sovlstr - Tumblr blog

sovlstr · 8 days ago

Text

Quote anons experience on twitter: “My closest encounter with the mafia is when I went to a starkly empty pizza place in Rhode Island once, they seemed utterly confused that I wanted a pizza, it took 45 minutes to make, they gave it to me for free, and it was the best pizza l'd ever had.”

Turned it into a small snippet for the lovebirds ! Figured I should post at least one of the heaps of drabbles I have stored away for them🤍✌️(plus an unrendered piece I made of them a time ago. It’s unrelated to the piece below,

—————————

The afternoon was warm with the slow heat of early summer, a kind that made the cobblestones sweat and the glass shopfronts gleam like coins. Maria walked the city streets with her gloved hand tucked politely against her coat, soft curls pinned just so beneath her hat. She’d finished her errands early today- stopped by the grocer, the seamstress, even the little victory garden to simply say hello- and found herself struck by a sudden craving.

Pizza.

Not the doughy, sad kind her aunt would attempt to make on Sundays, but a real, genuine, thick- crusted cheesy, delicately Italian pie, fresh and spiced, like they said you could only get in the Italian Quarter. She thought of Red, likely lazing in his chair by now, cigar half- smoked, the faint stink of his cherry tobacco still clinging to his lapel as he snored with content. He’d eat anything greasy with gusto after a nice nap. And Papyrus… well, he could pretend to like “authentic cuisine” when it pleased him to be gracious, but it might serve him well to try.

A little surprise for the house.

Maria had only paused for a brief moment before she’d glanced up to find it there.

A narrow little storefront, tucked between a cobbler’s shop and an old watch repair, its sign reading “Luccio’s Ristorante” in faded red script across the glass. The window dusty, the corners smudged with time.

Inside, strangely still.

No clatter of dishes. No warm scent of baking bread. No quiet hum of conversation that marked a kitchen at work.

Empty. Odd for midday.

Then again… Tuesdays could be slow. She remembered her own slow Tuesdays, quiet and long, waiting for the evening rush that sometimes never came at the lease of a boring performance.

A faint bell chimed upon the woman’s entrance, the sound thin and small in the vast quiet of the room. Maria noted a quiet bunch of three men huddled in the far corner, casual simple suits and dark ties with their gazes set over cards. They didn’t look up. She was greeted by a large man in a crisp white apron, peering at her from behind the counter like she was a ghost.

“…Buongiorno?” she tried, giving a quiet smile. “Do you serve pizza here?”

A long silence. The man blinked at her blankly, wiping his hands on the apron as if waking from sleep. “Uh… pizza? You want pizza?”

The chalkboard above his head was blank. Not even a scribbled special. No prices. No menu. Not even a faint whiff of sauce in the air. She’d hesitated with a quiet stutter, before answering her reply at the waiting man stood in front of her.

“Yes. Ahm- a plain pie. For takeout.”

Another pause of silence. From deeper in the restaurant- where the few men sat hunched over a card table- a chair creaked. One of them letting out a low grunt, barely audible over the hum of the old ceiling fan.

The man at the counter didn’t move.

“Uh… si. Pizza. One moment.”

Maria awkwardly took her quiet position sat at the lone stool by the window, folding her gloved hands and pretending not to notice the way the cook muttered behind the counter in hurried but barely audible Italian. She could hardly make out what he spoke, even with knowing the language herself.

It took forty-five minutes.

When the box finally appeared, the man slid it across to her like handing off contraband, the woman just barely noticing the recognizable unease in his eyes. That notion had been making itself more and more apparent as of recent days.

“No charge,” He’d mutter simply.

“What? Oh, but I- “

“No charge.”

His eyes flicked nervously to the men at the table. “For you. Take.”

Maria blinked. Thanked him politely. Walked out into the warm street, slightly bewildered but still cradling the bulky brown box like a newfound treasure.

Maybe flattery was the only reason. Or maybe she’d just be naive enough to believe that odd excuse for the man’s gesture. Suppose it was an apology for taking so long. Giving them the benefit of the doubt, perhaps the suppliers were running late that week.

—————————

The scent reached him first.

Warm, rich dough curling in the air like the ghost of perfume- a hint of roasted garlic, sharp smoked cheese, and the softest whisper of basil lingering like a secret. It slid under the door, crept along the apartment’s wood floor, and all but wrapped itself around his senses as his skull tipped up, slow and curious, sniffing the air like some great hound.

That wasn’t the usual sauce.

It was… unfamiliar. Something made fresh. Pleasantly different from all Papyrus’s attempts. Though certainly not Maria’s.

Red glanced down at the cloth still in his hand, half- polished revolver gleaming under the low kitchen lamp. He’d been oiling the Colt out of habit- half- bored, half- attentive, the quiet of the apartment bringing a rare peace. Now the room smelled like little Italy’s best daydream. His lazy sprawl straightened by degrees. Nasal ridge twitching, brow lowering.

“…Sweetheart?” His voice rumbled low across the room as he folded a towel over the scattered pieces. “Whatcha got, doll?”

A rustle from the kitchen nook.

Red watched as a head of curls and chubby cheeks peeked out from the doorway as he entered, his little lady's sleeves rolled up to her elbow, cheek smudged faintly with something red.

Green eyes bright, warm but with tired delight. Behind her, laid like treasure on the counter, sat an enormous, blistering, golden- edged pizza in an ugly brown box- the kind without labels, speckled with dark grease stains blooming like ink.

“I went to that place down on 14th. The one by the old pier with the green awning? It was odd. Empty. Only some quiet men in suits waiting silently… they let me order anyway. Took forever, though they gave it to me for free after.”

Maria hummed quizzically, inspecting the pizza before slicing off another piece with a butter knife.

“Oh Red- it’s the best damn pizza I’ve ever had.”

The man watched Maria take a quick bite of the meal, cheese stretching like golden ribbon, and her sigh- a long, blissful breath of honest joy. His hand frozen over the counter. Blank socket staring. Blinked. Studied in silence. Then blinking again, slowly.

“The place by the pier?”

“Mmhmm.” She finished chewing happily. “No sign but the faded one in the window. Next to a watchmaker, I believe. Empty like a ghost town, but absolutely amazing.”

Red stilled his hand on the counter. Leaned forward, spine stiff as he spoke. His tone was soft, even lilted with a subtle amusement.

“…Sweetheart. That place ain’t a restaurant.”

A moment of silence passed before Maria turned to the larger skeleton, looking at him with now confused green eyes.

“What?”

She watched him drag his large hand down his face, half wheezing, half laughing under his breath.

“Oh, babe… babe. That ain’t been a restaurant since damn prohibition.”

He tipped his head toward the window like speaking of some distant ruin. “That’s Langstrom’s old washhouse. Money laundering. Ain’t no menu ‘cause there isn’t a menu. They don’t serve nobody. Place is just a front for cleaning cash and meeting outta sight. Nobody orders food ‘cause there ain’t any food.”

Maria seemed to freeze mid- bite. Slowly lowering the slice, black lashed eyes rounding like moons before she looked back at Red.

“…But they made me a pizza.”

Another rough laugh broke from him- throaty and benign. Red standing up straight, running a hand over his bare skull like this was the best thing he’d heard in years.

“Course they did. You walked in askin’ for the one thing they ain’t served in twenty fuckin’ years! Bet those boys in suits about shit themselves.”

Her hand shifted over her mouth after a thick swallow and following silence.

“…they gave it to me for free.”

She heard Red crack- his shoulders shaking, mouth wide with a fierce, helpless laugh tearing loose as he crossed the room and thunked the box with a bony finger like priceless treasure.

“Oh, babe…. What’re they gonna do, say no? They know who you are. Everyone in this work does, ‘nd Dons boys ain’t stupid. You walk in there alone, askin’ for somethin’ off the non- existent menu- hell, they probably thought you were sent.”

The words sank in after a moment's silence. Maria sat back slowly, stunned, the sad weight of the greasy slice drooping in her hand.

“Oh… I just wanted to surprise you.…”

Red leaned down behind her, arms curling slow and sure around her waist, pulling her back to his chest, that deep smoky purr warming her ear and curls.

“Sweetheart….” His voice drawled with a satisfied little hum. “You got no idea what kinda fear you just struck into them boys today.”

Maria felt her face warm with a huff, a smile creeping on her burning cheeks.

“…I thought they looked nervous when I asked for pepperoni.”

He laughed again, soft now, wickedly amused by her hesitance as his large chin rested against her shoulder.

“Next time you wanna play Russian roulette with dinner… gimme a heads up. Coulda got you a free steak outta Langstrom’s safehouse.”

Her eyes only stared at the pizza box, dazed into a steady silence. She whispered her reply.

“…Should I not eat it?”

Another chuckle leaving him. She’d felt his shadow crossing her as he reached to grab a fat, heavy slice for himself. The cheese snapping with a string as he pulled it free.

“Babe, if the mob makes you a pizza… You eat the fuckin’ pizza.”

She watched her man take a massive bite of the food, sighing as she leaned against him. Grease dripping warm onto the cardboard with satisfaction written in every line of his smug, bone grin.

“…Still the best pizza I ever had.”

Red chewed. Swallowed. Stayed grinning.

“Nothin’ makes a man cook better than fear of death.”

And it really was the best damn pizza in Blackridge.

—————————

The call came in the quiet hour.

Red seated comfortably in the bedroom, waxing the leather of a pair of his older shoes, faint smell of oil and grease sitting softly in the apartment. The radio crackling faintly in the kitchen. Maria humming in the other room, folding laundry.

Then the phone rang. It wasn’t the house line- this call coming from the other one. The thin, black rotary Red kept solely for business.

Cheshire grin fading with the exhaustion of a man answering to his boss, Sans answered the receiver slow and careful, and his voice gruff with the evening.

“…Red here.”

A pause. Soft breath, the faint echo of city wind through high glass. Then-

“Evening, Red.”

Don Langstrom’s voice had always held a particular curl to it. Smooth as dark wine, velvet laid over quiet steel tempered by a graceful of aging. His timing only nearly as uncanny as Wings' own, Red would notice at times.

“Hope I’m not disturbing supper, friend.”

The monster's eyes flared faintly. Free hand curling loose around the newly cleaned gun kept on the table nearby.

“Not a problem, Don.” He kept his voice level, even if carefully tempered with a grinding annoyance. “What can I do for ya?”

A soft chuckle hummed down the line.

“Oh, nothing serious. No trouble. Just thought I’d call about your woman.”

The silence stretched on now. Red’s grip tensing on the flimsy small phone, between his shoulders stiffening and a raging dark thought crossing the monster's mind. A sweet little daydream, of just how painful Red could make this man’s death, if he didn’t choose the right words.

“…My woman?”

“Yes.” Langstrom sighed amusedly, like a father catching a bright child stealing chocolate.

“Little Miss Maria. Lovely voice. Very sweet. She sang for my birthday, did she not? I remember.”

Don spoke of the day as if Red didn’t so vividly recall its every moment. The way the old man’s beady eyes had ran across his dolls, the way Red’s fists had clenched across his body, stiff and silent to conceal his rage at the time. Even Papyrus had felt it, bless his help.

“Green eyes. Dark hair. Gentle. You’ve got good taste, Red. I quite enjoyed her last performance.”

I like your girl. Maria Giovanni. Red’s teeth set in. Awaiting the man’s verdict.

“She’s sweet, that one.” Langstrom’s smile was almost audible in the way he spoke. “Innocent. Walked right into my old washhouse this afternoon. You know… the old one.”

Red shut his eyes, grimace slow.

“Yeah. Heard about that.”

“She ordered off the menu that didn’t exist.” The Don’s chuckle darkened, trepidation marking his words. “Walked in soft as a lamb, asking my boys for pizza like she was at Tony’s on Ninth. Thought you should know.”

“I know.” Red’s words came out faster than he’d have liked. Edged and strung like a thin- wire blade.

“She ain’t mean nothin’ by it. Girl was hungry. Thought it was still open.”

“Oh, I know she didn’t mean anything by it. But you understand, don’t you, my friend… that I cannot have my private works mistaken for real restaurants.”

The unspoken threat glimmered like fine china in the dark.

“She didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” He would atone. “Didn’t even know what the place was.”

Lee replied without missing a beat. Ease laced in his singsong voice despite his apparent stoic demeanor across the line.

“But Red… you do. And you let her walk the streets alone. Into my house.”

Red felt his eyes flare before fading back to his hollow glow. Spare hand tapping the table with a hand to keep from digging it anywhere else that he could pretend was Don Leonardo’s wrinkly throat.

“She ain’t your concern.”

“Everything that happens in Blackridge is my concern.”

Langstrom’s voice quieted to a low and cold baritone.

“Especially when it involves my best monster enforcer… and his human pet.”

A pause.

I’ll fucking kill you so damn bad… The pretty threat only lingered in his head as Sans' teeth set into a grinding scowl. But he remained silent for the Don.

“I like you, Red. You keep your leash short. Do your job. But you and I both know what happens when civilians stick their noses too close to family business. Accidents happen. Misunderstandings. Regret.”

“Ain’t gonna happen. I take care of mine.”

“I’m sure you do.” Another soft laugh from the phone's end. “But see that you keep her, monster. We wouldn’t want another mishap. Aheh, not after she charmed my kitchen boys into giving her one of the few goddamn pies they’ve made in years.”

Red said nothing. He only felt his grip whiten, twitching the black little handle. Langstrom’s voice softened once more.

“No harm done. But you might tell her… next time she wants pizza, stick to Luigi’s, hm?”

A low, dangerous grin tugged at Red’s mouth.

“Next time… I’ll have her ask you for steak instead.”

Langstrom’s laughter echoed as smooth and rich down the line as humanly possible.

“Oh, you monster. Maybe I’ll even cook it myself.”

Sure pal. Only after I choke ya out the next chance I get.

A pause. Then lowering silence.

“Watch yourself, Red. My men watch too.”

Click.

The line went dead.

Red sat in silence for a moment longer, the warm pulsing hum of the room a growing contrast to the twitch and fray of his bones. Maria’s gentle voice drifting from the bedroom as she hummed some old tune from her parents' day. He gave a sigh, rolling his skull back, grinning sharp and tired.

“Doll… Ya got the whole city’s men sweatin’… and you just wanted a goddamn pizza.”

—————————

It would be a moments while before Sans felt the desire to address it to his lady. The city outside their window sighing with distant tires, quiet horns, the occasional far- off laughter of some soul drunk on summer wine. The hour late already, with the evening lamps dimmed and the air warm with a fading heat.

Maria stood in the little bathroom doorway, oiling her dark curls loose, green eyes lidded soft with sleep and her house robe trailing open at the collar. She’d find her Red sitting silent on the bed’s edge, rolling a new toothpick slow between his bared teeth, sockets shadowed in a steady silence.

Too silent.

“Dear? You alright?”

She earned a grunt in reply. Maria could sense the lack of a casual verdict this time. No following smirk, no quiet tease.

“Come ‘ere, doll.”

His voice was careful now. That rare tone- the real one he used, when it was a serious matter. One could make the air in the room shift its weight in silence.

It’s why Maria felt herself first hesitant.

So only in barren worry did she quietly pace across the bedroom to him, bare feet soft on the floor. Reds eyes met hers. Crimson lights glowing faintly in the dim room, wavering red like the flicker of a match. She felt his bony hand curling warm around her wrist as he drew her down closer, quiet and gentle until she stood just between his knees with his grip finding itself on her hip.

“We gotta talk, sweetheart.”

Maria looked down in silence.

“I figured as much. But about what, Red?”

Sans gave a grumbling sigh, an ever present smell of cherry tobacco and something dark, heavy as the city itself.

“The Don called me tonight.”

The words ran in her mind despite the stillness of her body. The Don. Not ‘a Don’. They knew no other Don to speak of. No other than the very explicit man Red worked for. A large hand giving her hip the faintest of a squeeze served to ground her mind back to the present.

“About you.”

Sans noted the particular twitch of her circular eyebrow. Lips frowning softly against her face. The way her heart began once more, following the pause of her breath as it hitched in her throat and she forgot it was still safe to breathe.

“About me.”

“Yeah. ‘Bout the little pizza stunt.”

Whether his words made her any more relieved or any more worried, Maria didn’t quite understand herself. Because he would’ve noticed. It hadn’t even crossed her mind any sooner that it may have been a genuine problem- one enough to notify the owner of its establishment. If he had civilians unknowingly entering his dealing zones.

“… I didn’t..”

“I know. He knows.” Red reached to pull her hand into his, squeezing slowly. His other hand brushing her waist, quietly sure with his lifted gaze.

“You’re clean. You didn’t do wrong. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re safe. But, sweetheart… You can’t do that again.”

Maria let him gently tug her onto his lap, cradling her against him with his skull pressed to her temple, his breath warm in her hair. Green eyes wide with worry and a burningly still stare into his own.

“Not alone. Not down there. Not near any of those places. The Don’s smilin’ now but that smile’s got teeth. You don’t poke the bear’s den twice. Not even on accident.”

Maria curled into him faint. A hand drifting to his chest, feeling the low hum of his magic under his ribs. Red’s tone flattened.

“He laughed about it. This time. Said you gave his boys the best scare they’ve had in years… But that’s ‘cause I’m his monster. And ‘cause he likes your singin’ voice. Next time, they ain’t gonna be so amused.”

“….They ain’t gentle men.“

The tension followed his words like a warning, one where she could feel the silence leer upon her shoulders. Eyes flicking down as if the feeling of being lectured had been almost forgotten in her mind. And perhaps it had. The woman being so accustomed to keeping careful and mature with how she handled herself, in a world where a single sliver of dependence could mean injury… even worse then. It almost felt impossible that she had even let this slip- up happen. A heavy sigh escaped her languid frame.

“I’ll be more careful, Red.”

“…That’s why you won’t go alone anymore. No more walks alone near the piers. No more empty joints. You want somethin’? You tell me. I keep you safe. I keep ya mine. You hear me, doll?”

Red leaned back to gaze at her slowly, his empty black socket reflecting the light brown of the room around the pair. His free hand traveled to the back of her neck, thumb brushing the stray baby hairs that marked where her hair began. Caressing the under of her ears as she sat in a contemplative silence.

“Langstrom made sure I heard it clear, sweetheart. He’ll have the city watchin’ now. Other families… listenin.”

A tired smile tugged at his jaws.

“Only you could do that.”

Silence passed before Maria gave a quiet breath. Resting her head against his chest, as if to think anymore were to wear the woman out.

“I won’t go alone again,” she’d promise solemnly. “Not without you. Or someone you trust to watch.”

Because Maria was well aware that Red paid a quiet handful of nameless men to keep watch over her- shadowing her steps any time she left the apartment, unseen but always there. A quiet insurance. A silent net. She pretended not to notice. And he pretended she didn’t know. But they both understood. She felt his jaw ease just faintly enough for his teeth to click.

“Good girl.” His voice dipped lower a with rare, honest care. “Don’t want nothin’ happenin’ to you. Not ‘cause I wasn’t watchin’.“

His hand slid to her cheek, gentle. A grin tugging at his Cheshire- toothed smile.

“And besides…” His thumb brushing the curve of her jaw. “Next time you want pizza… You come to me. I’ll steal you somethin’ better than mob pie.”

Her smile was small, faint enough as she brushed her nose against his own to sigh quietly.

“….Still the best damn pizza I ever had.”

His chuckle rumbled against her hair. A rare, light thing. She felt her own hum of a laugh slip free- soft, barely hidden in the new hush between them.

“….Fear makes good cooks.”

And as soon as it came had the warmth cooled, fading fast behind his sockets. His phalanges splaying firm across her clothed waist.

“Just stay close, doll. From now on.”

And Maria only nodded- silent, knowing- because she felt it now. The shift. from the city’s gaze creeping close at the windows and Red’s quiet heart burning beneath her palm in sync with her own. The weight of eyes watching.

A new crowd. New dealers. New brutes slipping into the lounge’s smoke and velvet.

A larger audience.

And they were watching her, too.

—————————

43 notes · View notes

sovlstr · 14 days ago

Text

946 notes · View notes

sovlstr · 20 days ago

Note

Decided to do this for mafiafell Red and Maria. Thanks for the motivation ! 🤍🥀🦴

No proofreading no beta we die like men

⸻⸻

The bookstore sat like a secret between the brick buildings. Ornate lamplight spilling golden against the dusk, pages yellowing behind the wide glass window and the scent of paper and old wood bleeding into the street, warm and familiar like a hearth in winter. Maria’s nimble hand had slipped into Red’s larger one without word. She slowed, her steps gentle with her gaze fixated on the shop’s glowing window. The faintest smile ghosted on her mouth as she turned to him- emerald eyes soft and shining like frosted glass catching sunlight.

“Red…” Her voice came sweet, coaxing, that familiar singsong-y tone that always worked its way under his ribs. “Please? Just ten minutes. I promise.”

The skeleton gave a groan in reply, pulling the cigar from between his sharp teeth, ash burning low as he pointed it lazily toward the display.

“Doll, you got more books than time to read ‘em. We ain’t turnin’ your house into a damn library.”

But his boney hand stayed in hers as his feet followed anyway.

The bell over the door chimed softly. He felt Maria slip from his grasp like smoke, leaving to peruse the mass collection there was to offer. Fingertips grazing along cracked spines and weathered covers like old friends reunited after a season apart.

Red sighed. Crossed his arms. Leaned against the worn doorframe. Waited. Watched.

Because it was the same ritual every time. The woman’s quiet reverence, her subtle little joy, the way her circular eyebrows would knit in concentration as she weighed her haul of words and stories. And Red? Zimply remained standing guard in the doorway, grumbling low to himself like a grizzly kept from sleep. It would be an hour later- because ten minutes was never really ten- Maria returned, glowing and triumphant with her arms stacked full. A teetering tower of books that wobbled with every breath, almost hding her soft, flushed face.

Red let out a low whistle, skeleton brow arching.

“Y’buildin’ a fort or runnin’ off to be a librarian, sweetheart?”

She grin wide, unashamed, breathless with quiet joy.

“Don’t tease me. These are good ones. Real good ones.”

His hand was already reaching for his wallet with a groaning shake of his skull.

“Hope they teach ya how to stop draggin’ me in here every time.” He’d grumble with no heat in his voice- only a quiet, worn affection. The sort reserved for things you’ve come to love in spite of yourself. Maria simply beamed at him, like a girl who’d just won the world.

And when they left- with her pile so high the woman could barely see- he’d take half the stack without a word, cradling the books in his arms like they were fragile, precious things. Only to mindlessly huff all the way home.

But he paid. And he stayed. He always did. Because no matter how many times she paused at that cozy old bookstore window. Red always followed. Lke a tired, loyal dog on the leash of her gentle smile.

⸻⸻

Skeleton's S/O is a book lover, and every time they're walking in front of a bookstore, they will beg Skeleton to go in and inevitably get out of there with a tower of books bigger than them. Who's resisting and avoid their S/O to go bankrupt? Who goes inside and gets trapped in the book hell as well?

Undertale Sans - You contaminated him. Sans loves to read as well, and the more time he spends inside the book store, the harder it is to not look at the sci-fi bookshelves. It always ends with him saying himself that it can't hurt to just look at the books, and then that it can't hurt to check the cool bookcover of that book, and in the blink of an eye, he has three books in the hands and he goes to pay for them in a sigh, not even trying to understand how that happened.

Undertale Papyrus - Papyrus is the voice of reason and keeps reminding you that you both need to eat the rest of the month and to please not pick more than one book. That is, until he notices that cool book nook puzzle thingy, gets completely obsessed with it, and ends up buying it even though it's more expensive than all the books you bought. Stop looking at him like that! That doesn't mean anything!

Underswap Sans - Sadly, Blue is a horrible heartless monster and drags you away as you whine pitifully, holding to the door with all you have. He picks you up like a potato bag and kidnaps you from your favorite place. You can only wave goodbye at the bookstore, you're not going in today.

Underswap Papyrus - Yeah, well, he's not the one who's going to stop you. By the time you turn around to ask if he wants to go in, he's already inside, on a shopping spree in the romance section of the shop. You both go out of here with so many books he needs to teleport them home so you can go on with your day. You're both getting scolded like children by Blue when you're coming home.

Underfell Sans - He rolls his eyes, but he's also a good boyfriend and he wants his S/O to be happy, so he tells them to pick a book. He's going to pay. He ends up paying for 10 books, confused about how that even happened, and feeling like he got scammed. Yeah, you can be god damn happy about it. You're lucky he's nice. He's so going to fall for it the next time you go there, yet once again.

Underfell Papyrus - He agreed on one book, and there's no way you're getting more than that. You try to negotiate, but you quickly understand that negotiating with a lawyer leads nowhere. He's stubborn, and he won't change his mind. You grumble as you pick one book and put the others down, trying to guilt him with sad eyes. That doesn't work. But nice try, though.

Horrortale Sans - Well, he needed a break. Oak doesn't mind. It makes you happy, and he likes to see you happy. He just sits in a corner, grabs a book, tries to focus on reading the first line and immediately falls asleep right after. You don't realize it's a problem before you try to wake him up after you bought your books, and... And realize he's not waking up. Oak is a heavy sleeper; he's not moving from there before his two-hour nap is done. Good luck with that.

Horrortale Papyrus - He loves books as well, but isn't it a little too much? He can't help you carry all the books, so he stares as you're trying to walk out, struggling to not make any books fall. He's walking closely behind you, anxious you're going to knock yourself out if they fall, and warning you that he can't carry you to the hospital if you hurt yourself.

Swapfell Sans - He cringes a bit as he sees the number on the cash register, but pays for it. He has money, he doesn't use it, he guesses he can do that for you. It still hurts, though. He could have bought you a nice piece of jewelry with that money. He doesn't understand why you're finding books so much more attractive than his luxury jewels. But fine.

Swapfell Papyrus - He's a terrible influence, as Rus is surprisingly good at pitching books. Every book he's pitching you ends up on your pile, and it gets worse as you reach the manga section, as you end up buying the integral series of a manga he told you was so good you would love it. That's 111 books by the way. Rus assures you that's ok because Nox is paying. What he didn't tell you is that he stole his brother's credit card and that you're both dead the second you put a foot back home.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He sighs. You're taking way too long to pick your books. He walks to the counter, puts his credit card on the table, and says he's going to buy the bookstore, please. The poor employee stares at him in bewilderment. What? He said "Please", now give him the bookstore? It's not that complicated, right?

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He just sends a text to Wine to say he's going to buy books, then he empties the entire artbook section as you stare in disbelief, and goes to pay for it, so happy. Wow. You have twenty books in your hands, but even you are shocked. You have a feeling no one taught Coffee how to spend his money in a frugal way. Maybe you should talk with Wine about this. ... But then Wine would stop paying for your books. On second thought, maybe you're not going to talk about this lol.

76 notes · View notes

sovlstr · 21 days ago

Text

More Maria || I want honey walnut fried shrimp so bad 🤍

33 notes · View notes

sovlstr · 28 days ago

Text

✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐋 ✦

• An interactive fanfict storyline where YOU, y/n, will choose what you will do next in the World of Ciren City.

[You x Don Walker Calloway]

|| All characters/world credited to @zesketches . All paths align loosely to stated/inferred canon. This is a route for Don Walker Calloway, heavily inspired by the Stress Relief comic, not entirely canon to the Agents and Kings storyline. Please support the artist/creator by visiting them and reading their webtoon here.

|| INTRODUCTION. ||

⸻

You weren’t supposed to end up here.

Not in this city, in this concrete sprawl of velvet crime and gold- toothed devils. Not working clubs where every stage creaked under the weight of eyes hungry for something they can’t name. Brushing against monsters in silk suits, whose smiles don’t always reach their eyes.

But you did. And here you are.

A blind performer. The dancer who sees with your hands, your feet, your skin. You don’t need eyes to read a room when you feel it. The resounding tension. The way the pulsing music hummed through your bones. The way footsteps echo’d and voices hushed when someone dangerous walked into the room.

The way he feels whenever he watches you.

Don Walker Calloway.

They say he’s the king of Ciren’s underworld. Old money. New blood. A gentleman with a temper like a lit fuse. You’ve heard the whispers. Felt them wrap around your arched spine when he enters the room.

He never speaks when you perform. Never claps.

But he always stays.

Because there’s something different about the way he sees you. Not as a showpiece. Not as a weakness. As a puzzle.

When you pass by his corner booth and your skin prickles with something like fear- curiosity.

⸻

|| WHO ARE YOU. ||

You’re you- really, whoever you want to be. Just doing it with the hand your given.

You’re a performer. A dancer. A siren in silk and satin. You live by rhythm, texture, and instinct. You read the world through fingertips, footsteps, scents, and sound. You laugh when you’re nervous. You taste things you shouldn’t. You feel everything.

A person with a past you keep wrapped like the bandages lining your wrists and calves. Blind from birth- or was it something else? An accident? A punishment? All the city knows is that when you move, you own the room. And when you speak, even the monsters listen.

You don’t beg for safety. You earn it.

⸻

|| THE RULES OF THE STORY. ||

Choices will be offered. You’ll pick what you do next.

Some choices lead to trust.

Some lead to danger.

Some lead to love.

Eventually, you may become his.

But be warned. Dons don’t fall easily. And when they do, they don’t fall gently.

⸻

|| YOUR STORY BEGINS. ||

Ciren City isn’t kind to soft things.

Not that you’re soft.

You learned long ago that being blind didn’t mean being helpless. It just meant listening harder. Feeling deeper. Moving smarter.

And you move beautifully.

People talk about you like a rumor-

“… Hands like poetry,”

“Don’t make the mistake of guiding them- they’ll guide you.”

“Dances like they got ghosts in their skin.”

They call you the blind starlet, the velvet flame, the one with eyes in her hands. But you don’t need their names. You live in rhythm, in breath, in the shape of music and air against your skin. You perform in lounges and backrooms and velvet clubs tucked beneath the ribs of the city. Some nights, your audience is made of aching hearts and strangers with whiskey on their breath. Other nights, the crowd feels too quiet. Too controlled. Like it’s watching you closely. Measuring.

You feel him before you ever meet him. That recognizably large overbearing presence in the darkened corner. Still, but warm. Eyes like heat. Hands that haven’t touched you, but you swear you could trace them anyway.

A man who never applauds.

A man who always returns.

You’re backstage when you take your leave just after midnight. The thick black makeup clings to your lashes. Your robe is too warm. The manager’s yelling about broken sound wires but you’ve already slipped out of the side door.

You need air.

The city greets you like it always does- humid, gritty, alive. A thousand heartbeats layered over one another. And somewhere in the mess of neon and footsteps and static jazz, you can make out a car engine idle. Smooth. Rich.

Maybe you know it’s him. You don’t need eyes to know as you feel it. His warm voice calls your name. Not harsh. Not commanding. Simple patience with the softness of his words.

“Can I take you somewhere safe?”

He never rushes you.

But he never asks twice, either.

⸻

✦ FIRST CHOICE ✦

Your first real decision. What kind of story is this going to be?

OPTION A- Get in.

You don’t know what you’re walking into, but you’ve danced at the edge of danger long enough to crave the leap. Perhaps it’s time to see what’s behind the voice.

OPTION B- Refuse.

Safety in Ciren City usually comes with a price. And you’re not ready to pay it- not yet. You’ll find your own way back.

OPTION C- Negotiate.

You’re not a doll to be scooped up and stashed away. If he wants your company, he can earn it. Ask him what he wants- and why.