Son,” Bill, whose been quiet for what feels like some time now, offers up some wisdom, “Tomorrow’s gonna be real overwhelmin’, but remember it’s your day. Savor all of it.”

Chase nods in agreement, “Don’t worry, Pops,” he chuckles, pats Bill on the shoulder, “I’ll savor it all.”

“And if you get nervous,” Charles laughs, “feel free to let it mess you up out here,” he says, gesturing to the fairway. The whole trio shares a laugh, but Charles seriously wouldn’t mind if the other two suddenly forgot how to golf.

With Chase excusing himself to meet up with Hannah at the rehearsal dinner venue, Charles is left with just Bill, the pair heading up to the country club’s restaurant for a late lunch. The ambiance inside is refined, and they sit next to big floor-to-ceiling windows that offer views of the manicured greens and vast wooded area they’re situated inside.

As they settle into their table, Charles takes a sip of his water, wiping the condensation from his hand on the side of his pants. He can feel the weight of the conversation that’s likely to follow—there’s no Cindy or Chris around to keep him in check like there was last night.

Bill, cutting right to the chase, speaks in a casual tone. “So, Charles, how’re you finding our little corner of Georgia? I reckon it’s awful different from Monaco.”

Charles smiled, appreciating the comfortability of his voice. Maybe Chris was right, he was getting himself worked up yesterday over nothing. “It’s different, for sure,” he laughs. “Home is home, but there is something about the calmness here, the open space. It’s refreshing. And meeting everyone, it’s been great.”

Bill, who’s been nothing but stern in his expression for the entire time Charles has known him, seems to soften, even if just slightly. “I gotta admit, I was a lil’bit… cautious when I first learned about you and Chris. Fathers, y’know, we worry.”

“I can imagine,” Charles nods. He understands. Of course he understands. “You have my word, I have pure intents. Chris means a lot to me.”

Bill seems fully contemplative now, his usual sternness fully replaced when he looks back at Charles. “She’s real happy with you from what I can see, and her brother tells me you treat her real well. That’s the kinda stuff that matters to me.”

His chest feels stupidly warm at the remark. If Chris is half as happy as he is, they’ve really got something here. Something real. Scary real. “I care about her deeply, Sir, and I want her to be happy, too.”

Bill chuckles under his breath, shakes his head softly. “You’re not seventeen, son. You can call me Bill.”

“I care a lot about your daughter, Bill.” It’s an easy thing to do, he thinks. There can’t be a person in this world that knows her and doesn’t care for her. Not when everything about her makes him believe in luck, in something otherworldly—Gods or guardian angels or invisible strings.

“See?” Bill questions, picking around what’s left on his plate with his fork. “We’re already buddies.”

– – –

Bill drops Charles off just before Chris gets home from work. He’s not in the house for ten minutes, is still moving around the kitchen searching for a glass to fill with water when the door swings open. Chris enters the kitchen with Reid, half a dozen things in her arms and a familiar four-year-old in tow. “Hey,” she greets, lifting her bags onto the counter next to him, setting down all of her belongings.

“Hi,” he greets, hand finding a familiar space on her lower back, pulling her closer to him, to lean down and give her a quick kiss. “How was your day?”

“Long… and chaotic,” she sighs, forcing a weary smile onto her lips. Charles frowns. Searching her eyes for elaboration, she just shrugs. “Reid, say hi to Charles,” she introduces. “Charles, this is my little tornado, my nephew, Reid.”

Reid looks up at him with bright eyes and a mischievous grin. “Can I call you Chuck?”

Charles laughs. “No, you can call him Charles,” Chris answers on his behalf, before he gets the chance to tell the kid to call him whatever he wants.

Reid rolls his eyes. “Hi, Charles,” he huffs. “Auntie Chris says you’re gonna help me get ready.”

Charles smiles warmly. “That’s what I hear. It’s quite a mission to accomplish, do you think you are up for it?”

Reid nodded enthusiastically. “Totally. I’m almost five.”

Chris chuckles, and Charles’ eyes shoot over to her when she does. Hearing her laugh isn’t enough, he needs to see it, to share in it. “Good luck with the tie,” she tells him. Charles winks at Chris, grins down at the kid in front of him. “Reid, you like Cars, right?”

Reid’s eyes go wide, his head snapping over to look at Chris, who matches his expression with a smile on her face. He turns back to face Charles, “How did you know that?”

“So, it’s true?”

Reid nods apprehensively. “I love Cars. My Dad is in Cars 3, y’know? He’s got, like, a awesome race car.”

Charles feigned surprise, “No way! That’s like being a superhero.” He leans down conspiratorially, speaks quietly, just to Reid. “Do you know Lightning McQueen?”

Reid’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he launched into a passionate monologue about the Cars movies, the story, and the characters—paying a special interest to Chase’s automotive-self in the animated world. Charles listens with genuine interest while Chris quietly prepares a snack for the boy.

He gets ready while Reid eats, moves around Chris in the bathroom. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, using her entire arm to move her stuff off one side of the sink vanity. “I’m taking up your side,” she continues, pulling her curling iron out of her hair, carefully cradling the steaming strands. Charles smiles. His side. He kisses her softly, then— mindful of her unfinished makeup and hair. She smiles out of it, gives him another quick peck, “what was that for?”

He shrugs, reaching for his hair gel, “Just because.”

– – –

They get to Dahlonega right at five o’clock, thanks in massive part to Charles’ ability to comfortably drive above the speed limit, and in small part to Chris’ ability to finish her makeup while Charles does a poor job at avoiding potholes.

Every event this weekend takes place at the same place—a vineyard about thirty (if you speed) minutes from Chris’ house, but it’s nothing like what he would usually think of as a quote-en-quote vineyard. It’s more of a… barn put in the middle of a field, but. It’s beautiful nonetheless.

“How do I look?” Chris asks as they walk up the long drive from the parking lot to the barn. She runs her hands over the thighs of her jeans, straightening them out.

“Do a spin,” Charles says, and she does. “Hot,” he nods, smiles. Chris rolls her eyes. “Always hot.”

Hannah is running around with a woman wearing a nametag—the wedding planner, he assumes—like a chicken with its head cut off when they get there. Reid bolts away from them as soon as Chase is in his eyeline, chatting with his groomsmen around the bar. Charles trails behind Chris, hand interlocked with hers, as she makes her way over to a frazzled Hannah.

She greets them with a smile, swiping her hair off her shoulders and opening her arms for hugs. “You look beautiful,” Charles comments, kisses either of her cheeks.

“Oh,” She laughs. “This is new.”

Charles laughs, pulling away from the hug, “Sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s fun,” she says, looking to Chris. “You should’ve dated someone French a long time ago.”

“He’s not French.”

“But y—”

Chris cuts her off. “Monégasque,” she continues. Charles smiles meekly. “And very proud.”

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the venue as the wedding rehearsal began. Charles found himself sitting in the second row, behind both Chase’s family and with the rest of the partners of the bridal party.

They’re orchestrated by the meticulous woman with a name tag from earlier, carefully moved through the motions of the ceremony tomorrow. Charles watches with quiet amusement as they navigate each and every step with precision. The officiant guided them through the script, the words blending into a hum that surrounded the ceremony space.

He partakes in the bland small talk with the other partners—how beautiful, how exciting, how sweet—all the stuff that random strangers with no present connections have to talk about. Charles can't help but glance at Chris intermittently, catching her eye and exchanging silent conversations that only they understand. She’s just so pretty up there, her brown curls cascading off her shoulders while she holds two mock-up bouquets of flowers. She bounces in place, practically, obviously half as tired and bored with it all as he is.

As the run-throughs progress, he can feel her restlessness like it’s his own. Her wide eyes betray her thoughts when, without words she tells him, this is so boring.

He chuckles under his breath, meeting her gaze with the minute raise of his brows, an unspoken agreement passing between them. So boring.

The repetition of the steps continues, though, each run-through blending together into the next. Charles and Chris share more glances, continue to communicate the same sentiment of impatience to a point of amusement. In the stolen moments, he finds solace in the connection, a reminder that even the most orchestrated events can’t stifle their shared sense of humor.

As the rehearsal finally drew to a close, the sun dipped below the horizon casting a warm, golden hue over the gathering. The group dispersed, heading towards the dinner that awaited them.

When Charles catches up to Chris, she’s talking with the best man—Ryan, who the wedding planner kept asking to take this a bit more seriously. He seems nice enough, brother-y enough. Charles thinks he probably has a few good stories about Chris, even more about Chase.

“Everyone always thought we had a thing going,” Chris tells him after the introduction has finished, while the two of them wait at the bar for their drinks.

His brows raise, leaning back off the bar to scan the room for the guy. “Do you want me to be jealous?” He asks, lets his hand rest on the small of her back, thumb moving smoothly against the fabric of her top.

“No,” she says, but the smile on her lips tells him she’d be entertained by the sight of a jealous version of him. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else this weekend.”

He nods, picking up the drink that’s set down in front of him/ “Well, did you?” He asks, taking a swig of the dark liquor.

“Did I what?” Chris asks, moving her drink closer to her, stirring it with a little black straw.

“Did you guys date?”

“Oh,” she shakes her head. “Never.”

Charles nods. “Shame, I was going to put on a show.”

The welcome party kicks into full swing after the satisfying sit-down meal. Laughter and chatter fill the rustic barn, the air buzzing with the lively energy of the gathering, of the weekend. Charles, having eaten the entirety of his dinner earlier, finds himself following Chris as she seamlessly navigates the crowd.

The burger truck, stationed at the edge of the venue, offered a tempting array of late-night treats. The scene of grilled meat wafted through the air, enticing those who weren’t around for the earlier, intimate dinner.

The barn was alive with the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the bursts of laughter. It seems like a million people fill the space, a million strangers—a mix of extended family and friends and coworkers and distant relatives and even distant-er friends. For him, all of these faces are unfamiliar, and he relies on Chris like a lifeline to guide him through most of the interactions.

She effortlessly leads the way, introducing him with a warmth that mirrors her nature of being. She moves through the place like she owned it, with a grace that seems to come naturally to her, connecting with friends and family alike. Everyone seems thrilled to see her, absolutely beside themselves. He understands them, even if he doesn’t know them, and observes with quiet admiration her ability to make everyone feel at ease.

She seems to flourish in social settings, her personality shining brightly. She greets old friends with hugs, shares jokes with cousins, compliments grandparents’ outfits, and introduces him to each and every one of them, punctuates every interaction with her infectious laughter.

He’s always felt like he’s more of a one-on-one guy, that his connections are better made independently rather than in groups. Chris, though, could lead a crowd anywhere with this unwavering confidence. She doesn’t make a single misstep all night, navigating the whole evening perfectly, makes an evening he’d spent the majority of outside his comfort zone anything but unsettling. With her, his words feel valued, important, intelligent. He’s content to be her partner in social settings longer than anyone should be.

It’s long past midnight when they finally get back to her house, the fatigue of the day well-settled on their skin, casting a convincing sleeping spell that made the prospect of a comfortable bed a welcomed one.

The house is silent, the hush of the night hugging them as they reach the bedroom, the weariness of their bones palpable. Anything but falling into the comforter seems like quite the ambitious endeavor.

The comfort of the sheets cradles them as they sink into the mattress, a shared haven offering respite from the busy weekend. “Next time I come here,” Charles yawns, the effort of the evening present in his voice, “we are doing nothing.”

She must be more drained, he thinks, she’d worked almost a whole day before this, but contently, she responds with a gentle hum, snuggled up close to him. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Perfect.” The simplicity of doing nothing seems like the perfect plan, a promise of unhurried moments and the luxury of just being together. He wants more of that. He wants more of her.

– – –

He wakes up for the first time that morning, if you can really call it waking up, to the shift of the bed as she climbs out of it. He doesn’t check the clock, doesn’t even hear more than the creak of the floor before he’s back asleep. He wakes up for the second time, and you still probably can’t call it that, to her standing over him, fingers running through his hair. She gives him a kiss and comments on something he can’t hear through sleep.

The third time he wakes up that morning, it’s to the ringing of his phone on the bedside table. Her name is on the screen, a photo of her grinning in front of a statue in Monaco and holding a thumbs-up. 8:34, his phone reads. The sun is shining in through the opening in the curtains.

She’d forgotten the steamer on the living room coffee table when one of the other bridesmaids picked her up two hours earlier. He says he’ll bring it, asks if the girls want coffee, swears he remembers her order. She texts him the other three girls’ orders. Within the hour, he’s riding with the wedding planner on a golf cart from the parking lot to the bridal suite with four long-winded coffees in one hand and a steamer in the other.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the bridal suite, but it wasn’t what he found. The chaos hangs in the air like a sweet perfume. He weaves between makeup artists, hair stylists, and bridesmaids to find Chris, talking with Hannah and a makeup artist about what’s about to be painted onto the bride-to-be’s face, fulfilling her maid-of-honor duties.

Chris looks up quickly to scan the room, eyes landing on him and immediately returning to the conversation at hand before doing a double-take, a heavy sigh leaving her lips when she recognizes him and the objects he carries.

“Hey,” she greets, takes the steamer from his hand and kisses him. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you,” and she kisses him again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he laughs, pulls a coffee out of the cardboard cup holder and hands it to her. “Your hot dirty chai with one shot of espresso, oat milk, and salted caramel.”

“A man after my heart,” she says, taking a sip of the drink. He winks—anything more and he’d blush bright red—and continues reading the orders off.

“Brown sugar oat milk latte with blonde espresso for Hannah,” he says, pulling it out and handing it to the blonde and pulling out the next one. “This is the… Iced matcha latte with soy milk and strawberry cold foam, and the…” he holds up the cupholder, one drink left in it, “Caramel brûlée latte.”

The groom’s house—which is where he’s affectionately sent to after the coffee delivery—is a direct contrast to the bridal suite. College football plays on the television, the cheers and groans of the game providing a lively soundtrack to the prelude of the wedding. The girls were all half-ready, but the guys are still shoveling breakfast foods into their mouths on the leather sofa.

Noon arrives, and with it the collective decision that it was time to actually start getting ready for the wedding. Chase and his groomsmen needed to be ready for pictures at three, which meant that Charles and the rest of the bridesmaid’s boyfriends needed to be ready to be anywhere but the groom’s house at three.

Between the laughter and the beers and the arguing over the best way to iron a shirt, there’s a knock on the door. He doesn’t even bother to look who it is, assumes it’s a relative of some sort. When Ryan, the never-had-a-thing, you-don’t-need-to-be-jealous Best Man has a hand on his shoulder, telling him “Chris is outside, she wants to talk to you,” he meets the guy with furrowed brows.

He finds her just where Ryan said she was, pacing outside on the concrete patio, ready head-to-toe for the wedding procession. He can’t help but be struck by her beauty, the way the delicate fabric of her dress accentuates her figure, the way the color complimented the glow of her skin perfectly. Her hair is pulled back off her face, revealing the curve of her neck, her subtle makeup highlighting her features.

He feels like he’s seen her a million times by now, in a million different ways, but there was something almost ethereal… angelic about her in this moment. The nerves in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders only add to the charm, make her feel more real, more human.

He’s never looked at her and thought she wasn’t beautiful, but there are moments where he’s particularly struck by her allure. This is one of them.

As soon as she lays eyes on him, her words rush out in a torrent. No hello, no pleasantries, just— “I’m freaking out, Charles. This speech… I’m just. I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” he promises. He’s heard Chris’ maid-of-honor speech probably a dozen times by now, and she’s a different level of nervous every time. This might be the most nervous he’s seen her about it, though. “Can you… can you listen to it, please?”

He nods, his gaze steadying her shaky one. “Of course, let’s hear it.”

She unfolds the tiny, half-crumpled piece of paper out and delves into her speech. He focuses on her words, the genuine affection and admiration for Hannah present in each and every syllable. When she finishes, she meets his eyes, a mix of hope and anxiety in hers.

“Well?” She asked, her lip caught between her teeth.

Charles smiles. “It’s amazing. You are going to do great.”

“Are you sure? Because the part where I talk about Colorado—”

Charles shakes his head, puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s perfect,” he says, gives her a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

She sighs, relief visibly washing away the tension. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grins, “You would still do great. But I’m here anytime you need it.” She gives him a quick hug, and he can feel the gratitude seeping through the squeeze, so he makes it last just that moment longer. He just, he gets such a surge of pride that he gets to call her his, that he’s lucky enough to call her his girlfriend. “Go knock ‘em dead,” he laughs.

When three o’clock finally does roll around, the wedding party separates to head off for pictures, and Charles, along with the other significant others, joins the convoy heading down to the ceremony space. The excitement among the group was palpable, everyone connected in some way to Hannah and Chase’s love story, ready to witness and be a part of their union.

The ceremony starts at four, and hell if he can’t stop catching Chris’ eyes the entire time. He doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a wedding quite like he’s enjoying this one. Chase and Hannah are lovely, and the officiant’s words resonate with sincerity, but he’s less attuned to the details of the ceremony itself and more absorbed in the captivating spectacle that is Chris.

Her laughter, musical and infectious, is all he hears when the entire place laughs, and her discrete attempts to wipe away tears, to pretend they aren’t falling, melt his heart entirely. Even the way she plays with the ribbon on the bouquets she holds—something so small and trivial, it all captivates him.

He finds himself swept away by a tide of emotions, some messy kaleidoscope of feelings that defy articulation. There’s something magnetic about her, an irresistible urge to kiss her that seems to linger in the back of his mind, always. It’s all lined up for him, a million synchronized harmonies that underscore every interaction.

The changing colors of leaves and the smell of rain on a pine patio, the heartbeat of a conversation, a light in every room. His perception of his own emotions, the way he feels about this fucking woman, it’s so clear it becomes cloudy. Every stolen glance and shared smile is this integral part of their connection, this thing that he can’t let go of.

There’s something so fucking special about her, and he can’t make sense of any of it.

Cocktail hour is at five, and the whole family—everyone at this entire wedding he knows—are off doing ‘golden hour’ pictures. Charles lingers by the bar, stuck to the outskirts like a wallflower.

He’s suddenly hit with a wave of insecurity. It’s not often he’s put somewhere completely on his own like this, almost always has someone he can use as a lifeline if he needs to. Everyone here seems to have known eachother forever, and he feels like an intrusion on their camaraderie, worries that if he does manage up the courage to start a conversation with someone, they won’t understand him, or worse—he won’t understand them.

His social battery is just… it’s drained. It’s been a long couple days of mingling with strangers, of trying to impress everyone. He’s ready to just curl up somewhere with Chris and enjoy the limited time they do get to spend together—alone—this weekend.

Maybe then, with some more fucking time, he could sort out all his nonsensical thoughts. Make some sense of his own feelings.

At the reception, he’s seated at the family table with Bill, Cindy, and Reid. Chandler is there, too, but she and her girlfriend Lex seem about as interested in him as they are the dinner menu. They give him a passing greeting, an introduction, if you can call it that, but content to leave it at that.

They’re only a few feet away from the head table, where Chase, Hannah, and the bridal party are sat. So close, but when you’re as drained as he is, when you’ve been prim and perfectly proper for more hours than you can count, just want to be with the one person around who you don’t need to impress… Chris’ nameplate might as well be a quarter of the way around the world.

There isn’t some big announcement or introduction for the bridal party, they just filter in after the conclusion of pictures with the rest of the family. Chris is one of the last to filter in, and finds that the rest of the bridesmaids and the groomsmen are all settled in their seats. Chris doesn’t head for her seat. Instead, she makes a bee-line for her family table, for Charles, who is scrolling through his phone and nursing what she thinks is Chase’s signature drink.

She sneaks up on him, but he isn’t startled by her arms when they wrap over his shoulders. “Hi,” she greets, leaning over to kiss him. It doesn’t take her but a second to feel how tense he is—it’s in his shoulders, in his kiss, in the way he just keeps spinning the liquid around his glass instead of drinking it. Most of all, it’s in the way she doesn’t get even a hello back, just a focus smile and a kiss. Her brows furrow in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m just tired. It has been a busy couple of days.”

“I know,” she nods in agreement. “I was thinking, we should get super drunk tonight, skip brunch tomorrow, and then do nothing all day. What do you think?”

He laughs, and she feels the vibrations in her hands. “Deal,” he says, holding out his hand to shake on it right as the DJ comes over the microphone. Ladies and Gentleman, Chris’ eyes go wide, practically death-dropping into a squat so quickly she nearly loses her balance in her heels. Charles laughs, but she doesn’t miss his hand reaching out to steady her. If I can direct your attention to the barn door, let’s all give a warm welcome to the reason we’re all here tonight. I’m pleased to introduce for the very first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Elliott! Even from her squatted position, she still claps and cheers for Chase and Hannah.

As the clapping dies down, the instrumental of their first dance song transitions in. She shifts on her feet, from one heel to the other, and thinks about how graceful she would have to be to attempt to slip her shoes off in her current position. When she looks to Charles, she’s met with the clearest what-the-heck-are-you-doing look she’s ever been on the receiving end of, and a nod that all but picks her up and puts her in his lap itself. His arms slip around her waist lazily, like it’s where they’re supposed to belong, like a magnet pulling itself to the fridge.

As their first dance song starts, as Chase and Hannah sway around the dance floor as husband and wife, Charles places a soft kiss into her exposed shoulder. The warmth of his lips sends a chill up her spine. “Are you cold?” He whispers, and she shakes her head even though she’s been chilly since she put the dress on that morning—who the heck chooses one-shoulder bridesmaid dresses for their outdoor wedding in December? He runs his hands up and down her arms to warm her up with the friction. “You can have my jacket if you want.”

“I’m okay,” she says.

“Okay.” Another kiss, and then he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Let me know.”

After the first dance, Hannah and Chase give a short welcome speech, thanking everyone for coming to celebrate with them, for making their day so perfect. And then, it’s time to eat.

She offers to pull over a chair and eat with him, and then offers again silently after Bill makes a joke about how we won’t bite him. She doesn’t like to see him like this, so tired, so drained. “I’m good,” he says, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, but her return to the head table is hesitant, and she keeps an eye on him the entire meal.

– – –

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Chris, and for those of you who do, you probably knew this was coming,” Chris laughs nervously, microphone in sweaty hands. She can’t believe she has to follow Ryan’s speech. He had the whole crowd laughing until they couldn’t breathe. “I’m not one for public speaking, which I know you all find very funny considering my career choice, but when your best friend since the oh-so tender age of seven is getting married, you throw caution to the wind.”

She looks at Charles, but has to look away quickly. Just imagine me in my underwear, he’d told her before she got up here. She can’t do that. She can’t look at Hannah or Chase, either, though, or else she’ll burst into tears. So, she just looks at the piece of paper in her hand.

“So, let’s talk about Hannah. We’ve been through it all together, from the back of a Sunday school class at Grace Haven where two little girls made their first friend, to hiding from customers in the kitchen of the Pool Room listening to Mr. Gordon tell us about his ‘shine days. We weathered the storms of adolescence, rocked the awkward phase, and somehow managed to make it out on the other side with our sanity intact—well, mostly,” the room chuckles. Hannah laughs, and Chris thinks that maybe she can look at her—she can’t, can already feel the tears welling, the frog in the back of her throat.

“But,” she cracks, “It’s not about the trials we faced in high school, it’s about the triumph that is happening right now. Chase and Hannah, standing—sitting—here, about to embark on a new chapter of their lives.” Chris turns to the next page of her notes, hand shaky when she does it. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows getting here. Life threw us some curveballs, as it tends to do. But Hannah, she’s a force of nature. She faces challenges head-on, and with the strength of a thousand warriors.”

Chris’ eyes catch Reid, sitting on Bill’s lap next to Charles. He’s not paying any attention, but what four-year-old would? Instead, he’s swinging his legs back and forth, tapping Charles’ knee with the toe of his shoes everytime. Charles takes turns grabbing one of the attacking feet, his eyes unbreaking from her, before letting Reid wiggle it away, laughing softly at the interaction each time. “My best friend became a mom at nineteen, and there wasn’t much about it that was easy. But, like I always do, I watched her rise to the occasion, and I’ve never been prouder. I work with five-year-olds every day, and as similar as Reid is to Chase, he’s his mother’s son, and I would pay a million dollars to have twenty of him in my classroom. And Chase, you were there through all of it. When things got tough, you didn’t run; you stood by her. You became not just the guy she loved, but the rock she could lean on, the partner she deserved.”

Chris nods, continuing. “Some might say they don’t have the most conventional love story. But what is love if not a journey? One that involves bumps and twists and unexpected turns? Chase and Hannah, you’ve proven that love isn’t just for fairytales; it’s for the real, messy, complicated, and beautiful moments of life.”

Chris looks past Hannah, to Chase. It's just as hard to maintain eye contact with him. Harder, maybe, because he looks like he’s about to cry, too. Chris can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen her brother cry. “Chase, my big brother,” she laughs through a tear.

“Fuck you, dude,” he says back, through an equally tearful laugh. Hannah’s hand runs in circles on his back.

“You are so lucky to have Hannah. Everyone in this room knows that she has this magical quality about her—this remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. I’ve seen her do it time and time again, watched her sprinkle her own special kind of magic everywhere she goes.”

“Hannah,” she says, turning fully to face her best friend, abandoning the piece of paper she has memorized and replacing it with Hannah’s hand. “You are my confidante, my partner in crime, my source of strength, and my beacon of light. You are the kind of friend who not only stands by people in the good times, but also holds you up when life gets a little bit wobbly,” Chris feels a single tear fall down her cheek, and then another. She sniffles softly. “Thank you for helping me through the wobbles,” she squeaks. “You’ve been my sister as long as I’ve known you, Han, I’m just glad it’s finally official.”

Chris turns back to address the crowd, raising a glass of champagne to two of her favorite people. “To Hannah and Chase. May your love be modern enough to survive the times, but old-fashioned enough to last forever. Cheers to the messy, the beautiful, and the happily ever after you both so richly deserve.”

Hannah wastes no time enveloping Chris into a bear hug, rocking back and forth on their feet. The lace and tulle from Hannah’s dress scratch against Chris’ arms, but she doesn’t mind. She’s too busy trying not to cry onto the fabric while the rest of the tables clink their glasses to her speech. Chase is next with the hugs, a stupid one that’s stronger than Hannah’s.

“Dude,” he laughs, “you didn’t have to make me cry.”

Chris sniffles. “I love you.”

Chase pauses, squeezes her a little bit tighter. “I love you, too.”

Speeches are followed by the father-daughter and mother-son dances. Chris sneaks back over to the family table during the latter, makes her dad move over into Cindy’s seat so she can sit next to Charles. He has a fresh glass of the same drink from earlier, and is nursing it the same way he did the first one.

“You know,” she says, checking the state of her makeup with her phone’s camera. “You’re going to have to pick up the pace if we’re getting wasted tonight.”

He laughs, the side of his foot bumping against hers under the table. She leans her foot back on the heel of her shoe, toys with the hem of his slacks. “Is that right?” He spins the drink, talks into the bottom of the glass, but she’s not fooled. His ears are red at the simple action.

“Yeah,” she nods. “Let me show you,” and then takes the glass from his hand, downing what’s left without a scowl. It’s dark liquor. She loves the burn.

Chris is like… she reminds him of that battery rabbit. A constant source of energy. She’s practically bouncing off the walls, giddily introducing him to anyone they come across that he doesn’t already know. She’s just so personable, and the buzz she’s gotten from the champagne and the stolen sips of his drinks only make her more lively. She knows everyone here, he’s sure of it, but she could befriend a brick wall if it gave her five minutes.

It’s impossible for even the most sullen people not to feed off her energy—everyone is swallowed up by her laugh, every conversation brightened by her presence. She’s so fun to watch that he wonders if he’s dreamt her up, created a figment of his imagination in the shape of someone just so good. God, she’s good.

They survive the newlywed games and the anniversary dances, even make it all the way to the cake cutting before it becomes an Elliott family party—which, if you didn’t know, is synonymous with a drunken rager. As soon as Hannah swipes a finger full of frosting across Chase’s cheek, it’s game over.

Drinks flow as freely as laughter echoes, and the dance floor is nothing more than a playground for a bunch of drunken idiots. Chris and Hannah, seasoned dance partners, showcase their moves with infectious enthusiasm, dancing the blurry line between elegance and idiocy.

When the music slows, though, she’s always finding her way to him, heavy arms around his neck, his around her waist. If they know the song, they take turns butchering the vocals and giggling until the other person kisses them.

“So, how was my speech?” She asks soberly, swaying along to the tune of some slow song he’s never heard of.

“You made that speech your bitch, baby,” he slurs, even though he has a million and one questions about her speech.

He’d heard it. So many fucking times, he’d heard it, and not once had he heard the ending. He thought he heard the ending—he did hear the ending. It was just different. Shorter. Sweeter. Didn’t put a confused knot in his stomach. Thank you for helping me through my wobbles. A remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. He doesn’t want to entertain them as connected, to live in a world where they’re connected.

“You think so?” She beams. He can’t ask when she smiles like that.

“Yeah,” his tongue feels dry in his mouth—cottony. He’s bothered, and he doesn’t understand why. “It was great, very personal.” He shouldn’t let it bother him. It’s a fucking speech at a wedding for people he barely knows. It shouldn’t bother him, it shouldn’t rot his insides, the concept that two sentences could be in any way related to one another. It shouldn’t bother him, really. It does, though. And he can’t stop himself when he’s half-drunk the way he could if he was sober. “Everything you talked about… it’s all you two, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Hannah’s done a lot for me, y’know. I’m sure we’re like you and Joris, just. I cry more than you.”

“Even the, uh…” he clears his throat. “Even the whole thing about, um…”

“Charles,” she laughs, brows furrowed in a way he thinks only he could perceive.

He sighs. “You know that you’re the kind of person who is easy to love, yes?”

She doesn’t look at him when she nods, or when she smiles, or when she kisses him. “I know,” she mumbles, and it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever said. The easiest lie he’s ever spotted, but it’s even clearer that she doesn’t want him to push on it, so he doesn’t. He’s smart enough to know when it’s time to just dance with his girlfriend.

– – –

They wake up the next morning disgustingly hungover. Like, stare at the white ceiling for twenty minutes talking about how hungover they are and praying they don’t throw up, hungover. Her ceiling is textured, and the pattern repeats every foot-or-so like it’s been stamped on. That’s how hungover he is.

He showers while she makes them prairie oysters, and despite how absolutely horrifying it looks, sounds, and sells, he manages to find enough trust in her to force it down with a grim scowl. Fuck, it’s disgusting. Horrifically so.

They take an uber out to the wedding venue to retrieve Chris’ car, and she gives directions back to the Dawsonville Pool Room with her eyes half closed, sunglasses over her eyes. Everytime he looks at her he thinks she’s turning green.

The owner recognizes her as soon as they’re walking through the door. Charles doesn’t understand a single fucking word the guy says. Chris orders “two Bully Burgers, but I swear to holy Heaven if you put slaw anywhere near my plate you’re gonna see the Devil, Mr. Gordon.”

He responds in something Charles could technically call English, and Chris shakes her head, a smile pulling on her lips. “I’m serious, he’ll back me up,” she says, thumb pointing to him. “He’s not from around here, you’re just another stranger.”

The greasiest, sloppiest, most mediocre burger he’s ever eaten is put in front of him five minutes later, and he feels like a new man after. Still absolutely strung out and exhausted, yes, but like his stomach is content to stay inside his body.

Later that afternoon, when they’re both half asleep on the couch, some stupid sitcom playing as background nose, he’s still thinking about her fucking speech from the night earlier. It’s still bugging him. “Baby?” he mumbles against the skin of her shoulder. He doesn’t even know if she’s awake to answer.

“Hmm?” She hums.

“We do not have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but. You are a very lovable person, I think.” He couldn’t give any specific examples of what makes him so sure of this fact, he honestly couldn’t. But isn’t that proof enough? That just her being is enough to answer the question.

“Babe,” she stretches against him, speaks through a yawn.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I just. I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay. We can talk about it.” She adjusts, if just slightly, so that it’s easier for her to look at him while they speak. “When everyone has the same complaint, all your old friends and old boyfriends tell you that you’re too much or too little, you realize maybe you’re the crazy one.”

He doesn't like that reasoning. He thinks it’s a load of bullshit, actually. “Why do you think of yourself in this way?”

Chris laughs. “It’s fine, really.”

“It’s not,” he says, because he knows it’s a lie.

“It is, because I’ve come to terms with it. I accept it.”

He frowns, hates the way she seems so content with this. Like it’s something that is even kind of rational. It’s not, he knows. He pauses, can’t even come up with something to say to her level of absurdity. “I don’t think you should accept that.”

She turns away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, and laughs softly. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“You are not unlovable.” She’s not. She’s not. He knows she’s not. He knows, he knows, because of rain on a pine patio and leaves that change colors. He knows, because if she was unlovable, he wouldn’t love her. And he does, he does love her.

Wait.

“Well, we’ll see. Everyone always sees.”

No, hold on. Wait. His stomach is tangled, flip-flopping and fluttering like every butterfly this side of the Atlantic has suddenly taken up residence in his insides. You don’t love her, you idiot, he thinks. But he does. Fucking… His heart races. He hopes to God, pays to something he’s not sure he believes in that she can’t feel it against his chest. That he can get away with it. “See what?”

She shrugs. “If I knew, nobody would see it,” she laughs. He laughs along, too, but it’s so forced that it sounds like some pre-recorded bit. She’s so casual about all of this that he feels like he needs to pinch himself. It doesn’t make sense, he can’t wrap his mind around it. But Chris, she’s comfortable enough with her bull-fucking-shit ‘facts’ that she can pull her phone out and scroll through it while they wrap up the conversation. “And before you ask, ‘What if I don’t see anything?’ like everyone else but Hannah always asks, nothing happens.”

“Nothing happens?”

She opens her fucking email. He’s in love with her, and she’s opening her fucking email while telling him it’s not possible. “You win, I guess.”

“I win you?”

“I mean, I don’t like to consider myself something that can be won,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. His heart is beating so loud he thinks the neighbors can probably hear it. “But for lack of a better word… sure. You win me.”

He nods. There’s nothing more he can add to the conversation, not now. Not when he’s just ran face-first into a brick wall of I love you. Fuck. Fuck. He’s totally in love with her. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

last chapter masterlist next chapter

#ma&thp #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x oc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #f1 edit #f1 fic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 imagine #ferrari f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x oc #scuderia ferrari

222 notes · View notes

itsscromp · 7 months

Text

Dark times

Heyo, For this story, Me and my bestie @callofdudes came up with this storyline soon after the zombie trailer was released. So I decided to grace the world with our story. Warning, Angst. Blood and gore. Word count:1.3k

The news reported that there was a new virus on the horizon. Everyone was to be cautious and resilient. But you all didn't know the extent of how bad the virus would be. This virus turned everyone into living corpses within a few seconds. Even though you were all safe on the base. The measurements to keep everyone safe were very extreme.

No one was allowed outside, Everyone was checked for symptoms every day and you had to wash your clothes every day as well. No groups of 10 people to be together. Thankfully you five don't count as a large group. Thank goodness.

"This is fucking nuts" You looked outside, You just wanted everything to go back to normal.

"I didn't think it would come to this." Price was standing next to you, looking out at the base once full now dead quiet as everyone was forced into their buildings.

This made you very sad, You were worried for your friends and family. Were they ok ?? Were they safe and sound ??, You couldn't find out as the cell service has been taken down.

Even though you had each other, There were certain challenges. Like today, you found that you were all running low on food. The ration supply drying up quicker than you all thought.

"Shit... This is bad"

Johnny pouted, digging back into his chip packet. Out again.

"Ok... I know it's risky, but we need to go out"

Everyone went quiet, Looking at each other expecting an answer, Price knew this would be very risky. He wanted to make sure you were all safe, But to be safe. You all needed food.

"It is risky, But we can't run out of food." Simon spoke up.

"Ok... Simon and I will go out, You guys stay back at base ok ??"

The three looked immensely worried. They didn't want anything to happen to you both, But right now they were running out of options.

"Ok... Be safe, Try and contact us if you get into trouble." Price said.

"Got it"

Before you left. Gaz and johnny both brought you into a tight group hug.

"Be safe you guys" Johnny said.

"We'll be back, and with food." Simon patted his back.

You and Simon then geared up, Putting on as many armour plates as possible and grabbing your rifles and other necessities. Before then you both began your mission to the nearby grocery store. Walking the dead streets, You saw all the havoc that was there on the day the world as you knew it descended into chaos. cars crashed into one another, Blood ridden on the streets, and even corpses.

"Let's hope we can grab whatever we can and then hightail it back to base sergeant."

"Agreed"

You knew the roads into the city and around the place in the back of your head. But it felt so much more ominous now. It was actually terrifying.

Once you reached the store, You found that the doors were barricaded. Now you could just break them, but it would cause severe consequences for you and simon.

"We need to find another way in"

Simon looked around for a potential way in and then found the air vents.

"Over there"

He then went over and began unscrewing the vent lid gently.

"It's gonna be a tight squeeze for you"

"I'll manage"

Being the brick shithouse Simon was, It would be slightly impossible, but not impossible at the same time. The two then squeezed in, shifting through the hatch inside the supermarket. Simon unscrewed the lid and you both hopped down inside.

"Score 1 for the 141" You turned on your flashlight and began looking around.

"Let's see what we can find"

You both walked from aisle to aisle, grabbing as much as you could. Fruit and Veg were a no-go as they were now rotten. Dairy and meat were a big no-no. Simon gagged when he smelt the off-products. Quickly avoiding it.

"Oh fuck that's foul !!" You pinched your nose.

"Fucking rancid" He said, pinching his nose as well.

Going down another aisle, you were lucky enough to find chips and things for Johnny and Gaz.

"Today is your lucky day guys." You began to bag them up.

Simon found some drinks that didn't need to be refrigerated, some packs of cigars behind the counter and such. "Covering all bases.."

But as they continued packing y/n heard a noise which cause them to stand still.

"Shhh"

Simon froze, listening to the silence. Needing to hear it again, His hand instinctively reaching back for his gun, slowly.

The noise eventually came back, a low growl. You weren't alone. Simon put down his bag and gripped his rifle, motioning you over to him.

"Get behind me" He whispered.

You did so, watching behind with your switchblade ready in hand. Hearing the noise get closer and closer. There it was, an infected. It's jaw unattached. Blood dripping with it's skin decomposing and eyes white. Shuffling slowly.

Simone raised his gun seeing how disgusting it looked, It made your skin crawl. Shooting it in the head. It popped open easily like a ripe watermelon, Blood splattering everywhere.

"Gross"

"Watch your step... I doubt you want it on your boot"

Walking over the corpses, the two then continued one with looking for food.

"Ok I think we've got enough"

"Then we get back out of here"

Simon wouldn't say it but being out here put him on edge, He wanted you to be safe... He wouldn't know what to do if his best friend got infected. The two then crawled back out of the vent with the food in hand. Only to be found surrounded by infected as they heard Simon's gunshot.

"Shit"

The two then grabbed your rifles and opened fire on the zombies, mowing down as much as you could. But you both were caught in a rock and a hard place when you realised you were running low on ammo.

'Shit, I'm running low." You loaded in your last magazine.

"You got any grenades ??"

Simon checked his belt handing one to you.

"Two, that's all I got"

"Then let's make it count"

Nodding, You both pulled the pins and threw them, They blew up, sending any zombie caught in the blast backwards, After the dust cleared. You both were confident that you got them all.

"Come on, Let's get the bloody hell out of here" He urged you forward.

You then spotted an untouched car, Bingo your ticket out of here. Gently unlocking it and hotwiring it, you managed to start it up. and it had some good amount of fuel left.

"Simon, Hop in"

He nodded, placing the food in the backseat and you both heading back to the base.

Johnny stared out at the window, Hoping you two would return safe and sound. The anxiety creeping in on him of the worst. He didn't want anything to happen to his friends. His best friends to be exact. And then he saw a car at the front, The doors opening to reveal you two.

"Their back !!" He alerted Gaz and Price.

"They are ??" Gaz got up and followed him.

As soon as you two entered back inside, Johnny hugged you both. "Oh thank heaven's bells, you're back !! Are you two okay??, you were gone a little while, I- we were worried"

"We got surrounded... But we're ok" You softly smiled at him"

Johnny sighed in relief, then spotting the bags and perked up. "wow, what did you two find ??"

You all gathered around the table and placed the food of what you could find. "The only food we can't have anymore is dairy and fruit and veg."

"It's all we need, thank you, you two" Price softly smiled. Happy that his soldiers... his kiddos were back safe and sound.

He grabbed one of the cold containers of food and opened it up, still good. this would be dinner, he hoped you would all survive, he knew you would. him and his team, You all went through worse. This would be no different.

Taglist: @callofdudes @fun-k-board

#platonic #reader insert #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #task force 141 #cod mwii #cod mw3 #cod mw3 zombies #simon ghost riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #141 x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #captain john price x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty imagine #call of duty

274 notes · View notes

suzdin · 6 months

Text

DATURA

Summary: Dave and his team have been sent to kill you, but the night pans out differently than you anticipate.

Warnings: ¡SEX POLLEN! Implied noncon due to sex pollen. Fictional drug use. Mentions of weapons/guns/murder (duh). Threeway sex. Gun play, unprotected p in v, creampies, masturbation (f), fingering, spit roasting, oral (m receiving), use of sex toy on reader, anal, spitting, light degradation, choking, spanking, rough sex, squirting, let me know if I missed anything. No use of y/n. Picture is for aesthetics only, as reader is not given a physical description.

This fic is extremely feral and not for everyone, and that’s okay. <3

Word Count: 4,800-ish

Taglist: @kellybelly1978 @ohheypedrito @darkheartgatita @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @sonderosa @missladym1981

And of course I dedicate this to @survivingandenduring and @kateispunk for holding a gun to my head until I wrote this inspiring me to write this 😘

——

Dave prods his index finger at the highlighted portions of the floor plans on the tablet, which he presents to his compatriots.

“There are entrances here, here…and here,” he points out, tapping the third for emphasis. “She’ll be expecting those. Watching them.”

Dave brushes his bottom lip with his thumb, brow creasing in contemplation.

“Ari and Resnik can head off the two main entrances. Joel, you take the side. And I’ll enter…here.” He places a finger where there’s a hastily drawn ‘X’ facing a private alley and courtyard.

“Don’t see a door or window,” the tall, tan man to his left drawls, placing a hand on his hip.

“Right. There’s a secret entrance there which leads to a crawl space left over from the city’s bootlegging days. None of the residents know. And guess where it exits?” Dave asks, eyes darting between the three men.

He places a finger where the bedroom closet would be.

A smirk twists Joel’s mustache. “Shit,” he says, scratching thick, weathered fingers through his scruff. “Gonna hit ‘er from all sides.”

“Exactly,” Dave responds, mirroring the way his companion places his hands on his hips. “We’ll strike at 10 PM sharp. That’s when the main festivities begin. No one will hear a thing.”

——

Dave crouches next to the hatch that leads to the secret door beneath the building, long since defunct due to the city’s proclivity for flooding.

A crackle resonates through his ear piece.

“Miller. Anything?” Dave asks.

“Nothin’,” Joel answers in a low southern lilt, positioned at the bottom of the narrow stairwell on the east side of the building, clicking the safety off on his Glock.

“Ari, Resnik? Station yourselves. Miller, I’m going in.”

“10-4,” Joel returns.

Dave yanks up on the metal hatch and it opens with a jarring creak, drowned out by the roar of the crowds on Bourbon Street and another jazz band playing their rendition of Oh When The Saints Go Marching In for probably the 1,000th time that evening.

He slips in easily and finds a peeling red door, which is shockingly ajar. A stray cat rushes out with a shriek, spitting feline obscenities at him.

“Fuck!” Dave snarls as the dark, furry void streaks past him and into the night.

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel’s voice.

“Nothing. Fucking cat. I’m inside.”

A low, throaty chortle sounds through Dave’s ear piece.

“Eat shit, Miller. Start heading up. I should reach her apartment in five.”

“Unless there’s more cats guarding the place.” This time it’s Ari’s voice. Dave pointedly ignores him.

The crawl space is narrow and damp, crushing in at him from all sides and choked with cobwebs and god knows what else, but it’s surprisingly not the worst place he’s ever been.

The space quickly dead ends into a ladder that looks like it’s seen far better days, rusting from the bolts outward. Dave can’t help but wonder if it will support his full body weight.

“‘M at her front door,” Joel remarks through the ear piece.

“Climbing the ladder now,” Dave responds as he begins his ascent, gripping the bottom rung and giving it a hard jostle to test its integrity.

The metal rungs protest and groan under his weight, but the structure holds true.

The boys had thought it absolutely ludicrous when Dave had come to them for their help with the hit. Four men for one single woman?

Bullshit. A waste of time and resources.

That is until they’d familiarized themselves with your rap sheet. Just shy of forty murders in less than a decade, and a weapons and ballistics specialist to boot.

But it would all end tonight, and that price on your pretty little head would be a nice cherry on top.

He reaches the hatch leading into your closet a moment later, twisting the mechanism that holds it flush to the wooden floor above.

He draws the Beretta from the holster on his hip, clicking off the safety as he strains his hearing to listen for something, anything, that would give him pause; that would make him abort the mission.

He hears nothing but the music seeping in from the streets through the century old brick.

“I’m in, Joel. I’m in,” Dave whispers, lifting the hatch as he silently crawls inside your closet, the scent of you overwhelming his senses, making his nostrils flair. Cock already half hard in his dark denim jeans at the prospect of another name scratched off his list.

Your name.

——

Joel makes short work of unlocking your door, pushing it open with his foot as he replaces the Glock with the heavier semi-automatic at his back, holstering the pistol on his hip.

His face pinches. You hadn’t even locked the deadbolt, despite having one, a feeling of dread slithering up the crease of his scrotum, perspiration pricking at his skin.

You’ve been waiting for them.

You register Joel first, his heavy footfalls impossible to conceal under the creak of the original wooden flooring. It’s almost laughable how loud they’re being, Joel making a ruckus behind you and the other rustling somewhere in your closet, probably smelling your panties for all you know.

Joel finds you at an open window, back facing him as some loud pop song he doesn’t recognize drifts up from the Quarter below. You’re naked aside from a short, black pleated skirt that barely ghosts the lower curve of your ass, a silver and white fox tail peeking out from beneath the hem of said skirt.

Though he can’t see it from his current vantage, a gun rests on the window sill in front of you. You’re starting to think you won’t be needing it. Not when the man at your back could have already taken a clear shot at you and didn’t.

You lean slightly forward, revealing more of your ass to Joel and cheering as you catch a handful of colorful Mardi Gras beads from one of hundreds of floats below, waving your arms triumphantly over your head before you slip the necklaces around the lovely column of your neck.

Joel spots Dave then, mocha brown eyes shifting to his comrade, his expression unreadable. The Beretta drawn to shoulder height, trained at your head, but he isn’t pulling the trigger. Not yet.

Lowering the rifle, Joel lifts a fist in the air to signal to Dave, take the shot, asshole.

But he doesn’t, and neither does Joel, staring at your bared skin, the exposed hills and valleys of your body. Two men reduced to little more than their base desires in mere seconds. Exactly what you were expecting.

You finally shut the window and turn to face them when they do nothing but stand there, transfixed by your beauty. You’re wearing a masquerade mask in royal purple that’s trimmed with gold lace, cinched tightly behind your head.

You won’t be needing a gun when you can use sexuality as a weapon. It wasn’t the first time, and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Took you long enough,” you admonish, eyes drifting back and forth between the two men.

The larger one is broad and older, unkempt curls swirling away from his head, dusted with silver. The beard tracing his jaw is dark and patchy, a thick mustache framing his upper lip.

A red and black flannel stretches across the expanse of his upper body, tucked into dark wash jeans, ending with heavy work boots. His eyes darken in their regard of you.

His companion is also broad, only just less so, and younger than his comrade by what you guess to be ten or fifteen years. His face is clean and smooth with the barest hint of shadow, plush lips pushed outward in bewilderment, a black beanie pulled down to conceal his dark hair, matching the rest of his attire.

“Love the outfit, but a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” you ask the younger of the two men. The edges of his lips twitch upward in amusement.

You sway your hips slightly, making the tail between your legs wag to and fro, enticing the two men to ease closer. And they do. Exactly where you want them.

Dave notices your fingers dancing across the lid of a small metal box in the nick of time.

A new party drug originating from Ibiza, its purpose intended to act as a powerful aphrodisiac amongst the most experimental, but as with most things, too much could be dangerous, in rare cases fatal. It usually came in tab form, but it had been sold to you as a fine powder, and your plan was to drug them senseless until they fucked each other to death or you killed them, depending on how bored you got.

You grasp the ornate metal box in your fingers and flick your wrist outward, hurling the contents in a direct trajectory at Dave’s face, which would have hit the intended target had he not been ready to deflect the strike with a hastily lobbed pillow from the nearby sofa.

The cloud the hit produces is magnificent, a shimmery white mist which coats your face and lips and everything else in its path, inhaled through your sinuses and entered through your bloodstream as traces of the powder land on your tastebuds.

You spit and claw at your face, but it’s too late, and you know it.

You’re fucked in more ways than one.

The affects are almost instantaneous, a fiery hot inferno that builds low in your core, a lance of pain sawing through you from the inside out. Your pupils dilate and everything is suddenly too bright, too painful, every source of illumination having a halo that almost resembles a mushroom cloud in its brilliance, its potency.

You feel the sticky slick coating the inside of your thighs and you double over, clutching your guts, tears pricking at your eyes.

“Whatsa matter, darlin’?” Joel asks, your show of pain bringing him immense joy. “Can’t handle what you dish out?”

His cock strains against his jeans as he watches you and you groan, spreading your legs as you slip a finger between your folds in a bid to quell some of the ache. “Fuck…” you grit.

“Jesus, York, the hell’s wrong with her?” Joel questions.

Dave can only stare, transfixed, palming himself over his jeans.

Both men can’t help but jump when Resnik’s voice comes through the ear piece, so lost in your body they almost forgot why they were there to begin with.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

“Good,” Dave responds. “We’re…negotiating.”

“Negoti— fucking seriously?”

“Yes,” Dave answers firmly, his voice a low and husky. “I’ll explain later. For now, stay in a holding pattern, and make sure no one enters the building.”

Resnik starts to say something else, but Dave flicks off the ear piece and tosses it to the floor before he can finish, already forgotten. Joel follows suit.

“Help, please,” you whimper, stepping toward Joel as you fumble in desperation at his jeans. “Need it bad. It hurts.”

Joel abandons his weapons, drunk at the sight of you. His massive hands circle your waist, squeezing, desirous, lifting your skirt to cup your ass, exposing the tail tucked between your cheeks to Dave. You keen and without thinking, Joel bends forward to press his lips to yours.

“Miller, stop —“ Dave spits sharply, but it’s too late. Joel kisses you, deep and wanton, tongue swiping hungrily at your lips, and within seconds he receives his own dose of the drug, though not nearly as much as you.

He spins you in his grasp and hikes your skirt even higher up your waist, revealing your pussy to Dave, dragging two thick, callused digits between your dripping folds, bumping your clit. You moan and press your ass against him, the hard line of his cock nudging at the plug, heightening your pleasure.

“Y’like that, darlin’?” Joel murmurs into the shell of your ear.

“Yes,” you answer too quickly. “But I need your cock.”

“That so?” he answers gruffly, making quick work of his jeans as he shucks them off like a second skin, the drug already firmly rooting itself in his brain.

He tugs his boxers down, fat cock springing free from its confines as he shoves you forward, folding you in half over the couch with a broad palm pressed between your shoulder blades, notching himself at your entrance and pushing himself inward with reckless abandon.

You grunt at the reprieve, the sting of how forcefully he invades you, how he fills you.

Dave watches the events unfold in stunned silence, lips parted and skewed, unbuckling his belt as his eyes fixate on your face, your lovely sparkling eyes. The way your mouth hangs open when Joel begins railing into you with everything he has to give.

He reaches forward and plucks the mask from your face, discarding it, so he can see you. See how well you take it.

He drags the pad of his thumb along your succulent bottom lip, pressing it against your tongue, to the back of your throat, teasing. Testing.

He exhales a groan when you don’t gag.

He quickly steps out of his jeans and boxers, climbing onto the couch in front of you, roughly gripping the sides of your face so that your lips pop open for him.

You take him into your mouth without question, mewling softly, your throat and jaw burning with effort as he sinks himself into you.

Dave presses the barrel of the gun against your temple, his voice a snarl as he says, “Try anything and I’ll spray your pretty little brains all over these walls, sweetheart. Understood?”

You nod around him in affirmation as he begins rutting into your mouth, his other hand fisted tightly in your hair.

It isn’t long before Joel drags your first orgasm out of you, every muscle in your body constricting, relieving the pain only temporarily before it flares up again, white hot and slithering through your veins like molten metal.

“Thassit, darlin’. Takin’ that dick like a champ,” Joel praises, giving your ass a sharp slap. Every thrust of his hips knocking against the plug secured firmly in your ring of muscle.

“Fucking whore, letting two men enter you,” Dave growls, the gun pressed so squarely against your skull, it’s sure to leave an indentation.

Joel finishes inside you expeditiously with a low growl, panting into the small of your back as he collapses forward, knees smarting.

“Quick on the draw as always, Miller,” Dave tuts, clicking his tongue.

Dave’s fingers twist at your roots as he pulls you further onto his length, bottoming out with a shudder at the back of your throat.

“Fuck off, York,” Joel retorts, still fully hard inside of you. He tugs at the end of the tail, smirking playfully, causing you to moan.

“What if I shoved my dick up your ass next, sweet girl?”

You whimper around Dave in reverence. For both of them.

“Not a chance. That ass is mine,” Dave snorts. “Soon as I’m done with this mouth.”

Joel doesn’t argue. Your pussy feels too good, the way you squeeze him, and it isn’t long before he’s railing you hard again, never having gone soft, even at his age.

You cum a second time, soaking Joel, your release splashing down his muscular thighs. Your moans reverberating through Dave’s cock.

“Fuck, I’m not going to last like this…” Dave grunts as he pulls himself free from you with a pop of your lips, jaw hanging slack as Joel’s unforgiving pace doesn’t falter behind you.

“Trade places, Joel,” Dave demands.

“Not a chance,” Joel growls, the sounds of his hips slamming against your ass lewd and depraved.

“Now, Miller,” Dave reiterates, eyes deepening a shade as he lifts the gun away from your head to aim it at Joel.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, extricating himself from you as he and Dave exchange places. “Fine.”

Joel’s wide palms cup your face and he doesn’t waste time stretching your jaw and throat beyond their limits because fuck, he’s girthy. You taste the cocktail of you and him on your tongue.

He circles the outside of your throat with his hand and squeezes, feeling himself moving in your esophagus, grunting deeply as he watches you take him.

You jolt when you feel something cold, rigid and foreign dashing through your folds a second later, realizing in abject horror what is happening just as Dave pushes it inside of you and begins fucking you with it.

You moan, eyelids fluttering closed and Joel grunts deep in his chest, hand tightening around the cradle of your throat.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, slut? You like being fucked with my gun?” Dave grits from behind you.

You make a sound of supplication that tells Dave yes, yes you do.

He grins in satisfaction and drives the gun deeper, angling it just right, making you keen. The resulting squelch is deafening and obscene.

He pulls another orgasm out of you almost immediately, once again temporarily relieving the bubbling pain, sobbing around Joel, who’s already filling your mouth with more of his seed, spilling down your throat with a snarl.

He slows only for a moment, still hard as iron, ready to go again. And again.

Dave drags his lips up the curve of your ass and sinks his teeth into the meat of one of your plump cheeks, clamping down. You writhe against him at the small dagger of pain that courses through you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Dave purrs, giving the smarting cheek a slap.

As he continues to fuck you with the barrel of the pistol, his other hand skirts your tight star of muscle, fingers dancing around it.

His hand curls into the synthetic material of the tail, reveling the softness against his fingertips, and begins to tug slowly, lightly, testing.

You initially clench out of instinct, but relax your muscles as understanding settles over you, allowing him to pull it free from your puckered hole, letting it drop to the couch.

“Such a good girl,” Dave croons, tilting his face forward to place a chaste kiss there, the tip of his tongue darting out to circle your rim. You whine and arch into his touch.

“You should have some of this drug, York. Y’won’t have to worry about lastin’ then.”

“No,” Dave says as he lifts his head above your ass to lock eyes with Joel. “One of us needs to keep a clear head.”

“C’mon,” Joel taunts, swiping a finger through the mix of powder and tears still on your face. “Have a taste. Live for once.”

Joel extends his offering to Dave, hovering just over your lower back, inches from Dave’s lips. The men stare each other down, each of their movements slowing, much to your displeasure.

Dave eventually resigns himself, taking Joel’s fingers into his mouth and giving them a good laving with his tongue, tasting the sweetness of the drug, the saltiness of your tears.

Without warning, Joel succumbs to another high, exhaling a sputtered groan as you swallow what he gives you — what little of it there is at this point.

The drug makes quick work of Dave, twisting him into some kind of untethered beast as he drags multiple orgasms out of you with the barrel of the gun, his tongue flicking hungrily against your ring of muscle.

There isn’t a part of you that isn’t on fire. With desire, pain, fear. Fear that this will never end, that these two men will rip you apart from the inside out before all is said and done, but in spite of yourself, in spite of everything, you don’t want it to end.

“Lie back, Joel,” Dave commands and Joel does so without hesitation, his age getting the better of him, welcoming the relief he’ll receive as he makes himself comfortable on your couch.

Likewise, you’re happy for your jaw to have a momentary reprieve, as well, rubbing your tired muscles with your fingers as you catch your breath.

“Get on top of him,” Dave barks at you.

You willingly climb atop Joel, panting, lining yourself up with the slick head of his shaft. Joel’s heavy arm comes up to bar across your hips, pushing you down onto him until you sink all the way to his curls. The new angle making you keen and arch.

Dave presses you forward until your chest is flush with Joel’s, flattening you out before him. Joel doesn’t miss the opportunity to wrap his lips around yours again, kissing you sloppily, roving the wet heat of your mouth with his tongue, making you whimper as you begin riding him.

Dave spreads your cheeks apart and spits a globule of saliva at your puckered entrance, pressing two digits inside easily.

“Good thing you already loosened up that ass for me. You can take both of us, can’t you, sweetheart?” Dave murmurs and you simply nod, not wanting to tear your mouth away from Joel.

He lines himself up, placing the weeping slit of his head against your muscle as he begins pushing inward, inch by agonizing inch. Though you’re properly loosened up, there’s still a slight sting as your muscles contract and pulsate around him, stretching to accommodate his size.

You pant in hitched breaths, never having felt so full, so sated, before. It’s like they’re everywhere inside of you, consuming every inch of you like rabid jackals. Joel’s arms lacing around both you and Dave as both men begin to move independently within you.

You soon discover why they work so well as a team. Within minutes their movements are synchronized, a coordinated dance with you placed right in the middle, every downward thrust from Dave immediately proceeded by an upward lance from Joel. And they somehow manage to maintain said synchronicity for quite some time, even as they’re filling you to the brim with their cum.

They pump you full of themselves and you continue to drench them with every orgasm they drag out of you, your shared fluids sluicing down your bodies, soaking the cushions of the couch below.

It’s okay, you can just burn it if you actually end up surviving this. But hey, if you don’t, what a way to go, right?

Everything begins to meld together after a while, lines and vision blurred, your bodies practically stitched together at the seams, a perilous dance between the three of you in the throes of passion when the drug reaches its peak.

Their hands paw at you, knead you, your flesh supple and malleable under their large palms. They dig their fingers in, branding you, bruising marks left in their wake. Your head twists to and fro, tongue snaking between your teeth as you alternate between locking lips with both of them. You aren’t certain, but you think you see Joel and Dave link lips a few times as well, but it’s difficult to ascertain for sure, each scene of debauchery bleeding right into the next.

It goes on like that for hours, Dave and Joel occasionally switching roles, manipulating your overwrought body into a host of varying positions.

You have to stop a few times. For water, or just to take a break and a quick breather before you’re at it again, both men claiming your body like the primitive animals they are.

Dave has to call off his two remaining men when they practically try to beat down your door, understandably mystified and concerned, drinking in the vision laid out before them when Dave answers the door naked as the day he was born.

He sends them away when their motives shift and they make a sudden plea to join, letting them know in no uncertain terms that you are for him and Joel only.

You pout as you watch them leave, ever eager for more, but you don’t allow yourself to dwell on it, the three of you getting right back into the swing of things the moment they’re gone.

——

You must have shifted to the bedroom at some point during the night, as you rouse from sleep between two massive furnaces of men, a thin sheen of perspiration coating your still naked bodies.

You extricate yourself from the tangle of limbs and climb out from beneath them. You could easily put an end to them right now, if you were so inclined. But there’s something oddly endearing about the way they’re passed out in your bed, practically cuddling one another, Joel snoring like a chainsaw, that gives you pause. You’re amazed you were able to get any sleep at all with them in your bed.

You give them a final glance before you hastily make your way to the bathroom to clean up.

——

After your shower, you slip into a set of loose and comfortable sweats — a stark contrast from last night — tucking your pistol into the band of your sweatpants. You know, just in case.

You sweep up the remaining powder, making sure to wear proper PPE this time, salvaging as much of it as you can, should you ever need it again. As a weapon next time, you tell yourself.

Once done, you wander into the kitchen, chewing on two naproxen tablets before chugging what seems like a gallon of water to alleviate your dehydration and the various aches and pains riddling your body.

You’re starving so you put on a pot of coffee and whip up a simple breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast, enough to share. You plate the eggs and bacon on a platter and place them in the center of the table while you finish up the toast.

Your back is to Dave when he enters the kitchen. You feel the boards shift and you spin on the balls of your feet, drawing and raising your gun. You aren’t at all surprised when you find him doing the same — holding the same gun he fucked you with — dressed only in his boxers, your eyes locked, staring each other down in a deadly game of chicken.

“Easy now, kids. Thought ya worked out your differences last night,” Joel chides as he steps into the kitchen next to Dave, adjusting himself in his boxers.

You swallow, eyes blown wide, and you lower your gun first, even though you shouldn’t. After an uncomfortable beat, Dave does the same.

“We good?” you ask him.

“Yeah. Good.” Dave furrows his brow at you, unconvinced, but willing to play nice. For now.

“Smells great, sweetheart,” Joel says, seating himself at the table, helping himself to a plate.

You make a motion for Dave to sit.

“Could be poisoned,” he warns Joel, who flashes him and incredulous slant of his eyes.

“Fuck sake—“ you grit, scooping up a spoonful of eggs and shoving them into your mouth, canting your eyebrows at Dave as you inhale them. “Satisfied?”

Neither of them says a thing, but you catch a glimpse of Joel’s smirk below his mustache as he begins shoveling food into his mouth.

You finish preparing the toast and pour each of them a cup of coffee before serving yourself.

“Thanks,” Dave says, quietly, his eyes sliding down your body, tongue trailing his lips.

“You know, I don’t even know your names,” you say, glancing between the two men.

“Dave,” he replies. “And this is Joel.”

“Well, you already know my name. Nice to meet you, Dave and Joel,” you say.

Silence settles between the three of you while you eat, you seated between them, pouring more coffee when their cups inevitably empty.

You stay like that for a while, mulling over what to say next.

Dave is the first to break the silence.

“Thank you. For breakfast. And for…last night,” he says, averting his gaze.

You smirk.

“I’m not a bad person, you know.”

“Never said you were,” he responds.

“Just a name on a piece of paper.”

“That’s right. The infamous Datura.”

“I don’t kill indiscriminately like you do. I kill bad people. Corrupt politicians. Crooked cops. Genocidal maniacs.” You swallow down a swig of coffee. “But I guess I should have known better than to take out a senator’s son this time.”

“You know, we’re all putting our lives on the line, too, by not completing the contract,” Dave explains. “Should probably get the fuck out of dodge. Maybe you, too.”

His lips skew into a ghost of a smirk, eyes mapping the gentle slopes of your face.

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

“We might need an extra set of eyes, if that’s the case.”

You smile, leaning across the table, resting your chin in the bowl of your palm. Your eyes sparkle sweetly as they shift between Dave and Joel.

“Dave, are you offering me a job?”

His hand comes up to hook around the back of your neck, lips crashing into yours as his other hand grips and squeezes your hip, making you whine when his fingers graze one of many tender spots.

You hear a throaty chuckle rise from Joel next to you.

“Take it that’s a yes, darlin’.”

FIN.

#pedro pascal #writing #fanfic #romance #smut #author #pedro fanfic #dark romance #dave york #joel miller

166 notes · View notes

lizzaneia-elizalde · 6 months

Note

For ALL the yanderes you’ve created, those that are fathers, going to be fathers, or want to be fathers (intention to baby trap their wifey’s), how well of a father would each of them really be? Like on a scale of 1-10 (10 best, 5 average, 1 worst). And what’s their parenting style or just some tid bit info on their parental duties?

I don’t want to overwhelm you with this request, so hopefully this can be a simple headcanon list for just some of them like the sugar daddy, cowboy, politician, etc. of whorever else.

Thanks your stories make me so giddy to read and will you ever make ABCs for your OCs? (SFW/NSFW/mixture of both)

Yandere! Men and their Fatherly Capabilities

I've always wanted to do these types of questions! Scenarios are so fun to do and read so I hope I didn't mess up this one!

About ABCs, i'm probably going to do sometimes. It can be requested, although I don't know where to start with it. Kink ABCs, probably? I dunno, i've only read a handful of ABC drabbles. But it looks soooo fun.

YAN! ARTIST: 7/10

Arlen would definitely be higher than average. His emotions are not that twisted yet (LMAO YET). He was loved by his parents, and his grandmother. He knew what a healthy relationship with a child looks like, so he strives to do the same.

Although, he would be clumsy sometimes, but he knows what to do and what to say.

"Honey? Oh no, don't eat the paint. *Chuckles* you weren't? Ah, sorry. But you want to learn how to paint? Alright. Come here. Let's start easy. Okay?"

YAN! DRAGON: 4/10

Vincent would be awkward. He's been for hundreds of years now, with no one to rely on, no family, no friends. Then suddenly, you came in. When you became his spouse, he was a little bit worried about your offspring. He doesn't know how to father at all. He hatched from his egg alone, so when your child got born, he's awkward, confused, and overly cautious. He's afraid to hurt the child after all.

He would probably shower the child with gifts, as compensation. Because you know, some parents, who cannot express affection in a physical and verbal way, would shower their child with gifts.

"Ah, child. Do you need something? No? Oh, hmm... Well, I found this necklace with a temperature controlled gem as a pendant. When you're cold, it will warm you up, if you're hot, it would cool you down. No need to thank me. It's my duty as your father, after all.

YAN! THEATER ACTOR: 3/10

Horrible father. Well, not horrible-horrible, but the fact that he wants your attention on him and him only is already a major setback. If he suddenly had a mini me running around and hogging your attention, let's just say Ignatius wouldn't take that lightly.

He will take a vasectomy just to avoid having an accident. So no accidental pregnancies at all.

"Ugh. No children for me. I can't have your attention on somebody who is not me."

YAN! BUTLER: 10/10

No doubt about Zero. He will definitely be a great father. He's the best butler out there. A chimera also, so he's stronger than humans, maybe even select monsters. He's caring, cunning, smart, and loving.

He's devoted and loyal, so expect your child with him to be the most beloved child out there.

"Pumpkin! How are you? Hungry? Haha, don't worry, I already prepared your snacks and drinks. Of course, it's in the garden, in your most favorite spot. Come, your mother is also there."

YAN! SUGAR DADDY 8.5/10

GRR BARK BARK BARK AWOOO *Ehem* wait what who said that? Well, anyways, as much as Rowan is the most caring sugar daddy out there, he's still a mafia boss. So him being one is putting you and your child's safety in danger. But other than that, with his loaded money and insane protection from his men, your child will be one heck of a protected baby out there.

Although, it would take more convincing for Rowan if your child wanted to be the next mafia boss.

"You want to be like me? Dream on, squirt. This lifestyle is dangerous. So if you want to become like me, I better see you prepared for everything. So, not now."

YAN! JOCK: 6/10

Damon would be at most, average. Well, above average by only a bit. Remember, he's not exactly the most emotionally capable man out there. His himbo persona is the only one making him afloat in the social world. He's probably gonna go and act like his parents. After all, he already has a himbo persona. What harm could it be if he would develop a loving father facade?

Maybe the more time he spends with you and your child, he will become actually affectionate. And he will be, don't worry.

"Heyya champ! Want to play basketball with daddy? What? No, I didn't trip you on purpose. HAHA! Alright, you caught me. You gave your momma so much trouble, so I had to discipline you a bit."

YAN! ASSASSIN: 2/10

NO! PROBABLY THE WORST FATHER OUT THERE! I feel bad, but technically speaking, he hasn't healed from his father's abuse. He's also already a violent man who would do anything to get out a reaction from you, and he won't stop until he did. So, imagining him with a child is a NO NO! He's that much of a bastard.

Once he healed though, then maybe? But definitely not current Azrael.

"A child? Angel, no. I do not want to have them. Period."

YAN! EX-BOYFRIEND: 4.5/10

Lee is emotionally unavailable for people other than you. Even his own parents. You're the only one whose able to bring out such intense emotions from deep inside him. But he won't be that much of a pain to deal with, it's just that he's probably gonna be one of those awkward dads that only talks to you one or two sentences a day, and only does his best in providing for his family.

Don't worry, he's not an ass to just neglect his child, just, barely emotionally there.

"Hey kid, here you go. Your allowance for the week."

YAN! COWBOY: 7/10

Knoxx is prideful, so he takes pride from his family also. He always dreamt of having his own child, teaching him the ways of the ranch, giving them their pony, and teaching them that once they set sights on a potential partner, they shouldn't let go.

Other than that, he's going to be a good dad. He will make his own father his role model, and rear the child to the best he can. Although not without a few bumps due to his personality.

"NO! Twilight! Stop! Don't scare the horse like that! Just easy petting, no sudden slaps-- TWILIGHT! NOW LOOK AT YOU, ALL DIRTY BECAUSE YOU STARTLED YOUR HORSE. What am I even going to say to your mother..."

YAN! EMO: 9/10

Ashton is surprisingly going to be an excellent father. He's in tune with his emotions, is not one to impose traditional views on his child. He will be very open minded about your child, and will be an actual strong pillar of support.

Along with you, your child with him will be a great kid, who's in touch of their emotions and is sensitive to feelings.

"It's okay to cry sweetie. If you want, you can embrace papa. There there... Just let it all out. You're big, strong, and amazing. Nobody should doubt that, even you."

YAN! WEREWOLF: 7.5/10

Lyall grew up with his family, which is like a lot of them. It's like a compound where several branches of generations live in the same lot, so he knew how to take care of kids and play with them, and make sure they grow to decent adults.

Unlike his family though, he will make sure to teach his child the ways of a werewolf in an early age, so that they will not be lost in the dark if they shifted for the first time.

"Shifting will hurt, I can't deny that. But hey, focus on your wolf's voice, let them guide and soothe you. I am also here, and also your mother. Together, we will guide you until you finished. That's my pup."

YAN! EX-HUSBAND: 7/10

Novel/OG Inigo will definitely be a 10/10 father, but for this version of Inigo, I only placed him a 7/10 due to him being an opportunistic asshat. In the novel, he genuinely wanted to marry Ykaidi for the children, but in this case, he wanted to marry you for you to come back in his arms, and is using the kids as a leverage to get you back.

Other than that, he's probably gonna be a great father. Allastor is one, so Inigo has a role model to look up to when it comes to amazing fathers.

"You two, what are you doing? Hmm? baking cupcakes for your mother? Well, isn't that amazing. Do you mind if I help? I can operate the electronics."

YAN! HOSPITAL CHAIRPERSON: 6/10

He's paranoid. So he's probably gonna be really strict with his child. Like, curfew time is 5pm kind of strict. He's not one to intrude in personal stuff though, so the only strictness he actually has is making sure his child is back home safe, and always at home, since home is the safest place to be.

Your child is probably gonna get sick of it though.

"What time is it? Yeah, 5:10 where were you? I was worried sick! School? I thought school ends at 4:00? You went out with your friends? I don't care about that but when I saw curfew is 5, it's 5!"

YAN! VILLAIN: 8.5/10

Eros is a lovable man. And unlike his current life, his modern past life was exposed to gentle parenting. He was an orphan, so he wants to give everything he can to his child. And in his current life, his father was absent, and his mother is a pedophile, so he definitely, definitely wants to break the cycle of being a bad parent.

He's the Duke after all, what can he not give his child?

"Happy birthday, my precious jewel! Wait, why are you mad at me? Oh? That? Well, gifting you a villa in the seaside is a good thing right-- ow! Ow! Okay! I shouldn't waste my money! Haha!"

YAN! POLITICIAN: 5.5/10

Like I said with Maximus, he's also a traditional man. He provides, you take care of the children and the house. He's also a politician, so he's busy as a bee making a name for himself, taking care of the city, and providing for his family. Although, he does make sure to spend his holidays with his family.

Your children will be popular as hell, seeing as they are the children of THE Maximus. So, goodluck to them if they are introverted.

"Children! Papa's home! I bought Christmas gifts from the cityhall. Your aunts and uncles wanted to give you tons of presents, so do go ham in opening them! Don't worry, papa will be here until January."

YAN! MAFIA BOSS: 5.5/10

He's the opposite of Rowan. He gets jealous easily. Like really easily. Same as Ignatius, if you have somebody that you put your affection into that was not him, it would leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Also, with him constantly filling up with wealth and expanding territory, it will be a horrible place to rear a child. Since he baby trapped you though, he has no choice but to provide for the kid. He's surprisingly decent, and his jealousy is more or less childish (Thank God).

SO, he just baby trapped you just for the sake of you being trapped. Hooray for the man who's NOT thinking of consequences.

"Boohoo, cry for your mom. I just stole your lollipop. What's that? You want this back? Well come and jump, tiny. Come on, jump-- OW! H-honey! OW! Okay i'll stop teasing tiny h-- OW! Okay I won't call them tiny!"

SO, ranking from greatest to DEFINITELY NOT

Butler > Emo > Sugar Daddy = Villain > Werewolf > Artist > Cowboy > Ex-husband > Hospital Chairperson > Jock > Politician > Mafia Boss > Ex-boyfriend > Dragon > Theater Actor > Assassin

There you have it! Our official ranking on who's the best daddies to the "I will not leave my child with them"

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere drabbles #lizzaneiaelizalde

159 notes · View notes

storydays · 3 months

Text

Baby Mine

Bruce/Brandi X Daughter! Reader

Bruce groaned as he massaged his temples. He's had this heavy pressure in his head for the last few weeks. At first he thought it was stress..But today, it was a throbbing pressure he'd only ever felt when he inhaled sharply, catching his wife's attention from where she was cooking breakfast. "Something wrong, darling?" wondered Brandi.

Bruce didn't answer, instead he reached into his hair carefully, grimacing from how sensitive his hair was, and stopped shortly when he felt the familiar shape of an egg nestled tightly between his purple locks.

"Bruce?" Brandi called as she turned the stove off, and turned her full attention to her husband. "I-It's an egg." whispered the Troll, feeling a large grin spred across his face. "My love! It's an egg! We're having a baby!" Bruce laughed with glee, his wife leaning down with an amused smile. She kissed her husband's cheek, causing his blue eyes to meet her warm brown eyes.

"We're having another baby." She agreed.

*Timeskip to after Trolls 3 events*

The other Brozone members' and the Pop sisters watched as Bruce worked with his wife, and maneuvered around their 13 kids' chaos. "Bruce, you really should be resting." Brandi commented as she passed out more drinks. "Hon, I'm fine. The baby is fine, too. Their not set to hatch for a few more days." Bruce waved her comment off, as he passed the group's drinks and food out.

"Baby?" Floyd asked. Bruce winced...he forgot to mention the little darling in his hair to his siblings. His tail flicked nervously, but before he could attempt to lie his way out of the situation, Cove and LaBreezey came up with their notebook and crayons and a determined looks on their faces.

Oh no, it was observation time.

Ever since Bruce's two oldest children learned their dad can have babies differently then their relatives on their mother's side, they've been keeping notes, and asking questions about full Trolls' anatomy.

"Yep! And according to our notes, baby 14 should be hatching any day now!" LaBreezy chirped excitedly, as Cove gently checked their Dad's hair to check on the egg, ignoring their dad's hiss of pain and irritation.

Bruce managed to let his oldest child peer at the egg for all of 10 seconds before pulling away with a warning hiss. Cove nodded thoughtfully, before writing something down.

"Are you sure they're okay? I mean, after what Velvet and Veneer did?" Branch asked, fidgeting with his fingers, before Poppy took one of his hands and squeezed in reassurance.

Bruce smiled at his youngest brother, "Yeah, B. I'm fine. when the doctor from Pop Village came to check on Floyd, I pulled her aside and she looked me and the egg over, and--" Bruce let out a groan, dropping the spoon in his hand and holding his head.

Brandi was by his side in an instant and shooed the children away. "Go play, kids. " Turning to her hunched over husband, she leaned down to face him. "Darling, color?" she whispered.

"Red." he whimpered, tail angrily moving about. Moving quickly, but gently, Brandi scooped him and said something to a nearby waiter who nodded. Casting a glace towards the concerned Trolls by the bar, she told them firmly, "Stay here. I'll be right back."

Brozone shared a look and waited nervously for news about their brother and unborn niece or nephew.

After waiting for a good two hours, the Trolls had enough and stormed into the back where his brother's house was connected to the restaurant, and actually ran into Brandi, quite literally. Her eyes widen, before she knelt and allowed them to climb on her hand, bringing them eye level.

"Bruce will be fine. The baby is fine, but it was honestly rough on both of their bodies. They're sleeping right now, and you can come see them in a little bit."

"Mom?" called Freddy as his siblings stood behind him looking worried for their family.

Brandi set the Trolls down and knelt in front of her kids, allowing them to squish in her arms.

"Daddy's okay, he's just really tired. He'll be up in a little bit. The baby is also okay, they also need to sleep a little." She cooed, kissing all their foreheads.

"Mom, is it a boy or girl?" Windy asked, tilting his head. Brandi smiled.

"It's a........"

@cobiplayz

#brozone x reader #dreamworks trolls #trolls band together #clay trolls #trolls 3 #bruce trolls #floyd trolls #branch #john dory trolls #broppy #brandi trolls #bruce and sons

270 notes · View notes

palesweetscherryblossom · 6 months

Text

The Rainforest..

Warning: Kidnapping, platonic Yandere, Shiggy being creepy as fuck, non consensual hypnosis. Reader Chan is around 10 to 12 in this fic.

You were honestly regretting your decision to venture alone into the jungle without your brother’s assistance or guidance. Izuku was quite great at navigating through these harsh environments. You were always fascinated with the various plants and animals that roamed the forest, not to mention your occasional curiosity about the various mythical creatures.

But, that withered away when you entered the forest. Anxiety and fear creeped up your spine as you wandered through the aimless foliage and jumped at the slightest of sounds.

“I should’ve stayed home.” You muttered quietly, jumping at the sound of some crows cawing. You continued venturing deeper into the depths of the jungles, maybe you could come across some merciful creatures.

You heard from your brother that some merciful Bakenekos roamed the area and a nice naga girl. Little did you know something was peering from you through the trees, piercing eyes as red as rubies and blood.

Shigaraki was looking at you through the leaves as his chapped lips quirked up into a grin. The naga and his mate always desired a hatchling to raise as their own and a little man cub just strolled in.

Shigaraki followed you through the trees, his eyes slightly giving a look of pity at your little jumps and whimpers from everything that went bump in the night.

His poor little baby, all alone and no adults in sight. Well, that was going to change, that’s for sure. Man does play a cruel trick, Shigaraki felt his rattle slowly come to life as he hissed lowly. Oh how he loathed man.

Filthy, disgusting and pathetic creatures. But they did provide some amusement to the blue haired naga, how they swung around their guns and weapons, boasting how they’re going to slay the beasts.

Then they end up with Shigaraki’s scales digging into their necks and his venom slowly melting away their skin. Or how they spasm or jump around after Dabi’s venom settles in their bloodstream. Like little rabbits.

“I-is someone there?” Shigaraki was pulled out of his sadistic woolgathering at the sound of your voice. He must’ve been chuckling again, which often sounded like a raspy hiss.

Shigaraki took the opportunity to collect his little hatchling, a jaguar or a man eating harpy is bound to eat you up.

“Hello there, little one.” Shigaraki’s low and raspy voice filled your ears as he slowly revealed himself from the trees. You jumped slightly at hearing his voice and quickly turned around to see him.

You swallowed nervously and stepped back a bit, especially when you saw his tail. “H-hello.” You managed to get out without stuttering much. Shigaraki gave a little grin before slinking closer.

“Say now, where are your parents? It’s not exactly wise for such a little cherub like you to be out this late.” He said. You didn’t respond, you were too horrified by the fact that the creature before you was half serpent.

Izuku told you stories of two vicious nagas who had a penchant for human blood. It didn’t help that the naga who was currently talking to you fit the description perfectly. Shaggy blue hair, cracked lips and wrinkles around his eyes, a rattlesnake half.

“Don’t mind the tail hatching, I know it’s a bit off putting at first.” Shigaraki said, as if he recognized that you were, rightfully terrified. He inched closer, gently but firmly grasping your chin. You flinched as he observed you more.

“What pretty eyes you have! You know, I had a relative who had the most gorgeous eyes!” Shigaraki observed, slowly but steadily leading you into his hypnotic allure.

Shigaraki frankly enjoyed his ability, he loved toying with his prey and luring them into a state of vulnerability before completely eating them.

But for you, it was keeping you calm and compliant. Shigaraki didn’t want to frighten his hatchling! He knew that it was going to be a major change to your environment and sense of living. He was probably going to have to get Dabi to collect more furs and fruit, you were a growing child after all.

Unfortunately for you, the hypnosis was taking affect. You didn’t want it, you wanted to tell Shigaraki to stop, to go away. You wanted Izuku but that thought was quickly wiped away from your mind. You attempted to speak but all that came out was a distressed whine of fear and defiance.

“Oh hatchling, don’t be scared. It’s just papa.” Shigaraki softly purred, his voice like honey and sugar. He gently lifted you up into his embrace, your face leaning against his chest. Shigaraki gave a little laugh at your weak

squirming and weak whines. “You’ll probably be woozy for a while, but I’m sure your daddy wouldn’t mind.” He assured. Dabi would probably be quite thrilled at the idea of them finally being parents. Shigaraki cuddled you closer as he slowly slithered to the way of your future home. “H-home?” You managed to get out. Shigaraki smirked before kissing your forehead.

“Yes my little fawn, home.”

#platonic yandere #yandere mha #child reader #yandere shigaraki #naga shigaraki #yandere naga #mythical forest au

213 notes · View notes

mirrormazeworld · 7 months

Text

Ace's Character Concept Deep Analysis Based on Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

⚠️WARNING ⚠️ CONTAINS ADVANCED MATH

When "Ace is Traitor" theory suddenly becomes popular because of his birthday card where there is something like the oysters from Alice in Wonderland (that we know is deceived by the Walrus) I suddenly remembered one riddle from Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll that I believe is related to Ace (if Yana really did base him on Alice in Wonderland)

For those who have been following me and read my theories so far, you all know that when I do analysis "based on Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll" there will be high level math so buckle up if you are interested because it'll be a very long post or stay back if you can't stand it.

I'm not a mathematician and is stupid so I'm sorry if my understanding and calculation of math is wrong. If you are an expert at this field you are very welcome to correct and teach me.

Alright everyone, today let's learn Math to find the hidden character concept behind Ace Trappola

The Knave of Heart's Trial

To do a character analysis for Ace we should go back to Heartslabyul chapters because he played an important part in that book : As the "Knave of Hearts" who stole Queen of Heart's tart in "Alice in Wonderland" .

In the original Alice in Wonderland book by Lewis Carroll, Alice's dream of Wonderland ends when the trial of Knave of Hearts suddenly and dramatically collapses like a house of cards. Why? The answer to that is number "42"

And it's interesting how in Twisted Wonderland Yana chose to illustrate this in Heartslabyul book where the dream ends after the cards collapsed which is based on Lewis Carroll's version of Alice in Wonderland rather than the Disney one which Alice was woken up from her dream because of Queen of Hearts and her card soldiers are chasing her to the Wonderland Hall.

You can say that Lewis Carroll's wonderland is the wonderland that's created with base number 42. It begins on the title page with “Forty-two illustrations by John Tenniel.” After descending into Wonderland, Alice encounters an angry Pigeon who protects her nest “night and day” and hasn’t “had a wink of sleep these three weeks.” This gives her egg a hatching period of 21 days +21 nights = 42, or a unit value of(3 × 7 × 2) = 42. There's also the suppression of two guinea pigs in the trial scene. A guinea in English currency has a value of 21 shillings; consequently, the two guinea pigs (or piggy banks) would have a total value of 42 shillings. In the Queen’s rose garden, Alice encounters three gardeners who are animated numbered playing cards. If we add up the card numbers(2 + 5 + 7 = 14), then multiply that by the number of cards(14 × 3), once again we get 42.

And especially at the Knave of Heart's Trial, there are normally fifty-two cards in a deck. However, Carroll has been careful to leave the gardeners (the ten numbered spade cards) out of the procession, with the result that there are exactly 52 – 10 = 42 cards. The King of Hearts also said rule 42 as the oldest rule in the book, since it relates to the mathematical structure of wonderland which creates the Wonderland itself.(Riddle I'm looking forward for you to say rule 42 in the game)

Now let's move on to why number 42 is so important in Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.

Wonderland Multiplication Table

“I’m sure I’m not Ada,” she said, “for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all; and I’m sure I can’t be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides, she’s she, and I’m I, and—oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I’ll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn’t signify: let’s try Geography.

-Alice in Wonderland Chapter 2 : Pool of Tears-

Alice's adventure begins and ends with number 42 as Carroll actually already gave a hint where in Wonderland's great hall at the very beginning of her adventure in wonderland, she recites the multiplication table, but as we see from what she said, it's a system that's suddenly foreign to her. And then she said "The Multiplication table doesn't signify." This is actually a math problem based on scales of notation.

For a normal people, when Alice said "4 x 5 = 12 , 4 x 6 = 13" it might seems like Alice forgets how to do the multiplication because what we know is "4 x 5 = 20, 4 x 6 = 24" but actually it's not that she forgets how to do it. It's because the multiplication table we used to learn in elementary school and is what we usually use in our everyday life is the multiplication table with the base of 10 while she did it with the base of 39

In daily life we usually work with a base of 10 (multiples of 10) such that 1111 becomes ‘one thousand one hundred and eleven’. But in other things like in Computer Science for example, there are other numbering systems that are used besides base of 10, some examples are Binary (Base 2) and Hexadecimal (Base 16)

In binary system , where base is 2 (multiples of 2), (1111)₂ = 15 (8×1+4×1+2×1+1×1). Now I'll explain why it can be this way.

In binary, there are only two possible digits because this binary system only has two characters: 0 and 1. Therefore each digit in a binary number represents a power of 2, starting from the right and increasing by one for each position to the left.

Let's break down the binary number (1111)₂ step by step:

The rightmost digit is 1, and it represents 2^0, which is 1.

The next digit to the left is also 1, and it represents 2^1, which is 2.

The next digit to the left is again 1, representing 2^2, which is 4.

Finally, the leftmost digit is 1, representing 2^3, which is 8.

Now, to find the decimal (base 10) equivalent of this binary number, you add up these values:

1 + 2 + 4 + 8 = 15

So, (1111)₂ in binary is equivalent to 15 in decimal. The expression "(8×1+4×1+2×1+1×1)" represents exactly this process of adding up the powers of 2 to calculate the decimal value of the binary number.

Now I'll give another example in the Hexadecimal numbering system where the base is 16(multiples of 16). I'll explain why (14)₁₆ =20 which makes 4×5=(14)₁₆ (20 represents the value in decimal calculated by adding the powers of the base of the Hexadecimal number system while (14)₁₆ represents the number in Hexadecimal number system itself)

In the hexadecimal (base 16) numbering system, there are 16 possible digits, which include the usual 0-9 digits and the additional A, B, C, D, E, and F, representing the values 10 to 15.

Now to convert the hexadecimal number (14)₁₆ to decimal (base 10) :

The rightmost digit '4' represents 4 in decimal, just like in our regular base 10 system.

The leftmost digit '1' represents 1 in decimal.

Now, to find the decimal equivalent of (14)₁₆, we simply multiply each digit by the corresponding power of 16 and add them together:

(4 * 16^0) + (1 * 16^1) = 4 + 16 = 20

So, (14)₁₆ is equivalent to 20 in decimal. The expression "(4 * 16^0) + (1 * 16^1)" represents this process of converting the hexadecimal number to decimal by calculating the values of each digit and summing them up.

Note : In any number system, including our familiar decimal system and other base systems like binary, hexadecimal, or any base you might encounter, any number raised to the power of 0 is always equal to 1. This is a fundamental mathematical rule that applies universally.

Therefore Mathematically, for any number 'a' in any number system with any base :

a^0 = 1

Now back to Alice in Wonderland, we have to find a base such that 4×5=12 as said by Alice in her multiplication table which is 18 (12)₁₈=20(18×1+1×2).

Alice’s multiplication table goes as :

4×5=(12)₁₈

4×6=(13)₂₁

4×7=(14)₂₄

4×8=(15)₂₇

As we can see the base is increasing by 3. So

4×12=(19)₃₉

And therefore, Alice is reciting the multiplication table with the base of 39.

Now Alice said that she will never reach 20. The value of (20)₄₂=42×2+0×1=84 but 4 times 13 is 52 which implies

4×13≠(20)₄₂

Therefore Alice will never get to twenty.

Once we progress to the 13 times level, to maintain the rule of this system, we must employ base 42. This proves to be fatal and the entire system thereafter collapses.

It's a pun!' the King added in an offended tone, and everybody laughed, 'Let the jury consider their verdict,' the King said, for about the twentieth time that day.

Because of number 42 (as a base number in the Wonderland multiplication system), Alice is right to declare that she will “never get to twenty at that rate.” And neither will the King of Hearts: “ ‘Let the jury consider their verdict,’ the King said, for about the twentieth time that day.” But like Alice, the King never gets to twenty either. For here we find the fatal number 42 looms up once more, and brings all in Wonderland to a cataclysmic end.

At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in his note-book, cackled out “Silence!” and read out from his book, “Rule Forty-two. All persons more than a mile high to leave the court.”

Everybody looked at Alice.

“I’m not a mile high,” said Alice.

“You are,” said the King.

“Nearly two miles high,” added the Queen.

“Well, I shan’t go, at any rate,” said Alice: “besides, that’s not a regular rule: you invented it just now.”

“It’s the oldest rule in the book,” said the King.

“Then it ought to be Number One,” said Alice.

The King turned pale, and shut his note-book hastily. “Consider your verdict,” he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.

It is by the authority of Rule Forty-two that the King attempts to expel Alice from the court. Alice disputes this, however, objecting that if Rule Forty-two is the “oldest rule in the book” as the King claims, “then it ought to be Number One.” And with this peculiar logic, she suddenly finds herself capable of overruling the King and Queen of Hearts.

How is this possible? And why, besides the King and Queen, is Alice the only one not ordered executed? Once again, Carroll is playing a word game, this time the word-within-the-word game.

In one example, he suggests that although one may find ink in a drink, it is not possible to find a drink in ink. In another, he explains that one may find love in a glove, but none outside of it.

Consequently, Alice is ultimately able to overrule the King and Queen of Hearts when she discovers her true rank in this game: hidden within the word Alice there is an Ace

When the procession came opposite to Alice, they all stopped and looked at her, and the Queen said severely “Who is this?” She said it to the Knave of Hearts, who only bowed and smiled in reply.

“Idiot!” said the Queen, tossing her head impatiently; and, turning to Alice, she went on, “What’s your name, child?”

“My name is Alice, so please your Majesty,” said Alice very politely; but she added, to herself, “Why, they’re only a pack of cards, after all. I needn’t be afraid of them!”

“And who are these?” said the Queen, pointing to the three gardeners who were lying round the rose-tree; for, you see, as they were lying on their faces, and the pattern on their backs was the same as the rest of the pack, she could not tell whether they were gardeners, or soldiers, or courtiers, or three of her own children.

“How should I know?” said Alice, surprised at her own courage. “It’s no business of mine.”

The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a moment like a wild beast, screamed “Off with her head! Off—”

“Nonsense!” said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen was silent.

The King laid his hand upon her arm, and timidly said “Consider, my dear: she is only a child!”

According to the rules of Carroll’s card game Court Circular, in which hearts are trumps, “the Ace may be reckoned either with King, Queen, or with Two, Three.” We are told the numbered heart cards in Wonderland are “the royal children,” which would seem to explain why the King of Hearts initially informs the Queen that Alice “is only a child”—in fact, the youngest child.

However, as an ace, she can choose to switch from the lowest-ranking heart to the highest. When she claims her power as the highest-ranked card in the deck—the Ace of Hearts—her role in Wonderland suddenly shifts from the virtually powerless to the most powerful.

Alice has finally discovered Wonderland’s “rule of processions.” In the ranking of Wonderland’s forty-two-card deck, Alice has become the highest-ranked heart. She has become the fatal number 42 that in the Wonderland multiplication table wrecks the mathematical structure upon which Wonderland is constructed. She overrules the rulers, and claims the power to end her dream. In waking, Alice brings the whole of Wonderland down like a house of cards.

So for those people who suspect "Ace Trappola" might have "Alice" in him, based on this analysis of Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, you are correct! 🎉

Conclusions (and Speculations)

Up till now we still don't know Ace's unique magic. I don't know if "Ace is Traitor" theory will turn out to be true but if Yana really created Ace based on Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, after I did a deep analysis on him I don't think he will betray Yuu. It's more like "he will be the one that makes Yuu realize Twisted Wonderland is just a dream just like how any other Wonderland that we know is". But since Wonderland is "deceptive" itself by its nature, just like any other Wonderland that we know, Yuu might think of Ace as a traitor but in fact he is just telling the truth.

Based on the analysis of Carroll's riddle and Heartslabyul book, my prediction is his unique magic at least capable of doing this :

1. From the weakest become the strongest.

2. Break and collapse a dream/dream world. This can be a dream world made by Malleus or Twisted Wonderland itself, in which he might play an important role in the Diasomnia chapter or NRC/Ramshackle chapter. In my past theory of a way for Yuu to go back home , I put Silver as one of the key characters for Yuu to go back home since he relates more to the quaternion and had ever met Mickey, but I also always think Ace might also play an important role for Yuu to go back home.

Well, what do you think? I look forward to the continuation and revelation of the main story.

Thank you for reading this far and Happy Birthday, Ace! 🎂🎉

#twisted wonderland #twst theory #twst thoughts #twst ace #ace trappola #alice in wonderland #heartslabyul

170 notes · View notes

marinerainbow · 1 year

Text

Mermaids- and sea creatures in general- are some of my favorite creatures ever. So here are my thoughts/headcanons; what I imagine they'd be like in real life if they existed. I took inspiration from many sea animal facts, and I am in no way a professional biologist so these may not be the most accurate.

Biologically accurate Mermaids (probably)

There are many subspecies of mermaids, though the two main types are deep sea and surface types. We'll be looking at both of these types today, along with the general facts about all species.

Surface Mermaids:

The surface Mermaids are kind of like humans in length, interchanging between 5-7 feet (1.5-2.1 meters) in size, similar to sharks. They also range in bright colors to blend into coral reefs.

They travel in packs, referred to as pods. Pods usually contain 10-20 members, though there may be some groups that travel in smaller or larger groups. Some groups have designated leaders, while others don't.

As natural carnivores, they eat other sea life. From crustaceans to fish, big and small. There is very little that mermaids wouldn't hunt.

Since they live closer to the surface, these are the merfolk people would most often see. Surface-level merpeople don't feel fear for humans, and are actually curious about them. The way they see it, these odd, tailess creatures seem to resemble them the most. At least their upper halves do. So they want to know more about us.

Which can lead to a big problem with poachers; although some deep-sea mermaids have been caught, it's usually a surface level that a hunter would find.

Deep-Sea Mermaids

Deep sea mermaids are more drastic in size difference. They can range up to 10-15 feet (3.048-4.572 meters), though there could easily be bigger species we haven't found yet. They also have deeper, darker colors. Not muddy, just darker. And they also have bioluminesence.

Although these merfolk can travel in packs too, it's more common to see them on their own. Or in smaller packs. Why this is the case is unclear.

Deep sea mermaids that travel in packs will take whatever precaution necessary to ensure they don't lose each other in the darkness, without attracting predators in the process. They can be seen holding onto each other's hands and tail fins or moving as little as possible when they find a place to rest. Though if they need to, they'll call out to each other despite the risk.

Like their surface level cousins, the deeper level merfolk are also carnivores. But they are scavengers, too. You can easily find these guys around carcasses that fall to the ocean floor, either tearing apart the dead creature or hunting the other sea life that came for the free meal.

In General

The reason why groups are so diverse is that, like dolphins, mermaids are scarily intelligent. They are most likely on the human level of intelligence, and as such have the brain capacity to experience and understand complex emotions and thoughts. Resulting in each mermaid and pod having their own morals and ways.

Like whales and dolphins, merfolk communicate with clicks, whistles, and pulsed calls, along with using physical cues and body language to communicate.

Like humans, mermaids have complicated mating traditions, though for the most part, they mate for life. Some groups are more polygamous however.

During mating season, the females will all choose a cave or crevice to lay their eggs and, like octopuses, will stay beside their clutches to protect them. Since all the females tend to stick together, with some exceptions, they often take turns watching over each others eggs while one or two of them leave the cave to go find food. Also, while the females take care of the eggs, the males will stay and protect their mates and the nursery during this time, and at least one will follow the females when they go hunting to make sure no predator harms them.

Mermaids will often lay two to three eggs. Once the babies hatch, the whole pod works to protect all the children, at least until they are old enough to swim on their own. Some groups may choose to stay in the nursery spot for longer just to make sure the babies won't get lost or snatched up by predators.

Although they can be born male or female, if there are a shortage of females, some of the mermen will transition into female. Kind of like clownfish.

I hope you guys enjoyed these! Happy MerMay! ^^

#my whole account is marine themed yet this is probably my first marine post -_-#mermaids #mythology #folklore #biology #my own headcannons #MerMay #marine biology #ocean #sea life

326 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

theedgeofhipsterstan

Dispatches from the Edge of Hipsterstan

visual-quotes

I loved you once, I love you still, I always have,I always will.

askdemontheclefairy

emi's waifu and girlfriend

mbqppe

fatouseckcreates

Fatou Seck Creates