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from-the-clouds · 2 years ago

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texas sun - joel miller x f! reader - vol. vi

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chapter summary: you grow closer with sarah, and also with joel... pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 5.2k chapter warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY - oral sex (m receiving). alcohol consumption. Some angst, but mostly fluff, references to divorces/getting remarried/stepparents. anxious thoughts. a/n: this chapter is probably the least heavy. s/o to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about it, as always. lots of character/relationship/backstory for both joel and reader. i give reader a childhood nickname in this story, but it's not her actual name. also i made up a backstory for joel because he deserves it. hope you enjoy!

-June 5th, 2003-

“I think you missed a spot.”

“Yeah, that’s because you won’t hold still.”

Sarah scolds you for what feels like the hundredth time since you sat down. You feel a bit like a rambunctious child, and not so much a grown woman who has over fifteen years on her with the way she’s talking to you. To keep from giggling, you press your lips together tightly.

“You’re the one who begged to do this.”

“I did not,” she says, lacing mock offense into her voice – even with her head tilted down so you can’t see her mouth, you can tell she’s smiling.

Sarah’s bent over your kitchen table, across from you, holding your thumb between two of her fingers. Meticulously, she’s painting a layer of pink, glittery polish on your nails. It’s been awhile since you started, and the near-suffocating chemical fumes of acetone and nail polish had grown so intense you’d already made her turn on the fan and open the window above your sink. It wasn’t really helping. And she’s got her face so close to your hand – laser focused – you’re a little concerned she’s going to poke herself in the eye. But you don’t dare correct her. This is a weekly ritual. Every Thursday night, you give each other manicures. It’s far more important to her, however.

“Oh my god, relax your fingers, you’re so rigid,” she reprimands you again.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, a bit sheepish. You’ve been anxious, the energy having worked its way out to all your extremities, apparently.

To be fair, you could do without this. You’ve never really cared about having your nails done growing up, and still don’t. They’ll look good for about two to three business days, and then they’ll chip. It’s always this way, regardless of what topcoat she puts on that claims it will make your nails last forever – maybe you’re just too rough with your hands. However, it’s the one thing Sarah doesn’t give you grief about, maybe because hers always chip, too.

You keep letting her do it, though. Partly because she likes it so much – and it hasn’t gotten any easier to say no to her. The other part is reminded of what it’s like to be a kid again. When you were first sent away to school, you always kept your nails painted - a small act of rebellion, of self-expression after being forced into the same uniform day after day. When you’d come home on breaks you’d beg your brother to paint his nails, run down the hall after him with a bottle of polish. Vincent would never let you, but he would always find a compromise, which was usually a walk through Central Park, and paying for you to ride on the carousel. He’d stand off to the side, waving each time you passed. In those moments, you liked to pretend that things were normal, that there wasn’t a dark cloud lingering over you both. Because even then, you’d known. On the walk home, Vincent would let you hook your mittened hand in the crook of his elbow, and you’d tilt your head all the way back to look at the tops of the buildings, the sun poking through the clouds.

Sarah draws back from your hand, then releases it delicately to the tabletop, placing the brush back in the nail polish bottle. “There,” she says, screwing on the lid. You both lean forward to admire her work. “I’m getting better aren’t, I?”

“You definitely are,” you look at the obnoxious color – Aurora Berry-alis. It’s the exact opposite of anything you’d pick out for yourself, but you’ve been surprised at the compliments you’ve been getting at work from your coworkers whenever you are going over contracts or pointing out revisions. If anything, you think it might make them pay closer attention when you talk. You nod at Sarah appreciatively. “They look good.”

“I think you’re getting better, too,” she places her hands atop the table alongside yours, so you can compare. You’d painted hers the same color, because you always let her choose. Well, it’s less that you let her, and more that she tells you, and you know better than to argue. The first time she’d painted them, and you’d suggested a coat of clear, she had given you so much grief about how boring you were, that you had given in and let her do whatever she’d wanted. There is nothing more terrifying than a teenage girl thinking you are lame.

“It’s always easier to paint someone else’s,” you answer.

Sarah leans forward, and frowns when her eyes land on your thumbnail, the one with the scab at the base of it. “You really need to stop picking at your cuticles.”

“I can’t help it,” you say sheepishly. “It’s a bad habit.” Particularly when stressed, you want to add, but you keep it to yourself.

“Well, it needs to stop,” she says pointedly, before planting her hands on the table and standing up. “I’m gonna get a ginger ale. Do you want me to get you anything?”

“Yeah, grab me one, too,” you blow on your fingers so they dry faster.

Sarah disappears behind you, and you hear her rummaging through your fridge. “Do you not eat? Your fridge is basically empty.”

It’s only when she mentions it that you recall. “I do, I just forgot to go to the store this weekend.”

“How do you forget to buy food for yourself?”

“I’ve been busy.”

Sarah groans, and a few of your cabinets open and slam shut. “There’s no food here.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “I pretty much only buy stuff for you anyways, at this rate you might as well start chipping in on the grocery bill.”

“You sound like my dad.”

At the mention of Joel, you stiffen.

Things have been a bit of a blur for the past few weeks. Between both of your work schedules, it’s been difficult to see one another, and even when you’re free – it has to be when Sarah’s away, which doesn’t happen often. And if she’s not in her own house, the second most likely place for her to be is at yours – so that makes it even more complicated. And both of you have agreed that she can’t find out. Because of that, you’ve only seen Joel a handful of times.

“How is he?” you ask, nonchalantly. It’s a question you have asked her a hundred times before, just like you’ve asked after her best friend from school, Jennifer, or her grandparents, her Uncle Tommy – anyone from her life she talks about regularly. For some reason, you’re still expecting Sarah to hear these three words and sense that you’re not telling her something.

“He’s good,” she says, rustling through boxes. “Busy.”

Yeah….busy. You could laugh when you think of the absurdity of the situation as a whole. There’s not a chapter in any of your self-help books that could teach you how to properly navigate it. So you’re left to figure it out for yourself, and hope you can without inflicting any permanent damage on her psyche.

It makes you kind of nauseous actually. You knew her first. You were closer with her, first. It feels like a betrayal – and you’ve done enough of that in your life. This was supposed to be a way to start over, to do the right thing, but the sickness follows wherever you go. You can’t stop it. What would happen if she found out? Would she be angry, mad, disgusted? She likes you, but as far as she knows, you aren’t romantically involved with her father. And that would certainly change things.

Where it really gets problematic – you like Joel. So much more than you had expected. Well, maybe you’d been expecting it a little but not….like this. Of course, you know better than to be hopeful. Everything is still tentative, new. You’re figuring it out. It’s nice, at least, to savor the feeling while you have it, because it’s something you have felt so rarely.

All that considered, keeping it from her objectively is the right thing to do – for now. At least, that’s how you justify it to yourself.

“Actually he, uh, has been on a coupla dates lately,” Sarah returns to sit with a bag of stale Doritos and two ginger ales

“Really?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow, pretending this is new information.

Sarah nods, and is careful to open both cans with the tip of a butter knife she brought over, so as not to chip her freshly painted nails. She speaks so nonchalantly, there’s no way she suspects anything.

You test the waters. “How do you feel about that?”

“What are you, my guidance counselor?”

You laugh first, and then she joins in, delighted by her clever joke. Once it fades, she surprises you by sobering up, quickly. “But uh….I don’t feel any way about it…I usually don’t care unless he introduces me to whoever he’s with.”

“Oh yeah,” you say. “I remember when my dad did that. Always weird, right?”

“Always,” she repeats, sounding relieved that you understand. “But it doesn’t happen often. I think he’s careful. But things have just never felt….right. With any of them.”

“What, like, they weren’t nice?”

“No, just….I could tell they didn’t really care…” she says. “About me….”

You want to tell her that’s not true. But you’d only be speaking for yourself, and this isn’t about you.

“What about you?” she asks, and you realize you’ve been frowning. “Did you get along with your dad’s girlfriends when you first met them?”

“I mean, it wasn’t so much a meeting as it was my father introducing us and saying ‘Pixie, Meredith is going to be your stepmother,' and then that was that."

“Your stepmother’s name was really Meredith?” Sarah asks incredulously. “Like in The Parent Trap?”

You consider this, the realization hitting. “Yeah, I guess so,” and you both laugh.

“Oh boy,” Sarah says. “Stepmom? If my dad gets remarried, I think…things would change…”

“How so?”

“What if she hates me? And then dad stops spending time with me? What if he has another kid, and they forget about me?” She pauses, but not long enough for you to shut it down without interrupting. “I mean, tell me what happened with your stepmom. Did you become an afterthought? ”

“Uh, well….” you wrinkle your nose. “I mean, yeah, but I was never exactly a priority to begin with.”

To you, it’s such a casual statement of fact, so at first, you’re not sure why Sarah looks so distraught by the response. “Oh, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to….” Her shoulders sag, just a little.

“Oh,” you wave your hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’m fine. What I’m trying to say is from everything you’ve told me about your dad, and everything I know myself –” which is more than you think “– he would never let that happen.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” she says, bobbing her head. “But I can’t help but think about it.”

“Those are just thoughts…” you offer. And you’re no longer even approaching this conversation with the context of being the woman who is with Joel. You just want to make her feel better. “Doesn’t mean they’ll come true.”

It seems to placate her. “Yeah. You’re right,” she nods, and takes a sip from her ginger ale. “I do worry about my dad, though. It’s just the two of us, and I know he gets lonely. And who knows, maybe someday he’ll end with someone I actually like. That could be fun,” Sarah smiles a little. “So long as they don’t boss me around.”

“Boss you around?” you ask, taking a sip from your own can and raising your eyebrows. “I wish them the best.”

“Shut up,” she says, then giggles. “But also…fair point.”

Suddenly, you sit up from where you’d been leaning back into the wood of your kitchen chair. And it seems like as good a time as ever to change the subject, because you’ve far overstayed your welcome lingering. “Oh, by the way, before I forget…stay right there, I have something for you.”

“What? What is it?”

You rise from your seat, and walk a few paces to the basket in the corner of the room. “You’ve got that camping trip coming up soon, and it gets chilly at night….” You dig through your knitting materials until you find what you’re looking for. Once you do, you place it in front of Sarah on the tabletop.

“What? No way!” she exclaims, picking up the baby blue knit cap in front of her. “You knitted me a hat?”

“Yeah,” you say, a bit sheepishly. “I meant to wrap it but-”

“It’s so cute,” Sarah cuts you off. “Can I try it on?”

“Of course, it’s yours.”

She jumps up from her seat and saunters to the mirror that hangs above the credenza just inside your front door. You follow her, standing behind her as she tugs the hat over her head. “What do you think?”

“Here,” you murmur, reaching over her shoulder to brush a piece of hair from her eyes, tucking it under the beanie, and pulling it further down in the back so it covers her ears as intended. Then you both look in the mirror. “I like it. Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she says, incredulous. “I can’t believe you made this for me.”

“I’ve hardly been knitting lately because it is so hot here. And you’ve been talking about how excited you are for this trip since I met you, so…it only felt right.”

Sarah whirls around quickly to wrap you in a hug, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind her – arm across the back of the pink hoodie she’s wearing. There’s a vague sense of longing in your expression, and you wonder what it might have been like to have someone in your life who could have given you the things your parents never did. Maybe there’s still a way to right all the wrongs. And not just for yourself.

─── ･｡ﾟ��: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-June 6th, 2003-

“Come in!”

You’re closing the oven when you hear the knock on your screen door. It slams shut, and you peer through the entrance of your kitchen to the front foyer – just to make sure you haven’t invited an axe murderer into your home.

The concern is fleeting, because you see it’s just Joel, bent over, untying his work boots and slipping them off. You like to think of yourself as easygoing, but you don’t allow him to wear them inside the house. All it took was some side eye the last time he’d tracked dirt all over your clean carpets, and then you never had to ask him again. But really, it was a minor inconvenience compared to some of the shit your past boyfriends had pulled. For example, this past year you actually had to utter the sentence ‘I don’t want you stashing your coke in my underwear drawer’ out loud to a grown man. So, even if the bar was so low you could step over it – and hardly bend a knee – it was something you had learned to appreciate about him.

You’ve made a roasted whole chicken – which is surprisingly easy, and mostly involves root vegetables and a lot of butter. Then it just cooks in the oven. It’s sort of your go-to when you actually decide to cook, but it’s too much food for one person. But you like that if you make it at the beginning of the week, you can eat leftovers for several days after. You hope Joel will appreciate it – not that you are trying to impress him, well, who are you kidding? You definitely are. It’s just one of those things you are ashamed to admit to yourself.

You turn to the sink, pulling off the yellow rubber gloves you’d bought to wash dishes in – in an effort to preserve your manicure. “Hey,” you say, when you hear his footsteps shuffling behind you.

“Hey,” Joel answers, and before you can turn, his lips are on your cheek, his hand on your shoulder, and he takes in the scene of your kitchen. “Would you like some help?”

“I’m good,” you look around. It was maybe a little messy, but the dishes were soaking and all you have to do is wipe off the countertops. It tends to happen when you cook. You’re not great at mise en place. Still, you have a system, and it works for you, and it stresses you out to have helpers in the kitchen. “Everything’s in the oven already.”

Turning finally, you take Joel all the way. He looks tired. Shoulders slumped, hair mussed. You reach out, pull a piece of sawdust out from one of his waves, flick it into the sink. “Why don’t you go sit in the front room?” you ask him. “I’ll be in, just give me a second.”

He’s been busy, putting in extra hour into his first contracting gig, and it appears it’s starting to take its toll.

“Okay,” he nods, hesitant, stepping back.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel settles onto your couch with his hands over his face. He’s upset with himself. For as much as he likes you, he’s barely seen you since your first date – and tonight, the one night he gets the chance, he’s utterly spent.

He rubs his eyes, looks towards your record player in the corner of the room, some melancholy jazz playing over the speakers. In the kitchen, dishes clink together, and a cabinet shuts lightly. Joel lets his head loll back against the plush cushions of your couch, savoring the only peace he’s felt all day.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” your voice cuts in, and Joel doesn’t know how you had snuck up on him, but when he peers up at you, standing over him, you’re holding out a frosted tumbler.

The floral apron you’d been wearing when he first came in is gone, so he sees more clearly the blush button-down you’ve paired with khaki slacks. Your hair is clipped back from your face, reading glasses on your head. He thinks of your coworkers who get to see you looking like this everyday, and gets a little envious. “What’s this?”

“A drink,” you say. “I thought you might need one.”

“Is it that obvious?” He feels a little guilty that it’s so clear to you what’s wrong, and you’ve barely spoken yet. Despite everything, Joel can’t help but feel warm, accepting the beverage graciously. The thin layer of ice coating the outside of the drink melts the second his fingers wrap around it, brushing against your own.

“Only a little,” you give him a soft smile before clinking glasses.

It’s some kind of whiskey, served over ice and it’s fucking good. It goes down far too easy, and he immediately takes another pull. You settle next to him while he does, but not so close that you’re touching. Joel is no stranger to how tentative you are with him, still. But he likes you regardless. He’s holding something fickle in his palm, and he understands he’d better hold still so as not to break it.

“Long day?” you ask, and reach out to trace your knuckle up his arm absentmindedly.

“Yeah,” Joel murmurs. “Things just keep goin’ wrong.”

“And you’re the problem solver now?”

“Something like that,” Joel says. You’d already drilled him about the ins and outs of his job awhile back. Being a contractor, while it’s a step up from his last job, and makes him more money – is much more demanding. People actually answer to him, now.

“I’m sorry…that sounds stressful,” you empathize. “I’m sure you’ll get a handle on it soon enough.”

Joel nods. Even if his brain has been telling him otherwise, he’s inclined to believe you.

Carefully – but not at all hesitantly, you reach out, hand curling around the back of his neck. Its the same one you’d been using to hold your glass so it’s comfortingly cool against his skin – still heated from a day spent under the sun. Joel feels his heart rate pick up as you move in closer. When your lips connect with his own, the kiss is gentle, affectionate. A proper greeting.

A flash of something, white hot, swipes up the sides of his neck, into his face. He’s a little embarrassed at the effect your touch has on him. Everything is still so new. And he’s hardly gotten the time alone with you to get it out of your system.

You deepen the kiss, it becomes deeper, more sensual, and he feels the switch flip. Almost as though you can sense his arousal, your hand slips down, swiftly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. Your mouth never leaves his, you never pull away to look down, and he’s hard by the time you cup him through his underwear. And he’s still so taken aback he can’t stifle the noise he makes – directly into your mouth.

Your fingers hook through his belt loops to shuck his pants and underwear down, and the comfort of your body pressed against him disappears. Blinking open his eyes, he reaches out to pull you back. “What are you-” he cuts himself off when he sees you kneeling between his parted knees.

In response, your hands plant high on his thighs. “What does it look like?” you ask, your chin tilting back, eyes glimmering.

Oh.

“May I?” So polite, considering the offer.

Joel nods wordlessly, and he watches you lean forward. His eyes squeeze shut right before you take him in your mouth – because he knows if he doesn’t ease his way into this, he won’t last.

You don’t waste time teasing or kissing or anything like that. You’re not gonna drag things out. Maybe it’s because dinner’s in the oven and your time is limited, or maybe this is just how you are.

He aches, and in one go, you wrap your mouth around him and take him as deep as you can, he feels your throat constrict when you can’t go any further. Then, you do it again, again. It goes on that way, until he’s coated with saliva and the slide of your lips up and down the length of him feels as soft as the silk of your shirt, which he’s unintentionally fisting, trying to hold back.

Your hands squeeze his thighs, massaging them gently while you work diligently. It’s fast, but not so fast he can’t enjoy himself. Sloppy, but he prefers it that way. It’s perfect. He thinks you’re fucking perfect.

He decides he has to see you, watch you, and leans back to take you in more fully. One of his hands rises to slip under your chin, angles your face so your eyes lock with his own. “Look at me,” he says, a little press to get you to engage. He’s learning how to push you– just enough to get what he needs without scaring you away. And he’s rewarded when you moan around him, the vibration around his cock only bringing him closer to release.

“Such a sweet girl,” he murmurs, and you groan again at the praise – he relishes in how well he’s getting to know you, learning what gets you off – in the short time you’ve been together. “You look so pretty with your mouth full.”

Then he moves his hand to sift into your hair, collecting it gently at your nape so it stays out of the way, and he can gently guide you along.

You pull off him for a moment, your breathing ragged, lips swollen and wet. You look so good, out of breath and overworked all just to please him. And you don’t relinquish all contact, your hand replacing, your mouth so you can jerking him off, twisting slightly at the top and letting your thumb run over the head of his cock. “You work so hard, Joel,” you mumble. “Just want to take care of you.”

“Fuck,” he growls at the words. Words he’ll remember on nights when you aren’t lying next to him in bed. He’s got to hold out a little longer, just to see what else you might say.

It’s all you offer, though, because you wrap your lips around him once more.

He’s getting close. It wasn’t going to take much to begin with – but it’s the first time you’ve ever gone down on him, it’s been a long day, everything is compiling together to make him feel hotter and hotter, the pressure at the apex of his thighs reaching its precipice. One of your hands leaves his thighs to cup his balls, the other working the part of him your mouth doesn’t reach. He loses all his composure, his head falling back as his hips roll forward, choked sounding phrases leaving him. “Keep going, baby – just like that– so fucking good–”

You obey, because of course you do, and before he knows it – he’s coming, hard. You don’t pull back at all, just swallow him down as he pulses down your throat.

Joel covers his face with his hands and tries to steady his breathing, thoroughly spent. He’s fucking hungry, still, but at this rate, he may fall asleep soon. Warm palms land on his chest. For a moment, he’d nearly forgotten where he was.

“You good?” he opens his eyes to find you hovering over him, amusement in your expression.

“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles, reaches out. “You can’t be fucking real,” he murmurs softly, hand on your cheek.

“Oh,” You pull back to retrieve your drink and take a sip. “I’m very real.”

“Come here.” He rasps, pulling you forward into a kiss.

When he attempts to deepen it, you pull back slightly. “Hey, uh…dinner’s gonna be ready any minute.”

“Oh?” Joel asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “And I’m actually….well I’m actually kind of proud of it, so maybe we shouldn’t get too distracted.”

“Really?” Joel settles on pulling you against his chest, and you settle there easily. He’s hit in these moments with the awe that you let him this close, that you’re willing to do even more for him, you already have. “Sarah told me you can’t cook.”

“What?” you say incredulously, your head lifting off his chest. “That’s not true. I can, I just don’t.”

“You seemed to know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” you say confidently, then grimace. “Well, I mean, I can follow a recipe.”

Joel laughs. “I’m sure it’ll be good.” Your head goes back against his chest. He’s careful not to disturb you too much when he reaches for the remainder of his whiskey. “What is this?”

“Dunno,” and instead of reaching out for your own glass, you bring the hand that holds his own down to your lips to take a sip. He strokes your hair, watches you. “Bourbon.”

“It’s good,” Joel says, and drinks again. He wants to down the glass, then steal from yours like you did to him, but it tastes expensive.

You continue on. “A client gave it to me today for some pro-bono work I did. It’s probably meant to be served neat, but….it’s too hot for that.”

“Nice of you to help them out.”

You make a noise of affirmation, almost dismissive, and Joel continues on. “I should be doing more of that sort of thing.”

“It’s alright,” you shrug.

“You know I…..” you trail off for a minute, like you’re trying to decide if you want to share something with him. “All I do is work for corporations all day. I have to be kind of….manipulative? Self-serving. It’s a little exhausting. It’s nice when I can use my skills to actually help people, you know?”

“Can’t really picture you being manipulative,” Joel let’s his thumb graze over your cheek.

He thinks you might laugh, but instead you pull back, your expression unreadable. It’s easy to see that you’re studying him carefully, and he strokes your arm, giving you the space to continue. “You should know I haven’t always been the best person, Joel. No one has ever really looked out for me, so….” you trail off. “But I’ve been trying. To be better.”

You say it like you’re not convinced. Like you’ve been told it’ll never be possible. Joel gazes tucks your hair behind your ear reverently. “Wherever you’re at right now,” he says. “Is plenty good for me.”

“Yeah well,” your eyes flicker away – maybe it was too much. “Helps that I’ve been spending all my time with you and Sarah.” You smile gently, then change the subject. “Did you see, she did my nails?”

Joel looks down at your hands.

“What do you think?” you ask.

“They’re very….pink.”

“They are.”

Joel is thankful that Sarah has an outlet that’s not himself for something like this. He tries to imagine what it would be like to show up at work with his nails painted, and knows that he’d get shit for the rest of his life. “Better you than me, I guess.”

“Don’t give me any ideas.”

He laughs.

“Where is Sarah, tonight, anyways?” you ask Joel.

“My parents take her out for dinner at the end of every school year,” Joel says.

“Oh,” you seem a little surprised by the mention of his parents. “Do they live nearby?”

“Not too far,” Joel says. “About an hour and a half drive out of the city, close to Fredericksburg. They’re on a ranch….out in the sticks.”

“Is that where you grew up?”

“Yeah,” he can’t help but smile to himself. “It’s different now, but….my parents owned a strawberry patch.”

“Are you serious?”

It seems like a different lifetime ago, but Joel still remembers it all so vividly. The busy spring season, visitors from the city flocking to his family’s little farm in the middle of nowhere to pick the ripe fruit straight from the vine. His father had taught him how to mend fences and keep the pests away, and his mother taught him how to tend to the plants, to prune and nurture. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Joel shakes his head, continuing to recall. “Tommy and I would always try to sneak as many strawberries as we could without our parents noticing,” Joel recalls. “And then inevitably eat so many he’d make himself sick, then we’d both get in trouble.”

“Oh my god,” you shake your head in disbelief. “This doesn’t sound real. I need photos.”

“I have them…somewhere,” Joel says, and he’s sure they’re buried in a box in the back of his closet.

“It sounds so…idyllic,” you say, shaking your head. Joel had never thought much of it. Of course, when you’re a kid, your perspective is so narrow. Maybe he didn't realize how good he had it, and he supposes, to the right person, it might sound like a lie. It dawns on him that you're both so fundamentally different, but it doesn't feel that way.

A timer dings in the other room.

“That’s the oven,” you say, shifting away from him and standing up. You offer him your hand to help him off the couch, and he bats it away, buttoning up his jeans before joining you. “Let’s eat.”

Joel realizes that all the stress from the day has melted off, and he can’t even remember what exactly had him so flustered earlier. Right now, everything feels alright.

---

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bones4thecats · 1 year ago

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2023 Thanksgiving Special; Slashers

A/N: Finally done with the 2023 Thanksgiving Specials!! Phew, my hands were starting to cramp writing these! I hope you all enjoy the four-parter that is this Thanksgiving! Have a great Thanksgiving!!

Spending Thanksgiving With Them

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🕯️ Vincent was always nervous when it came to the holidays

🕯️ The Sinclair brothers never really spent a true holiday together ever since returning to Ambrose years ago

🕯️ They’ve tried, but their work has always got in the way

🕯️ Vincent was the one who had cooked most of it, but Bo and Lester would hunt it all, rarely did they ever have to buy a lot of stuff, since they prepared ahead of time

🕯️ With your help, he made dinner a lot faster, and with you distracting him from the darker side of everything, Vincent valued you being there more and more

🕯️ He sat next to you and barely took of his mask normally, but you convinced him to take it off fully

🕯️ After cleaning, you and Vincent laid in bed and rested together, and every year after that, he’d look forward to Thanksgiving, and every holiday before and after

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🧱 This wall boy never really knew a good Thanksgiving ever since he was basically seven years old

🧱 So, when he had smelled the turkey and foods you were making in the kitchen, he was hit with a wave of nostalgia

🧱 He came out of the walls and looked over your shoulder in curiosity

🧱 Brahms watched you smile and lay a hand on his, which was holding the edge of the countertop

🧱 You asked him what he needed, and it launched from him following you around to him fully helping you cook

🧱 He never really cooked growing up, as he normally just ate the stuff his past babysitters and parents left him, or rather, his doll-self

🧱 Brahms found his love for cooking with you at that moment

🧱 He loved the turkey you both made

🧱 And he fell asleep just a half-hour later, you trapped in his arms

🧱 You better make sure you didn’t leave anything running, because you’re not coming out of there unless its a real emergency

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💝 This poor little guy didn’t know what was going on

💝 He watched you start cooking and tried climbing your legs to sit on your shoulder

💝 You just picked him up and sat him there as he made grabby hands to the pot which you were cooking with

💝 Gizmo listened to your explanation as to what Thanksgiving was and the food you were making was

💝 He’s so clueless about it it’s adorable af

💝 You better make sure he doesn’t sneak any pumpkin pie after midnight, or else you’re screwed

💝 Gizmo is the sweetest and tries helping you cook every single year, no matter what

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🍭 He hated this so much

🍭 He wanted it to be Halloween again, he wanted to make sure people were behaving and honoring the traditions

🍭 Who was gonna do that here?!

🍭 Sam did not want to help you cook, he didn’t believe in this holiday, do he didn’t care about the foods of it

🍭 But, after a while, and a lot of sugar bribing, he finally helped you with certain things, like going to the store with you to buy a turkey

🍭 He also helped you butcher the turkey, even though you said carve, he prefers butcher

🍭 You butcher meat, you don’t carve it! Don’t dishonor the pumpkins!

🍭 Sam is one of the most stubborn when it comes to eating the food

“ Samhain, eat it. “

* shakes his head no *

“ Sam. “

🍭 Once he finally caves, he goes immediately to his room to ‘sleep’ (idk if he actually sleeps, just guessing there)

🍭 Overall, just a sourpuss (just about as bad as Michael)

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chronicbeans · 8 months ago

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Dead Plate (Haunted AU) x Reader (Part 1)

Training time!

Prologue, Part 1

TW: None

You wake up in a cold sweat. You don't remember it, but you are pretty sure you had a nightmare of some kind. You look to your clock, seeing that it's 3 in the morning. You sigh shakily, knowing that you don't have any time to try to go back to sleep. You beat your alarm by a whole hour, but you know that if you fall asleep again, you'd probably sleep through it.

You quickly take a small shower, before having some cheap cereal for breakfast. Then, you brush your hair and put on a nice outfit. You may not have the best first impression of your boss, but you want to make a good first impression on him! Plus, you don't have your uniform, yet... so, you might as well dress nice to give yourself some confidence.

After getting dressed, you hear the harsh noise of your alarm, screaming at you that it's 4. Sighing in disdain, you realize that you're stuck waiting for thirty minutes with nothing to do. You've already gone through your morning routine... though, you should set your alarm for 3:30 next time, since it took you longer than expected.

Looking out your window, you see that it's still dark out, as to be expected. It's not only early in the morning, but it's also winter... Man, you really don't like driving in the winter. Screw it, you're heading to work early, just so you don't have to spend thirty minutes dreading the drive. You put on a light coat, which is your only coat, then head to your car.

You arrive around 4:30, only for you to be hit with the sudden realization that you might've arrived too early. What if the doors are still locked? Heading out of your car, you march on up to the doors of La Gueule De Saturne, ready to knock on the doors-

You yelp, startled as they open before you can even knock on them. Looking up, you see a ghostly pale man with black hair and tired eyes. He looks expressionless, or as close as you've seen to expressionless on somebody before, at least. His eyes are locked onto you, as he speaks in a familiar voice.

"You're rather early... You must be the new waiter I hired." "Oh! Um... yes! I'm (Y/N) (L/N)." "Come in, then. Since you're early, we can start your training early." Damn it. You hoped he'd give you some time to rest... then again, this is a job. You follow him inside, looking around the main area.

It looks very lavish, if not a bit bleak. Greys, beiges, and white make the main colors of the dining area, with splashes of red velvet here and there. There's four tables with two seats each, two booths with four seats, and... two tables with one seat? You've never seen any restaurants with tables for one, before. Maybe a few cafés, but not full-blown restaurants.

Suddenly, Vincent points to a wall of the dining room, speaking in a slightly stern voice. "There is the partition window. When customers orders are ready, they'll be set on the counter there. Grab them and serve them to the correct guests." You follow where he's pointing, quickly spotting the partition window. Before you can comment on it, he points to the register. Wait... you're going to be working everything out front, aren't you?! You didn't sigh up for this!

"You're going to also seat the guests, as well as collect the money they pay for there meals. You'll earn tips. Make sure the customers like you, because they'll tip you higher. That, and you're the only waiter here." You stammer a bit at that, looking more than a little shocked. You don't argue, though. You want this job... You need this job. You aren't going to risk it. "Alright, Chef Charbonneau."

You turns to face you, again... He then crosses his arms, looking at you with a serious expression. "You better be good at your job. You are already making a better impression than the last waiter, but that doesn't mean you won't be able to let me down. I'm very strict, and have high standards."

You nod, looking back to him. There's an awkward silence, before he sighs and looks to the side. "You know you can talk to me, right? I may be strict, but I'm not a drill sergeant." You quickly nod, again, stammering. "Oh, yes! I just uh... I'm not the best at making conversation." He chuckles halfheartedly, before sighing.

Smiling, you are about to continue, before he cuts you off. "If you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen. The doors to the kitchen are over there." Vincent then points behind him, before continuing. "You can talk to me whenever you need something."

You look to the kitchen doors... seeing a small tuft of orange hair peeking from behind the circular window. It's probably one of the chefs. You look back to Vincent, nodding again. "Alright, Chef Charbonneau. What should I do while I wait for the bistro to open?"

His dark, tired eyes trail up to a clock nearby, causing your own (E/C) ones to follow. It's 5, now, so you have an hour. "Familiarize yourself with this room until then. I'm going to go get you your uniform." "Yes, Chef Charbonneau!" Then, the strange chef disappears into the kitchen.

You get to work, walking around the dining area and observing everything. There's a gray carpet, as well as a red one by the check-in area... this is actually pretty boring. You're basically just walking in circles around the room. The most exciting thing is when you saw a young lady walk by the window outside.

You hear the door to the kitchen open, as a lesser chef walks over to you and hands you your waiter's outfit. They then rush you to a restroom to get changed, handing you a bag to put your clothes into after you get the uniform on.

You walk out back to the dining room right in time to start working. 6 o'clock has hit. You see a few guests come in, finally giving you something to do. Quickly running over, you sit them down at a table for four. Writing down their requests on a notepad, you walk over to the partition window and hand the kitchen their orders.

As you do so, you notice something peculiar... none of the cooks have orange, or even ginger hair. They all have dark hair, with one person having blonde hair. That, and Vincent is staring at you like a hawk. You try to pay no mind to it... maybe the guy with orange hair is just out of view from the window? Either way, it's not important. You have to continue work.

The rest of the day goes by without any problems. Collecting your tips, you count them out to being around a hundred or so dollars. You help with closing, sweeping the floors and cleaning the tables, before looking to Vincent as you leave. "Have a nice night, Chef Charbonneau."

He looks to you, looking slightly shocked, like you had knocked him out of some odd daze. He slowly nods, before waving in return. "You, as well. Be sure to get here on time, tomorrow." "I got here early, so I'm sure I'll be on time, tomorrow." "The last waiter came in late on his second day... Just be on time." "... Okay..." That man is weird.

You nod in acknowledgement, then begin walking to the exit. The day has ended, and quite honestly, you need some rest... That, and you want to get to sleep early, just to spite you boss by being early two days in a row.

#dead plate #dead plate au #dead plate x reader #vincent charbonneau #vincent charbonneau dead plate #rody lamoree #dead plate rody #rody lamoree dead plate #marieanne vacher #manon vacher #dead plate manon #Haunted AU

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kiss-theggoat · 1 year ago

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please more bo i beg of you. you’re my favourite writer for him

A/N: Literally sobbing, thank you so much for the words of support. I looooove Bo and I love writing about him so thanks so much for your request! I hope you like it! Longer fics for Bo to come :)

Bo Sinclair Headcannons

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Toxic relationship, Bo being Bo, Talks of past trauma

SFW:

No matter how you end up in Ambrose, I see him having sort of a honeymoon phase with you. He sees you, thinks your the hottest thing alive, either convinces you or forces you to stay, but after a few weeks, he realizes that he’s gotten himself into some sort of screwed up relationship. This isn’t because he doesn’t like you, but because he thinks about the way his mom and dad left him, and worries about you wanting to leave too.

Let’s be for real, Bo is not the kindest man ever on the surface, and he’s a stereotypical tough guy. If you identify as a woman, he’ll want you to do your “womanly” duties, clean the house, get him a sandwich and a beer, be at his beck and call. If you identify as a man, be prepared to be put to work in the garage, fix buildings downtown. In Bo’s eyes, men do the hard labor and women do the house work. Very old fashioned.

Living in the Sinclair house is like playing slot machines. One day you’ll wake up to a Bo who gives you a kiss on the forehead and walk downstairs to Lester making some sort of roadkill bacon, Vincent putting flowers he found in a little vase. The next day you’ll wake up to screaming and walk down to the brothers fighting, you might even get your own “the fuck you lookin at?” From Bo if you stare too long.

Bo secretly loves EVERYTHING about you. He literally thinks you’re a god on earth, the way your pretty eyes glimmer in the Louisiana sun, the way your skin is so smooth when he runs your hand over your thigh, when you laugh at something Lester says and it lights up the entire house, puts him in the best mood. Makes it hard for him to wear his usual scowl. He just wishes he knew how to tell you.

With this is the resentful side of Bo. He can be rude to you, calling you names, pushing you away, and I wouldn’t put it past him to hit you. He would hit you and then sit in silence, alone, in shock of what he’d done. He can’t stand that he’s letting someone get close to him, can’t stand that he’s letting YOU get close to him, so he tries really hard to push you away, despite how scared he is of you leaving.

The moment Bo knew he was head over heels for you. You and Vincent playing with Daisy in the long grass, laughing and running around, carefree. Bo sat against a tree with a beer, watching the beauty that is you spend time with the things he loves most. He can’t deny how good you fit in, and he loves it.

NSFW:

Bo likes a pillow princess. He loves being in control, having every single part of your body in his hands, his mouth, covered by his body.

His favorite position is probably doggy, but this is because he usually just bends you over things randomly do fuck you. In the garage? You’re bent over the workbench. In the house? Bent over the kitchen counter or side of the couch. If you’re in the bedroom and he gets to move you around, he likes missionary (he gets to see every single movement of your face) and spooning (easy to choke you).

Some of Bo’s kinks would include impact play, he loves to spank you, dacryphilia, if he can fuck you until you cry he’s smitten, and very light bondage. He likes to tie your wrists to the headboard every once and a while, or behind your back if your bent over something. Other than that he’s a fairly vanilla guy in a kink sense, but he’s rough.

You’ll wake up the next morning sore, bruises on your hips and thighs, hickeys on your neck, collarbones, and chest. You’ll wobble down the stairs with one of Bo’s shirts on to find a smirking Lester and a casual Bo, eating breakfast.

No one gives you more shit than Lester. You and Bo’s brothers get close, but Vincent doesn’t make fun of you like Lester does. If he hears you and Bo fucking? Oh my god, that man is going feral, banging on the door, mocking your moans. If you come down in the morning from an obviously rough night, he will not let you leave the house without details. And god forbid he walks in on you two, he’d laugh and probably slap Bo’s ass before he left.

Bo’s favorite thing on you is your ass. He’s an ass man. If you’re standing in the kitchen cooking, he’s coming up behind you and squeezing your butt, trying to distract you. When he fucks you from behind, all he can stare at is the way your ass bounces against him. He loves it.

#slasher x reader #slashers #horror movies #bo sinclair fanfiction #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax #house of wax fanfiction

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alice-after-dark · 7 months ago

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Late Night with the Radio Demon - The Deal

Tagging @hiemaldesirae as promised :)

Vincent and Alastor hash out their deal.

Vincent is still sitting on the floor of his destroyed apartment, staring up at the strange looking deer man above him.

He is the Radio Demon and he wants to make a deal.

"It's quite simple, really! Quite simple!" he crooned, unsettling smile too wide. "You do some favors for me, and I'll use my power to guarantee your success!"

It did seem simple enough...too simple. Vincent had been in the television industry long enough to know that nothing was ever so easy. All around them, the shadows writhed and twisted as though alive. A thin tendril slithered over his hand and he quickly snatched it away, heart threatening to break free from his ribcage. Slowly, the TV host got to his feet, making sure to keep some distance between himself and the demon.

"I can give you everything your little heart desires!" the Radio Demon continued. "All I need from you is a little cooperation."

"Why?" Ah yes, let us question the all-powerful eldritch demon standing in our living room. That can only go well. "Why are you interested in helping me?"

Wait.

Was he seriously considering this?

It was insanity at its finest. Making a deal with a demon. A very real fucking demon. But what were his options, really? He was expected to double his ratings by the end of the month. Yes, his show was steadily climbing in popularity, but such a jump would be impossible. Impossible...without a little help. Fuck, he really was considering this.

"For the entertainment, of course!" the demon cackled. "Of course it would just be bad business to not require some form of payment for my services, but truly my interest lies in the entertainment of humanity and its pathetic, desperate attempts at improvement! Laughable, really, but so amusing to watch them try!" He extended a hand, bowing forward. "So do we have a deal?"

Vincent swallowed, physically restraining his own hand from grasping the demon's. "Not yet." He struggled to keep his voice even. Inky black tendrils hovered around him like curious snakes. "These...favors...they can't interfere with my success...and...I only owe you one a day."

The demon blinked and Vincent felt his throat tighten. Aaaaaand this is where I die, he thought.

The Radio Demon's ever-present smile seemed to stretch beyond the limits of his face, eyes alighting in hardly contained glee.

"Ǒ̷̱h̵͙͝ ̷͔͊y̴̰͐ë̸̜́s̷̹͛," he hissed through the tinny static that reverberated through his voice. "Ì̶̳ ̴̻̌t̷̠̄h̸̜̿î̸̩n̵̦̂k̵͉̔ ̵̼̈́y̷͈̑ô̸̩ű̸̞ ̸̣̀w̵̞̐ỉ̸͍l̶̗͋ľ̵̨ ̸͚͆p̷͙̃ṟ̷̍o̶̐ͅv̶̻̓ě̸̳ ̴̺̉t̷̮͠ǫ̴́ ̶͈̌b̵̓͜e̷͓͐ ̶͝ͅq̶̣̑u̷̞̾ḯ̴̩ẗ̴͇́e̵̓ͅ ̸̲͋e̵̜̿n̶̩̒t̷̲̿e̵̦̾r̸̟̐t̶̜͆a̴͓͒ĩ̷̡n̵̻͑i̴̩̎ṋ̸͌g̸̤͂ ̶̱̀ĩ̴̱ņ̷͘d̴̨̓e̶̳͠è̷̖d̴͙̃." He pulled his hand back. "Not unreasonable requests, my dear, not unreasonable at all. However, in light of your...additions, I'm inclined to offer my own caveats as well." He twirled his cane (microphone?) and rested both hands on top of it, meeting Vincent's eyes. "If you at any point refuse my daily requested favor, I get your soul."

A chill rushed through the TV host. "My soul?"

The Radio Demon only nodded. "Only if you outright refuse, of course. Questions and comments are permitted."

Okay. Okay, that was easy enough. Just don't refuse. The demon couldn't ask for anything that would get in the way of his success so that should have ruled out quite a lot of dangerous options.

"Okay, but...you can't ask me for anything impossible...or to knowingly harm myself in any way."

The demon looked delighted. "My, my. Covering your bases, I see."

"I've been in this business long enough to know what a good contract looks like."

The deer man hummed. "I must admit, you're being far more forward than most that I've dealt with. It's quite a pleasant change of pace."

Vincent tried to not to preen at the praise. No time for that right now. Keep your head screwed on.

A clawed hand extended towards him expectantly.

Vincent took it.

The reaction was instantaneous. The room lit up in blacks and bright greens. The tendrils thrashed and encircled them. The Radio Demon's maw stretched to impossible lengths and suddenly that creature was back again. The one that had dragged itself free from the void of the radio. The demon's hand was massive around Vincent's own pale one, the deer man towering over him with that same unsettling grin plastered to his features. For a moment, Vincent was utterly sure he'd made some mistake. The Radio Demon would kill him now and that would be the end of everything. Someone would eventually find his mutilated corpse...if there was anything left of it.

Then green chains burst forth from the shadows, wrapping around their hands and up their arms and binding them together. He could feel the burn of them through the fabric of his jacket and he couldn't stop himself from crying out at the pain. The room was spinning. He was going to be sick.

It burned.

Slowly, the magic ebbed away, leaving Vincent dizzy and disoriented, the hand around his own being the only thing keeping him upright. With a flourishing little spin, the Radio Demon sent him stumbling backwards to sit on the couch. Pain lanced up his arm when he landed and Vincent scrambled, wrenching off his jacket and yanking up his sleeve. There was no sign of damage, no burns or anything that could have caused such agonizing pain. All that remained of it now was a dull ache that permeated down to his bones. The deer man chuckled.

"Ah, the first time is always quite the thrill, hmm? You didn't faint, though! That's an accomplishment!"

Vincent didn't want to admit just how close he had come to doing just that.

"So..." He swallowed. "What happens now?"

The Radio Demon tucked his hands behind his back. "Well, my dear, now I get to work and I believe you owe me today's favor."

Fuck, they were already starting? That...well, that did make sense, but somehow Vincent thought he might have a little more time to process the whole thing.

The demon snickered. "Tell you what. I'll give you an easy one to start. Something to get your feet wet. A dear friend of mine is quite partial to these...I believe she called them Bittenbab Cakes?"

"Battenberg?" Vincent asked.

The demon brightened. "That's it! Anyhow, she does love them dearly, but they're rather hard to come across in Hell, if you can imagine. Get a few nice ones for her, would you? She'd be ever so delighted."

Instantly, Vincent felt a sharp tug in his chest and something akin to static rush over his skin. The deal...it had to be. The demon had made his official request.

"Uh...yeah, sure, no problem. Um...how do I-"

"I'll be by tomorrow around the same time to retrieve them. Leave such arrangements to me, darling." He traced a claw along the edge of his cane. "But I suggest getting some rest for the night." Fuck, when had it gotten so late? "You do seem a bit winded, my dear."

"I'm fine," Vincent insisted, trying to sit up and immediately regretting it when the world twisted before his eyes.

"I'm sure." An amused smile crossed the demon's face. At least, Vincent thought he was amused. It was kind of hard to tell when the deer man never stopped smiling. The demon closed what little distance there was between them and took Vincent's hand in his own, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

"I'll be seeing you tomorrow then, darling."

And then he was gone.

It was like he had never been there. Even the room was spotless, the evidence of the TV host's tantrum swept away. The only evidence anything had happened was the small radio sitting innocently on the coffee table and the tingling in the back of his hand where thin lips veiling razor sharp teeth had pressed against his flesh. Vincent leaned back into the couch.

The Radio Demon.

What the fuck did I just get myself into?

#late night with the radio demon au #hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin alastor #radiostatic #alastor the radio demon #vox the tv demon #hazbin hotel au #human vox

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purefandomonium · 10 months ago

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It's The Thought That Counts-Chapter 1

***Monday Night***

Vince had said his favorite food was lemons. Not lemon meringue pie or lemonade or lemon cake. Just... raw lemons. Rody was no chef—hell, he couldn't boil water without starting a fire. He was unfit and unqualified to be telling someone such as Vincent Charbonneau how to eat. The man obviously ate well enough to stay alive, so Rody really shouldn't have felt so obligated to stick his nose into Vince's lifestyle choices.

As he removes the fourth failed baking attempt from the oven, all smoldering char and dust, Rody starts seriously contemplating his. He lets out a tired groan as he sets the ruined baking sheet aside to let it cool so he can dump the contents into the trash with all the rest. Maybe he should just save up and buy something from a local bakery.

The thought is dispelled immediately. The whole point would be lost if he just went out and bought the chef dessert. No. He needs to make it himself. He has to surprise Vince with something special. He wants to show the chef his appreciation with a homecooked meal. It's the least he can do, after being given the job and fancy leftovers at the end of each shift. Even if they were a bit on the bitter side. So he flips back to the start of the recipe and gathers up the necessary ingredients once more.

***Wednesday***

Rody can barely hide his irritation anymore. It's not terribly obvious to the customers, but by the end of the day any pretense of friendliness has been drained from him and he's been a tad snippy to the cooks and even Vince himself on occasion. He's stayed up late every night trying to get the hang of this whole baking thing. Cooking isn't worth it; he tried it after screwing up countless baking attempts and after two close calls with a pan fire he decided it would be best not to work with open flame.

He wants to tear his own hair out. He's bought a bunch of cook books and supplies, learned how to use a mixer, and has put so much time and effort into this and he still can't get it right. The lack of sleep and immense frustration is really starting to catch up to him. Maybe he can pry Vince for alternative recipe ideas and try those. They might be easier than baking lemon-flavored dishes. Or maybe he should just buy a basket of lemons and slap a bow and a 'thank you' note on it.

Ugh. No, he can't do that either. He's already spent the money on the kitchen utensils and books, he might as well make the most of them. He just needs more practice, more time to get this right.

***Friday Afternoon***

Vince still can't bring himself to question Rody about his strange behavior as of late. Whatever has the waiter so high strung, it's clear he's taking it to the grave. The most he can be bothered to do is shrug and remind him he should be working when the questions become a bit too personal. So long as it doesn't affect his ability to do his job, Rody can stress about it all he wants. Even if Vince feels a little uncomfortable seeing the youthful man so restless and tired.

Locked in his office, the chef hums as he goes over this month's budget. He hates this, really he should just hire an accountant. If it weren't for his stubbornness, he'd have found one already. However, he's nothing if not meticulous, which is why the moment he sees something odd with inventory he's lighting a cigarette and cursing.

***After Closing***

"Lamoree."

Rody yelps and spins around to see his boss standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and frown looking a little deeper than usual. Unease bubbles up. "Uh, yeah?"

His voice is firm. "I need to speak with you about something."

Painfully aware of the time and bummed he can't head straight home after a long day, Rody nods and follows the chef. He's quick to realize they're the only two left in the restaurant; all of the cooks must've rushed out as soon as the last customer of the day paid. He can't blame them, both he and Vince were especially short-tempered today. If his stiff strides are anything to go by, whatever's got him so irritated is still present.

"Um... What did you wanna talk about?" Rody says as they stop at the prep counter. Several papers are laid out atop it. There are a lot of numbers and hard to read scribbles that must be Vince's writing. If this is supposed to mean something to him, Rody doesn't get it.

Vince takes note of the blank look Rody gives the papers. Uncrossing his arms, he points to one. "This is the budget for this month. I was going over it and the estimated inventory costs when I noticed something."

"...Ok?"

"It seems we've been going through certain ingredients faster than anticipated."

"Well, it has been pretty busy lately." What is he getting at? Does he expect him to help budget? Rody glances at Vince and decides that, no, that is not the face of someone looking to give a promotion.

Vince pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to sigh too loudly. "None of the dishes this week have featured lemons, copious amounts of sugar or," he checks one of the papers, "almonds. Those are for next week's menu. As you know, we make everything fresh here. There's also quite a bit of flour missing. More than expected. It seems someone has been 'borrowing' ingredients..."

Rody hopes the heat in his face doesn't turn his cheeks too red. Awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding Vince's intense glare, he stammers, "O-oh... Funny that... M-maybe it went bad and one of the cooks... threw it out and ordered more?"

"Lamoree..."

"Or-or maybe it was rats! Yeah... We should, uh, call an exterminator."

Vince has to resist the urge to slap the idiot. The annoyance makes him momentarily choke on his words. "Y... You're not seriously going to stand there and suggest that my restaurant is full of rats and old food."

Oh... Shit. There's no way he's going to come out of this unscathed and still employed. The words begin pouring out before he can make them coherent.

Vince brings up a hand to silence Rody's panicked backpedaling. "Since it isn't obvious enough, I'm asking you about this because one of the cooks saw you shuffle off with eight pounds of lemons this past Monday. I noticed the weird discrepancy with the supplies and costs and asked around." Nevermind how in the hell he'd managed to ride his bike all the way home like that, or how or when he smuggled everything else out. It would've been more impressive if Vince weren't so annoyed at the blatant theft. Does the fool have no shame?

"I can explain!" Rody blurts out.

"I'm listening." He leans back on an adjacent counter and waits for the explanation he's sure will get the idiot fired.

Rody's face feels like the sun. "Ah... Well, it's kind of stupid now that I think..."

"Keep in mind your job is riding on this," Vince supplies, lighting the proverbial fire beneath him. He's almost amused at the way Rody sputters and trips over his own words. Almost. The faint smile vanishes in an instant.

Rody sucks in a deep breath, halts his wild thoughts, and says, "It was for a surprise for you." It's hardly above a whisper. When Vince lifts a brow and leans in with an ear turned to him, Rody curses the universe at having to repeat himself. He forces his voice to be a little louder this time. "I was trying to make something for you. Like you always do for me?" His ears are burning now. He has half a mind to drown himself in the nearby sink.

Vince blinks. Once. Twice. "I... beg your pardon?" Rody wanted to prepare something for him? He can't even remember the last time someone wished him a happy birthday, let alone made something for him. Not that he cares; no, it's just... The fact that Rody would go through all the trouble. Still...

The awkward squeal he lets out isn't much of a reply, but the poor waiter can hardly save his words from the embarrassment. "Do I really need to say it again?" he manages, hugging his arms tightly across his chest. "I just... thought that I could return the favor. I know you're a chef and all and you don't need me to cook for you and you probably do just fine on your own and-"

"But why lemons?" The look Rody gives him make his chest feel funny.

"...You said they were your favorite."

Oh.

Oh...

OH.

That... well, it did make more sense but... Ok, it was still stealing. He should... He should... Well he should definitely not be feeling...

Why does Rody have to look at him like that?

Fuck.

Cursing, Vince throws a hand over his face at the ridiculousness of it all. He hates the way hope blossoms in his chest. "Let me get this straight," he begins, the appendage still covering his features. "You stole ingredients from the kitchen to take home, all so you could cook something for me?"

"...Yes?"

"Lamoree..." The sigh isn't angry or indignant, only mildly disappointed. Like a parent annoyed their child jumped into the mud because they thought it would be a fun idea. Somewhere beneath that, however, is a small twinge of endearment.

"I'm sorry! Please don't fire me! I promise I'll stop. It was stupid anyway, I can't cook to save my life."

Vince removes his hand to meet Rody's nervous gaze. "What did you try making?"

"I-huh?"

"Forgive me for being curious as to what one could do with eight entire pounds of lemons in the span of a single week."

"Well, burn them mostly..." Rody rubs his arm as he recalls the many molten piles of former food he's pulled out of his oven these past several days.

Vince shakes his head. "You really are something."

"Man, cooking is hard! And baking too! You have to mix everything a certain way or it just ends up gross. Not to mention lemon pies. So many steps to make sure it turns out right..."

A small chuckle comes from the chef as he shakes his head again. "It usually helps to follow the steps, you know." Knowing Rody, he likely skipped a few key parts of the process due to his impatience. 'What's the harm?' he probably thought.

"Ugh... Well you don't have to worry about me stealing anymore ingredients," Rody says with a small groan.

"No. It seems not."

The two stand across from each other, one with an unreadable expression and the other slowly growing worried.

"Wait... Are you gonna...?"

Vince thinks about it, sighs, and pushes himself off the counter. "I'm not going to fire you, Rody," he says to the other man's wide-eyed terror. "I think whatever state you left your apartment in is punishment enough."

It did smell like burnt lemons and sugar in there. He's pretty sure it's seeped into some of his clothes by now.

"However... I do have one condition in exchange for your employment." He lets himself smirk at the waiter's bewilderment.

"...What's that?" Rody questions the sudden look of mischief.

"I'd like to see something by Tuesday next week." His smirk turns into a rare smile at Rody's shocked expression.

"I... I mean, I can try?" Vince... isn't mad at him? Looking back, eight pounds of lemons, a large bag of almonds and several bags of sugar and flour smuggled out of the restaurant probably is a lot of money. And yet, Vince isn't just letting him stay; he also wants Rody to bring something in for him?"

"I think it's the least you can do after you raided the supplies, no?"

"You're not gonna be upset if it's terrible?" While he hasn't made a successful batch of anything as of yet, he can at least say he's gotten better with his failed attempts. Tuesday is a bit of a stretch but maybe he can pull a rabbit out of the hat.

Vince shakes his head. "Just... don't steal anymore ingredients, got it?'

"Yes sir!" He turns to leave.

"Lamoree?" He waits for the waiter to face him once more. "Perhaps try cookies this time. I think you'll find they're much simpler than a pie, especially with your inexperience in the kitchen." He watches Rody nod before exiting through the back door. His mind drifts back to the lemons and he imagines the young fool pedaling down the street, bicycle swaying awkwardly as he tries to keep his balance. Vince supposes he is fit enough to manage.

...The idiot.

***Tuesday Morning***

"Hey, Vince?"

Vince jumps at the sudden call, dropping the chair with a thud. He lets out an annoyed grunt in response and goes to pick it up before positioning it at the table. He'd been too lost in his thoughts to hear the door. "You're awfully early today," he says as he turns to face the waiter. He quirks a brow and glances at the small aluminum tray he's holding.

Rody chuckles uncomfortably and lifts the tray. "You wanted me to bring something, remember?" He tries to settle the shakiness in his arms so the contents stop rattling. "They're lemon cookies. You were right; it was a way easier recipe to follow once I found one." He swallows the lump in his throat as Vince approaches. "They're not the best," he blurts as a hand reaches for the foil covering them. "They're still a little burnt. And I didn't really know how much lemon you liked but I added more than the recipe called for so you could maybe taste it more."

Silencing the rest of his nervous rambling, Vincent lifts the foil off and inspects the cookies. A dozen of them are stacked neatly in the tray. On the top they look completely fine. As he picks one up, however, the bottom is an almost-black that suggests too dark a baking sheet and far too much time in the oven. Still, the consistency is fine and as he takes a bite there's the faintest tingle on his tongue. He can't tell what it tastes like but knows it's lemon because that's the only thing that's ever given him the sensation. Burnt bottom aside, the cookie is chewy and somehow the perfect level of moisture.

To think, the young waiter did all this for him.

If Rody has to stand here and wait for Vincent's thoughts a second longer, he thinks he might explode. Watching him swallow the final bite, he speaks. "Well? How is it?"

For the first time in a long while, Vince smiles warmly. "It's good, Lamoree. A little burnt, but you did very well otherwise. I'm impressed. You did this all by yourself?" Something like happiness fills his chest.

He stands a little taller at the praise. "Yeah! I bought some cookbooks and just kept trying different things. I went through a lot of failed attempts though." And a couple ruined baking sheets.

"That's to be expected. Nobody learns anything overnight and practice makes perfect." The smile doesn't fade as he grabs another treat. This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for him.

"So?" A confused hum is his answer. "The cookies, can you taste them?" He highly doubts that his miserable baking is enough to spark Vince's long-dead tastebuds, but part of him hopes it's true. He's never seen the chef actually smile before and his heart buzzes at the fact that he was the cause.

Ah, right. The entire reason to all of this. Vince's good mood deflates a bit as he contemplates how to break the news to Rody. The waiter is just so proud of himself that he feels bad about having to crush his joy. He takes his time finishing the rest of the cookie. "...Actually..." He buys himself a couple more seconds as he swallows the last bite. "I almost can. It's not entirely there but... I can discern there's something compared to the nothingness I usually get." Perhaps he doesn't need to be fully honest. As Rody's face lights up with glee, he can feel his own face grow warm.

"Really?! You mean it?"

"Yes, Rody, it seems not all hope is lost on your baking skills." A startled grunt escapes him as Rody hugs him tightly. He'd been so quick to set the tray aside and close what little distance there was that Vince had no time to react. By the time his brain catches up to what's happening, the waiter's already releasing him and gushing with excitement.

"I'm so happy you like them! I'm gonna keep practicing until I make something perfect! I'll bring in all my good attempts and maybe you can even put one on the menu!" He pauses as his brain processes what he just said. "I mean... If that's ok? I'll be buying my own ingredients, of course." He hopes he didn't upset the chef again. The look he's giving him is... indescribable.

Vince spends several seconds staring at Rody before realizing he has to respond. The gears churn as he formulates his reply. "I'd be fine with that," is the best he can come up with. Rody seems to take it fine, if a little more subdued than before. Still, he wants to see the excitement decorating his features once more. Even if it's for a moment.

Rody says nothing as Vince picks up the tray of cookies, letting him walk away. He's glad he likes them.

"I'll tell you what, Rody," Vince says as he carries the tray to his office. "If you keep practicing in the kitchen, I'll let you take a few ingredients here and there." For half a second, he debates teaching the newbie baker/cook himself. The thought of working alongside him, helping him, is alluring. But he's not so foolish as to think it would work out.

He's thankful his back is turned so that the blush remains hidden. It seems Rody isn't the only idiot present today.

"Seriously?" To say he's stunned would be an understatement. He can't believe Vince is being so generous about it, and all because of some cookies? He can't help but wonder if there isn't more to it, but the thought is easily dismissed. Surely, Vince isn't... doesn't...

Nah. He's just happy to have something he can taste for once.

"If you've got time to stand there like a lost puppy then you have time to help get things ready," Vince says to the statue that is the waiter.

Rody snaps out of his thoughts and it's only now that he realizes they're the only two in the restaurant. They had another ten minutes before the cooks shuffled in and another thirty before opening. He should take the time to help get things in order and plan out the seating arrangements, should they get hit with more big parties like the last couple of days. The garbage probably needed to go out too; he'd forgotten last shift.

***

Vince spends most of the day in his office, no doubt gorging on cookies, while Rody spends his time between customers deciding what he should bake next.

Despite the not insignificant amount of ingredients missing, Vincent is quite happy Rody went through the trouble. If it were anyone else, he'd have half a mind to pin them to the wall with knives. But Rody isn't just anybody and the gesture is as sweet as he's sure the cookies are.

He can't wait to see what else his waiter brings.

#this goofy scenario wouldn't leave me alone so I wrote a fic for it #it's also on ao3 under the same name #dead plate #fanfic #my writing #ao3

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mirai1269 · 5 months ago

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Yandere Shenanigans: Adventures of Little Bro

Part -1 (yes the negative is intentional and there will be a part 0)

Ever since my Isekai into this universe, my life has been thrown into pure chaos.

………….………….

“If you don’t want to go as friends, then we can make it a date instead.”

“What do you think you��re doing.”

“Flirting with him, you got a problem with that?”

“You…”

“Hey, if you like someone, you do something about it. Better than beating around the bush for years.”

Leon doesn’t say anything, but there was a murderous glare in his eyes.

………….………….

And that’s were it all started, well, it started as soon as I consoled Vincent, but I didn’t expect this to become a full-on rivalry. Since that day, it’s been filled with those two yanderes trying to win me over, and I had no chance of survival if that was happening. Seriously! Surviving one route had me in tears of shame searching up a guide, now the game was completely derailed!

Before, in the original game, Leon was perfectly fine with the main character dating the others, but choosing Vincent means spending the rest of his days in his basement. But if I were to lose Vincent when he’s already hot on his tail, what dangers would I be introducing?

“Ugh! I wish there was something that would help me!”

MC worried about this dilemma on his walk home, when suddenly two things fell from the sky and landed on his head.

“Oww! … What the?!”

When he picked them up, it seemed to be a box and a coin. When he opened the small box, it revealed the most gorgeous engagement ring he’d seen in his life. The other item that fell was a strange coin.

Then, an awful idea popped up. If he could get married to one of the yanderes before their rivalry kills him, then maybe that would mean that the other would leave him alone?

It sounded stupid, no, it’s Very Stupid, but he had a feeling that the system/God that brought him here was somehow giving him a way out, like it had listened to his wish!

He looked at the coin, and got another idea. With 2 markers from his bag, he colored the 2 sides of the coin pink and red. He colored the head’s side Red for Vincent and the tail’s side Pink for Leon.

“Hope I don’t die.”

He tossed the coin up in the air, and crossed his fingers, desperately wanting one over the other. PleasebeLeonPleasebeLeonPleasebeLeon PleasebeLeonPleasebeLeonPleasebeLeon

Heads… it was official. He was f*cked.

Maybe it’s not all bad, maybe if he marries Vincent, he can somehow convince him not to be locked up in the basement for the rest of his life since they’re married…. And… Who is he kidding, he’s screwed.

“Umm… God? System? Is there anything else you can give me that isn’t, I don’t know, THIS?!”

……..……..

nothing

With a heavy heart, he picked up the coin and stuffed it in his pocket along with the ring. Tomorrow was going to be brutal. As he wiped away a tear, he continued his way home and screamed into his pillow as soon as he collapsed onto the bed.

—— Tomorrow ——

It was here before he knew it. The day of fate, and it probably going to be ugly, but if it’s less ugly than getting brutally murdered, then he’ll take it.

“Morning Big Bro!”

His little brother greeted him as soon as he came out of his room. He didn’t really talk much with his brother, or when Leon when they finished breakfast. Whenever Leon looked at him, he looked away in shame, shame in what he’s about to do.

Lunch time came before he knew it, and he felt Leon sit down next to him in glee.

“Hey, Leon. You asked me if I liked Vincent the other day.”

“Yeah, what about it?” He said, his happy demeanor suddenly shifting to one of annoyance at the mention of Vincent.

“You also said that… if I DID like him… that you would be ok with that… that you would be happy as long as I was happy.”

“I did… are you trying to say that you… like him?”

“I… am...” pleasedon’tkillmepleasedon’tkillme!

Leon’s face went dark with shock, this was the end. It didn’t matter that they were in the Lunch room with witnesses, he was going to rip out his heart with his bear hands right then and there! What if that coin was a mistake, what if the higher being that brought him here wanted him to die?! WHAT DID HE DO?!

“Ok.”

Wait. Really?! No murder, no burst of rage, just ‘ok’.

“I said that I’ll be ok with whoever you like, so I’ll keep my word… thanks for… being… straightforward with me…” he says, with some strains and quivers in his voice. His angered expression turned to one of a kicked puppy with tears threatening to spill over.

Oh no, please stop looking at me like that, I don’t wanna be a heartbreaker! I feel like a monster.

After lunch, Leon ran off and he didn’t see him for the rest of the day. His guilt was crushing like it was going to be the one to kill him instead of the yanderes.

—— School Ends ——

Please let this be the right choice. He said as he pulled out the box and looked at the ring. The whole day, he felt… watched… but when he looked around, there was no sign of Leon anywhere, not event a single hair strand (and he would know since everybody else is a blue shadow). Maybe it was just his paranoia from his conversation from Leon earlier today.

“Ugh, where is he?!” He said, as he looked through the wave of blue shadows for any hint of red. He finally spotted him when the crowd cleared up, but he was on his way to his car, oh crap! He rushed over at full speed, his legs burning as he majestically galloped to his Prince Charming…

… Ok that was description was bullsh*t, but he still ran fast enough to catch Vincent before he and his chauffeur drove off.

“Vincent I… huff, have something… wheeze… to say!” He says between breaths. Yeesh! He knows the main character was scrawny and not the most athletic, but this is just pathetic, he only ran, like, 10 meters!

“Make it quick, I’m already late to—!!!”

“Vincent. Will you, be my Husband.”

Vincent was at a loss for words, and for good reasons too. He just met him a few days ago, had a crush because of a few nice words he said, and was now on his knees proposing like they had been dating for years! He was blushing because of-MMPH!

He was caught up in the most deep and passionate kiss he had ever felt in his life. It broke his train of thought, and he could feel his emotions and thoughts being scrambled as the train crashed and exploded into fireworks of chaos and overstimulation.

After what felt like a lifetime in that kiss, Vincent finally pulled away.

“Yes! Oh Honey, you make me so happy! Thank you! Thank you for this! You’ve given me everything I could ever want!“

This time, it was MC who was silent. He was steaming hot like a boiled potato. He didn’t even notice that Vincent was already wearing the engagement ring with pride. His eyes were filled to the brim with love threatening to explode out of those heart-shaped pupils of his as he waited for his lover to respond.

“I… uh…”

Shoot! What to say! C’mon think of something! Anything!

He didn’t know what spirit possessed him at that moment, but he kissed Vincent again out of impulse. Luckily, he accepted it as an answer and he did just deepened the kiss. It wasn’t long before Vincent parted his lips from his and said one last thing before leaving.”

“I Love You Honey!”

Little did they knew, a certain pair of Pink eyes witnessed Everything.

—————————

Writer’s note: We finally have pictures and kissing! Woooo!

This is...so beautiful! *sniff* Better than Titanic.

(MC galloping up to Vincent XD)

#yandere #stuck in a yandere visual novel...help #stuckinyanvn #syvnh #syvnh mc #syvnh leon #syvnh vincent #ask answer #not my project

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ka-phooey · 1 year ago

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Urfhghhff this wasn't supposed to take a week but I was busy and my ibispaint was lagging 😭 but hhi here's Vince's info thing, I'll evolve him into an older age bracket when I feel like it lmao

Here's some add-ons to his little facts cus I didn't wanna cram all of that into the img:

Vince is a nickname — He doesn't use his actual name (Vincent) because he thinks it sounds weird and too "old guy" for him

He's bisexual — Tbh Vince doesn't have much of a preference at this age bracket but I'd say it's a bit more for girls than guys

Vince is the older sibling out of him and his sister — She's 3 years younger than him + in Ravenclaw (when Vince is in third year)

He's left-handed — There's little ink stains on his hand and robes from writing that he doesn't bother trying to remove because they're always gonna be there anyway

He will eat anything he sees that's on a plate — There's not really a particular reason but I guess Vince would do it because he thinks it's entertaining

Vince will go on these super long tangents and then not talk for like 6 hours — It's just a thing he does 'cause he's like that. Idk what to tell you

He makes this silly little celebration noises whenever something good happens — Yk, things like quiet "yay"s or "hooray"s?

He managed to convince people that his hat was permanently attached to his head once — Vince only did that because people kept joking that he always had his hat on and he decided to "confirm it". When he talked about it he referred to the attachment as in glued or screwed into his head depending on who he told it to lmao

& Some info about one of his likes:

Collecting rocks — Vince finds the most obscure ones, and then proceeds to show them off to his sister (they're both rock collectors) and calls her a sucker

Urgh

#harry potter #hpma #harry potter magic awakened #magic awakened #Vince Allon #oc #oc info #hpma oc #art stuff

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lassie719 · 21 hours ago

Text

Belated VVW24 Contribution #3: Trauma/Protection

Set in a post-DoC world to my interpretation that Vincent is mortal again since Chaos went back to the Planet. Pairing: Reeve x Vincent

Reeve lightly brushed his fingertips over Vincent’s knuckles, white in his clenched fists.

“Tense?” Reeve asked softly, as he moved his fingers in a small circular motion, hoping that Vincent would open his hand enough to allow him entry.

Vincent grunted in response, but, to Reeve’s delight, did loosen his hand enough to allow his partner to intertwine their fingers.

“You’re safe,” Reeve declared.

Vincent snorted, his face taut and shoulders high.

“Normal doctors don’t do experiments on you.”

Vincent started to squeeze Reeve’s hand hard enough that it hurt. Reeve just smiled and tried to lean into Vincent’s line of sight. “You’re going to be okay. It’s just a check-up.”

“Why did I agree to this?” Vincent finally ground out words.

“Because you’re mortal now, and I don’t want you dying on me for a dumb reason,” Reeve said sternly. “So you’re getting your blood pressure measured, your heart and lungs listened to, some tests done on a little bit of blood. That’s all. Nothing invasive, nothing dangerous.”

Vincent quickly shook his head. “I change my mind. I don’t want to.”

“Well, no one really wants to go to the doctor.”

Vincent started to rapidly tap his foot. “I want to leave.”

“You should do this, Vincent. Just get it over with, and it’ll all be okay.”

Reeve could hear Vincent’s breathing picking up. He internally sighed. This blood pressure reading would be useless.

“Reeve, let me go… I’m just going to go to the bathroom, don’t worry.”

Reeve had the distinct impression that Vincent was going to escape through a vent in the restroom.

“You might as well hold it,” he answered. “They’ll have you pee in a cup as a part of the eval.”

Vincent flinched. “Really?” his voice was tight. “Are they going to watch?”

“Uh... no. They just give you the empty cup and then you go into a bathroom…. Haven’t you ever been to a normal doctor?”

Vincent screwed his eyes shut. “I don’t remember. I want to leave.”

“Vincent Valentine?” a nurse called out.

Vincent ducked his head and let out a ghost of a whimper.

“He’s here!” Reeve called out, getting to his feet, tugging on Vincent’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

Vincent shook his head.

The nurse approached them. “Is there any way I can assist, Mr. Valentine?”

“No, I don’t need your kind of assistance!” Vincent snapped icily. “It probably involves a cattle prod.”

The nurse stood with their mouth agape.

“I’m so sorry!” Reeve hurriedly apologized. “He’s got medical trauma in his past. Shinra Science Department.”

“Don’t tell them that!” Vincent hissed.

“It’s relevant information, Vincent.”

The nurse cleared their throat, looking more sympathetic but still deeply unsure how to handle the situation. “I assure you, Mr. Valentine, you’re safe here. Is there anything we can do to put you more at ease?”

Vincent stood up, stony-faced. “No… Thank you.”

Reeve patted him on the back. “See, there you go, remember your manners!”

Vincent huffed.

A few moments later, Vincent walked hand-in-hand with Reeve to his examination room. “I bet there was a camera in there,” Vincent whispered after the nurse shut the door.

“Why would they want to watch you urinate?”

“Because they’re sick freaks, I don’t know! Or they want to see if I have a human penis.”

“How would they know to install a camera before your visit in particular? Or do you think they’re curious if everyone has human genitalia? Seems like a weird test.”

“Scientists are weird people.”

“These aren’t really scientists, per se. They’re healthcare workers, which is a science, but they’re not doing experiments. Just taking care of people. Keeping them healthy.”

Vincent sat in the chair that was probably supposed to be for the patient’s companion and crossed his arms. “I don’t care. Same difference.”

Reeve laughed. “You’re being so stubborn!”

Vincent raised a brow. “And that’s funny to you?”

“Kinda, yeah. Now, move, that’s my chair. You’re supposed to sit here,” Reeve patted the paper covered vinyl examination table, which was set to more of a chair angle right now.

Vincent blanched even paler than his typical complexion and shook his head.

“It’s okay, Vincent. I’ll be right here. There was a knock at the door. Vincent jumped about a foot in the air. Reeve chuckled, “Come in!”

The nurse had returned. “Hello again, Mr. Valentine. Would you mind stepping out into the hallway to get your height and weight measured?”

Vincent shot a panicked glance at Reeve, who nodded encouragingly.

“O-okay,” Vincent stood up shakily and followed the nurse, looking pleadingly at Reeve as he passed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you out of my sight.”

A moment later they were back. “Lemme guess,” Reeve joked. “80 pounds?”

“125,” Vincent shot back.

“Yikes, that’s still not much. You’re 6 feet, right?”

Vincent huffed again. “Yes.”

The nurse tried to hide a smirk as they brought up Vincent’s file on the computer. “Any particular complaints today?”

“I have lots of complaints,” Vincent grumbled.

“No, like… medical complaints,” Reeve tried to translate. “Like… anything you want to talk to the doctor about? Like headaches or pains or… trouble sleeping?” Reeve placed extra emphasis on the last one.

“Nope,” Vincent shot back, more at Reeve than the nurse.

The nurse watched the volley quizzically. “Riiiight,” they said. “Okay. Well, let me get your blood pressure.”

Vincent watched the nurse set up the cuff, his jawline accentuated as he gritted his teeth. Reeve wished he could kiss along those angles, feel Vincent relax beneath his ministrations.

“Okay, Mr. Valentine, can you roll your sleeve up to your shoulder? Or do you mind taking your shirt off?”

Vincent glared.

“...I need to put this on your bare upper arm.”

“You don’t need to do anything of the sort,” Vincent growled.

“Vincent!” Reeve scolded.

The paper on the examination table ripped under Vincent’s worrying fingers. “I-I-I’m not wearing anything under this shirt.”

The nurse smiled encouragingly. “That’s okay. We don’t think much of nudity in the medical field.”

Vincent blinked at Reeve miserably, looking on the verge of tears.

Reeve chewed his lip in worry. Vincent’s distress wasn’t funny anymore. “Hey, don’t you all have one of those little paper robes or something?”

The nurse brightened. “Ah, of course! Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll be right back.”

Vincent jumped up the moment the door closed behind the nurse. “Excellent ruse, my love. Now let’s get out of here.”

“No,” Reeve tugged at Vincent to sit back down. He didn’t budge.

A light rap preceded the nurse returning.

Vincent shot Reeve a venomous glare. “Traitor,” he hissed.

The nurse glanced at Reeve. “Would you like both of us to step out while you get undressed?”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

The nurse threw their hands up defensively. “Hey, hey, don’t worry; I’m not making him do anything! I just want you to be as comfortable as possible. Okay, I’ll step out, but then we’re going to get that blood pressure reading, no problem, okay?”

Vincent glared. “Okay.”

Once it was just the two of them again, Vincent slowly started to unfold the crinkly garment. He held it up. “What sort of farce is this? It’s just a big piece of parchment paper with string. This seems more like something to roast poultry in.”

Reeve giggled. “It’s not much, no, but it gives you a bit of privacy while they do what they need to do.”

Vincent looked at it distastefully. “Emphasis on a bit.”

Reeve helped him tie the paper around him as securely as he could.

“I still feel naked,” Vincent lamented.

“How? You’re still wearing pants, and your chest and belly are totally covered. And your back mostly is.”

“With paper. I don’t think something that can be ripped off by a child should count as clothing.”

“Ready, Mr. Valentine?” the nurse asked from behind the door.

“No!” Vincent called out.

Reeve rolled his eyes. “Yes, he is, come in!”

Vincent glowered at him. “I thought you were supposed to be protecting me.”

“I’m protecting you from yourself, dearest.”

Lassie, the fanfic sommelier: If you like my Reevince pairing, might I suggest my story "Second Chance" ?

#ff7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ffvii #vincent valentine #reevince #vincent x reeve #reeve tuesti #reeve x vincent #ff7 vincent #reeve is a doting partner #and deep down #vincent is a baby #jk #he has completely legitimate reasons #but then again #so does a baby

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myers-meadow · 2 years ago

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A sneaking suspicion: Mischa (OC) x reader

Title: A sn(e)aking suspicion

Pairing: my OC Mischa x reader.

Summary: During a ghost hunting case in an old university, things don't add up. There's a strange sound in the walls, and as you dread having to tell the headmisstress about the bullying that took place, you search deeper. And deeper. There you find a sorcerer, a being of magic, who has a proposition for you.

Warnings: threats of violence, mentions of bullying, a snake. Nothing graphic. Reader has long hair.

Word count: 2324 words

Here he is!! I hope you enjoy this first introduction into this new world (that isn't all too different from ours), and that you have fun meeting Mischa! ✨ Please let me know what you think; reblogs, comments are all very welcome! If you have anymore questions about this universe or about the characters - don't be shy, I'd love to answer them <3. Thank you so much again for your encouragment and kindness @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @devil-doll13 @house-of-slayterr <3

Dividers by delishlydelightfuldividers

“So, this college,” I started, looking at the headmistress’ stern face, “is haunted?”

Sharing a look with my ghost hunting partner and boyfriend, Timo, just as his gaze flickered over to me with the same concern. Something really serious must have happened here if the haunting was legitimate. Which will unavoidably be something headmistresses don’t like having to deal with.

“The students said the apparitions manifested mostly in the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. Follow me.”

Her heels clacked on the pristine marbled floors, and before long, the door to the haunted bathroom swung open. It smelled strange inside, like a mix of food gone bad and pine scented cleaning supplies. Timo stepped in first, setting down his big backpack to take out some equipment. He handed me the tripod to set up as he took the camera from its case. Walking around the space, white with bright LED lighting, I tried feeling a spot where it would be good in. Nothing felt out of the ordinary yet, so I settled for in the corner, with sight of the mirrors and the door to the hallway, rather than the toilet stalls.

“All good?” Timo asked, and I nodded. He screwed the camera on top of the tripod, as he did so, I checked out the stalls. To see if there was any writing, any cold spots, weird gusts of wind… Nothing. Only a very strange sound from the pipes overhead. As if something… slithered. Not water, no, and not the creaking of old pipes either. There was no toilet cover, so instead I hiked up my skirt and stepped up on the seat to see if I could hear it better. Just as I reached up to the ceiling, Timo pushed open the door to the stall.

“What you doing in here?” he asked. The noise faded.

“Thought I heard something,” I mumbled, letting him help me down.

“And?” the headmistress started, tapping her foot impatiently. “What did you find?”

“Nothing yet, ma’am,” said Timo, and took out some more equipment. Temperature sensor, listening device…

“Are there any other locations that are said to be haunted?” I asked, to keep the headmistress occupied.

She shook her head. “But I wouldn’t know, perhaps you’d better talk with the students.”

And so I did. The weird sound seemed to follow me through the walls or ceiling. When asked, the headmistress said it was old copper pipes, but it seemed unlikely. The rushing of water when someone took a shower was also audible, but this was distinct. The interviews with the students were as expected; no, they didn’t see much, no, they never messed with the occult, no, they never went left their rooms past curfew. They were lying, of course. There was one girl, more quiet than the rest, who received strange looks from the others. After I said we were done with the questions, the group relaxed. On the way out, it just so happened I was heading in the same direction that the lone girl was: the library. She looked clever, with sharp brown eyes.

“I can tell there’s something no one’s telling me. And I don’t mean sneaking out after curfew, I don’t care about that.”

She regarded me from the side, clutching her book bag to her chest. “You’re not gonna tell the headmistress?”

I shook my head with a laugh. “I frankly don’t care if you went out after curfew, did drugs or went to the boy’s wing. This is just my job. If we solve whatever’s going on, we get paid. The rest doesn’t matter to me.”

With a strange look, she leaned in closer and said: “Have you ever seen Carrie?”

It was almost unbelievable; a case of bullying so severe that the poor girl left school (some say she went home, others say she died, we can’t know for sure), and now her ghost and residual bad memories haunted the place. After this came out and I confronted the earlier students a second time, they had more details to share. Some recalled ‘buckets worth of blood falling from the ceiling’, or pipes bursting. Weird whispers in the library, things levitating, all of that was seen, according to students. The girl who talked to me was one of the reluctant bystanders of the bullying, and it was a great relief to her to finally have adults involved. Something still bothered me, though. What was the noise then? Those could hardly be described as whispers. We’d have to talk to the student who went home after this phase of research was done, and it felt like an idle hope to have our questions cleared up fully. None of it added up.

Checking in with Timo went as usual, he said we needed more evidence (partly for the case, partly for on the blog), so even though I wanted to get out of there, we’d be there for a while. He wasn’t one to listen to feelings and dismissed my suspicions. Sometimes a case is just too easy, but to him that was just a lucky one. Not particularly feeling like keeping the headmistress company and hearing her “How could this happen, and right under our noses!” for much longer than needed, so I went off following the strange noise in the walls.

The university was inside of a strange, old building, older than I previously thought. And larger, almost maze-like. Some parts of it had bullet holes still in the walls, and I traced my fingers over them as I listened for the direction of the sounds. Deeper, and lower, my search took me. There was a cellar, with racks for wine, and behind one of the large barrels was a wooden door, that led to a backroom. The deeper I went, the more the feeling that something wasn’t right with this school crept up on me. After descending a ladder – which should have really been a red flag – there were tunnels. That in itself wasn’t strange, lots of old buildings have tunnels, right?

It was dark, but decently lit enough with the flashlight on my phone. The space smelled of dirt and stale water, a natural scent. The stones of the small tunnel were worn down in spots, moss growing in the cracks. After a bit, symbols lined the walls and my heart hammered in my chest. This wasn’t a simple ghost, this was occultism. I was right, something’s down here! Timo’ll never believe me. Some of the symbols reminded me of old sigils, but it was hard to tell, as they were crudely etched into the imperfect bricks. I turned a corner, trying to listen, but there was only the echo of my footsteps and the blood rushing in my ears. A sound echoed, different, almost a voice, and I halted, heart skipping a beat. Again, it was… hissing. The hissing of an animal. Covering my phone flashlight with my hand, I inched closer, letting the smallest bits of light be enough. The sound moved away. Not wanting to lose whatever was down here, wanting so stupidly badly to find out what it was, I followed the sound hastily. Another corner and- a door. Light shone from under it. There was only half a thought of how strange it was, for this tunnel system to end in such an ordinary looking door, but it didn’t stop me from opening it.

Inside was a room, lit by candles and oil lamps. A much more welcoming space, compared to the damp tunnels. A somewhat normal room, a study, with a desk, chairs, a bookshelf. The back wall was lined with pillars, gaping darkness beyond them. And by the desk in the middle of the room a man. He turned as he heard me come in, and beckoned me in.

I wanted to say something, ask what he was doing here, who he was, but nothing came out, as I stared at the symbols drawn on the floor. They came to a central point and I made a mental note to avoid its centre.

“Welcome,” the man said, “make yourself at home.”

At first I thought this could be a misunderstanding, but the shivers that ran down my spine were sure this was nothing good.

“Who are you?”

“I’m surprised you got this far. You are here because of the,” he waved his hands around, “happenings upstairs?”

“That was you? They thought it was a ghost.”

There were markings on his face, small ones, but enough to show he wasn’t an ordinary man. A sorcerer. I’ve only heard the stories, enough to make my heart skip a beat. He smiled as if he knew.

Softly, he spoke words in an entirely different language and the sound from before returned, closing in, growing louder. Then, through the pillars, the head of a giant monstrosity of a dragon- no! A snake! I stared at it, slapping my hand in front of my mouth in shock at the size of it. Those horror movies with the giant snake in the rain forests hold no candle to this one. To witnessing it in person. Like standing in the middle of a storm, aware of the brute force of nature, of how small and insignificant my tiny human life is. The creature, flicking its tongue out to smell the air – smell my fear – and slid more and more of her into the room. Her body was long too, and soon she blocked off the exit I came in here with, and kept going. I turned around to keep looking at her, in a circle. It was as if there was no end to her.

“You and that boyfriend of yours make a nice team.” The man spoke again and in my amazement, I’d almost forgotten he was there. My eyes snapped up to his.

Bewildered, I pointed to the snake, who coiled more of itself into the room, already pushing the desk aside to reach its master.

“She is yours?”

“It's easy to tell you're the real brain behind your operation," he continued without answering the question. "A bit reckless though, going down into an old tunnel system all by yourself. No one knows you're here."

That settled like icy water in my veins. He smiled, the crow’s feet around the corners of his eyes made him look almost kind. The snake finished another lap around the room and I had to move closer to the centre of the room to avoid touching her.

"Why pick this place, this university?" I asked, perhaps to find out his motivations, to buy time until the snake gaped open its maw and devours me. Feverishly looking at any possible exit but all there was, was the snake and its glistening scales.

"Are you afraid of her?" Between the slithering and the glimmer, he stood perfectly still. “Her name’s Belle.”

“Nice to meet you, Belle,” I said, sarcastically, not daring to take my eyes off of him. The body of the snake was cold to the touch, it pushed me closer to the centre of the room.

“Will you not introduce yourself?” and he said my name. It rolled off his tongue with ease, the lilt in his voice making it sound foreign, like a spell. How did he know?

“Seems there’s no need.” Another cautious step closer, feeling the snake behind me, touching the braid that hung down my back.

“I’m Mischa,” he said, reaching out to touch her skin absentmindedly. I thought she’d stop moving at his touch, but she didn’t.

Took a sharp breath, and answered with politeness. Another “pleased to meet you”, and a proper introduction. The sorcerer nodded in acknowledgement. Every few breaths I had to shuffle closer, the space quickly growing cramped.

"Someone as hard-headed as you, with wits like you, would make a great partner. Too bad the one you have now is this slow and incompetent."

We were at arms distance then. He smelled of moss, of wet dirt. Lazily his gaze trailed over me, the growing panic didn’t affect him. "You must've noticed you’re not leaving here alive-" I nodded, both hands bracing against the snake at my back, as I leaned as far away from him as possible. "But that would be a waste, would it not? Would you hear my proposition?"

If he keeps talking this slowly I’ll be crushed before he finishes. I nodded wildly.

"Why don't you give up your silly ghost hunt, and become my partner instead?" Just as the distance shrunk as the snake forcefully pushed me closer, only the length of a forearm left. Mischa’s hand fell into the hair at the nape of my neck. He dragged his nails over my scalp idly. When he spoke again, his voice dropped lower, an intimate, secretive tone. "Be my apprentice… I'll teach you the language of snakes, or how to shape fire, how to conjure elementals, how to sprout a tree from a seed, levitate objects with just your mind... Just say the word, and leave that pesky boyfriend behind. Great deeds are waiting for us."

I avoided his eyes, my silence taken as resistance. With cold fingers he tilted my chin up to look him in the eye.

"You might want to consider if there's much of your partner left to go back to, if you think it best to refuse my offer." And his smile then was anything but kind. A tongue, forked like that of a snake darted out to wet his lips, and my predicament was claustrophobic. The fright of my heart, irregular, a sharp gasp instead of an answer. What was there to answer? There is no retort for this but- anything but death. Mischa saw my thoughts form, reading me like an open book. Saw how my resilience crumbled, and leaned down to seal my fate with a cruelly tender forehead kiss.

#writing #original writing #writeblr #slasher community #Mischa: 🐍#aaaaAAAAAAAAh its finally done!! i was such a nasty perfectionist with this one but i feel its still not perfect #oh well;; ^^ hope you enjoy!!#and on to more amazing fics with him! more smut and romance too especially alksdjfksjdf

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witchwaypoint · 1 year ago

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#1 When The Knives In My Heart Twist

Vincent x Reader! My first fic! More chapters incoming. 2k words here. Self-indulgence go brrrr. Oh and reader is not fine in the head. This is literally called Vincent x Morally fucked in my files. Changed the part Bo fucks up to spark plugs instead of fan belt purely for plot I admit.

TW:

Canon typical violence Mentions of physical and verbal abuse. Also I suck at spelling.

Mentions of the nasties

--- New face in town ---

Great. Just great! Your spark plugs have mysteriously disappeared overnight from your car while you and your partner slept. Now to start the day, you have been verbally abused and slapped, and to top it all off, stuck outside the sunny town of fuck knows what in fuck knows where in Louisiana. The dust picked off under your excuse of a boyfriend's feet as his figure grew more distant. You're sitting in the car in the shade of an old oak tree further from the town. About half a mile? Something like that. You could see partly see his red flannel in the distance as you glared after him.

You're tired, overheating, and just about ready to dump the guy into a river. If you could find one. You had stopped before the town, purely out of his demands to check off car sex from his summer bucket list. It was definitely not worth it. Resting your head on the wheel as curses fall from your lips before you pause. A smirk tugs at your lips. You step out of the car and round it to the back to open the trunk. Rummaging through the space, you find a package with brand-new spark plugs. "Thanks, pops." You chuckle before you hear an older truck on the road stopping. Straightening your back, you stare at the car with a tilted head as a man looks at you from the driver's seat. You picked up a wrench while you were there.

He wore a green cap as he gave you a smile. "Can I help ya' miss?" He asks as you slam the trunk shut. You shake your head a little. "Depends," You hum as you walk to the driver's seat to pop the hood. "Do you live in that town? You're the first car to pass by that I know of." The hood popped open audibly for the second time this morning. You side-eyed the man as he responded, eyeing the packets in your hand. His smile had faded abruptly.

"Whatcha doing there?" His voice wavered ever so slightly. "Replacing the spark plugs that grew legs and wandered off." A chuckle left your lips as the man in the car gulped down a knot that had formed at the back of his throat. You noted a waft of blood and wet fur carried over from the truck. You scrunched your nose and opened the packet, digging out the small screw-like part. You leaned down under the hood after securing it up.

"Really? Lemme see." He opened the door of the truck and waltzed over hurriedly. He reeked of rotting corpses. A cold but heavy odor. "How do ye know how to change 'em? Jus' curious is all." He peered over your shoulder as you turned the first plug into place. "Was taught by an old man I consider my pops." Apart from the smell, he seemed nice enough. A little goofy if you could say so. "How's the town like? My boy…" you pause to think, mulling over the words, tasting venom in your mouth. "Travel buddy, went off to find help, I think."

A side-eye stare burned a hole through your temple before the green-cap man took a step to the side. "It's nice. Quiet, but nice. It has a museum my brother makes artwork for, ye should check it out if ye can. Name's Lester by the way." He seemed to hesitate extending his hand before you offered yours from beneath the hood while leaning on the front bumper of your car. He took it and gave a bright smile. "Good to meet you, Lester." You greeted him before pulling your hand away, returning your attention to the problem under the hood. Inline engine spark plugs aren't overly hard to change, but it's nice to get it done right on the first try. As you install the last of the spark plugs into their new homes and connect the ignition cords back into the spark plugs, you turn to Lester.

"So what do you do around here?" You question, staring the very stereotypical-looking redneck down with a smile. "I clean up the roadkill around here and the highway. Not much, but it's honest work." He shrugs his shoulders. "Though the downside is my brother always complaining about the smell." This prompted a small laugh to escape your mouth. You felt a grin creep up your face as you tried to shape the sentence that was bubbling up into a not-so-rude one. "Well, if it bothers him, reckon you should at least try to accommodate."

You both pause as you hear twigs snapping and loud footsteps approach from the forest in the west. Lesters' head snaps towards the sound, and swiftly your attention follows suit. You glance at Lester by your side and note his expression, like a deer in headlights. You swear you could see a bead of sweat form. He seems to even be shaking a little.

Seconds pass by before a blonde woman emerges from the tree line, just meters away from the pair of you. She is covered in grime, dirt, and blood. Her eyes are wide as plates as she runs to you, clearly having run for quite a while by now. "Please! Help me!" She shouted at you as her hands went to grab your arms. She shook you in panic as tears fell down her cheeks. "He's close- He's going to kill me! He already got my boyfriend!"

Something is definitely fucked beyond words around here. No cars, no people, and the first two you see are on edge, but clearly for very different reasons. You see Lester backing off towards his truck from the corner of your eye. Snapping out of your thoughts, you grab her shoulders gently. "Calm down, love. It's okay." Your voice was level as you looked into her eyes. You nodded towards the passenger side of your car. "Hop in. I'll just close the hood."

The woman in front of you passed you as she scrambled to the passenger seat you looked at Lester, who was even more nervous than before. He met your eyes as you stared him down. Thinking for a few moments before sighing. 'Not my circus, not my monkeys.' You lean back under the hood and rip out the ignition cables that you had just installed, and pull the hood down. You waltz to the driver's seat before sitting down and turning over the engine.

The car fails to start for obvious reasons. The woman next to you begins to panic. Her head whips around to you to scream at you but closes her mouth as she follows your gaze at a tall man emerging from the tree line close to where the woman popped out from. "Start the fucking car, you bitch!" She screams, crying. The tall man is approaching in front of you. She's shaking as you turn over the engine again, cringing at the failed start. The woman next to you opens her door and frantically tries to get out, but the man grabs her by the hair and yanks her away from the car.

You look at the display of violence in awe. You don't flinch as the woman is knocked unconscious and the man turns to you. He tilts his head to the side as his black hair frames his masked face. A smile grows on your lips as you sheepishly give him a small wave. You notice him glance toward Lester's truck, which you mimic. Lester is smiling awkwardly next to his car.

You swear you could see the confusion in the masked man's posture before he walks off with the body of the woman thrown over his shoulder like a sack of bloody potatoes. Your eyes linger on the figure walking into the woods with a small smile of pure awe. As the figures fade away into the trees you still watch on until Lester opening your car door rips away your attention.

You stare each other down, Lester still looking nervous. "You owe me." You note in a dry tone as you look up at the man before stepping out of the car. "Both an explanation and a favor." You continue as you straighten out your back.

The hillbilly in front of you is absolutely flabbergasted by your exclamation. "You… You aren't going to run? Fight? Anything??" "… Nope. I'm good." You look off into the distance before tilting your head to look at Lester next to you. "If I don't get killed before him that is. If I do I'll just be sad I didn't see it happen." You shrug your shoulders before popping the hood once again and waltzing to the front of your beloved car. Reattaching the ignition cables you turn to Lester.

"I'm guessing that it's okay enough for now seeing that I'm still conscious and you haven't run off? Lead the way." You smile at the funky guy, which makes him snap out of the trance he had fallen into. He nods before walking to his own truck. You slam the hood closed. "Your engine alright? After.. you know…" He trailed off looking off in the direction the masked man carried the unconscious woman.

You lowered yourself to the driver's seat. "Good question." You turn the engine over. It hits empty for a few seconds before roaring to life loudly, startling Lester. "Sorry, love!" You shout out the window. "Come on then. Show the way." He chuckled before scrambling to open the driver's side door of the truck to hop in. You heard the engine of the truck revving awake through your own car's roaring voice.

You watch the mans' car drive off as you follow with your own, with a smile playing on your lips. This place seems like heaven… or hell on earth you suppose. The drive doesn't take long at all soon you're pulling into the driveway of a seemingly rundown house. Lester parks onto the side of the house as you park yours in front.

The wooded area gave shade so it wasn't as hot in the town. You noted the quietness of the town as you had driven through but supposed it was connected to what you saw earlier. You opened the door and stepped out, looking at Lester. "Where are we?" You inquired.

"This is where me a' m'brothers live. Including the bloke, you sa' earlier. We got one more, Bo. He's probably down at the station." He wiped his hands off on a rag as he explained. "I can't do choices alone so, we gotta ask m'brothe-" "Wait does that mean he isn't dead yet?" You cut Lester off. He nods, looking confused as a person can be. A smile spreads on your face. "Can we go… greet Bo, please?" You ask looking like you are about to take off running in joy.

"Wait a minute, lady." Lester thought for a second. "Are you… Are you saying you want to watch your 'travel buddy' get killed?" You nod far too quickly for a sane person. "I mean I would prefer to gut him myself, but I suppose I can watch." The redneck just stared at you for what seemed like forever before you continued. "What? Did you think I was sane?" You let out a laugh as you close your door.

"Well… yes?" Lester seemed concerned before deciding to let it go and waved his hand to motion for you to follow. "Come on then."

#vincent sinclair x reader #house of wax 2005 #vincent sinclair

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kavalyera · 1 year ago

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Vincent/Chidi headcanons<3

Warnings: none<3

enjoy! <3

They started off as a bodyguard and boss

Vincent is a perfectionist at heart, he hates screw-ups because that would mean also screwing up because whatever his guys do, he does it too in the eyes of the Table

Usually, younger representatives get the harder assignments from the High Table

Obviously, Vincent needed someone who was competent enough to help him with the shit the High Table throws at him

And then Chidi came along

There was finally something refreshing

Chidi is brutal when it comes to doing stuff wether that be hunting someone down who even tried fucking with the Marquis

« How you do anything is how you do everything » after all

Chidi was aggressive and violent when it came to work which is normal under the criminal underworld(one can’t survive with morals in such a place)

Yet, Chidi was also professional and refined when he wasn’t shooting people in the head

Second-In-Command

Chidi managed to reach that role within just weeks which was such a surprise for working for someone like the Marquis

The two were…. close than just a bodyguard and his boss, always walking with eachother— and it might just be because of assassination threats or something but even in Vincent’s home sometimes Chidi was there

Vincent liked hearing his own voice it was really just obvious

He liked talking, a lot

Chidi just listened because most days were just standing by the Marquis

“Death is rare to be depicted in white.” Vincent said as he pointed to Döden

Vincent loved art, he couldn’t make it but he did talk about it

Or Vincent could be flicking through a Vogue magazine or something, eating a parfait or a small glass of icecream

And of course, Vincent would persist on making Chidi take a bite

Unfortunately for Chidi who doesn’t like sweets as much as his boss

Vincent is a skilled marksman, but that mean he’s gonna play his skills down when Chidi is there

Vincent is clingy as hell, he likes Chidi’s touch

Hugs that linger a second or two longer or being a little too close

hope you enjoyed~ rbs appreciated<3

#marquis de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #chidi #chidi jw4 #chidi x vincent #john wick 4 #john wick #🪐evrenwrites #writers #fanfiction #headcanons #mlm

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retrieve-the-kraken · 2 years ago

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Young Royals Season 2 play-by-play analysis

I should clarify that, as I reread these thoughts and delete some of them, I might be adding some stuff to expand on some ideas, that I wasn’t able to fully articulate at the time.

On to episode 3…

EPISODE 3

I appreciate that Wille is doing what he can to improve things for himself, with both Simon and with his mother. And I feel for him and his frustration at not being able to make it work. Right now he thinks it’s that simple, it should be that simple, but it’s not. It’s going to take a little more work, a little more dedication.

“Prison?” August now realizing the legal consequences of leaking the video, and yet he can’t not be an asshole as he seeks help. “I wouldn’t have called you if I had anyone else to call.” August trying to make it very clear how he feels about his stepdad. I wonder if he feels this way because his mother remarried, because she remarried someone who is “just a lawyer”, or because of his feelings about the way that his father died, and about not having a dad anymore.

I think August really wasn’t aware that leaking the video meant posting child pornography, and this is really the first time he’s hearing it. The other two don’t sound technically as bad in comparison, he probably thinks he can get away with those two. But child pornography? That’s a Prince Andrew level of scandal. And now his stepdad knows too.

And so when Sara encourages August to confess, he already knows that there’s no point, it won’t get him out of it. Because that’s all he thinks about, getting off scott-free.

Vincent constantly singling Simon out and berating him when he’s berating all of them… screw you, Vincent. “I always have to prove myself, otherwise he’ll just blame me.” It hurts that he’s so aware of it. Being in that school constantly makes Simon aware of how much he doesn’t fit in with his peers.

So are students at Hillerska not allowed to order takeout? Or would Wille get questioned by the Royal Court about why he’s ordering takeout for himself and his friend?

The way Simon just went “nope” and stopped working out is so relatable (credit to @themarsbar for that gif, which doesn’t appear in the gif tab so I hat to manually look it up because it’s my fav) . I too would hate kicking my knees up in the fucking snow in the middle of the night. I do love that Rosh is helping him, even though she doesn’t consider rowing a sport. And I love that Ayub is sitting by himself in the fucking cold just to be with his friends.

Rosh: “it’s not because Wille’s on the team?” Simon: “No.” Rosh: “You seem to have trouble keeping away from him.” Simon: No answer…

“I just don’t understand why I can’t fall in love with him.” Oh baby, if only it were that simple. Just because you fell head-over-heels in love with Wille in, like, no time at all doesn’t mean that it’s always like that. You can’t force it. And Rosh’s face realizing that Simon is not a rebound guy, he’s a relationship guy, and he fell hard for Wille and that it’s not going to go away that quickly…

“I know I should feel okay that he’s seeing other people.” No, baby, nobody said that. You’re allowed to feel sad and angry and jealous. Things with Simon didn’t end the way you wanted them too, in fact you didn’t actually want things to end. It’s too soon. These two boys are so impatient.

“Here to see the socialist? But like he’s actually pretty decent”. It’s so annoying how Nils is often such an elitist, but like he’s forcing himself to be. He says something disdainful, but then he says something nice. Or he says something in a disdainful tone, just so that no one around him actually thinks he’s nice. I keep thinking back to s1e1, when Vincent shouts at Simon “can you sing louder?” Obviously to embarrass him. But when Simon walks past August, Vincent and Nils, Nils says “hey you’ve got good pipes” or something, but he says it in a tone that makes it seem like a backhanded compliment, it sounds like bullying, because he’s with his friends. God forbid he might be upfront and nice…

“When you’re struggling, it can be helpful to see someone like me.” Wilhelm realizing that Erik was not as perfect as he thought, that he also had struggles. “So that you don’t feel you have to risk hurting somebody.” Does that mean that Erik struggled with self-destructive behaviors?

“He was always saying that we should keep what’s private private. That’s how we were raised. Otherwise… otherwise people take advantage.” Wille, like Erik, seems to have a skewed perspective of what privacy means and what secrecy means.

Wille’s whole confession about feeling lonely makes me so sad. He really feels like Erik is the only one who cared, and now he’s gone. “Then last year I made a new friend who awakened new feelings in me… in a way I wish I hand’t, it was better not knowing how it could feel…” Crying every single time…

It’s interesting how earlier Rosh was pointing out that Simon can’t seem to keep away from Wille. Maybe he is, but then he picks up the book that later Wille has to pick too because it’s the only one left, just by… coincidence? (No such thing. It’s the universe telling them something… *cough* soulmates *cough*)

Wille realizing that Kris by Karin Boye is basically about him… (and of course dear Henry being completely dense, love him).

Simon being conflicted about what he should tell Wille, because he doesn’t owe him anything, and yet knowing that Wille will be sad about it, and also knowing that there’s really nothing going on between him and Marcus (not from his side, at least) and not wanting to use Marcus to make Wille jealous or to simply be a rebound but actually knowing deep down that was the whole point of starting anything with Marcus. And then ultimately deciding that he doesn’t want Wille to be sad…

Simon watching Wille’s face as he processes the information. He had already pretty much decided at this point that he wasn’t going to continue to pursue anything with Marcus, and Wille’s reaction pretty much cemented it. Just like Wille still cares about Simon, Simon unfortunately still cares very much for Wille. He’ll just have to get over him the old-fashioned way. By writing a heartbreak song…

Sara asking Felice to promise that they will find better new owners for Rousseau and then feeling betrayed when Rousseau is still sold to those people is very similar to Simon’s reaction when Wille said he wouldn’t say anything about the video and then doing the interview to deny it was him. Neither Sara nor Simon understand that Felice and Wille weren’t given a choice, their parents decided for them. As privileged as Felice and Wille are, they still have to abide by their families wishes, even if they don’t agree.

“Can’t forget our golden days.” If that’s not an on-the-nose reference to all the golden Wilmon moments, then I don’t know…

“There they are our fucking slaves.” Jesus Christ, Vincent, what a choice of words. And getting all high and mighty and getting in Henry’s face… What the actual fuck… What’s more shocking about this whole tyrannical tirade is that the Housemaster is just sitting there! The entire time, he’s sitting there, watching, like it’s no big deal, like it’s totally okay for Vincent to speak like that and to treat his housemates like that.

When Walter comes to ask August if he’s coming to the shooting range, and August says “You can tell Judas that I’m not ready to make peace”… the irony, when he’s the biggest traitor of them all…

Simon coming into the frame as the lyrics say “I need you to hear what I mean and not what I say” as he heads over to talk to Marcus and tell him he’s not ready for a relationship… and then Marcus being pushy and not listening to him… ugh…

Simon asking Sara if she’s friends with August, and her basically lying. Or maybe it’s the truth. They are not friends. She blackmailed him into helping her get into Manor House, and now she’s horny for him. August, however, does seem to think he can trust Sara, and she revealed to him that Felice is the one who told Wille who the culprit was… maybe that’s what August thinks friendship is. August probably thinks that friendship is just convenience; you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. He probably also thinks that friendship has an element of idolatry, he idolized Erik in his time, and when he became the senior student and prefect and rowing team leader, he was in turn “idolized” (no, he wasn’t, he was tolerated, unlike Erik who, judging from the way that people talk about him, when he was still alive and now that he’s dead, probably was actually idolized, and August has not been able to replicate his popularity the same way, but since people still followed him as the leader then he thought he was doing fine… and now he knows he wasn’t). He thinks that his friends have all betrayed him… no August, your friends were never really your friends, and they’re done with your bullshit.

Sara rubbing in Simon’s face that he gives people second chances (“and third and fourth and fifth…”), but also kind of making it sound like maybe it’s not such a bad thing to give August a second chance. Maybe that’s the way she thinks now, because she’s getting closer to August… Sara had some very strict standards for Simon and then became upset when he disappointed her, but then she goes and makes similar mistakes, but doesn’t seem to be aware of how unfair that is.

The way she says to Rousseau “he’s going to see Marcus…” like she thinks it’s a good thing, like Simon seemed excited about it… the way she says in episode 2 “at least he doesn’t need rescuing all the time”… the fact that Sara hasn’t been home since the beginning of class and they haven’t hung out as much… it makes me think two things: that Sara doesn’t really understand or doesn’t perceive how messed up Simon is over his breakup with Wille, and therefore thinks that Simon is really moving on with Marcus, OR Simon has really kept all his feelings bottled up since before Christmas and therefore neither Linda nor Sara know really how much his breakup with Wille has affected him, and therefore Sara honestly thinks that Simon is moving on with Marcus (which would also explain why Linda was so enthusiastic about Marcus as well). I feel both might be true because of how much Simon doesn’t want to show how much things affect him because he doesn’t want to burden his mother with these issues, because he thinks he needs to be strong (“eres fuerte, Simon”), and so he has tried to force himself to move on or dealt with his emotions in private)… and therefore, if Sara doesn’t really understand how much this breakup affected Simon, how much Wille really meant to him, because she either hasn’t been there or because he hasn’t really shown her how he feels, then she doesn’t understand how desperate Simon is to move on and how much he’s still hurting. Not only that, she doesn’t seem to understand how traumatizing the video leaking was for Simon (after all, she was only really thinking of herself when it happened and it started to have a ripple effect, with their mum wanting to pull them both out of Hillerska).

And it makes me wonder what things would have been like between Wille and Simon if the video hadn’t leaked, what their relationship would have been like it their privacy hadn’t been violated… it sucks to go to that mentality immediately, that “everything happens for a reason” (not when it shouldn’t have happened), and it sucks because but maybe all of these terrible things that happened to them, as traumatizing as they have been, it forced both Wille and Simon to do some hard introspection, mature in many aspects, and find themselves coming out stronger out the other side… it sucks, because they’re just kids, and they didn’t deserve it… but also the only thing left to do in that situation is to focus on the positive outcome and work through the trauma… but I can’t help but imagine for them a life in which they didn’t unfairly get thrown into all this turmoil…

“I never said that I thought that you would hurt me.” Listen, Marcus, he doesn’t have to talk to you about this. He just said he’s not ready, he doesn’t know when he’ll be ready. If you’re a decent human being, you will back off. And why the fuck bring up the video???? This means that you know, you have known this entire time, about the video, about Wilhelm. You know that, if there are weird vibes with Wille, then Wille is definitely the guy from the video. You know that he’s probably trying to get over him… (and yes, you watched it, admit it, you watched it and you liked what you saw).

The rest of that conversation just boils my blood… “I know you don’t want to destroy something so beautiful.” Fuck you and fuck you for making Simon’s resolve weaken with your gaslighting and your superiority complex.

Sara doesn’t know that August has already looked into everything that could happen to him as consequence of the video, he used to think he was just going to lose everything because the monarchy would not tolerate it, but now he knows that he might even go to prison. Sara doesn’t, she still thinks he might want to redeem himself.

Simon cheering for Wille during the competition, then promptly stopping when he realizes that Marcus is there.

When Vincent falls off the chair, Forest Ridge is still ahead. When Simon gets in the chair, they’re still ahead. It’s some time after that that they lose their lead, and lose. But Vincent still blames Simon for losing.

Also August defending Simon in the locker room. Is he arguing with Vincent because he knows Vincent is wrong? Is it because Vincent pisses him off? Is it guilt because of what he did to Simon? Is it because Simon is Sara’s brother? All of the above? Also the “It doesn’t matter, it’s not real” argument because nothing matters to August anymore now that he doesn’t have the power. All the things that mattered so much to him are now so obviously pointless, he either realizes that it’s all meaningless, or he wants to diminish the significance, now that it’s not as important because he’s not at the top looking down

Wille putting on a sad song because it’s the only way he can process seeing Simon kiss Marcus and Simon not being on the team with him anymore. Everything is crumbling, let me listen to sad music and look at pictures of my ex to make myself feel worse. We get you, sweet prince. Next season that photo album will be brimming with cute pictures, new pictures, happy pictures…

That’s not Drottningholm palace or Stockholm palace, is it? As any nerd of this show, I’ve done some research and can’t match the façade of the palace where August arrives to any of the royal palaces of Sweden… but it’s at the waterfront…?

“If, and only if, Wilhelm can’t stand the pressure to take over the throne…” interesting choice of words. She’s saying that only if Wilhelm can’t do it, if he doesn’t want to do it, if he chooses to abdicate, then August would be next in line. Does that mean that if Kristina doesn’t think Wilhelm should be Crown Prince anymore because of his choice to be with Simon or any other reason, as long as he’s up for it he will still be the Crown Prince? They can’t justify him not being fit for it, it has to come from him?

”This will stay between us”, she says, then she tells Wilhelm without hesitation. Maybe it was indeed just a plan. Probably Kristina did need to get a backup (she does say it wasn’t her idea), but the main point of it, especially the point of choosing August, was to light a fire in Wilhelm, make him want to stay Crown Prince, just so that August will never be. (And then Wille turns the tables majestically on her, pun not intended).

I appreciate that she clarifies that it wasn’t her idea, because under the circumstances she would never choose him, the motherly side of her would always side with Wilhelm, but… the queen side of her wins again.

August’s self-satisfied smile, urgh… he’s back in the game. But he can’t tell anyone. He’s just gonna be smug all the time.

“How long do I have to feel like this?” Not long, baby, not long.

Every time… this scene… it’s like watching a train crash… but they both went in for the kiss at the exact same time. Felice definitely has some lingering feelings for Wille. And he knows she wanted him before, so maybe it would be pretty easy, this thing between them…? Let’s give it a try, perhaps? They’re both lonely, and he was desperate and she was not going to say no, so they basically kind of took advantage of each other.

When Felice stops, her resolve immediately weakens when he looks at her, because she probably got all hot and bothered, but she wants to check with him if this is okay. Wilhelm isn’t thinking, he’s desperate for touch, for getting Simon out of his head, for hopefully finding something equally as powerful with someone else, so he’s not even hesitating. He can trust Felice, she’s his friend. It’s not until Henry walks in that he snaps out of it, that he remembers where they are, who they are and what they’re doing, and now someone else knows. His privacy just keeps getting intruded upon…

(Next episode… ohmaigaddd, next episode, so tempted to rewatch just for the heck of it… )

#young royals #wilmon #young royals thoughts #young royals analysis #young royals season two #young royals season 2 #young royals s2

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