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ghoulical · 4 years ago

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Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover

Part 3 of Renegade, a My Hero Academia fan-fiction.

Word Count: 7,343 Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Female!OC Warnings: Minor harassment Summary: Ren’s mysterious client returns, but their light conversation takes a drastic turn, and she has to face the consequences of her actions, whether she wants to or not.

“Have you heard anything from Grubby yet?”

Ren didn’t always mean to eavesdrop on her customers, but sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself.

“No, haven’t seen him at all since last week.”

Sometimes, it was all too difficult not to.

“Bartender, another round here, please!”

She wiped her hands down with a spare cloth, threw it over her shoulder and scurried over to the other end of the bar, where the three loud men—villains, no doubt—waited for her arrival and their quick refill of golden nectar. With a small smile, she nodded and swiped the empty glasses from the bar counter, then sidestepped slightly to the right to hold one of the glasses at an angle underneath one of the faucets on the draft tower. The other hand reached up to hold down the handle, and she made sure to keep her eyes on the level of amber liquid pouring into the glass even as her ears paid their attention elsewhere.

“I heard he got caught in some trouble with a hero.”

“Grubby? No, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m not shitting you, man.”

“Any idea who the bastard is?”

She let go of the handle and slid the refilled glass over to the man closest to her, nodding at the feeble ‘thank-you’ he offered her, before she held another glass underneath the faucet and begin filling it with the same liquid.

“No clue, but I’ve heard rumors there’s a new hero in town, running around rounding villains up in the middle of the night.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Heroes don’t sleep, man.”

“It’s not the Number One Hero, is it?”

“I think we would know if All Might himself ever shows his face around here. No, I think it’s some B-rated hero or something. Don’t think I’ve ever seen him on the charts, too, in fact.”

Another full glass. No thank-you this time, though. Another client raised their hand and was calling for her from the other end of the bar. One more to go.

“What? A B-rated hero taking down Grubby? That’s impossible, dude.”

“Not impossible, man. Rumour has it this new hero’s got some kind of Quirk that can cancel out other Quirks—sure explains how someone like him can take poor ol’ Grubby down.”

Huh. That sounds familiar.

“That’s nothing but a whole lot of bull. There’s no way a Quirk like that exists. I mean, what’s the point of having Quirks then, if someone has an overpowered one just like that?”

Nope. It’s not impossible.

“What do you think, bartender?”

“Huh?” Ren forced herself to look up, only to immediately find herself being the center of attention of all three men sitting on the other side of the bar from where she stood, eyes staring at her in genuine inquiry. “What?”

“What do you think about what Archie just said here?” one of the men asked again, smirking as he nudged the side of the man sitting beside him, who grunted and scowled at the gesture. “About some B-rated hero running around with a Quirk-erasing… Quirk?”

She pondered their question for a moment—not the content of the question itself, but of how she should respond to it—until she heard the sloshing sound of liquid spilling out, forcing her to snap out of her daze to realize she had dispensed just a little too much beer into the glass she was holding onto. She quickly yanked the glass away from the faucet as her other hand released the handle, then pulled down the cloth on her shoulder to start wiping the sides of the glass, ensuring it was dry before serving it out to the last of the three men.

“What do I think?” She slung the cloth back around her shoulder as she passed the glass over to the man sitting furthest from her. “Does it matter what I think?”

“No.” Of course not. “But it does if it means we get to call out on Archie’s bullshit here.”

A round of boisterous laughter. All the red-haired bartender could offer, however, was a smile.

“Well, nothing’s impossible,” she replied, shoulder’s lifting for a small shrug. “I didn’t think you boys would come back here after what happened last Friday night, but colour me surprised to see you alive and back on your feet for another round of drinks, Archie. We’re always glad to have you back here.”

Another series of raucous laughter, still at the expense of poor Archie, who could do nothing more than scowl at his two friends, wince at the painful memory she abruptly brought up, and raise his drink in respect for the bartender’s perfect response.

“Kudos to you, bartender.”

“I’m here all night, boys. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” She tilted her head to the side at the other customer awaiting her service. “—I’ve got a job to do. Call if you need anything else.”

She left the three men to their own devices to tend to the lady sitting at the other end of the bar, who had been calling for her attention in the last two minutes. Their words continued to linger in the forefront of her mind even as she asked the middle-aged woman what she wanted to drink, correctly guessing the next order was going to be a martini, and pretending to be surprised at the request for both the olives and the lemon twist addition to her drink.

And even as her hands began to set in motion, reaching for a pint glass, the vermouth and the ever-essential gin to the well-beloved cocktail, she couldn’t stop the men’s conversation from distracting her mind just a little bit, almost causing her to forget she already added the gin into the mixture when she started to pour another two extra ounces into the jigger. Shaking her head did nothing but push the thought aside for a brief moment, as she finished making the cocktail before serving it to the lady with an extra warm smile in addition to the extra-extra drink she ordered.

She stepped back to allow the woman to enjoy her drink in solitary peace and quiet, and allowing herself to mull over her thoughts for a little bit as she leaned her hip against the back counter, folding her hands in front of her and keeping her gaze straight across the room to pretend as if she was still keeping a close eye on all the clients in the bar as the job required her to.

So, she sighed. Shouta’s in town. She couldn’t remember when she last saw her half-brother—well, she did see him on TV about a few weeks ago. She only caught a mere glimpse of him, however, standing at the edge of a row of heroes, almost invisible behind his more well-known colleagues—that was right she heard the creaking of the front door echoing off the bare walls of the apartment, signifying her father’s return from the shop, and forcing her to shut the TV off and scurry back to her bedroom before his shadow could even reach the living room.

Imagine how livid her father would be if he caught the sight of her own half-brother—his former stepson—on TV. She didn’t need to give him another reason to be mad at her, given he could come up with a dozen each day already.

She missed him. Of course, she missed him. She almost laughed when she first caught him on TV. He looked much, much older now—there was a slight stubble growing on his chin and underneath his nose, and his long locks of hair were unkempt, almost too reminiscent of their mother’s, as well as Ren’s if she hadn’t dyed it vermillion red a few months ago, right before she took up the job at the bar.

Pro Heroes should be well-compensated for their public service work, right? And yet, somehow, her brother could easily be mistaken for a lost homeless man—a black blur in the background amongst the abundance of colours on that TV news segment. Shouldn’t his aunt be reprimanding him for keeping such an unruly, unsightly appearance like that? Was he still even living with his aunt? Maybe not anymore.

How old was he now? Almost thirty, probably?

God, it had been so long since they last saw each other. Would he even recognize her now? Hell, what would he even think, seeing her like this? Ren herself scoffed at the thought: Shouta Aizawa, the Pro Hero who has helped countless of lives and thwarted villains for a living; and his little sister, Ren Kagawa, a literal nobody who was paid to facilitate the awful habits of the people she surrounded herself with on a nightly basis.

She took a deep breath and sighed. Reaching out to him was a terrible idea. She couldn’t imagine the look of disappointment across his face if he saw her like this. She didn’t want to even think of it.

She was still proud of him, though. Hell, who wouldn’t be proud to call him a brother, or even a friend, for that matter? She could imagine all the hurdles he had to jump through to graduate from U.A.—with a Hero License, for that matter, and yet, graduate he did indeed.

Maybe, if things were different back then—if she had persevered as much as he did, she might have had the chance to attend U.A., too.

Maybe. Maybe not.

“Kagawa-san.”

She looked up, breath catching stuck in her throat as soon as her eyes rested upon the familiar sight of greyish-blue curls peeking from underneath a black hood, attached to the same black sweatshirt he wore when she first saw him about a week ago. His head wasn’t bent down as much, allowing her to catch a glimpse of his piercing crimson eyes staring at her through his bangs.

“Shigaraki-sama.” She took a deep breath. Speaking of heroes… “You’re back.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, just as his hand was about to reach out to latch itself onto the bar stool, then tilted his head slightly to the side, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “Am I not allowed to, Kagawa-san?”

“Well, no—err, I mean—” She cleared her throat, hoping it would stop her from stammering so much. “You’re always welcome to come back, of course.”

Not that she could do anything to stop him, anyway.

He hummed as four fingers latching onto the bar stool right across from where she stood, then dragged it out before gliding over to sit right in front of her. “There is still business to discuss, Kagawa-san.”

“Of course.” Yoshinaga made it clear last week that this so-called ‘business’ was nothing she could nor should stick her nose into. Not this time, at least. “The manager is in his office right now. I can go call him for you if you want—”

“No, it’s fine,” the blue-haired young man murmured, waving a feeble hand at her before casting his tired glance off to the side. “Leave him be. The meeting’s not supposed to start for another half hour, anyway.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know if she should hold her breath or sigh in relief. “I see. Well.” She tried clearing her throat again, then closed her eyes before addressing him with a routine smile. “Can I get you anything while you wait?”

The three men from before had gone silent, it seemed; when she turned to face them, she caught Archie’s eye just as he was stepping off his bar stool, forcing the young man to freeze on the spot the moment their eyes met. When his friends loudly beckoned him to join them, he finally lifted his hand from the bar, revealing the money he had left to pay for the three men’s drinks, before he hopped off and scurried over to regroup with his friends as they headed out the door without a second glance back.

She felt her shoulders deflate as she turned her head back to face the blue-haired young man sitting before her, and tried not to stare when his free hand went up to start picking at his neck again.

“Maybe,” he murmured, almost to himself if his voice weren’t audible enough for her to hear. “But I think I’ll get something else for tonight.”

Not a Manhattan man, then. “Anything you have in mind?” she asked, words flying out of her mouth almost automatically.

He pondered her question for another moment, eyes gazing distantly at the rows upon rows of bottles lined neatly across the shelves behind her. “Heard from a friend that a whiskey sour’s pretty good.”

“Whiskey sour, huh?” Ren couldn’t resist smiling at his words. “Your friend has good taste.”

He hummed again, but didn’t offer her any further response as she picked up a jigger in one hand, and the bottle of lemon juice in the other. She kept her head down as she worked to make his drink—she had worked the job long enough that her hands moved on their own volition, not caring less about little spurts or spills from swinging a bottle too far or tipping a full jigger at too big of an angle, but as she poured the appropriate liquids into the shaker, she found herself physically trying to keep a steady hand, making sure she measured exactly the right amounts needed to make his requested drink.

Her eyes almost flitted up when she felt him frowning at her, as she cracked the egg open on the brim of the shaker and began separating the yolk, letting the egg white drip down into the shaker’s contents.

“What are you doing?” he murmured, voice laced with prudence but also masked fascination.

“Making you a whiskey sour,” she promptly replied, her eyes fixated on the egg, gently tossing the remaining yolk to the other half of the shell before discarding it.

She closed the top of the shaker, gripping it on one hand as she rocked it back and forth, all the while her left hand remained idle and awkward resting in front of her thigh.

“You mix a raw egg into it?”

“Just the egg white.” She bit down on her lip, feeling his gaze weighing down on her. She stopped and placed the shaker back on the table, opened it to drop a large chunk of ice into it, then replaced the cap to start shaking it earnestly the second time around.

“I’m not going to get sick from it, am I?”

She pressed her lips to a thin line. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

She almost frowned at his words, but he didn’t seem to pay any attention to the strange expression on her face, one she was positive she made instead of that frown.

“If I recall correctly,” she muttered, still keeping her head bowed down as her primary focus remained at the coldness beginning to spread through the metal and onto her hand, “the last time you were here, you were questioning my judgment on some things.”

“On your decision to take up a job here,” Shigaraki corrected, his voice loose and unrestricted as he leaned his head against his fist again, elbow planted firm on the top of the counter. “Not so much on how you do your job itself.”

“Oh.” She picked up a chilled coupe glass from the fridge, then set it gently down in front of her as the other hand positioned the shaker above it, holding the cap firm with two fingers before she tipped it over, letting the liquid pour through the strainer and into the cocktail glass. “Well, I suppose this is another chance at either verifying that statement, or completely disproving it in a blink of an eye.”

She shook the metal container a bit to let the last drops fall into the glass before setting it aside, then picking up the bottle of bitters, dashing the brown liquid across the white foam forming on the surface of the cocktail. As a final touch, she used a toothpick and glided the tip across the line of bitters, creating a feather pattern across the foam—a nice artistic touch, should she say so herself—before gently picking the glass up and setting it down right in front of the villain.

“One special whiskey sour,” she said, finally turning her eyes up to meet his crimson orbs, as he lifted his head up from his hand in clear anticipation, “for one special man.”

One of the villain’s eyebrows lifted in genuine intrigue, before he tilted his head down to stare at the cocktail placed in front of him.

“Special, huh?” He made another short, soft hum, before he picked up the glass, exercising almost as much caution as she did—four fingers clutching the stem while the fifth remained dangling in the air—brought it over closer to his chapped lips. “Is it now? Or are you just saying that to make me feel special?”

“Can’t it be both?”

He tipped the glass and took a sip of his drink without another word, eyes closed and all, before placing the glass back down on the surface of the counter. Her eyes flitted back down when his eyes flew open, as soon as he finished ruminating on whatever he tasted in his mouth just now—could be good, could be terrible, depending on his own personal palette, though from her experience, whiskey sours were always a pleasant taste to even some of her more fickle customers.

“Not bad.” And yet, he winced, creating more wrinkles on his aged face, though less noticeable than he did the first time last week. “I guess I shouldn’t complain about the sourness when it’s on the name of the cocktail itself.”

“Did it change your perception of me at all, though?” she questioned, eyes briefly flitting up to him with some apprehension, but not enough to counter her curiosity for his answer.

“Does it matter that much to you,” he asked instead, his crimson eyes quickly finding hers as he glared deeply into her, “that I do not change what I think of you?”

“You said you trusted me, Shigaraki-sama.” She shrugged feebly, turning her head down to stare at her hands resting on the rubber mat on her side of the counter. “And I’m practically a stranger to you. I just want to know how that’s possible.”

“I know your name.” He shrugged, placing his head against his fist, but not so much leaning against it, bending his spine at just a slight expressive angle. “I know where you work, who you work for, and that you have an impressive knowledge and skill when it comes to what it is that you do. Is that not enough?”

He wasn’t wrong. She saw these situations in TV shows, like those awful soap operas, before—hell, even on real-life news sometimes. A villain could take advantage of even the smallest morsel of information—whatever leverage they could obtain of their desired target—and manipulate it to serve whatever nefarious intentions they could have.

In this case, Shigaraki could just inquire Yoshinaga about her private details—her cell phone number, her home address, which could spiral off into dangerous possibilities if she wasn’t careful with how she approached him now.

She almost shuddered when she finally realized exactly everything he spoke to her just seconds ago. Her eyes flew up almost impulsively, locking into his blood-red irises for a brief moment before he turned his own gaze away from her, down to the coupe glass pinched between his fingers.

“And no—for the record, you are just as skillful as I believe you to be,” he concluded, chapped lips curving into a small frown as he continued to stare at the pearl-white foam of his cocktail. “I don’t know what a whiskey sour is supposed to taste like, but I know what whiskey tastes like, and judging by its name, I’m guessing it’s supposed to be sour, so this fulfills my expectations from you.” He brought the glass back up to his lips and took another sip. A breath later, his frown twisted into a small, contented smile. “Surpassed them, in fact. Very well done.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Shigaraki-sama.” She looked down, one hand already fetching a dry white cloth, while the other picked up a wine glass and overturned it, before stuffing the cloth inside and wiping the glass around the rim. “About seventy percent of my clientele here is of the gender opposite to mine.”

Another small, curious hum. “And yet, you treat me differently than the rest of your patrons.”

“Do I?” Beside them, the middle-aged woman called the bartender softly, turning the latter’s attention briefly towards her. With a tight-lipped smile, the lady nodded to the cash she left beside the empty martini glass, covering the line of her gaze with a pair of sunglasses as she stepped off the bar stool and wordlessly headed back towards the double doors.

Ren nodded, setting the cloth and wine glass down, and kept her head down as she stepped over to the empty martini glass, retrieving it alongside the cash the lady had left behind. “How so?”

She walked over to the cash register—it still wasn’t too far away from where Shigaraki was sitting, considering he sat right in the middle of the bar, equidistant to both the lady and the three men from earlier, and just a few centimeters off from where she stood now, in front of the cash register. It was almost as if he was making sure she paid attention to him, and now only him, seeing as everyone else in the room had already left, and no new customers had wandered in since the minute Shigaraki did.

“Didn’t you say I was special?” the villain quipped, before he took one last sip of his drink. “Or do you really say that to all your clients?”

“You pique my interest.” She wasn’t lying. As dangerous as he was—as much as he triggered all the red alerts, and all the warning signs inside her mind—she couldn’t help herself but be intrigued by this strange, blue-haired villain. “About as much as I have piqued yours, I’m sure.”

He made another soft sound that, coupled with his sharp exhale, almost sounded like a condescending scoff. “You seem rather confident despite that fact.”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

“I’m a villain, Kagawa-san.”

She blinked her eyes, trying to keep her focus on slipping the bills and coins into their appropriate sections.

“Look around you. Even people who don’t know me cower from my mere presence here.” He sighed, then breathed out a small chuckle. “Unfortunate for you, of course—it seems I’ve driven all your customers away.”

It was the least of her worries, she thought. If what happened last week were to repeat itself, she wasn’t going to linger too long here tonight, anyway.

“But, as I said before,” Shigaraki continued, folding his arm down against the table and shifting in his seat. She was almost positive he was leaning a little bit closer against the bar now, putting less proximity in the already-limited space between them. “You have awful judgement when it comes to determining which clients you should approach, and with how much caution.”

“I’ve dealt with villains before.” She shoved the cash register shut before returning to her post in front of him, picking up the cloth in one hand and another wine glass in the other. “I’ve had quite a few threaten me once or twice before, too.”

“You think I’m just another ordinary villain.” He frowned, almost mimicking her expression. “I assure you, Kagawa-san, I am much more dangerous than any other villain you’ve met here before.”

She believed him—she had little doubt that he was indeed as dangerous as he claimed to be, and as he appeared to be, too. Maybe she was a masochist, twirling fire batons while walking on a tightrope, talking to him like this. But, if her suspicions about his character—and about his Quirk, above all else—were indeed true, then there would be an invisible mattress right underneath the tightrope, ready to catch her when she would inevitably fall.

She just had to be careful not to drop the batons and set everything around her on fire once she does.

“Well, you’re not threatening me yet,” she murmured, keeping her gaze on the wine glass in her hands and careful not to break the fragile object. Subtle threats, maybe, but she wasn’t going to count them all—she probably couldn’t even count them with both her hands if she wanted to. “Until then, you’re a client who has recurring business with the manager. That alone is enough to spike my intrigue.”

“Is it because I look weak?”

Her frown deepened, making itself obvious without her explicit intention. “What?”

Her eyes flew up, and a low scowl was forming across his face, hidden under the shadows his bowing head casted over himself. “Thin and frail, like I’m about to fall at any second.” He lifted a lazed hand, middle finger brushing against the brim of the coupe glass. “Is that why you underestimate me?”

“Looks are often very deceiving.” She glanced back down, replaced the glass on the tray, and picked up another one. “A man can stand at ten feet tall with the build of a gorilla and skin of a rhinoceros, and yet, he can barely hurt a fly.”

“And me?”

“You, Shigaraki-sama—” She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “—the complete opposite.”

She had seen this in TV shows, too—read it in books when she was still able to afford them, and had time to read them without having it swatted away or thrown out without her knowledge.

It was the little people that kings should be afraid of. Sometimes, it was a wise old man who rallied his fellow survivors in a siege against their oppressors. Other times, it was the black sheep outcast, fueled with his own will, and often hatred or vengeance, who would rise up and rob the throne from right underneath the king’s nose.

Shigaraki was a man capable of great destruction, if he willed it to be. His hands told her as much.

Her eyes wandered to his hands as she thought of them, as her own remained still, with the cloth stuck idle inside the wine glass. “You never hold anything with all of your fingers,” she noted, eyes staring at his long, gaunt fingers peeking from the long dark sleeve of his sweatshirt. “If I have to take a guess at what your Quirk is, it has something to do with when you touch something with all five of your fingers.”

Then there were those lines beneath his eyes, making him appear at least ten, even twenty years older than he should be. Certain Quirks had significant side-effects on their users, even if it was just an Emitter Quirk—likely the case with Shigaraki as well, hence the wrinkles underneath his eyes, not to mention his deathly, pale yellow skin.

“I would say.” She took a deep breath as she forced herself to stare up at his deep crimson eyes, then exhaled it slowly, almost painfully. “Something along the lines of rapid deterioration or degeneration of everything you touch, with all five of your fingers?”

For a brief moment, all she could hear was the idle, but almost inaudible ticking of the clock in the far corner of the room, as well as the whistling of the wind outside the closed doors. She couldn’t hear her own breathing, nor the beating of her own heart as she remained standing frozen still, trying to ignore the anticipation and dread slowly creeping its way up her stiffening spine.

The villain took his time before she saw the slightest of twitches from his dark-clothed figure. His head bowed low enough that she had no means of seeing his expressions and facial reactions, much less decipher it and determine if she should be making a run for the doors at this exact moment.

All she could do was stand and wait, as her hands began to move again, wiping the wine glass around its brim before replacing it back on the tray.

“I’m impressed, Kagawa-san.”

Ren didn’t know what to expect from those words; when her eyes flitted up towards him, however, she caught a small glimpse of the curve of his smirk before he placed four of his fingertips around the brim of the emptied coupe glass in front of him, the little finger hovering just several millimeters above it.

“You were able to derive all that from meeting a stranger two times in the span of over one week?” She heard the click of his tongue, and her shoulders dropped. “You would have been a great battle analyst in another life, Kagawa-san.”

He lifted the glass up—an act that in itself would alarm the bartender considering how he was handling such a fragile item—but what she didn’t expect was his final finger made the lightest tap against the side of the glass, but that brief moment of contact alone was enough to cause the coupe glass to start cracking in his grip, before it shattered—no, disintegrated right before her eyes, all in a quickest blink of an eye.

The corner of Shigaraki’s chapped lips twitched. “That is, if you didn’t have such terrible judgment on people’s characters, as you do now.”

His hand hovered still above the bar counter, and all that was left of the coupe glass was a pile of microscopic glass shards, almost like ash, in a small mound right underneath it.

Ren blinked but didn’t avert her gaze from the ash pile for at least a good solid minute. She almost scoffed at the realization—at least she wasn’t wrong, she thought to herself.

“A simple ‘yes’ would’ve been sufficient, Shigaraki-sama,” she murmured, keeping her voice low as she crouched underneath the counter to retrieve a small dustpan and a spare cloth. When she stood back up, she tried not to wince under his burning glare as she moved to wipe the ash pile with the cloth into the dustpan. “You didn’t need to destroy one of our glasses to prove it to me.”

As much as she couldn’t anticipate his response to her apparently accurate assumption, her own response was something he did not expect either; his gaze continued to weigh down on her, watching her every movement as she tossed the remnants of his coupe glass into the trash bin underneath the counter, set the supplies aside and move to wash her hands in the sink beside her.

“The manager usually doesn’t take kindly to clients who mess with bar property,” she continued, though her voice grew almost monotonous, sounding more like reciting a memorized speech than making a witty remark. “But I have a feeling he will let it slide for you, Shigaraki-sama.”

Another brief moment of silence, as she felt the villain narrowing his crimson eyes at her—she couldn’t tell whether it was out of spite, irritation or intrigue, as she kept her head bowed down at a small angle, barely glancing at the blue-haired young man from the top peripherals of her vision.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

Her eyes flew up, studying the lines across his face but not quite staring him straight in the eye. “What do you mean?”

“I can kill you,” he seethed through a tight-lipped snarl, almost growling through his teeth as his expression furrowed. “I can touch your hand right now and kill you where you stand.”

“You could.” No, he couldn’t, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t need to.

She saw his jaw muscles tense, and his fingers curled inwards, forming a tight fist. “Then why aren’t you afraid of me?”

The bartender shrugged—maybe she shouldn’t have, since it probably added insult to injury, but she couldn’t help herself. “What’s there to be afraid of?”

“You’re not afraid to die?”

She took a deep breath and sighed. “I’ve gone past that months ago, Shigaraki-sama.” Her head tilted down again as she picked up the cloth and yet another wine glass. “If I was so afraid for my own life, I wouldn’t have stuck around as long as I have. We wouldn’t have even met each other last week. And besides.” She pressed her thumb around the brim of the glass. “Does it matter that I’m not afraid of you?”

“I’m a villain,” he snarled, almost slamming his fist down to the table. His curled bangs fell over his face, casting his features back in shadows. “Pretty little girls like you should be running for the hills at the mere sight of me. What kind of villain am I if I can’t instill fear to people around me with every step I take?”

“A villain who was forced into this life,” she replied, perhaps too quickly. She didn’t even put much thought into it—the words flew out of her mouth before she could even stop herself, like dashing bitters across or spraying absinthe into a cocktail just as the customer asked her not to. “A villain who wasn’t born in it, but had no other choice but to go through with it, because there was nothing else waiting for them on the other side of this sort of life.”

Yoshinaga berated her about this countless of times about this—well, more like a light scolding, admonished her for speaking her mind in a place she shouldn’t, especially considering the job. Villains were dangerous people, with dangerous mindsets and intentions. She should watch what she said to people, especially when the old man wasn’t around, because no one would be able to stop these brutish clients from doing any harm to her otherwise.

And maybe she did underestimate the blue-haired stranger in front of her, because she sure did not predict at all what was going to happen next.

“Why, you little—”

She couldn’t move—she didn’t, not when her eyes caught the briefest glimpse of a single pale hand launching itself over the counter and latching itself onto her wrist before yanking it up and forwards towards the villain. And yet, all she registered at that exact moment was the smooth surface of the wine glass slipping from her gentle grip, dropping a solid thirty centimeters down to the lower surface of the bar countertop.

She closed her eyes on instinct when she heard the sound of the impact—the shattering of the glass as it sprayed across the area—and only opened them again when the room was plunged in silence once more, and the softest of gasps echoed right in front of her.

She expected to meet Shigaraki’s crimson eyes the moment she did, but instead found them wide open, pupils contracted as he stared not at her, but at his outstretched pale hand, and all five of his fingers that were wrapped tight around the smooth, fair skin of the bartender’s own wrist.

A breath of air choked out of his chapped lips, and for the first time since he held her, she could feel his grip around her limb—the cold temperature of his touch, and how much strength he put into his grip, despite his gaunt appearance, enough so that she had little doubt there would be a mark or even a bruise forming if this lasted a few seconds longer.

“What—” His raised eyebrows knitted together, forehead furrowing as though the moment had just now registered into his mind as well. A single finger lifted off her skin as he directed his gaze back to her, his crimson irises and black pupils searching hers, as though they could tell him exactly why he had yet to reduce her into a mere pile of dust and ash since at least five seconds ago. “What—what are you—”

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

Both their heads turned towards the door at the sudden deep voice that appeared in the room with them. Ren hadn’t realized another figure had stepped into the room, but blinked when her vision focused in on the black blur standing in the other side of the room, close to where the doors were.

It looked like a man, but was in fact a mere semblance of one—a humanoid shape standing tall and stiff in the other end of the room, possessing just a number of features that typical humans possessed. Where their head should be was a literal dark blue—a dark purple flame that seemed to ignite from a strange metallic structure surrounding where the neck should be, bare of facial features except for two long, narrow yellow slits glowing through the purple mist and extending upwards, reminiscent of a pair of eyes. Neck down, however, was a perfect gentleman’s suit—white shirt, dark green vest, black tie, dark trousers and black shoes, almost too similar to the bartender’s own uniform.

The bartender herself did not realize her wrist had been freed from its near-death grip until it fell down before her, as she straightened her back almost on impulse at the sight of the newcomer, not even minding the glass scattered all around the countertop.

“I have been looking for you,” the deep voice spoke again, and it seemed to echo from the depths of the dark mist in the suit. The neck brace twitched, but Ren wasn’t sure if the mist’s glowing yellow eyes were staring at her or the blue-haired man standing in front of her. “Had I known you were already here, I would have—”

“Well, here I am, Kurogiri,” the blue-haired villain scowled, jaw tensing as he finally leaned back from the counter and from the bartender, though not without shooting another brief crimson-eyed glare in her direction as he stepped off the bar stool and stood up completely. He stuffed his pale hands back into the pockets of his sweatshirt, then turned to the side to face the black mist in the suit. “Is it time already?”

The mist and its neck brace tilted downwards almost imperceptibly. “We are still five minutes early.”

“Kagawa-san.”

Her breath hitched, and her saliva caught stuck in the back of her throat as Shigaraki turned his head back to the bartender, all semblance of whatever emotion in his eyes gone in a single instant—in its place was instead a face of softened features, baring just the few neutral wrinkles in the skin underneath his eyes, with hooded eyelids and muted crimson eyes.

“Would you mind calling your manager for our scheduled meeting?” he murmured, all emotion also dissipated from his low voice, as if what happened mere moments ago never occurred at all.

“That won’t be necessary, Shigaraki-san.”

A familiar voice entered the room now, along with the screeching of curtains being parted to her right. When she turned her head towards it, Yoshinaga was moving forward, eyes flickering between the two people standing by the bar, then finally to the dark figure standing near the front door.

“I am here now,” the old man announced, folding his arms behind his back as he addressed his two guests. “Let us begin soon, yes?” A small hint of a frown took over his lips as he turned to his sole employee. “Kagawa-chan—”

Ren took a deep breath as she bent down to retrieve the spare cloth and dustpan once again. “I’ll clean this up first before I go,” she muttered, audible enough for her employer to hear her without turning to look him in the eye as she spoke to him.

As she stood back up and began brushing the large chunks of glass into the dustpan, the old man’s footsteps drew closer and louder. She made sure not to leave even the smallest shard left on the countertop before throwing it all out to the trash bin and discarding the supplies, and that was when she felt the old man’s hand on her shoulder.

“Here.”

She frowned as she finally looked toward him, and was about to ask what he was doing when she felt something being pressed against the palm of her right hand. With furrowed eyebrows, she looked down and brought her hand up, and found a few coins now resting in the center of her hand.

“For tonight and last week,” Yoshinaga mumbled lowly as his hands departed from her. “Get yourself a nice bowl of udon on your way home, all right? The one I usually buy for us is just down the street, but take a right instead of a left on your usual path home. It’s right beside a tofu shop—you can’t miss it.”

Her frown deepened. “Yoshinaga-san—”

“Have you tried the curry udon? A good kick from that spice is just the thing you need for this awful weather.”

“Yoshinaga-san, the glass—”

“Don’t you worry about it.” He patted her back, but when her eyes tried to meet his, she noticed his gaze was off to the side, almost as if he was glancing past her shoulder at something behind her. “Can you come in early tomorrow afternoon? I heard there’s a big corporate event happening tomorrow noon, about a couple blocks from here, and I can really use the help.”

“I—” Her head fell down as she stared at the coins in her hand. Five 100-yen coins—it was still more than the weekly allowance her father would give her, until he stopped giving her any money at all after she received her first paycheck.

She closed her fingers around the coin, stuffed them in her back pocket, and turned back up to smile at the old man. “Thank you, Yoshinaga-san.”

The old man nodded, patting her in the arm. “Remember to call if—”

“If there’s any trouble, yes.” She bent down to retrieve her coat and bag, all the while trying to ignore the many pairs of eyes staring in her direction right at this very second. “That goes the same to you, too, Yoshinaga-san.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” the old man chuckled. “Despite how I look, I can assure you I still have many years ahead of me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll be fine.” She buttoned up the coat and clutched the strap of her bag close to her as possible. “Be careful on your way home, Kagawa-chan.”

“I will,” she nodded, managing a small smile as she went around the bar, keeping her head bowed down to avert the gazes of the two people she had to walk past in order to get to the exit.

Five more steps, she thought to herself. It was strange—she always dreaded whenever it was time she had to head home, but for the first time since she started working here, her eyes were focused on the path towards the doors, yearning for the breath of fresh air outside this suffocating room that she desperately needed to keep herself from passing out, right here, right now, five steps away from the doors to her temporary salvation.

Four, three, two—

“Good night, Kagawa-chan.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. Her hand was loosely wrapped around the handle, but her grip tightened as soon as she heard the low voice calling out to her, and didn’t miss the light change in tone at the mention of her name.

For a split second, she could almost feel the ghost of his hand wrapped tight around her wrist as she kept her gaze forward, and slowly pushed the door open.

“You, too,” her voice called out, but it was already muted by the howling wind that greeted her outside the bar doors. "Shigaraki-sama."

#ghl: renegade #renegade #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha #mha #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura

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suna-reversed · 4 years ago

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smut prompt #6 + sukuna? please bsjshsj 👁👁

#6 “Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.” +

#50 “I only want to please you.”

A/N: I decided to combine these two because the scene just immediately came to me when I read them sjndhjdh. Hope you like it!

fluff and angst if you squint//nsfw warning!

------

“what do you want?” you groaned out loud, clearly annoyed at the mouth that had licked your ear for the third time after you had leaned your head against Yuji’s shoulder. Your best friend seemed to be having the best slumber of his life, as you were left alone with the obnoxiously frustrating king of curses.

“I only want to please you.” replied a husky voice that sent shivers rumbling down your spine.

“Ah, just when I thought your words couldn’t get any more suggestive.” you said, sarcasm lacing your voice.

“They wouldn’t just be words if I had my way.” was the reply.

Your eyes widened and you felt heat crawl up to your face causing a wicked snicker to leave the curse’s mouth.

-----------------

That was two weeks ago. The curse popping up almost every other day was something that had become mundane by this point in your life. In fact, you were pretty sure Yuji purposely let him take over that one time you were scolding him for being careless on a mission, or another when he hadn’t been paying attention during training.

Right now seemed to be one of those times as you stood across from where he sat on the couch, your eyes red with anger, looking ready to maul him if so much as even breathed too loud.

“I’m sorry okay! If I knew it was yours, I would’ve never even looked at it twice! You know how weak I get around strawberry ice cream...” Yuji said with a nervous smile while awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

Apparently it wasn’t enough to simmer your fuming anger, and he knew he was gonna get a good one for having finished up a comfort food that you had really been looking forward to after your tedious mission late at night. Mentally promising himself to buy you at least 3 more tubs tomorrow morning, he took his safest escape route option, closing his eyes as he felt himself disconnect with his own body.

“Yuji don’t you dare-”

You didn’t get to finish your anger filled command as your eyes met the malicious ones of the king of curses. But for once, the curse didn’t hold an annoyed expression. Instead, a smirk formed over his face as slits opened on the expanse of his cheekbones, the action sending chills down your spine.

“That scared of this grumpy little thing brat?”

It took you a moment to process his words, realising they weren’t for you, an exasperated groan leaving your mouth. Usually, you’d bicker with the curse, using him as an outlet for your anger or stress, but today had just taken a heavy toll on you so you simply sighed, getting up to sleep the stress off.

Sukuna, though annoyed by the brat’s outdated tactic, was caught in awkward silence as he waited for you to say something snarky or sarcastic. But his wait was to no avail as he watched you simply retire to your quarters, barely even sparing him another glance. You had left the curse with no supervision whatsoever. He tried to think of all the ways he could use this freedom to cause turmoil, but he came up empty-handed, his train of thought still stuck on how you so nonchalantly ignored his presence.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as he heard small whimpers coming from somewhere. No, not from just somewhere. From your room. He felt his feet taking him right in front of your door. “Had you been hurt? Was that why you left so hurriedly? What if someone had broken in to attack you?” he wondered, before asking himself why that would be any of his concern. “Huh, all the better for me if one of those stupid sorcerers are taken out.”

But his grip around the handle tightened as he heard another muffled cry, his paranoia taking over his pride as he opened the door ready to utterly obliterate whatever it was that was causing you harm. Instead, he was filled with confusion as he found the room intact and safe. His eyes immediately falling onto your curled up figure under a heap of blankets, your shock-filled eyes looking at him from behind the sheets before another sob left your lips and you hid your head back under. At that moment, the curse wondered if this was what humans meant when they said that their heart had shattered. Walking up to the side of your bed, he squatted down, meeting your eyes as he pulled away the fabric you had hid your tear stained face under.

“Get out- just- just leave.” You mumble, voice hoarse as you continue to sniff quietly. The last thing your already wretched day needed was for you to be laughed at by a curse.

You feel a talon sharp nail run down the side of your cheek, a thumb joining it to wipe away at a stray tear. Sukuna’s eyes hold an emotion that you can’t quiet understand.

“Such a fragile thing you are...”

Your breath hitches in your throat, waiting for him to continue with a mean comment, a sarcastic snicker, a devilish smile of pleasure if nothing. Instead, you feel a pair of lips gently land onto yours. Your first thought is, “his lips are softer than I imagined...

...wait a minute-”

Your jumbled up mess of a mind almost short-circuits as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip. Maybe you would just convince yourself that this was all a dream the next morning, but at this moment, all you can register is how good his mouth feels on yours.

And that is how you find yourself bare under the centuries old curse, who you know can ruin you in less than half a second. But you don’t care when his inked hands feel so holy running up your sides, his hands mapping a communion in the valley of your hips as you dig your heels into his spine. His teeth scrape across your jugular and you throw back your head, moaning gospel around his fingers. You wonder how something so sinful can feel so holy.

You whine at the emptiness as he pulls out his digits, eyes widening as he sucks them into his mouth, and even more so as the tip of his member pokes the inside of your thigh.

“Please.” You cry out, clawing at his back as you look up. He carefully watches you with an expression that seems too tender and humane for what he is. He surprises you when he says,

“Are you sure that’s what you want? I could really hurt you.”

His hand comes up behind your neck, rubbing small circles into the nape. You move yours to cup the side of his chin, feeling him tense up at such a small action after everything you’ve done so far. That was the thing about Ryomen Sukuna that always struck you as peculiar. His ability to surprise you into surprising yourself.

“Then why haven’t you so far?”

“Why haven’t I...so far?” He seems to mumble back more to himself than to you, brows scrunched. His eyes widen for just the fraction of a second and you think you hear him suck in a breath, but before you could ask about the answer he came up with, his lips are once again pressed to yours making all other concerns leave your mind.

“You’re mine.” He growls into your mouth, but it sounds more like a question as he repeats it again while rubbing his tip in between your dripping heat as if waiting for you to answer,

“I’m yours.” you echo back. “I’m yours-” a loud moan escapes you as he enters you, taking his time to explore your insides as strings of grunts leave his mouth, a loud moan being muffled against your lips when he bottoms out. He stays like that for a while, a small whine escaping you as he pulls out completely, right before he thrusts back in one long stroke, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. His thrusts get deeper as he pulls your legs over his shoulder, biting at the skin he finds. You scream his name, hands moving to grab onto his forearms as your back arches off the bed, cumming undone around him. And as the curse looks down at your fragile body below him, your eyes glassy with a wanton look plastered on your goddess-like face, all he can think of is ways to hear more of those profane sounds for the rest of his existence.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu Kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #sukuna headcanons #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #yuji x reader #yujiitadori

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songmingisthighs · 3 years ago

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[14.01] hongjoong × roadie!reader × yunho

⇀ when hongjoong realized you've been spending quite some time with yunho, he felt threatened. you thought he'd appreciate you more than this, but boy did he have to prove you wrong once again.

⇁ tw : joong being an asshole

⇁ part 1 / 2 / 3

Feeling lighter than usual, you walked into Hongjoong's studio with a spring in your steps, obviously showcasing your happiness. Maybe it was the weather that day, maybe it was the favourite shirt you wore. Or maybe it was the fact that you were at a very lovely low-key lunch with Yunho.

Ever since the unfortunate event a couple of weeks ago (i.e. Hongjoong leaving you behind and Yunho rescuing you), you had been spending quite some time with Yunho. When you both went out to get dinner that day, he had somehow convinced you to give him your phone number.

You had your reservations initially, telling him that it wouldn't feel right for someone with your status as a nobody to have an idol's number. But he sweet-talked you by saying that he doesn't have many friends other than his pre-existing group of friends that he formed back when he was still just a trainee. He put on his best puppy eyes and guilt you into promising that you'd be his friend.

Of course, he kept his words even to a stranger. You had even met his friend group.

99z was everything you assumed and even more. You've got tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum, the tsundere who's secretly a nerd, the gentle giant, and of course him, the heartthrob with bad luck in romance.

Surprisingly, you made an immediate connection with them and they dubbed you the honorary member.

Yunho had never missed a day of contacting you. Even with his very busy schedule, he never missed checking up on you. Of course, the simple gesture made you feel all warm and fluttery, you felt appreciated and cared for.

"What took you so long?"

Your train of thought broke when Hongjoong called you, eyebrows furrowing as he stared at you with a weird expression. You smiled at him nevertheless as you put the food you bought him on the side of his desk, "Sorry, I got caught up a bit," you told him vaguely.

Hongjoong kept staring at you as if you had sprouted a second head.

"You were with him, weren't you?" he asked.

You turned your body to him, nervous about what to answer. But you nodded nevertheless, confirming his assumption, "if by him you meant Yunho, then yeah, I was," you said.

Seeing how happy you looked after a short lunch with Yunho somehow struck something in Hongjoong. He felt his left eye twitch as he scoffed, "You've really been neglecting what you promised to do around here," he complained.

Initially, you thought he was just joking or being sarcastic, so you shrugged it off by chuckling. It wasn't until a few moments later that you realized he was being serious.

With furrowed eyebrows, you decided to make sure that you weren't imagining things, "Are you serious? You really think I've been neglecting my duties? The duties I've been doing so splendidly with minimum pay since the beginning of your gig?" you didn't mean to sound harsh, but it just slipped.

Hearing your harsh tone seemed to irk Hongjoong as he stood to size you up with his hands on either side of his waist. If it weren't for the sudden tension, you would've surely broken into a fit of giggles by now.

"Yes, because if you haven't noticed, you've been nowhere around when I needed you to do things for me," he stated so daringly. You sighed in an attempt to remain calm, "Hongjoong, I don't think you realize that I do have my hours. I've always been present during working hours, more than other people in fact. Other than your manager who works 24 hours a day, seven days a week, four weeks a month, and twelve months a year, I work from eight to eight, sometimes twelve if things are crazy, six days a week. But I've never taken a day off because I know you'd need me," you told him.

Maybe it was the heat of the moment, or maybe it was his anxiety talking, but Hongjoong didn't know why he uttered his next words. By God, he could swear that he blacked out momentarily.

"Then maybe I don't need you," he spat. Your eyes widened, unable to believe what he just said to you. But he wasn't even close to being done.

Hongjoong looked at you with such intensity that you could take it as hate. "You said you wanted to be my roadie because you admired me and you wanted to be a part of my crew, but what are you doing now? You're slacking off to cater for a guy who you barely know. Isn't that just pathetic?" he scoffed.

At the mention of being pathetic, something finally snapped in you. You felt your left eye twitch, there was something bubbling in your stomach and you felt like you were going to puke.

Before you could even stop yourself, you slapped Hongjoong across his face.

When he registered the impact, he stared at you with eyes wide as saucers. The expression on your face was one he had never seen before. Around him, you were always bright and smiley, never had you showed him your anger or annoyance.

"Me hanging with Yunho is pathetic? PATHETIC!?" you asked, voice getting louder by the second. Hongjoong so wanted to reply with something snarky, but the slap you delivered seemed to have shocked him more than he would ever care to admit.

"You know what's pathetic, Hongjoong? Me following you around for two years. You had never spared me a glance, never thanked me for anything, and you even belittled me for literally EVERYTHING I do. THAT's pathetic, Hongjoong. I knew Yunho for like what, half a month? And not only had he thanked me even for small things, but he also asked me about my day and my feelings, Joong! I know! What a concept, right?" you told him sarcastically.

The situation was rather foreign to him. None of his staff had ever told him off like this. Or at all for that matter.

Hongjoong opened his mouth to defend himself but you raised a hand to stop him from saying anything else and continued, "I... I have always admired you, Joong. I never stopped. Not even when you humiliated me in the staff meeting by calling me an obsessive delusional fan, not when you called me a tone-deaf lay when I had an opinion about that one song your CEO didn't even let you release, and not when you left me at that broadcast station because YOU were pissy, so don't you question my loyalty when you're supposed to question your manners and actions towards the person who you know cares about you more than just as an idol but also as a person,"

You spoke at such speed that you couldn't even remember what you told him.

But saying all that felt like such a relief. It was such a rush that you never thought you'd be able to feel.

It was exciting, your mind had never been clearer, and your chest never felt lighter. There was a fluttering feeling in your stomach and your heart beat faster than before. Suddenly you felt like you could do anything you want, anything at all. Then a thought popped into your head, an idea that never popped into your mind until that very second, an idea that you know was right for you.

Without thinking twice, you blurted out.

"I quit," you told him.

Hongjoong's eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed like a fish. He never thought that you'd ever quit on him yet there you were, proving him wrong for the second time that day.

As you processed what you had just told him, you exhaled shakily and nodded your head, "I fucking quit, Joong! I-I-I- I'm gonna go out there and do something where I'd be appreciated, where I can make my own mark, you know?" as you spoke, you walked closer to him and when you were toe-to-toe with him, you grabbed his hands and gave him a gentle smile, "thank you so much for everything, Hongjoong. Without you, I don't think I would've gotten here in the first place, take care, okay?" you told him genuinely.

Before he could question how serious you were being, you leaned in and gave him a peck on his cheek. A peck that to you, was a symbol of you finally moving on to the next chapter in your life, whereas to Hongjoong it was a symbol of his screwup.

The peck you left him lingered for a bit before you pulled away. Your lips felt warm and comfortable on his skin, it made him feel fluttery inside. Which was why he was so dejected when you pulled away to give him one last goodbye.

"I hope you'll keep being great and you'd find the perfect people to work with, Joong," you told him as a single tear dropped from one of your eyes without you even realizing it.

As your hand left his, Hongjoong's chest suddenly felt heavy. As you turned your back and walked out, most likely forever, out of his studio and his life, Hongjoong's head suddenly spun. And when the door of his studio slammed shut behind you, Hongjoong felt like something cracked in him.

You left that day with much hope and excitement.

Whereas Hongjoong felt like the sturdy pillar that was supposed to support him was demolished by a wrecking ball and he didn't know what to do with the foreign feeling.

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highdramas · 4 years ago

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your song, vol. 1 | rockstar!bucky

𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

rockstar!bucky barnes x fem!reader, some slight peter parker x reader in later parts (unrequited)

word count: 2429

warnings: references to sex, language, references to drug and alcohol use in later parts, age gap, slow burn-ish

summary: it’s not summer without you. or, that’s what your favorite rockstar always says. it’s all happening.

it is the summer of 1978, and everyone calls you rhiannon, and it has never occurred to you to mind.

really, it was sort of nice. rhiannon is a daredevil. rhiannon goes on tour with bands. rhiannon inspires songs and reads tarot and knows how to light up a room with a smile. rhiannon gets asked if she’s, like, the rhiannon. the rhiannon who rings like a bell through the night.

you’re not. but you’re not going to tell them that.

and, sure, you know that you’re capable of all of these things-- but it’s different when they’re calling you rhiannon.

it’s different when he is calling you rhiannon.

you’ve become somewhat of a myth in the california rock ‘n roll scene. groupies have flocked to you-- and you have somewhat rejected the term. found it degrading, the way that rock stars and fans spoke about groupies. it had been your personal mission during the summer of 1977 to change the way that men in rock spoke about women.

the summer that you met bucky barnes.

really, it wasn’t bucky that you had set your eyes on initially. initially, you’d shown up with his friend, steve rogers, the drummer. you and your group of band aids (you were still coining the name) had an in backstage and the second you had seen steve, you were a bit smitten. he wasn’t your typical rockstar. there was something kind about him, something genuine. he looked at you less like he wanted to fuck you and more like he wanted to know you.

it wasn’t until later that you met bucky. later, once you set out on tour with them.

when you found out that steve had a girl back home and he was simply being kind to you, it had reminded you of your mission. your mission to show all of these men what exactly women had to contribute to music and its existing scene-- and that it was more than being a side piece. more than being a fun distraction on the road.

that was the moment that you swore you would not fall in love with a rockstar.

the hotel you all had checked into was absolutely lavish. it was extravagant and beautiful, high ceilings and marbled floors and the shiniest doorknobs that you’ve ever seen. it’s 3:30 in the morning and the girls-- america and kate being your favorite of the whole bunch-- are out with the guys at the bar. you’re sure that they’re requesting brooklyn songs-- later on, you’d give bucky shit for suggesting that their band name should just be brooklyn. you give steve even more shit for going along with it.

after the revelation with steve, normally, you’d be in the mood to party. but you feel like shit and you fell asleep wrong on the bus and your neck is killing you. you don’t want to be a vibe killer, so you tell the girls to go on without you and maybe you’ll catch up with them later.

instead, at some point, you pad down to the pool. there is one lone figure sitting by an illuminated neon sign. it’s only when you’re within feet that you realize that it’s bucky.

of all of the members of brooklyn, you’d gotten to know bucky the least in the past week that you’ve been on the road with them. steve, sam, and natasha were all nice-- nicer than nice. steve and sam especially, but you knew why.

natasha is nice-- direct and passionate about what she does. and what she does is sing. you always said that brooklyn would be nothing if it wasn’t for nat’s husky vocals and insane songwriting.

then there’s bucky. the guitarist.

kate has been touring with brooklyn awhile now-- went with them on the europe leg. now she’s with their manager, clint, and she seems to know all the gossip. when you asked what was up with bucky-- why he was so quiet, why he didn’t like to party with the others, kate had given you that thousand watt smile and said-- “alright, don’t tell anyone about this, ‘specially buck, but he’s sober. couple years now, from what i hear. it’s real hard for him, being on the road.”

then, your mouth had made a slight o, you had nodded your head, and kate shone like the light she is before dashing off to find clint.

you’re brought back to that conversation now, seeing him hunched over on a reclining chair. you see that he is hugging his legs, smoking a cigarette. a bottle of root beer sits beside him on the ground.

your feet are working before your brain is, and before you know it, you’re standing before him. if he notices your presence, he doesn’t act like it.

“got one to spare?”

that’s when he finally glances up at you. his face is mostly unreadable-- furrowed brows and a set jaw, long brunette hair that almost brushes his shoulders. he is quite handsome. he’s the kind of man that you think is built for moments like these-- sitting by pools, pink neon radiating off his face. the kind of handsome that is a little bit intimidating. not like steve, who is all softness and warm smiles.

you sink onto the pool chair beside bucky as he nods. he passes you a cigarette and you pop it between your lips. bucky’s zippo seems to come out of nowhere, and you watch as the end begins to burn, and you take your first drag of your first cigarette.

a coughing fit ensues. naturally. you hold it awkwardly between the fingers of your right hand and you cover your mouth with your left, hacking up your lungs. bucky’s brows furrow and it’s then, and only then, when the faintest hint of a smirk drags onto his features. “you alright?” his hand moves to your back and rubs in circles, pats it lightly, until you’re bleary eyed and looking over at him with a loud laugh.

it was natural after that.

where bucky was, it was safe to assume that you weren’t far behind. but it wasn’t like that. if anyone asked who you were with, you wore a proud expression and said with little hesitation, “myself.”

each time, bucky glanced between you and whatever sorry schmuck was in your path, and he shrugged his shoulders. “you heard her.”

things were easy with bucky. you had laid the ground rules that night, on the pool chaise. you had straightened your shoulders and you said, “i made the vow not to fall in love with anyone this summer.”

bucky had raised an eyebrow at you and watched as you took his root beer and took a long pull, his eyes fixating onto yours. “funny, so did i.”

the summer of 1977 was a dream.

but you had to wake up.

when you’re not rhiannon, you’re… you. you’re a student at oxford university on a full ride scholarship, studying political science, eventually law. you want to be the first woman president. you have bigger dreams and aspirations than being a band aid.

but you don’t mind slipping into your dream state between the months of may and september. you don’t mind one bit.

on the last night of tour, in nashville, you and bucky had spent the whole night in his room. you talked and you laughed, you laid together and you talked about school and he talked about recording the next album. you said how you wished you could be there for it, and he said how he’d like to see oxford.

that’s another thing about dreams.

when you’re in them, you can nearly believe that they can exist in the real world. but they can’t.

you and bucky had toed a very thin line for a long time. and you tumbled off of it together that night.

when you said your goodbyes in the airport the next morning, everyone else around as well, it seemed to suck any of the intimacy out of the room. you told him then that you always hated airports-- they reminded you of goodbyes.

bucky had shrugged, and said, “they remind me of hellos.”

you hugged. he kissed the corner of your mouth, the closest thing to an outright public display of affection as you two would get. and you left. you went back to real life.

but now, it is 1978. and it is the summer before your senior year of college, and you are backstage at the bee gees at the forum. and brooklyn is opening.

of course you knew that you would see him. he had written you letters over the course of the past year, like a gentleman. you’d tucked them away in your hat box and wrote back about your studies and your roommates. and at the end of the last letter you sent, you wrote: hope you wrote that song about me. xx

you didn’t tell him you were going on the road this summer. you’d been in touch with kate and met up in beverly hills with her. she told you about how she and clint had moved in together in new york and you sipped coffee and went with her as she shopped at places that were far out of your budget. and then you’d met up with clint and he got you your pass.

and now you’re here, with a packed duffel.

it’s a wonder you haven’t run into him yet. there’s a part of you that hopes he doesn’t know-- that he’s going to come out here and see you and that the air is going to be knocked from him as he takes in the visage of you.

beginning to grow anxious, you throw yourself into a chair backstage in a huff. a boy who must be around your age is sitting on the arm of it, and looks down at you curiously. “you alright?”

“never better,” you say and inspect your nail. “you seen the band?”

“who, bee gees? nah, haven’t had a chance--”

“no. brooklyn.”

“oh.” he goes quiet and nods his head. “i got a chance to talk to ‘em just now. i’m trying to do a piece on them.”

your jaw slacks a bit and you nod your head. “oh.” a journalist. of course he is. “how exciting for you.”

“yeah, it’ll be my first real piece. i’ve written some stuff for my college paper, but nothing like this. i can’t believe i even got in. i met this girl gwen and she found me a pass.”

“gwen’s a real keeper,” you say and you wink. your words are honest. you like gwen. “what’s your name, kid?”

“peter parker.”

you stick your hand out. “nice to meet you, peter parker.”

he shakes it and he raises his eyebrows at you, as if waiting for an introduction on your end. “and you are…” he finally begins.

“that’s rhiannon.”

the voice jars you. you don’t dare look behind you, but you already know who it is. you feel large hands on your shoulders and it takes every ounce of pride and self worth inside of you not to let your body erupt into shivers. “she’s the heart of brooklyn.”

a scoff passes your lips and you tip your head back, and you’re not disappointed by what you see. you never are. “you’re always so dramatic,” you coo. your attention shifts back to peter, but your skin is buzzing where bucky touches you, and you have nearly ten months worth of time to catch up on with him. “it was nice meeting you, peter parker.”

subtlety is not your strong suit, and peter must gather that, because he scrambles to get his things and scurry off. you give a slight wave and make a mental note that you’d like to get to know him if he sticks around. “nice kid,” you say.

“don’t want to talk about him.”

you can’t help yourself now. a giddy squeal bursts from your lips and you turn and you fling yourself at him. you’re all arms and legs flailing, clutching to him, and he holds you just as tight. there’s that sort of husky, low laugh that leaves him, and you remember it from that night that you wanted to impress him by smoking a cigarette. “hey, rhi.”

“hi,” your voice is muffled in his neck. you don’t care who’s watching, you don’t care what they whisper— for the first time, you don’t care if they assume you’re going to go back to bucky’s room and fuck him stupid. you care that he’s here. that’s bigger than your pride.

“didn’t tell me you’d be comin’. had to hear from kate.”

“yeah, well...” you pull back and look up at him, hands resting on his shoulders. his find your hips and pull you in. “i wanted to surprise you. am i a happy surprise?”

bucky is the kind of person who thinks before he speaks, but also, you believe that he thinks before he emotes. there’s a beat before he’s licking his lips, nodding his head. “nah. it’s gonna be such a drag having my girl on the road with me.”

my girl.

you squint at him and push him away right in his chest, and he gapes, rubbing it and feigning hurt. “don’t pull that,” you point at him. “same rules as last summer, alright? we— we went over this.”

exasperated, bucky sighs, head lolling to the side. “yes ma’am.”

ten months ago bucky told you he was in love with you.

ten months ago bucky told you he’d follow you all over the world.

ten months ago you agreed that it was a horrible idea, and that your friendship was too vital, too real, too special to risk messing it up.

ten months later, you’re hoping you won’t regret this decision.

you can see the disappointment in his face. gently, you touch the side of his face and you smile a bit. “in another life.” those were the words you had said to him, all those nights ago.

bucky’s face breaks your heart over and over again. he gives you that gentle but sad look-- the look of a man who has what he wants right within arms reach, but knows that he cannot fully grasp. knows that he cannot fully keep.

“i’ll have you any way you want me,” is all he finally says. “‘s not summer without you.”

you’d made a promise to him that night. you had told him you weren’t going to fall in love with anyone in the summer of 1977.

but it is the summer of 1978. and this is the story of how you fall in love with bucky barnes.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #rockstar bucky #your song #my writing #not me posting this at 11pm sorry yall

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haven-in-writing · 3 years ago

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Another Day Another Impossible Mission

If you haven't already, catch up here! -> 1, 2, 3

Thank you for encouraging me to write this, you guys are awesome!

Tag list for Bloodthirsty- @emergenciesstory @avengerstanforlife, @dark-night-sky-99, @bookscoffeeandracoons, @krystallynx

4:17 PM. Fuck. Tony was going to track you down if you were late. The bind you were in would have been funny had it been any other day but the weight of your existence was grating your nerves as it happens. You were wondering how long it would be before the council found you. The existence of vampires was to never reach the light of day and yet you were walking a tightrope with the work you enjoyed.

"Listen dude, I don’t have time for this pissing contest. Tell the council I can come next week, no sooner availability in my schedule at the moment," You sass the wrinkly, old bastard.

"I don’t care how old you are, bitch, The Order gave specific instructions for me to bring you back with me and I won’t be punished for your insolence," the man all but sneered at you.

"The Order? That’s what they’re calling themselves now? Sounds a bit pompous, don’t ya think," you grin wickedly as you subtly prepare for his so called "sneak attack". Taking a step to the side, slowly running your fingers through your hair to distract from the movement, you catch him slightly shifting his body weight. You play it casual, as if you haven’t noticed what he’s done. Fucking newborns. Always so easy to manipulate. Makes it boring, if anything.

"I don’t have time for this," he hisses and lunges, immediately going for the obvious kill. You sidestep and easily dodge the mindless attack while faking a yawn.

"I’m surprised you’re this stupid. I work with the Avengers dumbass, I’m also much older than you," the newborn idiot just stared at you in anger. He obviously had something to prove, to himself and to the council.

"They’re going to kill you, aren’t they?" You slant your head taking in his scruffy and disheveled appearance, "You haven’t passed the trials yet either."

Interesting, the council’s making vampires and having them do the dirty work on the backend. Fucking figures why they didn’t send the formal summons, this was a test. The kid doesn’t stand a chance when he lunges towards you this time. Darting past his left side, you grab his throat and slam him onto the cement.

"I’ll make it quick, youngling," you flash him a toothy grin as his eyes widen one last time and rip his heart out of his chest. A permanent death for the undead as it would seem.

Well, that took longer than expected. 4:45PM. Now, you were going to have to run across town in your blood stained boots. That’s not suspicious at all. And knowing Tony, he most likely had his suit tracking nearby activity which means if you came in all super speedy, the suit would blast you faster than you could run.

"Fuck," You hiss in pain as you touch your side, red staining your hand. Little runt got you after all. That means you’ll need to feed sooner, to gain your strength back after your body stitched itself back together. Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you remember the council’s pet came by motorbike. Fucking fantastic! You don’t even notice a pair of green eyes following you as you take off towards the meeting spot.

A cloud of green smoke reveals Loki, his tall form emerging from the dark corner he was watching from. A thousand thoughts race through his brilliant mind at what he just witnessed. Vampires were real, and this mortal, rather immortal was one of these creatures. Figures that the first lady he took interest in on Midgard was a dead woman. If what he knew of the night dwelling creatures was correct then could this tiny immortal woman be a threat to the team?

Shaking his head as if to clear them from his head completely, he wonders why he cares. Why did he even spare a moment of thought on this woman? Was it because she was a Midgardian monster, a title that he shared on Asgard? Too many questions with little to no answers. How infuriating this dull, little planet can be. Now he definitely needed to speak with Lady Oriya of New Orleans. There was no stalling the matter.

Gathering his magic and preparing to teleport, Loki pauses as another creature's presence appears as if they had magic as well. Loki masks himself into the dark corner where he had hidden before but it doesn’t seem to fool the imbecile before him.

“Show yourself, shadow dweller!” The Midgardian shouts to the empty air around him. As Loki steps out of the shadows, the creature before him cautiously eyes the Asgardian, assessing the fine garments the prince was wearing.

“Not many can sense my presence, I’m impressed albeit a little surprised,” Loki says while bowing graciously, accepting that he miscalculated the creature’s abilities and he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Another god on Earth, I’m sure you have better places to be than snooping around dark alleys,” The pale skinned man all but hisses at the god. Loki ignores the malice dripping from his voice and pauses to recollect his thoughts. Obviously this was a trap, a test of some sort against y/n. What the nature of the test was, still unclear in Loki’s sharp mind, but he would figure it out soon enough. Too many missing variables made the situation even more frustrating.

“In fact I do,” Loki bows once more politely, and walks back towards the shadows he came from.

“It would do you well to forget whatever you saw, none of your concern, after all,” The man says just as Loki had melted back into the shadows, barely missing the sharp fangs extending from the creature’s mouth.

The feel of the wind in your hair is the only reprieve you find from riding this crotch rocket. You were hurt, hungry, and hauling ass to get to the meeting spot. You almost didn’t catch that there was a tracker on this bike but you’d worry about that shortly. You could throw them a bone for a short time but you’d have to take it out before you left. It’s 5:07PM as you pull onto the street where the burger joint stands. You can see Tony eyeing the bike and your appearance as you park alongside the curb where he is standing. Hopping off the bike you walk up and place your order, not like you actually needed it.

“You look rough peanut,” Tony starts with a concerned yet slightly amused expression.

“It’s been a long day,” You deadpan then grin as you punch Tony’s shoulder, careful to do it gently enough so you didn’t hurt him. Walking a little ways to the side where the vendor couldn’t overhear your conversation, Tony makes short work of your confession.

“I know you're a witch,” He spits out quickly as if he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Wrong, I’m a vampire,’’ You say quietly, but just as quickly hoping he wouldn’t catch what you just admitted to him. He doesn’t say anything at all, just stands there with wide doe eyes and mouth open like a barn door. You both stand there, not speaking for a few minutes, until the silence is broken by Eddie calling out your orders.

This is the first time that Tony Stark has ever been quiet for this amount of time. It’s strange and unsettling but you can see the gears working overtime in his mind. For a few minutes, he opens his mouth to say something but immediately closes it. Honestly you were expecting a joke or a loud reaction, anything other than this silence you were sitting in. Taking a bite out of your hamburger seems to be the trigger for the oncoming reaction.

“Wait, so do you really need to eat human food or do you need to eat human food,” He pauses for a moment and then it’s like everything hits at once.

“Doyoubitepeoplewristsandnecksordoyoustealbloodbagshowdoyoustayoutinthesunlightareyouactuallydea-,’’ He only stops because you put your hand over his mouth, muffling the onslaught of questions. Giving him a stern look you release your grip on his face, slowly looking around and assessing the area you shake your head and look at Tony once more.

“It’s not safe here, come on, I promise no harm will come to you,” You say half pleading with him to believe and trust you. He doesn’t make a sound as you pull him to the motorbike you brought, only eyeing it suspiciously. You take a second and locate what you’re looking for, a small tracker under the side paneling. Figuring you only had a few minutes to get out of there discreetly before the lurker caught on to what was happening, you get on the bike and Tony follows without persuasion. It surprises you considering he’s just learned you were a blood sucking creature.

Taking off as quickly and safely as possible, you head towards the docks to help mask both of your scents, as a tracker was following the bike, they most likely had your scent. You can’t ride as fast as you usually did with a human passenger so you’re at a minor disadvantage with Tony on your back. Looking back you make out a small blur at the burger stand you just left. Hopefully Eddie would be okay, he had a knack for avoiding danger since he dodged the 2012 fight in New York without a scratch on his cart.

Luckily, with a headstart and the dock's stinky fish smell masking your scents the tracker can’t seem to lock onto y’alls scents. Ducking into an overhang, you let Tony off and push the bike into an opening on the side of the box crate.

“Follow me, we need to lay low and yes, Tones, you can ask your questions,” You say while Tony follows you into the small opening.

“You know, I don’t think OSHA would approve of this,” He quips sarcastically, pushing his blue tinted glasses on top of his head. Throwing your head back while laughing you shake your head in disbelief.

“You’re worried about OSHA’s safety standards while you're with a vampire, talk about priorities!” The insane notion that he could trust you is barely hanging on by a thread. Maybe he only stayed with you this long because he wanted to dissect you.

“You’re still my friend y/n, vampire or not. Of course, I do have a thousand questions that need answering, I still trust you. You’ve saved my ass, not to mention the team’s ass so many times how could we turn our backs on you?” He looks at you as if you have three heads, the idea that he would hate or be disgusted by you makes him upset.

“Shh, Tony. Wa-”

“No, you ne-” He is cut off by your hand again, you give him the look to ensure he’ll be quiet.

Listening closely you hear the tracker walking by the crates and sniffing. He wasn’t going to have much luck over here, especially while the wind wasn’t blowing down here, as there was no draft for him to pick up on. Your plan seems to work, as you don’t hear him sniffing around the crates anymore. An internal sigh of relief escapes you, taking a peep from your hole you don’t see him anywhere. In fact all you smell is blood, and not the human kind. Stepping out you walk to the edge of the hanger, and the sight before you is gruesome.

A bloody heart is several feet away from you, as is the body of a vampire. Blood is everywhere, you can’t see much else. Looking up, you see a black haired man dressed in green and gold with a bloody hand, his chest heaving as he looks up at you.

“He was following you, so I figured now was a good time to repay my debt.”

#avengers fic #The Avengers #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x reader #tony stark #vampire #vampire reader #loki x vampire reader #slow burn #enemies to allies #enemies to lovers

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comfortwriting · 4 years ago

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Ashtray Part 2 - D.M

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Draco Malfoy x Fem Gryffindor Reader

Part 1 , Part 3

Warnings: swearing, smoking.

Your first kiss in the hallway blossomed into a beautiful yet secret relationship with Draco, you got to see the side of him no one else knew existed. The two of you met up every evening whilst the whole of Hogwarts slept, going for the longest walks - hand in hand, sharing laughs and kissing.

Part of you wanted to express your happiness out loud to the world - but you and Draco made an agreement to date in private, if either house found out, the two of you would be stuck in more mess than a spilt cauldron.

Unfortunately, no matter how well you tried to hide your feelings for Draco and your relationship - your two best friends Ron and Harry already knew, and Hermione would find out sooner than later.

Walking into Trelawney's class Hermione, Harry and Ron were already sat down, talking amongst themselves with sour expressions on their faces.

‘okay...’ you sighed to yourself ‘stop overthinking, they don’t know, they just hate this class’

“Hey” you smiled, pulling out the spare chair and sitting down next to them.

“Hello Y/N” Hermione smiled

Okay, good, she doesn’t know

“We missed you at lunch, where were you?” she asked, the whole class talking amongst themselves.

Ron and Harry looked at one another, raising there eyebrows and looking annoyed.

“Detention with Mr Filch” you lied, fast on your feet.

“With Malfoy?” sneered Harry, running his finger over the crystal ball, still not making eye contact with you.

Draco wasn’t at lunch either, of course the two of you went for a picnic, you knew going for dates mid week in the middle of the day was cutting it close - but you didn’t realise people were catching on that fast.

“Well yeah” you replied “did you not hear about him sneaking around after lights out?”

Ron went to speak but Harry shook his head at him, Ron shut his mouth and huffed - Miss Trelawney coming over and bothering Harry with this weeks predictions.

“you will face great betray” her voice called out to Harry rather wavily “by someone you hold close”

You swallowed hard and shuffled in your seat ‘she’s full of shit’ you thought to yourself ‘anyway, she’s probably got someone else in mind, I haven’t betrayed anyone’.

Once the class had finished, Harry wasted no time hurrying away from you, dragging Ron with him and telling Hermione to hurry up. Hermione stayed behind and pulled you aside whilst other students walked out and pushed past.

“Has something happened between you, Harry, and Ron?” she asked softly.

You looked at your shiny shoes, debating whether you should come clean about dating Draco - but there was no way Harry and Ron could know.

“I’m not sure” you replied “they’ve been off with me for a few weeks now”

Hermione pursed her lips, thinking to herself and nodding “I’ll speak to them after I’ve done some studying.”

Hermione left the library after hours of reading, writing and researching, bursting into the common room you collapsed on the sofa next to Ron and dumped her heavy bag on the floor next to her feet.

“Why have you both been off with Y/N?” she asked them, staring at Ron and then Harry, who was messing with his wand, staring into the fire.

They didn’t answer.

“She’s really upset and you owe her an explanation-”

“We owe her bloody nothing” Ron hissed, staring at his finger nails “she’s done the worst thing imaginable and doesn’t even have the heart to tell us.”

Hermione knitted her eyebrows together “what are you talking about?” she looked over to Harry, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared “Harry, tell me!”

Hermione knew this had to be serious, Harry had been crushing on you for months after the two of you shared a dance at the Yule Ball, the way you comforted him after Cedric’s death.

“Y/N is seeing Malfoy, the two of them have been together for a few weeks now”

Hermione opened her mouth and let out an airy laugh “don’t be stupid, she hates Malfoy-”

“Is that right?” Ron cut her off “show her, Harry”

Harry turned to face them, his back against the fire, reaching into his pocket he pulled out the Marauders Map.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good” Harry mumbled, tapping the map it opened up and red spread across the paper.

Hermione got off the sofa and crawled over to Harry, peering over his shoulder and looking at your footsteps along side Draco’s walking together outside school grounds - she looked at Harry and mirrored the painful expression on his face.

Hermione pulled out her wand “Mischief Managed” she croaked, tapping the map, turning it blank.

“Harry I’m so sorry” she pulled him into a hug but he didn’t hug back, no matter what, he would always feel empty, betrayed knowing that the girl of his dreams fell for his enemy.

Holding onto Draco’s hand, the two of you laid down on the cold grass and stared up at the night sky, watching the stars twinkle above you, some brighter than others.

“It may sound silly but I think Harry and Ron are onto us” you said quietly.

Draco’s happy expression wilted and his face turned as hard as stone “and if they are?”

You swallowed hard and pulled your gaze away from the stars, focusing on your boyfriends face “can you just all get along?”

Draco looked as if vomit had come up through his throat and pooled into his mouth “you know that can never happen, don’t even suggest it again”

You nodded, after all what did you expect?

The chill in the air attacked your neck and face, you sat up and hugged your knees, pulling them into your chest. “I don’t want to lose you Draco, but I don’t want to lose my friends either.”

Draco sat up and stared into your eyes “as long as we’re a secret, you won’t have to make that choice” he stood up and out stretched his hand, you took it and he helped you get to your feet.

“Thank you for today” you said softly, the two of you walking back to the castle.

Draco ignored you trying to change the subject, his insecurities whispering in his ears “if you do have to choose, will it be me?”

You stopped in your tracks and stared at him, your heart weeping and your head pounding “it won’t come to that, Draco-”

“it might” he stressed “and if you aren’t sure that you’ll stay with me, there's no point in us being together” Draco stormed off in front of you, his black sleek suit hiding him in the night.

Tears pricked your eyes and you felt nauseas at the thought of being with Draco, although you had known this side of him for a small amount of time, you didn’t want to miss a second of that part of him - the Draco that enjoyed to slow dance under the moonlight, the Draco that spent time picking flowers making them into the perfect bouquet, the Draco who gave you his house scarf when you were freezing cold.

You didn’t want to go back to hating him, you didn’t want to go back to knowing the Draco who hated you, who called you Ashtray, who made it his job to make your life at Hogwarts miserable.

Running inside the castle, pushing past the nosy prefects and spitting the password at the fat lady, you hurried through the portrait hole, your group of friends already waiting for you - you were hoping they would open their arms and welcome you in, for Ron and Harry to be understanding and comforting - but they were the complete opposite.

“Enjoy your date?” Hermione glared at you, her arms crossed over her chest.

they know, it’s too late

“how could you do this to us? to Ron, to Harry, to me!” Hermione shrieked “after what he’s done to Harry, to all of us, he’s a death eater Y/N!”

Your hot tears streamed down your face, your lips red and puffy.

“Draco isn’t like that with me, you wouldn’t understand, if I told you, you would hate me-”

“better for us to find out from you than to see you kissing him in the middle of the night” Harry snapped “I trusted you, my feelings for you were... pure”

Your breath hitched in your throat, Harry.. in love.. with me?

“You’re not one of us” Ron butted in “not anymore, you may as well just go and pledge allegiance to-”

“I’m not a fucking death eater!” you yelled, everyone had come down from their dorms all in their pyjamas, staring at you.

You pushed past the people you called your friends, trying to go to your dorm but the dorm mates stopped you, pushing you away from the stairs.

Everyone was against you, everyone knew and there was nothing you could do; Draco wouldn’t have you back, not your moment of hesitation.

“Fine” you cried “have it your way”

Storming out of the dorm, you wails filled the halls, breaking out into the cold and harsh night, you pulled out your last cigarette, shoving it in-between your lips and setting it alight.

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @inglourious-imagines @reeophidian @alwaysnforeverfangirl

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alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice · 4 years ago

Note

Lmao okay :D Wel,l how about some fluffy stargazing with either Diavolo or Lucifer? Your pick :3

Guess who wrote this in one sitting, promised to return in the morning to edit it, and completely forgot about it existing for WEEKS?

OM:SWD Lucifer x reader - Spare a Moment or Two

Words: 1013

A/N: Do you have any idea how hard it was to choose between Diavolo and Lucifer, Anon? DO YOU? Now I feel bad because sweet lonely Diavolo wasn’t invited to stargaze :( Anyway this is probably very OOC because I only just got to lesson 24, but I like the idea that Luci would take pride in being a very caring and attentive partner even if he is a workaholic. Also this has wild levels of self-indulgence. Anyway, enjoy!

~~~

About two hours after dinner, I find Lucifer hunched over his desk surrounded by piles of paperwork, not an unusual sight of course. He has been working most of the day, only taking time for meals, and at this rate he probably will not even leave his desk to sleep.

I suggest that he take a break, maybe spend some time with me. Apparently, you can witness a miracle in hell – or, rather, the Devildom – because instead of dismissing the idea immediately, he asks, “What did you have in mind?” (Usually, it takes at least five separate arguments about how he will work more efficiently after a break to convince the prideful bastard.)

“I don’t know, really,” I answer, “I just haven’t seen you as much lately, you’ve been so busy.”

Lucifer sighs, “Yes, I really don’t have the time to do much else.”

And there it is. I do not particularly have the energy to argue with him tonight, not when he can be so stubborn. “It’s fine, Luci. I’ll just go see what Asmo’s up to. Maybe we can do mani-pedis or something.”

And here I thought Levi was supposed to be the jealous one. He stands swiftly from the desk and joins me at the doorway. “No need, I’m at a decent stopping point.”

He takes my hand in his and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I doubt either of us are up to going out tonight, especially with class tomorrow, so how about a night in?”

I smile. “That sounds great.”

He pulls me along down the halls of the House of Lamentation, and to be perfectly honest, I do not suspect anything until we come to the planetarium. He holds open the door, gesturing with his hand for me to enter first. When I enter, I see that the floor has been decked out with pillows and blankets as if for an extremely comfortable picnic. The lights are out, and a few candles sit toward the edge of the room, leaving most of the room illuminated by the starlight streaming through the skylight. There is even a picnic basket yet to be inspected, though, given how recently we had dinner, I hope it has dessert items.

I spin on my heels to see Lucifer grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “You’re very predictable, my love. You usually come looking for me sometime after dinner to make sure I’m taking care of myself, and I knew that if I spent today working, you would insist that I take some time off, thus making you think it was all your idea and never once suspecting I would have something up my sleeve.”

I walk around the perimeter of the room, admiring the romantic atmosphere he put together. “When did you even put this together when you’ve been working all day?”

Lucifer hugs me from behind. “I cannot go revealing all my tricks, or else I may not get the pleasure of surprising you like this again.” He kisses my shoulder, and I melt into his embrace. He guides me to the picnic set up, seating me on a mound of pillows as he unpacks the basket. There are a few treats from both the devildom and the human world inside, along with a bottle of demonus. We indulge together, Lucifer even going so far as to feed me a morsel or two from his hands, which makes me laugh too hard to take a bite. It is such a cliché, the drinks, the candles. He even got chocolate covered strawberries.

“What is wrong with a classic romantic gesture?” he asks, incredulous at my giggles.

“There’s nothing wrong with it! I think it’s cute!” I explain, “You’re so old-fashioned sometimes, with your suit and tie and your vinyl records. It’s all very on-brand for you.”

When he kisses me, I suspect it is half just to get me to stop teasing him about his grandpa-style courtship. I certainly don’t mind.

While we kiss, he guides me to lay back on the mound of pillows to make proper use of the planetarium for stargazing. Lucifer blows out the candles so that we can see the stars even clearer. We curl up together and he points out constellations for me. “It was one of the first things I learned for myself, just out of curiosity, after the fall,” he tells me, “what all the constellations were. I found it comforting that all creatures, from angels to humans to demons, found some sort of pattern in such randomness. I have never really understood why it is such a common behavior, but I found solace in it nonetheless.”

“I suppose even the most powerful beings are not fully in control, and we all want to look for meaning in our actions, our struggles,” I respond, snuggling into him more for both warmth and to comfort him, even if he would never admit to wanting such comfort.

“That is… very insightful, and one of the reasons I find you so interesting I suppose.”

He continues sharing stories about the constellations until my eyelids begin to droop. He wakes me up with a peck to my forehead, and, upon my sleepy protestations, begrudgingly scoops me up in his arms. Thank goodness for supernatural demon strength. “Do not think that you can get away with this on a regular basis,” he lectures, “You should go to bed before you get so tired. I am just doing this because this was a special date night for us.”

I nod along, barely paying attention to his lecture, and kiss him on the cheek. He continues as if unaffected, but I can see the red tint to his face.

I almost do not want to let him go when we get to my room, but the moment he lays me in bed I am ready to sleep. “Next time, I’m going to surprise you, Luci,” I say.

“I’d like to see you try to get the drop on me,” he counters with a chuckle. “Sleep well, my love.”

#obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me fanfic #alls fair creations

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halpertstuna · 4 years ago

Text

red cheeks - jj maybank

A/N: this was supposed to be a short blurb but you know me, i always have to add way too much details. so let’s just pretend it is. don’t know how i feel about this but i hope you guys enjoy(:

quick reminder, REQUESTS ARE OPEN<3

-> prompt list <-

pairing: jj maybank x reader

word count: 2,171

summary: jj knows you always have something to say and gets suspicious when all of the sudden you stop talking back.

warnings: maybe like one mention of smoking, cursing, probs typos and i think that’s it really, if you notice something else lmk

-> masterlist <-

(gif credit: @anakin-skywalker )

—

Ever since the day JJ first met you, he’s been nothing but a flirt, and you always had something to say about it. Whether it was a sly comeback, a witty comment or a mean burn. From eye rolling to flipping off, you never let him forget he’s got absolutely no chance.

But lately, you’ve been awfully quiet around him, as if your hard exterior all of the sudden became much softer.

And he noticed.

The first time he became aware something changed, was one Thursday afternoon. You parked your car in front of the chateau, exiting it, then made your way towards five folding lawn chairs, two of which were occupied by Pope and Kie’s butts.

“Hey! We haven’t seen you all week! I guess you got John B’s text” Kie greeted you with a warm smile.

You plopped down on an empty chair beside her, filling it with your presence. “Yeah, I’ve been busy,” you stated as you looked around, followed by the question “where is the idiot anyway?”

“i’m right here!”

JJ said like a frisky pup, exiting the chateau as he took a swing of his almost empty beer bottle.

“surprisingly enough, i’m not talking about you this time” you retorted, smiling at him sarcastically.

“He ran out of liquor and chips, so he went to the grocery store to get some more” Pope answered your already forgotten question as JJ’s essence filled the air.

“What do you need him for anyway?” Kie questioned, “I need to talk to him about something”

“You can always talk to me princess” JJ said through a smirk as he sat on the armrest of your chair, then brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, expecting an elbow in his ribs. But nothing followed his action. That’s when he perceived the faintest of flushes creeping up your cheeks.

At the beginning he thought nothing of it, but the way you practically flew out of your lawn chair with John B.’s arrival, made him a bit skeptical.

When John B. parked the Twinkie you offered to help him put away the groceries, and walked him inside with bags of food, snacks and beers in your hands.

As you assisted in unloading the contents of the bags to the fridge and cabinets, he trailed off “So...did you tell him?”

“Shhhh!” He cackled at your reddening face “keep it down Rutledge! Or I swear to god I’ll sew your mouth shut, you indiscreet meatloaf.”

John B. was your best friend far before the other pogues came along, he knew you like the palm of his hand. He always suggested you had a thing for JJ and that you rather enjoyed the attention he gave you, yet you always revoked his claims, stating he was nothing but annoying.

Until you realised John B. might have been right all along.

It happened last Friday. You guys threw a kegger at the boneyard and for the first time, you actually took notice of how JJ gave all of his undivided attention to some touron.

As you stared at the tan boy, you found yourself wishing it were your hip he was caressing.

Suddenly he paid no heed to your existence and that’s when you realised all of your feelings and responses to his so called annoying actions, were you denying yourself to him. And as he talked her up through his enchanting smile, you realised you didn’t want him to give that teasingly, flirty care towards anyone but you, and for a brief moment you found yourself actually missing his antics.

Luckily, you were quite gifted with the ability to hide your feelings, almost no one could see through you. Just almost. Of course you couldn’t hide anything from John B., just by the way your eyes flickered past JJ as he led the touron to the spare room, he noticed something was wrong. Different.

Later that night he nudged you until you broke, admitting your feelings for JJ were true, and during that week, he kept trying to convince you to tell him how you feel. With no luck, you hadn’t said a word. Instead, you had been trying to avoid JJ by avoiding the rest of the pogues.

“Well, did you?”

“No you melon, if I had I would’ve told you, obviously”

“Okay Juliet” he teased and you poked his side making him flinch then chuckle.

“No but seriously, you should do something about it”

“Do something about what?”

JJ chimed in, walking towards the two of your figures that were sat on the kitchen counter.

“Nothing” you said simultaneously. You started feeling nervous and decided to jump off and walk out, leaving the two alone inside.

JJ had a bewildered expression on his face, he was expecting a ‘keep your nose out of my business’, yet instead you just walked passed him avoiding eye contact, which was very uncharacteristic of you.

“What’s up with her today?”

JJ asked as he hopped on the counter, taking over your former spot next to his best friend.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on, you couldn’t have possibly missed that. She is way nicer to me than usual”

John B. shrugged his shoulders, as if he didn’t know what he were talking about.

Curious, JJ couldn’t help himself, “So... did she ask about me?”

John B. rolled his eyes at the question, he was fully aware that all of JJ’s courtship wasn’t completely an act, he knew JJ was fairly infatuated with you, yet he felt it wasn’t really his place to interfere, knowing you have the right to tell him when you’re ready. And even though he did try to push you to do it, he still knew where to draw the line, not selling off either of his best friends to the other.

“Yes”

JJ looked at John B. wide eyed waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t he impatiently blurted “well!? What did she say!?”

“I believe her exact words were ‘what can I do to get that nitwit to leave me alone’”

JJ jabbed his side and in reply, John B. smacked the back of his head gently, saying “what is with you guys and my ribs today? Leave them at peace you feisty goon”

“She didn’t actually say that right?” JJ tried to play it cool, pretending it didn’t really bother him but it was apparent to John B. he somewhat cared.

“I’m just joking dude, ask her yourself if you want to know so badly” He replied as he too, hopped off the counter joining the rest outside.

At the beginning, JJ was only inquisitive by your behavior, but with time he got suspicious.

You didn’t only stop talking back but stopped being around him as well, like two days later, it was the moment he stepped foot in the chateau that you were all of the sudden in a hurry to leave although only seconds before you were talking about how comfortable the couch was and how you never wanted to get up. Every time he was around, you avoided his eyes, touch and tried to ignore his overall presence, you talked to everyone regularly but whensoever he’d tempt start a conversation, you’d shy away.

He didn’t understand what happened, he even contemplated the possibility you were mad, yet it made no sense, for he couldn’t recollect a reason to why you would be.

He couldn’t recall saying or doing something that could hurt you either, so the only alternative left to think of, was that you actually began hating him.

Unbeknownst to him that your attempts at avoiding him were for the exact opposite reason.

You were petrified that if you told him and he didn’t feel the same way, it would ruin everything.

Sure, he always pinned after you, constantly reminding you how much he did want you, but that was just JJ. He hit on every girl with a heartbeat, you never thought of his gestures as anything more than his sheer nature. So you never even considered to confess your feelings for him.

Two weeks have passes by since you guys all sat together at John B.’s, two weeks since JJ developed his suspension.

You were doing a history assignment when your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up then reflecting on the glass of the framed picture of you and the pogues that was sitting on your nightstand. You decided to ignore it in favour of the unfinished essay, knowing if you checked it now you’d be stuck on your phone for ages.

A couple of hours passed by and you completed all of your work.

You rushed to pick up your phone, practically collapsing onto your bed, ecstatic that you finished and can finally rest. You unlocked it only to find out your very much needed break was over. You had a text from John B. asking you to come over to the chateau asap.

You reluctantly got up and drove to the chateau, wondering what could possibly be so urgent - but not urgent enough to call.

As soon as you got there, you noticed a mop of blond locks peaking out of the hammock, you immediately recognised them as JJ’s.

You tried walking passed him but his words halted you in your tracks.

“He’s not in there,” you turned around to meet his drowsy figure laying on the hammock with a lit joint resting in between his lips.

“And hello to you too” he added, knowing you saw him.

“Hi” you walked closer to him, lips curving into a faint smile.

He diverted his gaze upwards, it was quite for a few moments, then he asked “Are lobsters mermaids to scorpions?” mesmerised by his own question he narrowed his eyes, making you giggle and roll your own.

“JJ, how high are you?”

“Six foot, why?”

You scrunched your nose at his answer, face palming at his stupidity.

“Well i should probably go look for John B.,” you declared beginning to make your way towards your car when he admitted, “I actually sent you that text”.

You turned around with furrowed eyebrows to meet his guilty eyes.

“I’m going home JJ”

“Wait! Please, stay” he plead. “I wanted to talk to you, and I wanted it to be face to face but I knew if the text was sent from my phone you wouldn’t be here right now”.

It took you a moment to comprehend his words, his actions, eventually realising it was true, you gave in. You approached the hammock signaling him to move and he obeyed, you got in and laid beside him, hands on your stomach as an awkward silence filled the air.

“Well, did you swallow your tongue or something?”

He was actually thinking about a way to ask his question in a gradual manner.

“how come you’ve been abnormally nice to me lately?”

But failed.

“what do you mean?”

“oh come on, you‘re nicer than usual”

“i mean, i’ll punch you in the face if you want” you asserted confidentiality as if you didn’t understand what he was talking about.

“I’m serious! First you started ignoring my comments which is very unlike you, since you always talk back. But then you started ignoring me in general. It’s like you always seem to be away when I’m around or at a distance when I try to engage conversation. What’s up with that? Are you mad at me, did i do something?”

“What? No JJ, you didn’t do anything”

“Then why?”

You stayed silent, not wanting to admit you had feelings for him. He continue throwing possibilities, trying to justify your actions, going crazy but knowing you probably won’t tell him what’s going on. And you only grew redder by the minute.

“I mean it’s either I did something to upset you, or- Wait a minute-“

He turned to look at you, a mischievous smile of realisation painted across his face, “you like me”

Your eyes widened, mouth slightly agape as you didn’t know what to say yet still tried to stall “I will squeeze your kneecaps”

“You didn’t say no!”

“Why did you get high anyway?”

“It took you two hours to get here, I thought you weren’t coming- Ah! You’re trying to change the subject! you didn’t say no!”

“Just shut up and kiss me you dill hole”

With no hesitation he launched his entire body to his left in an attempt to hover over you and do as told, but instead, he ended up flipping the hammock upside down, hurling both of you onto the solid ground.

You were out of breath as you guffawed, the sound of your heavy laughs mingled filling the air, when his hand found its way to your hair, pulling out a leaf that was tangled in it.

He brushed the loose locks behind your ear, his eyes holding nothing but utter adoration towards the girl beside him, since he now knows, he will never cease to make you blush.

—

taglist:

@infinitelycharmed23 @queenofthepouges @bibliophilewednesday @bijleegiregi @princessnnylzays

feel free to add yourself to my taglist!

#jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #obx #imagine #imagines #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #outer banks #rudy pankow #rudy pankow imagine #outer banks jj maybank #outer banks imagine #obx jj maybank #obx imagine #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction #obx netflix #outer banks jj #ashley’s writing

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athina-blaine · 4 years ago

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MoMM Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1 (Preview #1)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion!)

Chapter 3: The Empty Corridors

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I deserve that. Your friendship. After everything I’ve done since…”

“Of course you do. Listen to yourself; it’s not like you wanted to frighten me.” An inch of space sat between their hands. “Is this …? Um. Is this okay …?”

The winds continued to howl, and Martin's hand lay limp on the bed sheets. His face grew hot, and he started pulling back. Stupid idea. But then Jon slid his hand closer until their fingers brushed. Emboldened, Martin wrapped his hand around Jon's, his burn scar grazing the soft skin of Martin's palm.

He squeezed gently.

“No one deserves to be lonely, Jon.”

Jon had no response, staring out to the storm that continued knocking on their windows. He stared, and he let Martin hold his hand.

Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1

Martin was an optimist. He had to be. Anything else would have been utterly unbearable.

That being said, he was… relatively confident things would get better. Jon had confided in him the terrible secret of Magnus Manor and the truth of this hellish storm. The Lonely. And understanding a problem meant you were one step closer to solving it, right? It meant one step closer to getting out of the cursed estate you’d found yourself trapped in.

Most importantly, though, the two of them were talking again. Above all else, that gave him hope.

Jon was waiting for him in the foyer the next morning. His nose was buried in a book, but when Martin approached, he looked up, and Martin liked to think he looked pleased.

“Good morning,” Martin said, hoping he didn’t sound too flustered.

“You as well. Would ... would you be amenable to sharing some morning tea? If ... if you're still offering ...”

“Y-yes, of course.” So yesterday hadn’t been a fluke; Jon wasn’t going to leave him alone again. “That sounds great. Um. English Breakfast, then?”

Jon smiled, nodded, and fetched them both a pot and one cup apiece. The porcelain warmed Martin’s aching fingers, a refreshing respite from the chill that crept so subtly through the halls.

They drank, and they talked about very little. Martin’s tongue burned with questions (–what’s it like living with these entities? How do they manifest? Will we get out of here soon?–), but he restrained himself; the age lining Jon’s face had soothed as he sipped his tea, and when he asked Martin how he’d slept, there was a shy twist to his mouth.

Right now, Martin wanted to enjoy himself. Enjoy Jon and a warm cup of morning tea. There would be plenty of time to agonise later.

In the meantime, he’d just need to keep busy. Now was as good a time as any to give cleaning the manor another chance. Masochistic, maybe. Impossible, certainly. But at least this time he didn’t have to worry about being reprimanded. Probably.

One of the many study rooms that littered the estate would be a good place to start. Small as it was, its sooty fireplace and dusty couch was enough of a time sink for his purposes.

He was in the middle of battling a particularly stubborn stain when the door opened and Jon peered inside. Despite everything, Martin couldn’t help his trill of anxiety, made all the worse when Jon kissed his teeth.

“Must I iterate that it’s not necessary for you to – ”

“I want to.” It was still such a shock to just see Jon, to have them talking, that the words came out in a breathless, jumbled mess. “I promise. I-I like cleaning, honest. It keeps my mind off … you know, things.”

Jon paused mid-stride. For a moment, Martin thought he was going to be chased off anyway, and then he’d have to actually beg to clean, because the thought of spending another minute with nothing to do but contemplate their situation–

“I–” Sighing, Jon brought a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Yes, fine, if you insist. So long as you understand that it is absolutely not an expectation of you.”

Martin’s shoulders sagged with relief. Another hurdle crossed.

He’d just convinced himself to relax and finally let his mind wander, soothed by the familiar, tediousness of cleaning a fireplace, when Jon unclasped his cloak, lying it over the sofa.

“What are you doing?”

“Assisting you, obviously. Having you clean it in my stead when I’m the one responsible for it falling into disrepair doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Doesn’t bear thinking about. What didn’t bear thinking about was a man of Jon’s stature doing menial work like this in the first place. But Martin was hardly about to refuse his help … or his company, so freely given. “Um. Thank you. You don’t have to be so hard on yourself, though. There’s literally no way you could have kept this place clean all by yourself.”

“I appreciate the reassurance, but the point is moot.”

Well, if Jon wanted to roll up his sleeves and work at a grimy fireplace, Martin wasn’t about to stop him. When Jon literally rolled up his sleeves, he bit back a smile. The skin of his forearms was paler than that of his hands and face, smooth and free of blemishes. When was the last time he’d enjoyed a bit of sunshine without his shirt buttoned up to the chin?

Not that Martin had any business considering a thing like that in the first place. God, his face was burning again.

“I hate cleaning,” Jon murmured as he dunked the spare cloth in the water bucket. “Nothing ever stays clean.”

“Yeah. Gotta do it, though. Oh, you should keep your elbow up. You won’t tire out your arm as quickly.”

“Oh. Yes, I see.” Jon sighed. “Perhaps the fault lies with me. I’ve never been particularly good at domesticity, after all. The rare times my grandmother was home, the only thing we talked about was how untidy my room was.”

Martin’s ears perked. The opportunity to learn more about Jon and his past? It was too enticing to resist. “Your gram wasn’t home much, then?”

“Not often. She was the matriarch of our family, so important business kept her in the capital most days.”

Oh. How … odd. Martin didn’t know anything about how noble families handled representing themselves, but … “I figured your mom or dad would take care of that sort of thing after a while. Did your gram just enjoy the work?”

“Both of my parents passed when I was a child.”

Martin’s stomach plunged to his feet. What a stupid blunder to make. “I’m … I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jon said, waving him away. “I was barely more than a baby at the time. I simply don’t remember enough of them to mourn their loss.”

Martin wasn’t sure if that made it worse. For all that Martin mourned the absence of his father, at least he had fleeting memories of warm hands and a deep voice to prove he’d existed at all. That he’d had a father once. “Still, that must have been … a bit lonely.”

“Not at all. I always had my governess’ supervision. She provided the structure and discipline I required.” Jon laughed, a wistful, breathy thing, and lowered his head. “I was … a rather troublesome child.”

That did even less to make Martin feel better, because he suddenly had this image, unbidden, of a little boy with big eyes and gangly knees, head hanging as his grandmother told him off in clipped tones, before leaving once again to the bustling capital. No hugs, or gentle forehead kisses. Just a scolding about his messy bedroom.

I’m sure you were wonderful, he wanted to say. I’m sure you deserved better than that.

But he was probably just projecting again.

“I’ve always liked cleaning,” Martin said, instead. “Makes me feel useful. My mum, she’s … she’s been sick most of my life. Nothing too serious,” Martin added quickly as Jon turned his head. “She just gets tired a lot. You know, hard to stay upright most of the time. There wasn’t a lot I could do to make her feel better, but keeping things clean helped.”

“I … I’m sorry to hear your mother is ill.”

“We were really lucky, actually. We lived in the same town as a really good doctor. He was really generous with us, but eventually … I-I couldn’t keep up with the bills running the farm all by myself, especially after our last goat died. We had to sell a few years ago, and I had to find work in the city.” Even after all this time, his throat tangled at the memory of leaving his childhood home. “Managed to land a really good job at the lord’s castle, so I always had money to send home. Every month. Haven’t been late once, yet. Until …”

“… Until now.”

Martin opened his mouth, because, well, he wasn’t late yet. There was still time for Martin to send his letter: about a week or so. That was plenty of time. But he refrained, because saying as much to Jon felt … dangerous. Like he was tempting fate.

Things were going to work out. They had to. The storm was going to clear, they were going to get out of here, and then …

“Your devotion to your mother is admirable,” said Jon.

Warmth ballooned in Martin’s stomach, spreading to the tips of his ears. It was an absurd thing to receive praise for (oh, you love your mother, really going above and beyond), but … well, it was still nice to hear, every once in a while. Or at all. “Thank you.”

It took most of the morning, but, with their combined efforts, they managed to restore the fireplace to an off-colour white. Martin stepped back, basking in the glow of a job well done. Jon, however, didn’t appear quite as chuffed as Martin felt. Rolling out his wrists, the man collapsed onto the couch, kicking up a cloud of dust in the process and triggering an intense coughing fit.

“Break time?” Martin asked, taking a much more gentle seat. His only answer was more coughing. Poor thing looked utterly done with the whole enterprise, if the curl of his nose was any indication. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah. Unless you really intend to help me clean this room all day?”

Jon laughed, turning away sheepishly. “I … yes, um … Well, this and that, I suppose. Reading, mostly. I’ve always had a penchant for it, and I’ve yet to make my way through the library. Um. Music, although it’s been quite some time since the gramophone worked. I took to baking for a time. I like to think I’d gotten rather good at it.”

“Wait, so you did bake that bread? When I first got here?” Martin thought back on it, how crispy the crust was, the soft and tasty inner dough, how fresh it had been. Martin couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten fresh bread. “That’s seriously amazing.”

“It’s hardly a complex task. But … yes, thank you.” Martin wasn’t sure if it was the haze of the dust, but Jon’s face looked a bit darker, a bit flushed. But then, the good humor in Jon’s eyes fell away. “And then there was the garden, of course. It was … well. A disaster, to put it mildly.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I killed everything, didn’t I?” Jon’s eyes dropped to his lap, shoulders sinking. “Not a single bulb flourished under my care. I … I eventually figured it was more merciful to give up than keep trying.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Would be better to start with anything but roses, he wanted to suggest. You’re just setting yourself up to fail. But that would certainly come across as annoyingly patronising. “Maybe I can lend a hand?”

“Pardon?”

Wait. No. What business did Martin have making an offer like that? It wasn’t as if he knew any better about keeping things alive. But something about the resigned nature of Jon’s tone tore at him; his mouth had fallen open of its own accord.

“I-I mean … Well, it might be fun, yeah?” Martin tried. “Personally, I’ve always wanted to learn how to garden.”

“Is that so?”

Martin nodded, intending on leaving it there, but Jon was watching him, waiting. Oh.

“W-Well, uh, when I was a kid,” Martin said, face warming, “I’d always dreamed of having a, um, like a little cottage? That I owned? With a great big plot of land in the middle of a forest somewhere. Would get married, settle down, grow flowers and all kinds of food together. It’s … it’s a bit silly.”

“Not at all,” Jon said, eyes softening, and Martin’s heart fluttered something fierce. “I think that’s lovely.”

He smiled, hoping it didn’t come out as a grimace, because it had been a long, long time since he’d indulged in that particular fantasy. It just wasn’t feasible, these days, having a little cottage of his own or … or finding someone who’d want to marry him when he’s never even had a serious relationship before.

“Thank you, though, for your offer,” Jon said, cutting through Martin’s thoughts. “I’ll … be sure to consider it.”

The tight knot in Martin’s stomach unwound just a bit. “‘Course.”

By that point, the dust had become utterly unbearable, and they were forced to evacuate.

The brass of the door handle glimmered under the lamplight, rusted with age and disuse. How long had Martin been standing here, knees locked and shivering beneath the thick chill? Ages, by now. Griffiths was going to have his skin peeled for shirking his responsibilities like this, and the head butler would be perfectly within his rights.

But every time Martin tried to remind himself, that he still had so much work to do –

“… Hello?”

That voice. Still out there, somewhere behind the old door. Distant, but not beyond Martin’s reach. If Martin had already been here for ages, then that voice …

Wasn’t anyone coming for them?

If he opened the door, he could just take a quick look. Call out, see who needed help –

“And what do you think you’re doing, young man?”

Martin yanked his hand back, hand burnt on the molten brass.

“M-Mum?”

“I always knew you’d leave for good someday. I could see it in your eyes, you know. You couldn’t bear to take care of your poor, sick mother, and now you’re off to traipse about the countryside with some invert.”

“I didn’t leave.” Tight pressure strangled Martin’s throat, the back of his eyes burning. “I’d never do that. Where are you? I’m coming, I-I’ll find you–”

“And what, pray tell, would be the point of that?”

“Mum, please, just tell me where you are, I’m coming–”

“You’ve always been a wretched liar.”

Martin lurched upright, sucking painful gasps through his aching teeth, his sleep shirt sticking to his sweaty skin. No light permeated the windows— he may as well have been in a tomb, for all that he could see.

Jon was out there somewhere. Alone. As was his mother.

I’m coming back to you. I’ll find a way out of here. I’m doing everything I can–

Liar.

Martin curled up onto his side, wrapping trembling arms around himself. Even though there was no one else to hear him, no one to stifle himself for, he drove his teeth into his lip until his mouth filled with the dull taste of copper.

Check out the Monster of Magnus Manor here!

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fanfiction #fic #[air horn noises]#yes chapter 4 will now be officially two chapters #their love just could not be contained #momm

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tetsustation · 4 years ago

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APPRECIATION POST !!

in another words, lina loves her friends a little too much & doesn’t necessarily know the right means of expressing it </3

cass [ @misutv ] — uh im in a sappy mood so if you’re not rockin with the sap please scroll! epic, okay. hi... lol hey. thanks for pushing me to do this. now i know you know that i love you, with my chest! from when we first started talking to all these months later, that feeling hasn’t changed (even though you took two months ALLEGEDLY to warm up). i think our friendship is unique in the sense that i really never expect anything from you, when we’re on the phone or texting it feels natural and when i think of you my first thought is that i want whats best for you. isn’t that crazy? i don’t think i say it enough, but i care a lot about you—about all of you, whatever your feeling at any given moment or whatever project you chose to pursue at the time just know i’m there to back it and never expect anything from you, besides just that—you. i hope this is making some sense, knowing me this might be a bit of a mess, a ramble even. still, i think your exceptional—inside out, i’m really glad to be your best friend even if its just through some silly little app. i appreciate everything you do for me, even if i’m shit at saying so, because its baffling that you feel so inclined to dedicate some time in your day to me—i could melt i think. fair warning, i’m gonna crush your lungs at the airport. all my love loser >:)

hesther [ @hesthermay ] — how many months has it been now? hesther, you are such a solid constant in my life and i literally cannot thank you enough. from our strangely comparative music taste to the oldest sister bonding, i really feel like your the one person i can really resonate with that i haven’t met in person (yet). even if it’s weird to say, i love reading your marvel drabbles and personal pieces because it’s oddly intimate in personal in a way that implies a lot of trust. i know i can rely on you if i need anything, and vice versa. every week i pull you into my world, and the next week you pull me into yours—it’s an entertaining constant that remains me i’m not alone in my silly little struggles. i’m really glad i met you, and i’m so grateful i get to call you my friends (and i get butterflies when you call me butterfly). not to be gross but please don’t stop being you, it makes me smile, thanks hes <3 love you.

selene [ @hajigumi ] — hey whore (lovingly). we’re coming onto two months now and it doesn’t really feel like it but i guess i’ll take it. honestly, it feels like we’ve known each other for a really long time—maybe its the same timezone thing but you just feel so familiar. i get a little skippy when you tell me that i’m stuck with you because i really love being your friend, its such a comforting experience and i’ve grown such a fondness for you i don’t think will fade. you suck, frankly, for being so welcoming. i love hearing about your day, boring or not—and i’m grateful your always willing to be about mine. despite what anyone says, your a great cat mom and an even better friend... giggles... love you mwah.

ly [ @kyotarou ] — i almost typed out the govt name help... babe i love you so much. it’s impressive how you put your heart into everything you do, and it’s really shocking to me when you yourself don’t realize just how much of yourself you put into the things you do. just today when you were making those little polaroids, the dedication that you had to finish them and package them all pretty was truly heartwarming. that, among many other things—including your work which is always quality despite the seemingly mass production of it. i know your younger than me, but i aspire to be like you in that respect. your wit never ceases to amaze me and i think you were one of the first people i felt comfortable thirsting with because our taste is so similar (daishou fucker solidarity i think). i have such a strong appreciation for you as a friend and i hope it stays like that for a long time.

angela [ @oikirstein ] — i think i’m gonna take a step in the right direction and try to be civil (kidding) but bestie when you’re sending audio messages of you scream sobbing about manhwa i can’t help but giggle. something that drew me into you was your humor, because honestly, i couldn’t help but feel really comfortable with you? even one on one, its just easy to talk with you because theres always so much on your mind—so much so that it’d be impossible to be bored. NO YOU KNOW WHAT SIDETRACKING BECAUSE YOU JUST CALLED ME THE EVIL TWIN UM. angela please never change, i don’t think i could bare it. i tolerate (love) you... ig....stay swag.

violetta [ @hikariakaashi ] — once again i am tempted to pull out the govt name HELP. that’s just how comfortable we are with each other, i think. you were one of the first people to interact with me on hq tumblr, so far back that you probably remember my red/black alyssa layout lol—but thats really shocking to me because our friendship has grown so much sense then. it makes me giggle to think that i can just text you about stupid stuff and you’d tolerate it. you’re another person i feel as though i know in real life, its just so easy talking to each other, and my only hope is that we get even closer. mwah mwah!

rissie [ @levbug ] —rissie rissie rissie! i don’t care how much we slander and tease you, i love you to bits. please because you’re so funny and easy to talk to i feel like we’re besties. i could listen to you ramble for like an hour i just wanna hug you bae, thank you for being the only armin lover in the room—it makes me feel very seen. we gotta stick together >:)

rheya [ @diorpieck ] — hey rheya twirls hair...i really have a lot to thank you for because without hq radio i wouldn’t have met over half the people on this list and it baffles me how close we’ve become since. you are such a natural leader and i feel so honored i get to talk to you (the fact that you handle me is just as surprising). thanks for looking out for me and everyone else, because i don’t think we’d be where we are without you. thank you :>

jade [ @iwaizoom ] — jade i honestly do not know how to say this but apparently i’ve followed you since like last july (this is news to me too) and i’ll spare you the speech—but in short there was some fan behavior. i truly love talking to you, its so smooth and your energy is beyond welcoming. laughing at stupid shit with you makes me giggle like crazy and i’m so glad i get to call you a friend. stay in school mwah!

issy [ @cafemiya ] — hey pissie <3 i don’t know what it is but your presence is so comforting i love just talking to you, being around you, interacting—it feels like spring if that makes sense. you’ve written a lot of my comfort fics on this hellsite and for that i am permanently indebted to you. please consider this the start of my reparations and just know your existence in and of itself makes me all bubbly (lovingly) KISS!

nayru [ @luvoratomi ] — i feel like we’ve known each other forever even though it’s only been a few months. still, you’re so consistent which is something i really admire about you, your messages to ask me about my day or hanging out in the discord is so grounding because i know i can count on you—which sounds silly but just know despite the teasing i love you a lot <3

cal [ @lovekags ] — don’t tell anyone but you’re my favorite epic gamer cal, i know we just started getting close but you’re so incredibly cool and talking to you feels so natural! your raw skill in so many different areas is baffling to me and makes me all blushy lol, thanks for rockin with me and i can’t wait to see how that powerpoint turns out >:)!!

#mutual.love #the typos in this are astronomical uh #angela dni 🙁🙁#THIS MADE ME WARM AND FUZZY.#i apologize in advance bc i'm not a very gush-over-my-friends type of person #but i love them a lot #note that i adore all my mutuals these are just the weirdos i talk to on the daily giggles #KISSES YOU ALL SO HARD.#help okay #yall have seen my face and have my socials.... better stay humble

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tenthgrove · 3 years ago

Text

L'inizio- A La Squadra Backstory Collection

Chapter 3: Due Cuori (Sorbet & Gelato Part 1)

Word Count: ~3800

Warnings: parental abandonment, homelessness, mildly-suggestive behaviour

The young boy sobs into the bag he’s carrying as he flees down the dark, damp street. The quick-paced footsteps of his pursuer sound loudly as they smack against the wet concrete. The boy prays for some rain to cover the sounds of his panting and running, but he knows such luck will not be afforded to him.

He is out of his depth in this part of Naples. Not yet 14, he’s one of many such young fools who thought it would be easy to snatch a little money from one of the smaller street gangs that roam this part of the town, making the crucial mistake of thinking ‘smaller’ was synonymous with less relentless. The boy has barely a moment to comprehend the dead end ahead of him before he is knocked sharply around the back of his head and sent reeling to the floor.

“Where the hell is my money, you shit?!” the angered man interrogates him sharply. He rears a clenched fist ready to strike him again, and the boy cowers against the wall.

“It’s there! Right there!” he shrieks desperately, pointing at the back dropped at his side. The man spits. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun. “I swear Signor! The money’s there!” the boy pleads, his voice hitching in mortal terror. The man scoffs venomously.

“Yeah, I heard.”

Two shots ring out, but they aren’t aimed at the boy. The man’s blood splashes over him as he chokes on it, falling to the ground without a word. The boy counts two wounds on the man’s back.

The figure at the end of the alleyway lowers his gun and begins to approach. He is somewhere on the boundary between boyhood and manhood, perhaps about 18, at a first guess. He is darkly dressed, with hair to match, and he returns his weapon to his pocket with a detached smoothness that suggests great experience with the murderous act. He leans over the boy and picks up his bag, smiling in satisfaction at the wad of cash crudely jammed inside. He zips the bag up and hauls it over his shoulder.

“Grazie,” he thanks him, turning away and beginning his journey back down the alleyway.

He does not walk far before he reaches his destination- a small house in a densely packed row just a street away. He knocks calmly, and the door soon opens.

“Ah, Sorbet,” the responder answers. “I thought I’d heard gunfire.”

“’Evening Gabriele,” he greets him, sorting off some of the money in his hands. “20,000 lire says I can stay the night.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Gabriele agrees with a small chuckle. “Come right in, friend.”

Sorbet removes his jacket and seats himself down on the sofa, shuffling the bag protectively behind his legs. He takes off his own bag as well and pilfers through to find the chewing gum he’s been saving for this evening.

“May I ask how you still haven’t found a place of your own? Surely you must be rolling in it from all that blood money you’ve got lately. Hell,” he remarks, eyeing the money poking out from behind Sorbet’s lap. “You could probably sort yourself out for a couple months on that alone.”

“You can certainly ask,” Sorbet answers apathetically.

“Well?”

Sorbet looks at him contemplatively before deciding he’s in the mood for compliance tonight. He leans back.

“To put it simply I’ve just been out of it too long. ‘Don’t have my birth certificate, ‘don’t have any documents of that sort. I left home at 14 and frankly I’d be shocked if I wasn’t legally dead by now. Well, assuming my mum was ever lucid enough to do the paperwork, that is.”

“You could rent a flat from the gang. They’d hardly say no to you,” Gabriele suggests.

“Not really a fan of that sort of obligation, Gabe,” Sorbet refutes him. “Besides, the quote on quote ‘buildings’ the gang owns get busted by the cops all the time. I hardly wanna deal with that at 1 in the morning.”

“True,” Gabriele snorts. A knock sounds at the door. “Who the fuck at this time of night?” he gripes.

“No idea, but have fun with them,” Sorbet says, getting to his feet. “I’m off to help myself to your shower,” he announces, departing up the stairs. Gabriele answers the door.

“H-Hello,” the newcomer greets. It’s another teenager, with messy blond hair and a sky of freckles. He shivers into his thin jacket, hand red-raw from clutching his heavy bag. “Are you Gabriele?” he asks.

“Who’s asking?” Gabriele says with scrutiny.

“My name is Gelato, sir. You don’t know me, but I know a friend of yours from Florence, well, small village outside of Florence, I’m sure you know which one I mean. I heard from him you wanted to get someone to do errands for you and well, I was wondering if I could do that for you,” the boy offers. There’s a wild look in his desperate green eyes, and Gabriele knows this won’t end quickly for him.

“Kid, that was weeks ago! What the hell took you so long?” he asks.

“It’s not my fault I had to walk here!” Gelato protests. “Look, I got kicked out by my parents, I’m only 17 and if you don’t help me I’ll have nowhere to go!” he pleads.

“That’s rough and all, but the job’s closed. Go find a shelter or something.”

“PLEASE!” Gelato begs. He’s trembling, but there’s a touch of anger in his eyes as he glares at him that makes Gabriele mildly scared to turn him down.

“Look, I have neither the need nor the money for another errand boy right now. But, now I think of it I do know a guy who needs someone to manage a bar for him. Make no mistake, it’s nothing more than a meet-up spot for the gang so don’t expect anything fancy, but I think it has a flat upstairs. Maybe you can ask to move into the place as your pay.”

“A bar? That’s perfect!” Gelato enthuses. “Thank you thank you so much!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I’m happy for you. Now If I go give the guy a call will you please piss off?” Gabriele entreats him.

“Anything you say sir! Thank you!” Gelato agrees. Gabriele heads for his phone with a sigh.

::::::::::::

An hour later, Gelato finds himself in the staff-only section of what was once a fully functioning bar.

“Look kid, it’s not hard stuff,” his guide tells him. “Just keep ‘em drunk enough they can’t kill each other and ring me up if you hear any talk the boss ought to here,” he explains.

“Yes sir, I will,” Gelato answers dutifully. The man opens a rickety door leading to a thin, steep staircase. Gelato follows him up.

“And, this is the flat you were so eager about,” the man announces, looking over the dark, dust-filled space of the bare-bones apartment. There’s a frightful stain on the sofa, and one of the kitchen cabinet doors is hanging on one hinge. “Consider yourself lucky I’m letting you have it when I could be giving it to someone who pays. Don’t expect a penny more from me, this is your full payment,” he continues.

“But how will I eat?” Gelato protests.

“I guess you better hope they tip you good,” the man answers apathetically. “Look, if you do a good job and don’t piss me off, maybe I can spare a few thousand lire a night later on, but until then, you’re getting no more help from me,” he maintains. “Maybe you should learn to pickpocket. ‘Useful skill to have around here.”

Gelato growls inwardly. Of course he knows how to pickpocket! Well- how to pickpocket 13 year olds outside a school gate. Grown men might be a different matter, but he’ll figure it out. Getting caught can’t be much worse than what happened when his parents found out.

“Alright. Thanks,” Gelato forces himself to say. The man gives a satisfied nod and exits.

“Make sure you know where everything is before you open at 9,” he says.

Gelato seeks out the bedroom and lies down, not caring how musty the frayed sheets smell. He grabs the pillow and hugs it close to him like a stuffed toy. It occurs to him that he’s scared.

::::::::::::

It takes him a month to accept his parents aren’t taking him back, two to stop fucking up every day of his life and three to feel some sense of normalcy in his new life at the bar. That’s not to say he’s happy, by any means, simply that he holds onto his current existence with a vice-grip, for fear that things could only get worse if he shook the boat too much.

He sleeps until noon, usually, leaves the house as soon as he’s awake enough to do so and just walks. Anywhere. Sometimes he tries to pickpocket but ever since that beating he earned from a poorly chosen victim, he saves it for his most desperate days. After lunch, if he has any, he sometimes goes to the library. He was never much of a scholar and rarely reads, but he finds the place more pleasant to dissociate in than his apartment.

Should he feel like treating himself, he occasionally visits the arcade when he has the change to spare. After it became clear letting him waste away was not in the landlord’s best interests if he wanted his bar to stay running, he began to help a little with food costs but nowhere near enough for such frivolous outings to be frequently affordable.

Around 3pm, Gelato goes home and sleeps until his hunger forces him to get up and eat. He likes to make a start early on setting up the bar, and cleaning it from the messes of its previous nights patrons, so he tries to begin by 7. It opens at 9 and closes at 2, after which Gelato will shower, and spend a short stretch of time watching the old, boxy TV he pulled out of the attic in bed, before sleeping.

As he exits the cellar, he receives a few apathetic glances from some of the patrons but ultimately nothing much. His eyes are on the far corner of the bar where, to perhaps less of his concern than it should be, two men are engaged in a heated argument. It’s a sight he’s well used to now, but he keeps a keen watch on the men, since the landlord insisted he de-escalate anything that looks like it may prove fatal.

“I don’t care what your excuses are! We had a deal and you’re going to fucking pay me!” The first man shouts. He is one of the younger ones, probably little older than Gelato but with an air of authority more akin to some of the older individuals in the mob. He has heard whispers about this man- his name is Sorbet and he is an enforcer. The mobsters are cautious about the word ‘assassin’, it makes them sound like a more ambitious group than they truly are, one that could be deemed a threat by the larger syndicates that truly control this city. Yet, Gelato reads between the lines when they talk about the things Sorbet has done. As Gelato approaches Sorbet’s eyes flick towards him momentarily. Gelato shies away from the eye contact and feels an odd feeling inside him. Seeing Sorbet always makes him feel odd. He doesn’t dare speak to him directly.

“Whatever. It ain’t on me if you misread what we were talking about. You did me a favour, nothing more,” the second man retorts. He’s another regular, as familiar to Gelato, if not more, than Sorbet is, even if he doesn’t know him by name. He is a cruel man, impatient and aggressive whenever he visits. Gelato always tremors a little when he comes through the door.

Still, he scares him less than Sorbet.

Gelato forces a smile as he approaches the second man.

“Pardon me, could I get you any more-” he inhales sharply as the half-full bottle of wine is chucked over him.

“Yes, one more of these,” the man orders coldly. Gelato wipes his eyes.

“Right away,” he nods, turning back towards the cellar and fighting every fibre of his being telling him not to let this slide.

Gelato descends into the cellar, shaking from the cold of his wet clothes and anger. As he pulls a new bottle off the shelf he wonders briefly if he ought to piss in it, but decides the best result that could come of that is having it thrown over him again. He pats down his shirt and takes the bottle back up to the bar.

He knows what has happened before the door is even open. The sound of shouting is familiar to him, and if the past few minutes is anything to go by, it’s Sorbet and that petulant man’s feud which has turned violent. Opening the door proves his theory, as a small crowd has formed around Sorbet and his opponent as they engage in a relentless match of fists.

Gelato debates to himself. He could put down the bottle and run, he could try and calm the men down and risk one or both of them turning their anger on him, or he could use this opportunity to finally get back at that bastard’s disrespect. Gelato’s never been much of a thinking sort. His mind doesn’t take long to settle on the third option. He rears the bottle above his head and charges.

There’s a collective gasp of shock as Gelato suddenly crashes into the man, smashing the bottle over the back of his skull with full strength. It shatters, and the man falls to the floor with a groan. Gelato looks up at Sorbet, briefly fearing his interference may have provoked anger but, Sorbet only smiles.

Gelato rushes to his feet just in time to join his new ally in kicking the man, again and again until he starts to spit blood. Gelato picks up the remains of the bottle’s base and pours out the remaining liquid onto his enemy’s face in one, final insult. The crowd cheers. Evidently this man was not so popular with the gang after all.

Gelato sits down, whoozy from exhaustion and adrenaline. He finds himself laughing. He cannot recall the last time he’s done that. Sorbet leans down and pulls a stack of cash from the unconscious man’s pocket.

“Lying bastard,” he scoffs. “He did have the money. Probably a lot more than I asked for, but I can hardly complain about that.” Sorbet turns to Gelato with a look of deliberation. He pulls out one of the 50,000 lire bills and hands it to him with a smile.

“For your trouble,” he declares. He withdraws his hand with a slow deliberateness, their fingertips touching for just the briefest of seconds. The odd feeling Gelato has felt since laying eyes on Sorbet returns with a vengeance, and yet, Gelato can feel nothing but awe as it begins to eat his heart.

Oh dear. Gelato might have a crush.

::::::::::::

It is three days later to the hour, that Gelato finds himself hauled into the cellar and pinned against the wall, mouth agape in shock as Sorbet digs his fingers into his neck. It occurs to Gelato he might have gone about this the wrong way.

“Alright, spit it out,” Sorbet demands. “What the hell was that up there?”

“Pardon?” Gelato pleads fearfully.

“Did you think I would let you get away with mocking me like that?” Sorbet asks through gritted teeth. Gelato’s mind turns to the myriad of weapons no doubt hidden in Sorbet’s clothes. That thought shouldn’t endear him as much as it does.

“Mocking?”

“Oh? Is there another explanation for why you would behave like that around me? Humiliate me in front of half my gang? Well?!” Sorbet entreats him. His grip around his neck tightens

“Flirting! It was flirting!” Gelato confesses desperately. Sorbet’s grip lessens.

“What?”

“Look. I think I like guys, you like guys or at least everyone says you do. And- I think I might like you a lot so- I wanted your attention. I wanted to talk to you again,” Gelato admits sheepishly. His cheeks start to burn, and it isn’t from the lack of oxygen any more.

Sorbet looks like something in his brain must have just blown a fuse. Perhaps Gelato should take this opportunity to run, since this half-assed attempt at seduction is clearly a resounding failure.

But then Sorbet starts to laugh. It’s a low, quiet laugh but nonetheless genuine as he fixes his eyes warmly on the floor.

“Oh you dear thing. That isnot how this works,” he says. Gelato breathes out in relief, as well as a little disappointment.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. This was stupid I should- probably just go back to my work,” he apologises. His body goes still as Sorbet touches a hand to his cheek.

“Though if you ever want my attention again,” he leans in and presses his lips lightly against Gelato’s. “You should just ask.”

Sorbet lets out a little hum of amusement at the sight of Gelato’s shock. He caresses his face once more, touching his finger to a little curl of hair as he does so, before finally freeing Gelato from his hold.

“See you later,” he promises, before leaving him alone in the cellar. Above him, Gelato hears Sorbet walk out in the direction of the front door. Gelato collects himself, and calmly wanders over to the sink, waiting patiently for it to fill with water.

He sticks his head in and screams.

::::::::::::

Sorbet visits the bar twice weekly, no different from before. But he starts visiting Gelato more often. Barely a week from their first kiss, they are in bed together, Gelato clinging onto his new love tightly as he reads. This touch is alien to him and in spite of his joy, he cannot help but quiver as Sorbet pets his hair. He wonders how he ever lived his life without knowing joy this strong.

Their second week is easier. They both start to become accustomed to this newfound love and no longer think of each other as strangers. Gelato knows Sorbet’s full name now, he knows which street he grew up on and the names and ages of each of his siblings. Sorbet knows what Gelato’s parents did for a living. He knows the name of the boy he had his first real fight with, and the therapist who tried and failed to relieve him of the ‘learning disabilities’ that made his parents despise him so deeply. Sorbet tries to at least drop in on most days, but when he can’t, he calls Gelato to tell him where he’s staying for the night. Gelato thinks of him as he falls asleep, hugging his pillow close.

By week three, the pair have found a new normal together. Sorbet sleeps over more often than not, and the bar patrons now know full well not to cause Gelato trouble when Sorbet is in the building. Sorbet has made every aspect of Gelato’s life more enjoyable, and he can see in Sorbet’s eyes that the feeling goes both ways. Gelato knows why Sorbet left home four years ago, and Sorbet knows how Gelato really wants to get revenge of his parents for abandoning him. On precisely day 19 of their affair, Gelato asked Sorbet if he planned to keep doing this with him forever. Sorbet did not hesitate in saying yes.

It’s a few days later that Sorbet comes to the bar with an especially warm smile on his usually cold face. Gelato thought little of putting down his current orders to rush over and greet him at the door.

“Sorbet, you’re here early!” Gelato enthuses. Sorbet pecks his cheek.

“I thought we might spend a night to ourselves. I think you need it, Caro.”

“But Sorbet, the bar doesn’t close for three more hours yet!” Gelato reminds him.

“Not if I can help it.”

Sorbet raises his gun and fires it twice at the ceiling. The patrons look up in fear. “Alright, everyone out. Bar’s closed,” he announces. The patrons sheepishly get to their feet and file out.

“But, the landlord!” Gelato protests.

“Fuck the landlord. If he has a problem with this, he goes through me,” Sorbet maintains. Gelato’s breath escapes him with a laugh and he follows him upstairs.

“Really, tell me,” Gelato insists light-heartedly. “What’s brought this on?” He turns around and his face falls to see that Sorbet is looking saddened.

“I- saw my siblings today,” he announces.

“Are they… okay?” Gelato asks worriedly.

“Oh, they’re fine. I saw them down at the cafe, they didn’t notice me. Taking a look at the other ones, I’m assuming the older ones are getting better at taking care of them. It makes sense, given the ages they’re getting to. The issue is… there was another baby, this time, who wasn’t there before,” Sorbet reveals. “Probably just a month or so old, from the looks of her.”

“Sorbet…”

“My sister,” Sorbet says, bringing his head into his hands. “And I don’t even know her name!”

“Sorbet,” Gelato says, taking his head in his own hands. “It isn’t your fault the way your mother is. Looking after them isn’t your responsibility.”

“It was,” Sorbet reminds him. “Then I left.”

“Look, I’m sure they’re fine,” Gelato reiterates. “Believe me when I say there are many worse things older siblings can do than just not look after you. Now,” he begins. “How about that night we were going to have together,” he smiles.

“Right,” Sorbet recalls, pecking him on the nose. “It’s you I came to see.”

Sorbet leans forward and kisses him deeply. Gelato, so recently a stranger to the sensation, leans in further to the kiss, pawing teasingly at Sorbet’s chest to urge him on. Sorbet groans to the kiss, hooking a hand around Gelato’s collar. Downstairs, something crashes loudly.

Sorbet pulls back. He sees Gelato’s eyes widen in fear as a parade of footsteps stumble into the building. Sorbet presses a kiss to his cheek reassuringly.

“Stay calm,” he urges him. “Not a sound.”

Sorbet stands up and, watching his feet on the old floorboards, moves over to the window to peer outside.

“Shit!” he exclaims, ducking away out of view.

“What is it?” Gelato whispers.

“The police. Two cars.”

“Are they here for us?” Gelato asks, voice hitching in fear. Sorbet shakes his head quickly.

“Unlikely. They most likely thought the place was empty. If we are quick, we can still leave without them seeing us,” he promises. Gelato shrinks back.

“I’m scared,” he admits. Sorbet takes his hand in his.

“Just stay with me okay? I’ll protect you.”

#la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #Sorbet and Gelato #sorbet jojo #gelato jojo #l'inizio

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detectivedreameater · 3 years ago

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Off The Record || Metzli and Marley

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: After a very expensive painting is stolen from Metzli’s gallery, they run head first into the perfect person to help them. Marley’s ready to get back into the game. CONTENT: Blood, Death, A fuckton of sarcasm

The key slid into the lock with a satisfying click, and Metzli made their way to their office to shut off the security system. Everything was in order, everything was in its place. As the air conditioning blew on their face, they grabbed their clipboard, and began their daily ritual. Everything had to be perfect before the curator could open the gallery in 15 minutes.

Making their rounds around the gallery, something was definitely amiss. Section one, check. Section 2, check. Section 3, che—wait a minute. The print out with their fresh check marks must be in error. No, there’s no way Metzli would have made a mistake like that. Upon further inspection, they discovered the Murakami painting they acquired two weeks ago, was gone. “No! No, no, no!” They exclaimed and began to pace angrily.

From the outside, people could see Metzli yelling expletives, but they didn’t care. All that mattered right now was finding the culprit and tearing them apart. How did they get through their security anyway? No, focus. Track. Charging furiously outside, there was plenty of cloud cover thanks to the snow to spare them any pain. Blinded by their mission, they ran into something, no, someone.

Today was routine. No, really, it had been, up until someone had run headlong into Marley, sending her stumbling back a few inches in the crusty snow that had hardened on the sidewalk. She hadn’t really been paying attention to where she was walking, so maybe this was her fault, but she’d had other things on her mind. Namely, Erin. And also that place that her mind kept going back to, with the man and the water and the tree.

She’d been so out of it, she hadn’t even realized she wasn’t wearing her sunglasses. The cloud cover made it enough so that she didn’t feel sluggish or heavy in the afternoon light, but looking up, she found herself blinded for a moment by the glare of sunbeams off of snow drifts. She squinted through it, towards the person they’d plowed into (pun intended) and ruffled her brows. “Slow down there, speedracer,” she grumbled, rubbing her shoulder where they’d collided. “Got somewhere to be?”

Sputtering nonsense for a few moments, it took Metzli everything they had to calm down. Their curly black mane was disheveled from the impact and it took a hand brushing through to set it back in its perfect place. “Yes, I have somewhere to be! One of my most expensive paintings was stolen!” Any attempt to keep cool was out the window and continued to pull their hair in frustration.

Many more expletives were shouted as they gathered themselves together and they took a deep, unnecessary breath. Metzli already had their plate full and now they had to pretend to be polite. Great. “Apologies. The painting is one of a kind by Murakami. So…I’m quite frazzled at the moment.” This time their tone was much more put together and sounded like they were actually sane.

Marley watched with a bored expression, groaning only a little bit internally when it was announced that something had been stolen. And she, as a cop, had a “duty” or whatever. She rustled through her pockets for a moment and picked out her sunglasses, sliding them onto her face as the person in front of her fussed, rather anxiously, with their hair. “Careful,” she said, speaking in her normal deadpan, “you don’t wanna ruin that perfect head of yours.” She couldn’t help but chuckle at the back track, stuffing her hands in her pockets once again. “You don’t have to apologize to me. In fact, I’m probably the best person you could’ve run smack dab into.” She held out her hand, and in it was a business card. “Marley Stryder, Detective.”

She hadn’t wanted to work on an off day, but, hey, duty call or whatever. And a missing painting was much more exciting than the five or so cases that had crossed her desk today about public defacing and noise complaints. Sometimes, on low weeks, White Crest was more boring than Albany. “So, you wanna slow down and tell me what happened? I think I might be able to help.”

With widened eyes, Metzli took the business card, analyzing its legitimacy. Lo and behold, it truly was legit. “Marley Stryder, I’m Metzli Bernal,” Their tone now was a stark contrast to their earlier more frantic one. It was a total one-eighty. The dull and cold tone Marley had did wonders on their little episode.

“I opened maybe fifteen minutes and during my routine checklist, I noticed the Murakami was missing. No security trips, no tapes, and now a 1.8 million dollar painting is just gone!” Metzli was getting worked up again. “I’ll rip apart whoever did this!” Running a hand through their hair once more, they forced air out. “I’m cool, I’m cool. Sorry. This doesn’t happen to me. It’s never happened to me.” There was a certain layer of defeat that coated the last sentence. They felt bested, and that wasn’t a feeling they were familiar with or liked.

Tilting her head as the other person examined her card, Marley waited. She could be patient when needed. It wasn’t like she had anything to do today, really, besides muse on her own misgivings and what she was supposed to do about it all now. “Nice to meet ya, Metzli Bernal.” She tapped the card. “You can keep that.” A glance around the street showed Marley that it was that time of the afternoon where people slid into lazy comas, waiting for time to breech into evening. Aside from dusk, when eyes went from dull to red, it was her favorite time of the day.

“Alright, why don’t you show me the gallery and where the missing painting was hung up,” she offered, pointing down the street from the direction they had come from. “Maybe I can see something you didn’t. And, hey, if we happen to find them, say, before the rest of the squad arrives, I’ll give you a go at ‘em.” Especially because this sounded like something supernatural, and Marley wasn’t interested in coming up with a lie today. “Today’s your lucky day-- I’m the best on the force at finding missing things.”

A smile slowly formed on Metzli’s face. Marley had already proven to be not only a strong ally, but a fun one at that, in a short amount of time. “You’re not a typical detective, are you?” They asked, already knowing the answer. Without saying anything more, the vampire moved back into the gallery, holding the door for Marley.

“The painting was taken from the area over there,” Metzli pointed as they walked. “If you’re the best, I will be forever grateful. Will this reach the news? I don’t think Murakami would be pleased to find out that his painting was stolen, even if it was recovered.” If it were up to them, no one but the two of them would know about this. They would eliminate the culprit and take the painting back. No loose ends, no breaking news.

“Depends on what you consider typical,” Marley answered evenly, following the other person back towards the gallery. It looked fairly new, Marley certainly didn’t remember it ever existing on her nightly rounds of the city. She didn’t mind new places, though, and she certainly didn’t mind new cases, as long as they were interesting. It was a little sad that her most interesting case right now was an art theft. She’d take what she could get. She followed Metzli’s instructions and headed over to the spot where the painting had previously been hanging up. The only clue that anything was missing was the empty gap in the wall space between two other pieces. Marley traced her hand along the way, but it felt as smooth and cool as she expected it to. Nothing had touched it. “Any flickering lights or weird, unexplained events before this?” she asked, bending down to look at the space beneath the painting. No trace of anything on the ground, either.

“Besides some annoying ass ravens that kept following me everywhere? No. Those pendejos were taken care of a while ago. Yesterday was no different from the others either.” Metzli answered confidently. Being able to sense danger and take care of it was in their nature. This had to be a filthy, good for nothing human.

Metzli scowled at the spot where the painting once hung, grinding their teeth together in anger. “If you’re thinking it was an abnormal thing, I doubt it. It smells…too human,” They admitted, thinking out loud so that the two could collaborate together. “Don’t know why an abnormal entity would want such a human thing. The only thing it’s worth is money in most people’s eyes. Then again, they need money too.”

“Ravens?” Marley asked, standing back up and glancing around once more. “Just normal ones or--” she lifted her hands for air quotes-- “ravens.” There were quite a few supernatural species’ that it could be, if it were ravens, but Marley wasn't’ versed in the more critter-like beings. But corvids were her favorite type of bird, so she knew enough about them and the ones that shared the same world as her. A brow rose. “Smells human?” There were a few species that could smell well, vampire and werewolf among them. Marley wasn’t exactly excited to have to deal with a moody maneater, though, if that was the case.

“Not sure a human could’ve walked in here in broad daylight and not leave behind a trace,” she pointed out. “Could’ve been motivated personally. Maybe they really like the piece, or maybe they just really don’t like you. Made any enemies in town yet?”

Metzli quirked their head in curiosity. Marley definitely smelled off, but they couldn’t quite place what species she was yet. “Valravyns. Wouldn’t get off my ass for weeks.” They answered truthfully. “Took a bit of research but I finally figured out what they were and got rid of ‘em.” Shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, dismissing the event as if it were a typical thing.

“Haven’t made very many enemies yet. Give me a few more months though. I’ve kept to myself for the most part. You’d be surprised how well prepared these humans can be in this place. Especially since they’re surrounded.” Metzli didn’t particularly care for humans, but they especially didn’t care for human art criminals. And with such a prestigious piece of work on the line, they were ready to kill.

“I’m assuming they did this in the middle of the night. But what do I know? You’re the detective.”

“Valravyns? You had valravyns on you?” Marley asked, a bit surprised. She hadn’t encountered too many of them in White Crest, but it wasn’t that rare, really. It wasn’t them, though, then. Valravyns had no need for a painting. She didn’t have her duster with her, but that might not be necessary. She held out her hand. “Get me some tape,” she demanded, “clear, if you have it.” There were other ways to dust for fingerprints, and find the proof she was looking for. If nothing showed up, it was likely supernatural.

“Where are all the doors? That’s the front entrance, is there a backdoor? If they picked the lock, which they must’ve if no alarms went off, I’ll be able to tell.” And if it was a human, it’d be easy enough to tell.

“Yes, the cretins ruined a bit of my business, but they’re no longer an issue. Must’ve eaten a body I ate first.” They thought aloud, and mentally shrugged. “Okay, your majesty, I’ll get that for you.” Metzli mocked a little, showing the side that disliked authority and being commanded.

Due to the activities necessary to run an art gallery and be a curator, they were prepared and retrieved clear, artist grade tape for Marley.

Watching as she worked, they answered, “Front entrance, back entrance, and a large delivery door. But that one only has a lock on the inside.” Metzli appreciated the transparency of Marley’s investigation. Her thinking out loud helped them put everything together alongside her. Piecing everything together fueled their anger and they growled. “Will you actually let me get a piece of them before contacting your friends? Or can I actually take the trash out? That’s what I’m used to doing.”

It was becoming increasingly clear what kind of person Metzli was. Marley used to be that way, she supposed. Cold, closed off, angry with and at humans. Maybe she still was like that, some days. If a human knew what she was, what she did, they would hate her, call her a monster. And maybe she was, and maybe she’d been leaning into that for a while now, but it still hurt, sometimes. Here they were, the two of them, so human looking, but probably so far from it. She peeled the tape away and stuck it to the wall near where the edge of the painting would have been, then did it with a few more pieces, lining them up on the edge of a stand before examining each one in turn. “There’s definitely prints here,” she said, “human. Let’s check the front and back doors, see if anything matches.”

She paused at Metzli’s last questions. Marley hadn’t killed anyone in a while, and this was a case that the police could actually get their grubby hands on and punish the culprit. But what good had they been to her lately? Through broken ribs and interdimensional portals and a crushed skull, they had told her she couldn’t be the detective she used to be. Marley stood up and brushed the front of her jacket off. “Friends? Oh, I don’t have any friends at the precinct. Obviously, you happened to find the culprit before I did. Maybe I wasn’t even here,” she shrugged, “maybe justice took it upon itself to deal with this.”

Marley was quickly becoming a character that Metzli liked. A cop that was not only supernatural, but absolutely willing to throw away the rule book. Good. Rules were meant to be broken anyway. Or so the vampire believed. They caught on easily to what Marley was implying and appreciated her offer. “Justice is funny that way. Coming and going at the most opportune times. I do like your style, Marley.” They smiled wickedly and began walking back towards the back entrance. “I doubt they used the front to break in. Too much foot and car traffic to be discreet. Let’s check back here.”

Expensive shoes clacked on the white tile floor, and hands were clasped behind their back. Anger still brewed within, but with a plan and distinct goal, Metzli’s anger was much more structured. Vampiric hands would rip apart the criminals and they’d retrieve the artwork, and maybe they’d have a friend to join in on the fun. “When we catch this imbecile, or even imbeciles, will you be partaking in the justice?” They asked rather excitedly. Killing alongside someone was something they actually missed about being in a clan. The teamwork could and would always get fun.

Marley followed Metzli towards the back door, holding onto the tape as she did, stopping at the door and wrapping a few pieces around it to try and lift some more prints. As she worked, she was relatively quiet, listening to what her companion was saying. She was still uncertain of Metzli’s species, but she supposed it was something that preyed on humans. They all sort of did, didn’t they? That’s what made them monsters. She pulled the tape away and found more prints. “Looks like your human theory is panning out.” She held the tape up before depositing it on the stand next to her. She pulled the door open and checked around the outside, examining the ground, the wall, the space in the alley.

A smile spread across her own lips as she stood up. It was never the hunt that excited her, but the chase. In that way, she supposed, perhaps they’d make a good team. The hunter and the killer. She glanced back at Metzli. “Depends, I suppose,” she shrugged, “I can probably get what I need from them without bloodshed. I’ll save that part for you.” She supposed just finding them might even provide her enough fear to feed from. She pointed down the alley. “Footprints, leading this way. You good?”

Having their theory proven correct seemed like it was a given to them. Of course it was correct. They’d lived long enough to know, to smell when an event was done by a human. “Figured as much. Though it’s nice to have it confirmed by a professional such as you.” Metzli said politely, and with no indication of the thoughts they carried internally. Pleasantries needed to continue if Marley was going to help them. That and she seemed like genuine fun. Fun people deserve pleasantries. At least the people they deemed fun.

“Blood will be all mine if that’s the case. Preferred too. It tastes best when the feeding is full of vengeance. I’ll leave the chase to you and reap the reward. But by the sounds of it, we’ll both benefit from this.” They peered down the direction Marley pointed and nodded. “I’m good. Getting excited, actually. The fun part starts now it seems.”

Metzli could smell them now. They could smell the trail growing stronger, the scent matching exactly what was in the gallery. “You’re right. Let’s head down this way. Can’t stay too long in the sun though. I try not to do it for more than twenty minutes.” It wasn’t likely that they’d stay out very long, but they wanted to be on the safe side. Watching enough crime shows, Metzli figured they’d find some sort of tire tracks from the getaway vehicle.

“Oh, you’re so very welcome,” Marley deadpanned, “I live to validate others.” She adjusted her sunglasses before they headed out into the sunlight, feeling it drag on her once again, longing for the shadows that clung too close to the walls. The mention of sunlight and blood clicked it together in Marley’s brain-- Metzli was a vampire. That checked out. They had the brooding, grumpy facade down. She wondered what might lie beneath that, or if they still had that shiny, fun thing called a soul. She’d met enough vampires-- soulless and not-- in her life to not care much either way for them. They were the lucky ones, after all-- they’d been human once before. They understood what they lost. Marley had never been human, only forced to pretend to be. She would never know what that felt like.

“Don’t worry,” she tapped the side of her head, “nothing escapes my eyes.” Even in the shadows, her vision was perfect. The steps led not to a car, but an old abandoned building. A warehouse. Marley peered through one of the broken windows and found a truck inside. It was loaded with more than just the painting. “Smugglers,” she announced quietly, pointing inside. “Looks like you’ll get your meal and dessert, if you want it.”

Metzli couldn’t help but laugh at Marley’s sarcasm. She was a total delight, and they enjoyed her personality greatly. “God, you’re a lot of fun. After this, I think I’ll buy you some drinks if you’re up for it.” They offered, fully meaning every word. People like Marley weren’t easy to find, and if they could befriend her, they felt like they could make their life that much more exciting. “If more people were like you, this place would be better and I’d probably have more friends.”

It was true, they firmly that. The compliment was rare in that it was genuine and honest. “Son of a bitch.” Metzli peered inside, needing to look away before they lost whatever composure they had collected. “What do you get out of these humans anyway, if not the blood or meat?” They asked, wanting to focus on something else now. The urge to explode was too great to think about what was inside the warehouse.

Avoiding the subject was no use, though. And they began to fume internally. Smugglers. Fucking smugglers bested them! Not for long though. Metzli was sure they’d get the last laugh. They were going to savor every drop.

At that, Marley had to smirk. A rare display of emotion crossing her face. It wasn’t that she tried to seem so blase and deadpanned, but she couldn’t really help it at this point, it was just how she was. Except around certain people. She used to savor the thought of killing, especially those who thought they could get away with abusing their power. Smugglers weren’t exactly in her repertoire, but there was a sheen about this one that made Marley almost able to feel the smuggness. If they weren’t careful, they’d expose a side of this town no one wanted to know about. Therefore, they needed to be stopped.

“Wanna watch and find out?” she grinned, maliciously, before removing her sunglasses and pulling the door open. The shadows were her home and she nearly faded into them, wishing it were darker, even. Nighttime was her home, but these would do for now.

The clack of her boots alerted one man. She didn’t have the ability to sense or smell which one was the painting smuggler, but she didn’t really care. All he had to do was look into her eyes as she smiled and waved and he crumpled to the ground. It was nice to be back, she supposed. She hadn’t been able to drop someone like this in months. His fear tasted like salty candy and she liked her lips. The man in the car hopped out, fumbling for his weapon. “Oh, good,” she said, standing up straight, hovering over the screaming man, “seconds.”

Watching Marley work was like watching a beautiful live art piece. A personal show just for Metzli to marvel in. The men dropped like flies, a striking show of her power that made their mouth hang slightly open. As thoughts raced in their mind, they tried to figure out just what Marley was until they put it together. A Mara. A sweet, dangerous, and efficient Mara. It took a few moments, but they gathered themselves enough to remove their suit jacket and dress shirt so they they wouldn’t get blood on them. Pants and binders were easy enough to replace. Suit jackets were the expensive part.

Leaping forward, Metzli’s face contorted to bare their now showing fangs. A predatory show of power and the fate that was to befall the criminals. Screams bellowed from their first victim. Blood gushed as they tore through arteries and consumed, quickly leaping onto the next victim. “You really know how to put on a show.” They said with bloodied lips. Making a mess didn’t matter, not right now. Not when scum was being taken care of and no one would miss them.

“Who knew a mara and a vampire could work so well together?” Another bite into a man, who’s groans were fading into nothingness.

Marley stepped back, sliding her glasses back on, as she allowed Metzli to partake in her prize. Honestly, she wished it had been harder, but humans were often careless, and with a bloodhound vampire on her side, finding them had been easy. She stuffed her hands in her pockets as she watched the bloodshed and wondered if she should feel bad. What would Erin think of her? They were criminals, though, and they needed to be stopped. It stood to reason that they were probably even part of a larger ring, but she could worry about that later. Maybe it would even lead her to a supernatural body sitting at the top, extorting humans and human objects to make money in a town that already took so much from others. She frowned.

“I’m nothing if not dramatic,” she said, raising a brow. Where she was quiet and restrained, barely lifting a finger to drop her prey, Metzli was messy and efficient, reveling in their kill. Marley admired it, a little. A mara could not sip blood from a body, but stealing breath was just as tantalizing. “Must be our collective appreciation of the night,” she went on, coming over to the dead body Metzli was still drinking from. She prodded him with her foot. “Guess they got their comeuppance, huh? Feel better? Bet your paintings right here in the back.”

Both hunger and the thirst for vengeance had been sated. Getting rid of the bodies would come later, as Metzli knew the warehouse was clearly abandoned. Cleanup could easily be done under the cover of the night. “Presentation and drama has always mattered to me, so I appreciate your showmanship. Much cleaner than mine, but I like to represent brutal strength. It’s messy, but fun.” Blood covered lips smiled, finally done feeding. Their lips were then promptly wiped by the back of Metzli’s arm. “I feel almost euphoric, thank you.”

Taking a moment, they took in a big gulf of air and practically ripped open the big crate they smelled the painting in. Metzli eyed the box, noticing they were just about ready to ship everything. “We got here right on time. Looks like they were packing everything to ship. Probably a much bigger organization. Art theft is common thanks to the money in it.” The painting was surrounded by packing materials to prevent any wear and tear, but it was all the wrong materials. “Fucking idiots,” Metzli spat angrily, splintering the wood underneath their hands. “What now, anyway?” They decided to distract themselves with whatever Marley had to say for now.

“Hence why you’re an artists, huh?” Marley chuckled. Sometimes people were pretty transparent, and she didn’t mind that. While mystery intrigued Marley, sometimes she didn’t mind having the answers presented to her. Sometimes it was a relief not to have to psycho-analyze everyone and everything, even if her brain never shut off about it. She took in a deep breath, almost sighing when the fear in the air dissipated, signaling the death of both men. She was almost disappointed but it was a satisfying snack and she could grab a real meal later, under the cover of dark. “Brutal strength is something to display. I prefer the more...subtle method.”

She strolled over behind Metzli as they tore into the truck, and the crate that held their prized possession. The Murakami painting. Admittedly, Marley had no idea who that was. Art wasn’t much of an interest of hers, but she could appreciate it all the same. “Not damaged, is it?” she asked, tilting her head. “Don’t think I have enough to compensate for that if it is.” She rolled the idea around in her head. “Well...I doubt anyone’s coming back here. When the shipment doesn’t show up, whoever was expecting it is likely to come looking. So we can do one of two things--” she lifted her hand, two fingers raised. “Clean up this mess and leave them wonder what happened. Oooorr--” she drew out the word, a wicked smile curling up her lips-- “we come back and wait for them to find the mess. Take a real meal.” And maybe she was a little excited to have someone gawk at her abilities again. It wasn’t every day you got to watch someone suffocate on air.

Marley was intriguing Metzli in all the right ways. She had not only gotten them a large meal, but helped them locate the painting. For once, they wanted to make sure someone was repaid appropriately. “Subtle is a valid route. And no, no damage done. There would have been though. The idiots don’t know how to properly package shit.” Hands waved to the packing nuts they used, the only thing they used. It was an insult to any artist of notoriety.

Fingers tapped as thoughts swirled in Metzli’s head. Both options were great, amazing even. “God, you’re so full of good ideas. I like the meal option. We can even prepare to cater to us, and maybe get you that fear you actually want.” Working with someone was out of character, but Marley made it hard to pass up the opportunity. She was just too fun and so powerful. Things that Metzli could actually admire in a person, and they had no problem admitting that to her. “What do you say we do that, and with my gallery so close, I’ll keep an eye on the place. Keep you updated. We do make one hell of a team. Deal?” Their hand extended, ready to shake Marley’s. It was a really good idea, one that both of them can get behind happily.

“Good,” Marley nodded, even if she hadn’t actually planned to compensate for anything. It wasn’t her job to do that, but it had felt nice to actually have done some part of her job. She missed it, fuck, she missed it. But until her seizures were under control, the Captain still wasn’t letting her into the field. Yet she’d done this perfectly fine, even caught the culprits and was planning on coming back to finish the job. She ruffled her brows. “Better get that back to your gallery, before someone else shows up. Maybe get some better security, too.”

She waited patiently for Metzli’s answer, pleased at the idea that they thought so highly of her. “Deal,” she answered, without hesitation, reaching out to take their hand. It was cold, and even if she’d expected it, it was still strange to feel. People were usually warm, even she was warm. But she gave them a firm handshake before nodding at them. “You keep an eye out and just gimme a call when you see something, yeah? I can be there in a jiffy. I always feel much better at night. Don’t you?”

Metzli let out a laugh, enjoying Marley’s input to the conversation. She seemed like she had just as much fun as they did, and were excited to do it again. “Yes, I do. Thank you again, Marley. I’ll be seeing you soon for a night of fun.” Picking up their clothes after wiping their hands on the gentleman’s clothes, Metzli made their way back to the gallery, but before doing so, they stopped at the warehouse entrance. “You really are a creature to marvel at. I’m looking forward to watching your little show again.” With that, they disappeared into the alleyway.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: metzli #off the record #metzli

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thewayshedreamed · 4 years ago

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This Time— Part 2

A Nessian Fan Fic

Fic Masterlist

Alright, here it is! All of your responses to my first post were so encouraging, so I thank all of you for that! I was so nervous to post anything that I’ve written, and y’all made me feel so welcomed. Anyway, here’s the continuation of my angsty Nessian fic, This Time. It’s a long one, but I wanted to give some insight into Nesta’s headspace while also setting the occasion for the next part! Hope y’all enjoy it.

If you missed part one, you can find it here.

———————————————————————————-

A dull throb in her temples caused Nesta to stir in the early hours of Sunday morning. She was vaguely aware that it was raining, thunder rolling in a steady rhythm. She turned onto her back and gritted her teeth at the intensifying pain in her head. It suddenly radiated from her temples, meeting in the middle of her forehead and behind her eyes. For the briefest of moments, she wondered about the luck she had (or didn’t have) to wake up feeling like this. No recent illness, no allergies, no alcohol the night before. She blinked into the darkness as she considered, willing her cognition to catch up to her conscious state. Her answer became apparent when her eyes felt gritty as she blinked, and upon rubbing them, she felt a faint tenderness over and around her lids.

Ah, that’s right. The crying.

The events of the previous night flooded her memory.

I’m so gone for you...

You should go...

We can’t be friends after this conversation.

You don’t mean that...

The maddeningly soft click of the door echoed in her mind repeatedly, emulating the rhythm of her heartbeat. She slammed her eyes shut and turned sharply onto her side to bury her face into the pillow.

So often, people talk about the all-consuming relief that comes with waking from a nightmare and realizing none of it was real. These are the stories told at dinner with family or friends, at lunch with co-workers, or at larger social gatherings. Account after account is shared of cheating spouses, car accidents, home invasions, etc., followed by an expression of overwhelming relief at realizing it was all a dream.

Almost never do people discuss the ugly alternative. The micro-interval of time immediately upon waking where one exists in blissful ignorance, followed by the sudden gut-punch of recollection. The ambush of emotions surrounding some life-altering event.

Nesta caught herself grasping for that tiny shred of time, just moments prior, where she was only navigating a headache.

She felt her pulse quicken and her body start to flush, both being clear indicators of her heightened anxiety. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she felt a slight tremble starting to run through her chest and stomach. She closed her eyes as tears threatened to pool yet again and focused on taking a few deep breaths. She lazily reached out, feeling around until she located another pillow across her too large bed. She clutched it tightly against her chest and abdomen, willing it to ground her somehow. Tucking it close to her body and keeping an iron grip, she started to count her breaths until she finally drifted back to sleep.

———-

She had to cancel lunch with Elain and Feyre that Sunday, having slept long enough that she didn’t have enough time to make herself presentable. After explaining that she was suffering from a crippling headache (with no mention of its origin), they sent their well wishes and told her to call if she needed absolutely anything.

Her mornings persisted in a similar manner for the rest of the week. Usually one to rise on her first alarm, she couldn’t find the motivation to do so no matter how hard she tried. She snoozed her alarm a half-dozen times, finally dragging herself out of bed to dress quickly, grab a protein bar, and fly out the door for work.

Work served as a decent distraction from current events. She stayed busy and engaged, allowing her to completely ignore her phone and avoid any personal questions. She knew her sisters would be worried after telling them she was ill, and it was a matter of time before news of her and Cassian’s fight permeated their group of friends. Her sisters would likely put two and two together. Busy bodies. Fiercely loyal, protective, and supportive, but busy bodies all the same.

Several evenings that week she had received several variations of “check in” texts from them, as well as a couple of their friends.

Elain:

”Hey, Nes! Hoping you’re feeling better. Just wanted to check in and see how you are!”

Feyre:

”Just checking in, sister! I hadn’t heard from you since we cancelled lunch, so I hope you’re doing okay! Love you!”

Mor:

”Hi, love! I haven’t seen you in DAYS. Far too long. Please tell me I’ll see you soon! And that you’re alive and well. <3”

Amren:

“Alright. Spill. What’s going on with you? You haven’t responded to anything I’ve sent you, and I’ve sent you some funny shit.”

Nesta drafted one text, copying and pasting it to each and every one of them. She didn’t have the emotional energy to answer the question at all, much less several times over.

“Hey! Thanks for checking on me. I’m sorry I’m just getting back to you! Things have just been crazy this week. I’ve been busy, but I’m fine! We’ll get together soon.”

She stared at the lie over and over again.

I’m fine...

Although, deep down, she knew. If she were fine, she wouldn’t keep scrolling to a certain text thread. She wouldn’t be reading and re-reading their previous conversations, and she definitely wouldn’t be focused on the date and time stamp of the last received message from days ago.

———

Nesta had been conflicted about Saturday all week long. She had very specific plans: sleep as late as her body would possibly allow, have coffee on the back porch, catch up on her reading, take a long nap, stream as much nonsense television as she could handle, have a bottle of wine, go to sleep. She had been looking forward to the peaceful oblivion of deep sleep, yet she found herself dreading the passage of her free time. It had taken a couple of days to land on an acceptable itinerary, and she felt better with a certain course of action.

She awoke to her covers being abruptly pulled away and the pillow pulled off the top of her head. She groaned dramatically and turned over to identify the offender, fully prepared to sling insults their way for interrupting her sleep. Before she could formulate a cohesive thought, a deep, familiar voice interrupted her.

“Enough of this, Nes. Get up. We’re going to brunch,” the voice announced, his tone dry and neutral.

Nesta’s eyes shot open, falling on a pair of hazel eyes that dared her to be uncooperative.

“What the fuck, Az? How did you even get in here? And what if I were naked?!”

”Look, I pulled the short straw. You’ve barely spoken to anyone all week. When you did, your responses were short and contrived. Your friends and family are worried, and I got volunteered to enter the lion’s den as the only one who isn’t afraid of waking you up.”

”That doesn’t answer all my questions,” she muttered as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“I’ve driven you and your sisters home on enough drunken nights to know where your spare key is. And I saw the sleeve of your sweater before I pulled the covers off. Give me a little credit.” He turned away from her to walk out of her bedroom. As he crossed the threshold, he paused with his hand on the door jamb. He glanced over his left shoulder as he said, “You have 15 minutes. I’ll be in here waiting for you.”

Nesta really contemplated throwing a full-scale temper tantrum by throwing herself under the covers and refusing to get up. A deep rumble in her stomach ultimately made her decide against it, so she stood up and padded over to her closet. She selected her favorite pair of jeggings, silently thanking the Cauldron that she had worn them once already so that they were perfectly stretched. She grabbed a sports bra and a long-sleeved tunic, put on some casual sneakers, and walked over to her bathroom to finish getting ready.

She wasn’t one for much makeup anyway, so she opted to wash her face, moisturize, and apply a little mascara. She brushed her teeth, applied a generous layer of chapstick, and quickly French-braided her hair down the center of her back. She glanced down at her phone; 12 minutes. Suck on that, Azriel.

She walked out of her bedroom, down the hallway, and found Azriel perched on the arm of her sofa, scrolling through his phone. Sensing her approach, he locked his phone and stood.

“All ready?” He grabbed his keys from his front pocket.

“Sure. Whenever you are.” She looked around for her small purse and grabbed it off of the coffee table. “Wait... did you clean up in here?”

She knew there was something different when she walked in, but it had taken her a minute to realize what. Gone were the take out containers from her countertops and coffee table. All the various cups she had left all over her apartment were nowhere to be seen, and her blankets were folded neatly in a stack.

Azriel cleared his throat and looked around. “Not really. I noticed your trash can was full when I threw my gum away, and I thought it would be pointless to bring it out and not get everything.”

She bit her cheek to stop her smile at his sheepishness. He had always been a good friend to her, but she knew he preferred when it went under the radar. No one blushed faster or got more awkward than Azriel on the receiving end of appreciation or a compliment.

“Ah. I see. And I guess the blankets folded themselves, then. Or did you need to fold them to ‘get everything?’”

“Nes, you know I cleaned up in here, so can we go already?” He was already turning toward her door, flustered and mildly irritated with her teasing. She gripped his bicep to turn him around before he made it outside.

“I’m sorry, Az. You’re a wonderful friend, and I don’t deserve you. Let’s go have some brunch and forget it, ok?”

He gave her a sideways smile and playfully shoved her shoulder. “Fine. But next time, you’re walking.”

———-

The drive over to the small cafe was short, so the pair sat in comfortable silence on the way. Upon arriving, Azriel found a small table in the corner of the patio, instructed her to sit, and walked inside to place their order. When he returned, he was holding a mug of coffee for Nesta and a mug of earl grey tea for himself.

“The food should come out in about 10-15 minutes. I couldn’t remember how you take your coffee exactly, so I just brought you a ton of shit.” He wasn’t exaggerating. He placed a handful of different creamers and sweeteners in the center of the table.

Nesta gave a small chuckle at his gesture, noting that it felt good to laugh for the first time in days. She couldn’t help but feel grateful that it was Azriel who had pulled her out of bed this morning, if it had to be anyone. They were more alike than most would assume, and they had made very fast friends all those years ago. She loved the purity of their relationship, built on years of trust and mutual respect, but never crossing beyond anything other than platonic. Cassian had always joked about being “outnumbered” around the two of them, commenting on their likeness and how he managed to find kindred spirits as his best friends.

The thought of him elicited a slight pang in her stomach, and she quickly shoved it down. She was pulled from her thoughts by Azriel’s voice.

“So. You want to talk about what’s going on?”

”Gods, Azriel. I haven’t even gotten the caffeine in my system.”

He took a sip of his tea, only breaking eye contact to blow gently on the hot liquid. He regained eye contact as he set his mug back down.

“We haven’t heard anything genuine from you in a week. Forgive us for being a little worried. I’m assuming it has something to do with Cassian?”

As she suspected, hearing his name struck a nerve and caused a certain heaviness in her chest. She felt herself becoming defensive, and even though her logical mind knew it had nothing to do with Az, she was snapping at him before she realized it was happening.

“Why is everyone acting like I’m off the deep end?! Maybe I’ve just been busy for a week. Cauldron forbid if I take some time for my damn self. And why the fuck would you immediately jump to him? As if my life doesn’t exist beyond all of you? And beyond him?” She felt herself flush out of anger. Or embarrassment. Who the hell knew anymore?

Azriel seemed almost entirely unaffected by her verbal lashing. He took a couple of seconds, leaned forward with his forearms on the table, and clasped his hands in front of him. He looked at her intensely, and she knew she was not going to get anything sugarcoated in this conversation.

“Need I remind you that I know both of you like the back of my hand? I’m not shooting in the dark here. You’ve been essentially MIA for a week, and that timespan directly correlates with Cassian being an absolute terror to be around. The odds of that being a coincidence are incredibly low. So, Nes, I’ll ask you to please cut the shit.” He voice remained even and steady. There was no true malice in his words, just the bluntness that exists between two close friends. He picked up his mug, leaned back in his chair, and waited.

Nesta’s posture softened slightly as she rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and middle finger. She let out a long breath and looked up to meet Azriel’s gaze again.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. And I should also realize by now that you notice fucking everything.”

He merely nodded, acknowledging her apology and prompting her to continue with one simple gesture. She blew out another breath, preparing herself to explain everything. In the meantime, their food arrived, so she waited until the waiter walked away before beginning her story. She told him everything, even the uncomfortable details. Cassian’s confession. Her reaction. His anger. Her anger. The devastation on his face. As much as she could remember of their interaction. And finally, the words she couldn’t stop replaying in her mind. This time, it’s on you.

He listened intently, only offering small nods or slight facial expressions during the more intense parts of their conversation. Once she was finished, he let out a long whistle and said, “Damn, Nesta. You’re officially the most savage of the Archerons.”

“I’m sorry... what?”

“I’m not saying that to be insulting. I just meant that you kind of handed him his ass there.”

Nesta started at him, urging him to elaborate before she felt inclined to jump down his throat again. He picked up on her prompting and continued.

“Well, to be fair, Cassian’s full of it. The fact that he thought he was going to be able to sleep with you and continue being friends is short-sighted at best. Can’t blame him for trying, but considering how long he’s been in love with you, he was setting himself up for failure there.”

Now, she was gawking at him. How was he being so nonchalant about this bombshell? How long had Cassian been in love with her? And why the hell had he waited until now to say a damn word about it?

”How long, Azriel?” Her voice was so quiet that she wasn’t sure that he’d even heard her.

It was his turn to look surprised. “Are you telling me you didn’t know? Anyone within a mile of the two of you could have seen it.”

She shook her head, realizing she didn’t think she could handle the direction of this conversation. “Never mind. Regardless, we had an agreement that our friendship was too important to risk on anything serious and that it was supposed to remain purely casual. It’s done now. It’s not like it matters.”

A few seconds passed before she glanced up at Azriel. His brow was furrowed, conflicted with what he was going to say next.

”What? Just tell me.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of bullshit, Nes? I get that you both agreed on those terms, but I think it’s kind of fucked overall. You’re telling me that the potential of a relationship wasn’t worth the risk but casual sex was worth it? That doesn’t make sense.”

She breathed sharply out of her nose before she responded. “Had the agreement been honored, we could have enjoyed our time together, and we could have stopped once life events called for it. If one of us started dating someone... if one of us moved... things like that. It’s fairly straightforward.” She wasn’t trying to hide the bite behind her words, but he still didn’t seem offended. She tried not to find his level-headedness infuriating, but her patience was thinning by the second. To her surprise, his composure slipped a little.

”And how did you think that was going to play out? You both would shake hands, go your own ways, and continue to hang out with each other as before? You would have been totally fine with Cassian dating another woman? And do you really think Cassian would be a-okay with sitting in the front row at your wedding one day? Has it ever occurred to you that you two always dislike anyone that the other dates? No one ever loves Cassian the right way. No one ever makes Nesta happy enough. Why do you think that—“

”Alright, alright! I get it.“ She held her hands up in supplication. “The fact remains, though, that it’s over. It’s done. We screwed up, and it cost me my best friend. We’ll never be the same.” She felt her eyes brimming with tears.

She was vaguely aware of Azriel apologizing for his outburst and suggesting that they head back. She forced a nod, stood up from her chair, and walked to his car. Once inside and buckled, he turned to her.

”Hey. I really am sorry.”

”Don’t apologize. You were being honest with me, which is something I’ve always valued so much in you. Don’t go soft on me now.” She managed the smallest of smiles.

“Deal. But the same goes for you. Our mutual honesty has saved us a lot of trouble over the years. Makes our friendship easy.”

”You’re right. Why couldn’t it have been us to fall in love?” She huffed a laugh, making sure he knew her comment was in jest. She turned to look at him as he finished backing out of their parking spot.

Azriel hit his brakes a little harder than usual at her words. He chuckled, turning to look at her with a small smile. “What good would that do us? What would we do for fun? Brood?”

Nesta laughed, truly laughed, at the truth in his words. Azriel made a wonderful friend to her, but there would be very little personal growth within their hypothetical relationship. She smiled at him, squeezed his forearm briefly, and said, “Fair enough. I guess we wouldn’t push each other to grow all that much.”

He continued to drive, eyes straight ahead. He still wore signs of amusement on his face, but his tone turned a little more serious. “No. We wouldn’t. I think that’s why Cassian has always been a great balance for people like us. We get way too comfortable in the dark.”

”Mmm. People like Cassian, for sure. Maybe people like Elain, too?” She gave him a knowing smile.

He pulled up in the driveway and placed the car in park before looking at her. She could see the faint blush on his cheeks at the mention of her sister, but she wouldn’t push him. She knew he was smitten with Elain and had been for some time. She hadn’t spoken to him plainly about it, but she could tell by the way they interacted that they were a matter of time. Inevitable, even.

“We’re not talking about me today. Only you.”

She giggled at his deflection. “Thank you again for today. I needed the coffee, the waffles, the venting, and the swift kick in the ass.”

”Of course. Speaking of Ellie, what’s your plan for her birthday party next weekend? You know Cass will be there.”

“Oh, man. I think I blocked that out.” She opened the door, stepped out of the car, and peered down at him before adding, ”That, my friend, is something I will have to play by ear.”

——————————————————————————-

A/N: Sorry for no Nessian interaction this time, but I just love the idea of a Nesta x Azriel brotp. I couldn’t help myself. Nessian interaction to come, I promise!

Tags are below! If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, you can comment, reblog, or message me!

@polireader // @lord-douglas-the-third // @justgiu12 // @notyournymphetish // @sjm-things // @strangeenemy

#nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nesta #cassian #acotar #acowar #nessian fanfic #nessian au #nessian angst #nessian fwb #acotar fanfic #This Time Nessian #nesta x azriel brotp

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zirkkun · 4 years ago

Text

I can't sleep so I'm gonna ramble for a minute here about. uh. 2020 i guess lol everyone else is so might as well jump on the bandwagon.

Be aware this is really really fucking long so it's a commitment to read it lmao sorry i just cannot sleep and i guess i had more on my mind about this year than i thought. I also did not proofread this at all. I just started writing and didn't look back lol

This year was... Weird for me. It started out with me feeling my best in January, comfortable and positive as I did my nth playthrough of DBH with friends and finally having enough alts of my boy Alfonse in FEH to have a team of Just him to fight with. (Priorities, right?) February hit, and things were still going good. I met Ray Chase and had him sign a print I did of Roy and Alfonse in some casual outfits for a scrapped au I wrote years ago. (And I gave him one 😊). Hell, like, covid was just coming around when me and my friends went to the con that weekend and a breakout of it hit the city just south of where the con was like a week before, but I was genuinely so excited for it that like I was like "Yeah, if i die, i die. Whatever happens happens." God, at this point, the Alfonse gc I was in was still alive and I still didn't talk to anyone in the group outside of that gc. Lowkey miss it tbh. But oh well. Things move on.

But that con was like... Stressful. I usually have fair amounts of stress at cons, being around so many people, I fear theft, unwanted contact, y'know, the standard; but my friend group was so filled with tension that it was absolutely painful. We'd been split most of the weekend, and if the two groups came together, it was hell, because it just caused unwanted arguments. I felt really bad cause I didn't want them to be upset, yknow? But i also wanted to hang out with my friends all at once. So i swapped between the groups a bit over the weekend. And blew WAY more money than I should have and lowkey it kind of fucked me over for the rest of the year cause I haven't had a job all year outside of, like, a local church job that pays at a rare max of $100 a month ;w;

I'd been struggling in school the previous semester already, about halfway through having just stopped going to classes altogether, yet still somehow managed to pass everything with B's and A's. The next semester rolled around, and I thought at first the distraction and inability to do anything was because of the con, and as it persisted after, I thought it was just post-con depression. But, as it turned out, no, it's just been my biggest relapse of depression since the end of high school, and frankly, it's only gotten worse since. I can't sleep rn because I'm between not wanting to do anything because I have a lack of emotions and motivation and not feeling deserving of sleep lol. I checked out of school on February 28th, however, I was convinced I was merely demotivated by my surroundings -- at this point, I was studying Japanese, and one of my friends at the time was a (although probably unintentionally) complete braggart about how much he was studying and how he was improving... not to mention he was textbook example of "This is an Actual Weeaboo, don't Fucking Do this." (One of many reasons i said friend at the time lol) it was just... So draining being around him, and I had to see him in class every day of the week. I barely scraped together assignments last-minute and never studied under the idea of "What does it matter if I'm not putting in my 100%?" So I checked out, with plans of transferring for the following semester.

Well, then March hit. Y'all know how March went down lmao.

I pretty much locked myself in my room at all times during March, going between Animal Crossing and BOTW (which actually racked up like 200ish hours i think according to the nintendo year in review i had lmao). I started making a bit closer online friends at this point, notably @levitumbling who decided to take me in as his channel designer for YouTube and I've been ever since! But. Of course. My first task? A Sans meme. My payment? One Switch copy of Undertale because he considered it a disgrace that I'd never played the game before.

Now, let me tell you. I was fuckin scared to play this game. I held onto it for weeks between the fear of "My friend bought me this and i should play this" and "I told myself I'd never touch this game with a 20 mile pole because of how much it's been shoved down my throat over the years." So, one day, I don't remember when, early April, I said, fuck it, I'll play it for a little bit, just enough to say "hey i played it for a bit!" and then never go back.

The only thing that stopped me from beating the whole thing in one sitting was it was the crack of dawn when I passed out, extremely tired and extremely frustrated by the fact I couldn't beat Muffet. Yes, I got that far in one sitting I intended to play for 15 minutes tops.

Now. Let me fuckin tell you. About my first playthrough of Undertale. I haven't gone into a game knowing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about it like... I think ever. Usually I know what style of game it is, the genre, the main plot premise. I knew nothing other than the existence of Sans (and, as it turned out, I'd heard some of the soundtrack pieces before, notably Bonetrousle I heard this cover of it in a radio livestream a while back and never really looked it up, but was always excited when the radio looped back around to it being on; and I'd heard Dating Start! because that's Alpharad's go-to sponsorship ost lmao.) But anyway. I was completely in the dark. Do yall mind if i just go through some highlights of my favorite memories? This is supposed to be a summary of the year but I mean, I think this made a big enough impact on me to really like. Discuss it a bit.

I watched the whole opening cutscene, started a new game under my old screenname, "Yoru," since in naming the "Fallen Child," I assumed they were dead. Well, I was a little surprised to just be that child, alive, two seconds later, but whatever, I rolled with it.

I genuinely trusted Flowey right away. Like no shit. He told me run into the "friendliness pellets" and I didn't even fucking question it. And when Toriel came in? And she said to follow her? I straight up was like "Why the hell should I trust you?? That guy just tried to kill me what says you wont?" I followed only because the game made me but i was Wary the whole time. It took me a LONG time to warm up to Toriel.

Now. Let me tell you how stupid I am as well. The game says over and over right, "Don't fight. Spare. Have Mercy when names are Yellow." Well, I took this literally. I didn't understand the Act mechanic most of the time, and when something didn't work I just said, fuck it, and fought them. If their name didn't turn yellow, I just fought them. "They don't want Mercy if their name isn't yellow, right?" After a while, I'd started getting bored of fighting and would just run away, but like, I came to a point where I was like "I have a really low level, I'm really going to regret this later on if I don't grind for a while."

I don't know when I stopped but. I think I was only one or two kills away from a genocide run accidentally my first playthrough, based on how I think I was LV 3 and looking at genocide playthroughs, you're LV 3 or 4 when you fight Toriel. Like. Holy fuck. I can't imagine what I would have thought of this game if that happened lmao.

Speaking of Toriel, still didn't trust her, at all. When we got to Home, and after I did Every Single different phrase she says when you go downstairs before you talk to her reading about snails; I did not Hesitate to ask "cool uh when the fuck can I leave?" When we got to the Ruins exit I was like, ah, here it is. The betrayal from her I was expecting, where she tries to kill me. Well, nothing on the Act menu worked, right? So... I fought and killed her. I didn't really care, actually. I just kept going.

Then meeting Sans and Papyrus happened. I lost my fucking shit at this part, mostly when they were talking, because every time Sans made a pun it would zoom in on him and do a rimshot. The puns were not funny and I was definitely on Pap's side of "oh my GOD shut up." But that fucking zoom in and rimshot was just so fourth wall breaking and unexpected. Fuck, it still gets me. Anyway. Game continues. I again lose my shit at (insane spinning in random directions) "OH MY GOD! IS THAT A HUMAN?" "uh, i think that's a rock." "OH. WAIT! WHAT'S THAT IN FRONT OF THE ROCK?? (IS IT A HUMAN??)" "(yes.)" "OH MY GOD!!!" and still think these two moments in the game are Peak comedy. Oh, and let me tell you, I did not like either of these two at this point. Sans I was like, okay, hes kind of a dumbass in a funny way, but Papyrus is a dumbass in a way that just annoys me. Genuinely the archetype that misses social cues and therefore has miscommunication usually just annoys me to no end. (Mostly for the miscommunication. It's my least favorite trope and makes me unreasonably angry.) But yeah. Wasn't really a fan. But out of everyone so far? Definitely found Sans to be the most tolerable. But that's about all I thought of him lmao.

Getting to Snowdin, with the Papyrus battle, remember how I said I didn't like Papyrus? And yes, this was something I genuinely thought at one point, I genuinely hated Papyrus, imagine that. What a wild world that is. But anyway. You know how his Act menu has the "Flirt" option? I, for no reason, gunned it for the Flirt option, even though I did not want to. Then when he was like "WE'LL GO ON A DATE! LATER!!" i was like yea sure okay lmao. Again, couldn't figure out the Act menu to turn his name yellow, so I fought him, and he was one or two attacks from dying (miraculously) when he ended the battle. I spared him here cause, well, he spared me, it was only fair. Then this guy again is like "ILL BE AT MY HOUSE WHEN YOU WANT TO GO ON THAT DATE!" and i was like haha funny but still turned around to go on the date. Like why? I have no idea. I think I was more like "haha hes probably not gonna be there and its just cause i picked that option and lo and behold there was an actual fucking date. Oh my god. I have never in my life been on a video game date where one party was convinced I was infatuated with them and im here on the other side of the screen like "oh my god make this end i can't stand being around you.???" But still. The date was. Really fucking funny. I wish I could experience it for the first time again like holy shit. There are few playthroughs I did after this where I didn't go on the Pap date, even if I just spedrun through it.

So then you get to Waterfall and Sans is there like "hey wanna go to grillbys" and i was like sure why not so we go there and my choices were fries & ketchup (so i did not get the legendary scene where he chugged a bottle of ketchup, but i sure did my second playthrough, and let me tell you, i was disgusted). But like. This whole experience at grillby's like, the whoopee cushion, him using a comb on his bald ass skull, him just fuckin unapologetically scratching his ass for no reason?? Bro i was like "why the fuck is this guy part of the Tumblr Sexymen™ group ??? He's so ????? Gross???????" and like i still have this question tbh lmao. But like. Okay so he asks you "what do you think of my bro?" And my genuine answer was "uncool" and he was like "hey man sarcasm isnt funny" and can i just mention how like inheritly manipulative sans actually is like fuck he does things like this where he throws your answer the other way a few times and Every time it actually swayed me the other way. Because right here I went. "Oh. Maybe Papyrus is better than I thought." Like holy fuck maybe i should be more aware if something like that can sway my opinion so easily LMAO.

Anyway waterfall i genuinely was very bored of the whole time. I spent like a genuine 20 minutes figuring out the puzzle where you have to talk to a wall and I actually didn't realize you could move the telescope around. What helped me solve it is my friend's advice before I played it. "Inspect everything. Even talk to walls. Trust me." And literally thats how I solved it. But pretty much everything in Waterfall otherwise bored me. I did think it was pretty though, and did enjoy reading the lore, but when it started talking about monster biology my one fear had been realized: oh god, oh fuck. My original species for my own series also has physical Souls and die by turning to dust because they're made entirely of magic. God fuck. My luck, it has to be something popular, so now everyone's gonna think I'm a ripoff. But, at the same time, I do think it helped me understand monster biology (and it helped me come up with the ULR biology) better, because I've put in a lot of thought to existence of a species that exists only by magic and a Soul (which, mine only actually have half a Soul, as a full Soul makes a being immortal, which was also similar to the boss monsters in a way). It definitely made a lot more sense for like, the skeletons n stuff for me, because like my characters are wholly shapeshifters but usually take human form, and while they have "organs" in the places humans would have them, they don't operate. They're just placeholders, because they just live with their Soul. So I've always thought the same with UT monsters, since the skelebros can live without organs, that means so do the rest of the monsters, even if they have animal-like appearances.

Off topic lmao. Back to UT. So, the Undyne fight was kind of the turning point for me. She was pissing me off so much during this whole game and like I was like "if theres another fucking part where I have to run away from her im going to scream." Well, once again, her name wasn't yellow, so I wasn't going to spare her... and, actively, I made the decision to kill her, because I didn't want to deal with her still chasing me later on in the game. It took me a long time to beat her, and when I did, I texted my friend (@cheshiregrinnbuttoneyes ) in excitment like "YES I FINALLY KILLED UNDYNE" and she texted back like "YOU DID WHAT?????" and i was like "i.... Killed Undyne????" she replies, "YOU DONT HAVE TO OMFG WHY" and im like "I DIDN'T HAVE TO?? THERE'S OTHER OPTIONS?????" and shes like "YES OMFG THAT'S LITERALLY THE PREMISE OF THE GAME" and im "WHAT."

So then. I get that call from Papyrus like. "HEY! YOU ME AND UNDYNE SHOULD HANG OUT SOMETIME!"

oh my god the guilt i felt.

alphys on undernet being like "omfg i forgot to watch undyne fight the human. ah ill ask her about it later she never loses <3"

bro. i nearly fuckin cried. i was like. Not to mention I'd gotten the crush question right for Mettaton's quiz in answering Undyne (bc i was like "plz be gay plz be gay") so it fucking cut like a knife what I'd done.

I don't remember when I let myself get passed it. But I do know that the whole story arc between Alphys and Mettaton went way over my head. Like, i know im probs the minority on this, but I adore Alphys, I have since I first met her in game, and like, when Mettaton was like "ALPHYS HAS BEEN LYING TO YOU!" i just went "...nah."

Also, I didnt like mettaton at this point, cause I thought he was being really obnoxious, and then the turn around to betray Alphys really kinda pissed me off.

But like.

Oh my god.

Remember how I said I swapped my opinion on Pap earlier bc of Sans's comment? Yeah that was a pretty fast turnaround, but it still took me a few times.

But the second i saw mettaton ex

I was like

"HIM. HE. HE'S THE ONE I LOVE."

Like, full turnaround from Undyne, I actively refused to kill him. All times I thought he was an asshole? Forgotten. Me thinking he's a selfish prick? Gone. Nada. Nothing. Pure adoration. Suddenly every flaw he had was pushed aside purely from how hot I thought he was. Also, fuckin, im really glad i played this when no one in my house was awake, because I still didn't understand the Act mechanic here, and every time you attack mettaton he has this like moan he does and im like oh my god. stop. omfg.

At the end, too, when there was the calls and everything, when he had his big turnaround, I was just so happy for him I genuinely cried. Also, I had to do his battle probably the most out of everyone's in the game (not including genocide), so when it came around to his battle during the (glitchless) speedruns i did, i was more invested in how fast I could rack up points, cause you need 10k rating points to pass, and I actually did get that before he lost his legs, but apparently he needed to lose those too before you passed lol. Unfortunate.

Anyway after Alphys talked to you and everything, i genuinely went to see if Mettaton was still there, but he wasn't :( so i just went to New Home. I was very ill prepared for the fight against Asgore and the only reason I struggled with it so much was because my only healing items were like. Something that healed like 10 or 12 hp and the snowman piece. I was LV 9 when i finished the game, so like, my HP was pretty high, but i didnt have the G to buy items, so i was pretty much fucked. Yes. I had to eat the snowman to win.

Oh speaking of terrifying shit though. Photoshop flowey? My god. I haven't been afraid of a video game boss so much since I was a little kid. It was like 3 am and i was not prepared for him to just delete my save file and then kill me on repeat, glitching and breaking everything as he pleased. Bruh i was genuinely scared. Like, not even just, "oh yikes :(" or something. Like, crying scared. Lmao im an emotional bitch by nature.

I of course had to restart from the beginning again to get the True Pacifist ending. I was very careful to never touch the Fight button literally ever. And, it actually took me a while to reset, because I hate erasing my original save files, yknow? But, well, as it turned out? While technically New Game+ by naming, resetting doesn't erase everything you did. It wasn't a new file. I was a little confused at first to be honest. Toriel saying things were familiar, remembering things I said, Papyrus and Undyne both recognizing me, like. It was unnerving.

When I got to the end, i had to look up how to get Alphys's date (since my friend told me the way to unlock TP was to go on all the dates, but Alphys's was definitely designed in mind of you turning around from New Home and going back to talk to people rather than a new reset. So after unlocking it, getting through Alphys's date (i still remember being like, verbally, "omg alphys you look so nice??" When she came out with the dress on and then had a thought to myself like... since when do i care about what people look like? since when do i compliment people? At that point, while I didn't consider myself to be a rude person, I definitely wasn't exactly all that concerned about others for anything. Sure, I cared about others' lives, but I tended to be a bit more judgemental internally, and just. Didn't really give a fuck about what people did in the most negative sense possible, unless it involved me. Yet, it rolled off my tongue like it was something id say normally to anyone. I really wonder if this is the true turning point for me this year.)

Getting to the end, with everyone cheering me on. Hoo boy. This was the start of many tears to come. Papyrus's "DO WHAT I WOULD DO! BELIEVE IN YOU!!" sticks with me the most. I wasn't surprised by Flowey's actions, but what fucking threw me for a loop was like. When Flowey was revealed as Asriel, I was genuinely jaw-drop shocked. I was like. Holy fuck. I thought he was dead. What the hell. To this day, though, i still think Hopes and Dreams hits me the hardest out of all the boss battle themes. It doesn't super bother me, bc like, difference in opinion is whatever, but like. Whenever I see Megalovania at the top of someone's ost list for Undertale I'm just... Why? Maybe it's because I'd overheard it meme'd to much before I played the game, but like, i dunno, it's not a bad song, but it's not the most emotional provoking piece for me, so it's pretty far down my list. Hopes and Dreams will still remain my #1.

I really did feel determined during this battle. I really felt a lot of emotion. I felt excited. I felt frightened. I felt ambitious. Asriel's battle is probably still the hardest for me, and yes, I'm counting genocide this time. I can't grasp his magic patterns at all, and I more so played it as a "okay, how much damage can i take? Whats his next move?" As i healed every other turn. It took me a very long time to beat him (though no 11 hours like Sans, this was more like, 2 or 3 max) and when I got to the part with the Lost Souls, most of the characters just said their "we hate you" piece and i was like "nope you're controlled" right.

But then there's Sans's "just give up. i did."

I genuinely had to stop. I set down my controller and just sat for a minute. I'd mentioned before how much I've been struggling with depression for years now, and it's at the worst it's been since high school. Maybe you'd think when I saw that, I was like "sure, maybe I should give up." But... It's really the "i did." that hit me like a rock to the stomach. While I do know a couple other people with depression, the most discussion we have with it is "haha i wanna die" kinda jokes yknow? Nothing really serious. And, well, I've always been the type to lean to fictional characters for support more than real people, since I've just been so disconnected from a lot of friends growing up and was too scared to talk about anything with my family.

So seeing someone else say "just give up. i did." hit me so fucking hard that I just started crying. I had already been in a real sappy mood cause the whole scene was so emotional as it was, even if merely the cliche of friendship will save all, y'know what? Its a good ass fuckin trope and makes me emotional lmao.

So, naturally, I was more hyperaware of Sans's implied depression from here onward. The conversations with everyone post-battle left me crying. God, so did the hug with Asriel. I was just fucking bawling.

Oh god. I didn't even mention. "Despite everything, it's still you." Another line that just hit me and I had to pause.

So admist my crying mess, I was telling my friend I'd beat Undertale again. He asks me "so... you gonna play the genocide route?" And I already had from the beginning. I always want to play every available route in a game. I see no point in paying for something and then not playing it all. I'd consider myself a completionist who doesn't ever actually finish anything lmao.

I definitely put my emotions aside for genocide. The absolute hardest kill for me was Papyrus, though. And i was absolutely fucking heartbroken when he said he still believed me as his last words. But I forced it aside. I didn't want to reset. I wanted to beat it to have it under my belt that I had. I was pretty sure the Sans battle would be here, since I hadn't heard Megalovania in the game yet, and I was aware of how hard the battle was, despite never seeing it.

Undyne's battle I'm more emotional about in retrospect than I was at the time. At the time, I didn't care, didn't like the theme much, and the dings gave me a headache. Undyne isn't exactly my favorite character (though definitely not my least favorite, that role is given to Frisk with Toriel not close behind ahdhsb im sorry), so I really wasn't concerned about it. Not to mention, I don't know why, but all of the battles I struggled with EXCEPT Undyne's I ended up liking the character more as a result. Maybe it was the dinging lmao.

Bro you shoulda seen how prepared I was for Mettaton NEO's battle to be hard as fuck. I was like sitting upright, took deep breaths before hitting fight, then when he died in one shot i just kind of "wh...what." Still very disappointed lol but I guess that's kind of the point of the genocide route.

Then came the Sans fight. As I said, I spent 11 hours on this. I genuinely didn't pay attention to what he said after a while, but I do remember the first time I read it, I was fucking terrified. Usually, sarcasm, hatred, and sass is very hard to convey through pure text, especially when it's said in the same tone as his usual talking. But the absolute harshness, the coldness, and the lack of any fucks given Sans had at that point was so plainly transparent through everything he said that it fucking scared me. Toby Fox's writing here was fantastic. I can only dream of being able to write like that. Frankly, I love his writing in general. Actually, fuck it, I love all of the artistic takes of this game. This is gonna sound weird but... The "childishness" of it just is so good. Like, there's no rules. Every socially accepted rule of art, writing, character design, speech patterns, and even basic grammar are thrown aside. He didn't just think outside of the box, there literally was no box. I call it childish only because like, children also create with no rules. They have no rules to restrict their creativity. And seeing that embraced in Undertale in every form possible just blows me away.

Anyway. The battle. It. Was hard. Thats a given. I spent about two weeks playing it on and off, and it's probably the most healthily I've treated myself in recent memory, because when it became too much for me to handle, I set it down and took a break. I would retain what I memorized and use it for the next time I picked it up. Frankly, it came to a point where every time I opened up Undertale to play, it was more just cause I wanted to see him lmao. The guy hated my existence at this point and it's not like i disacknowledged that. But it just felt like every time i opened the game... Idk. I don't know what I felt. I can tell you for sure this isn't the time when Sans started slipping into my favorite character spot over Mettaton, that didn't come until the development of Act to Flirt's first demo, which was a month or so later lmao.

I was very excited when I beat Sans.

But then, after it was over, I felt very empty.

I didn't feel good about beating genocide. I still don't. I want to play the boss battles again, cause they were really fun, despite how hard they were, but I can't bring myself to.

When I got to Chara, and everything went to black, I just wiped my save and started fresh. I think this was the first time I used the name "Willo" for anything. I just picked a random name to use, and Willo was the first thing that came to mind.

I beat neutral again many times, trying to unlock as many secrets as I could. I accidentally spent like, way too long trying to get Sans's room, because I couldn't figure out how to do it... which is when I started speedrunning the game, because I was just so used to going through it all. I timed myself once, and I got somewhere around 1:20:00 ish, which puts me at the very bottom of the NG+ Glitchless runs by like 30 minutes, but hey, it's still not too bad all things considered.

I'd started working on Act to Flirt sometime in between the speedruns. I was playing Papyrus's date again, and I had this thought of. What if Undertale... but all boss fights are instead like Papyrus's date?? I pitched the idea to my friend who was like "thats definitely been done before lol" and immediately I almost shut down the idea. But then I still had that glimmer of hope that, maybe, since I haven't made it yet, people would like my game because it was by me. Besides, quarantine was getting to me. I needed some way to spend my time. So on May 6th to May 7th, I spent the whole 24 hour period making the first proof of concept for the game, which was UI setup and Flowey's tutorial date. I hadn't made any of the art yet, so it was a black background with Flowey's undertale sprite. I originally was going to make everything more visual novel like in the sense that, so like on Papyrus's date, you could make choices like "unwrap the present" "dont unwrap the present" or "you look great" "you look terrible" and getting the ending would involve pretty much just saying the right things at the right times. But this alone was... Yknow, already done before, and part of what makes Undertale so great is that it's, despite its many outside influences, very unique in its gameplay. So I decided to make the dates more like puzzle-solving RPG's, and frankly, since doing that, I dont know if I want to go back to making other visual novels lmao.

After making the first demo and releasing it, I hit a creative funk. I wanted to make the next demo right away, but I forced myself to stop (since i was working 16+ hour days to finish it in exactly a week. I didn't eat much and i slept very little during this time too. Dont do this lmao). I didn't know if the game would be received, and frankly, I'd had many failed projects in the past due to lack of support. I lost a lot of support in the past due to the dropped projects I kept starting and quitting because I had such a small audience, and that made me lose a lot of interest and motivation to work on them. So I posted the first demo and waited. I was very shocked to have a YouTuber with over a million subs play it that weekend. Dantekris I think was her channel name. She speaks Russian, and I never understood a word she said, but I've still watched her let's plays because I enjoy seeing her reactions. I hate that YouTube keeps deleting my responses on her videos, probably because they're long and in English so it's marked as spam on a comments section full of purely Russian comments yknow. But it makes me feel like such an ass ;w;

Mairusu is the next large YouTuber who played it and my god I love seeing when he uploads a new update for my game because I genuinely have no idea what to expect from him. I don't know what it is but he's just so absolutely funny to me. He also seems to be the most common breaker of my game though. Stop making your own bugs!! I try to testplay to find the bugs he gets and it's like.... what did you do.... how did you skip that whole date im so confused thats not supposed to happen..... He accidentally skipped all of Muffet's date because of this too and hers is supposed to be the hardest in the game right now so I'm very upset by it;; i dont know how it happened, it never happens for me.

But like. I was definitely struggling a bit with the direction I wanted to take AtF. I wanted there to be a core message, like with Undertale and many other of my favorite things. When there's a core theme to write about, it makes things a lot easier to compose than if you have a plot with no meaning to it. It ties it all together for a common purpose. But, as I started diving more into the fandom around this time, finding not only it being still alive but still enormous and filled with passion.

Passion. Hm. That's familiar. That's the trait I gave the player character, rather than determination. While it was intended for giggles "haha dating game u have passion wink wonk," it started becoming more than that. It started becoming a manifestation of what I really felt upon finally soaking myself into the deep end of this pool I'd once been too afraid to step into. Passion. Everyone here is so driven by their passion for this game, the characters, its story. Everyone is so inspired and creative. That's it. That's what I wanted Act to Flirt to be.

A game made for those who have already dived deep into Undertale. A game made for those who have the same level if passion I've wittnessed. A game that someone might stumble upon, merely wanting any Undertale content they can find, and a dating sim leaves them grasping at straws, only to find it's a game instead deeply rooted in how much they care about this world and its people. You have a Soul of Passion, because your passion for Undertale brought you to this game. That's what the core message is. Every ending is supposed to depict different kinds of empathy, and True Passion shows you truly cared the most you could for all of these characters. Sans is so blocked from it because, well, how can he really believe it? "if we're really friends, you won't come back," right? But here you are. Again and again.

And Heartbreak. Whose heart is really the one breaking here? Taking the Hopes and Dreams of every single character you've grown to care for and crushing it beneath your feet... who is the one suffering in the end?

I just... I'm very excited. I've written that game with the player as the main character. Not Willo. Not Frisk. Not anybody else. You, the player, are the main character. I've honestly done a lot of looking around in the DDLC code to make this game as 4th wall breaking as I can (without like. Disrupting it as a game experience like ddlc is, with monika deleting things and stuff). Just enough to leave the player unsettled and confused. Like. "Me? Are you talking to me?" Yes. You. Directly to you.

I started sketching out designs and ideas for ULR around July. I genuinely loved Underlust after finding out about it, even though it was posed to me as an insult about the contents of Act to Flirt. I was both like "uh... Act to Flirt is nothing like this. Maybe in reversed roles at best but..." and also "okay but this? This shit is good. Thank you." But finding out it was discontinued and wanting more, well, that's when I decided to make ULR. I presented the idea to my friends, who were like "please stop making aus," and then continued onward. I told myself I wasn't going to work on it though until after I finished Act to Flirt... Then after the next demo came out... Then it turned out I was working on it too much and it resulted in me rushing my release of the 3rd demo of AtF because I'd been so distracted I was going to miss my release deadline of the end of August, before school. I... Still kinda regret that a lot. It's still very buggy. Though I hope I got them all for the next demo...

But speaking of school .... ha... Remember when i said i was going to transfer to another school? Well, I did, and for the first few weeks it was fine! Then I started skipping assignments I didn't want to do. Then I started panicking about my low grades. Then I started getting behind on assignments. Then I stopped going to classes. Then I lost all motivation to work on anything at all. I just locked myself in my room and did next to nothing with the occasional drawing here and there, for weeks. It came to the point where I was like "I just have to get through this semester, then I'll drop out." But if I ever wanted to go back to school, having all F's on my last report card would not bode well for my acceptance. Which lead to more stress. I didn't want to fail, but I also didn't have any motivation to work. I would do one assignment here or there, feel good about myself, then realize I was still months behind on work and suddenly oh god oh fuck finals are next week. And my solution? I just. Fuckin dropped out. Oh my god. It was such a relief to just get that weight off my shoulders that I'd been carrying for months on end, preventing me to do anything I wanted to work on.

Well. Then my car tires died. So that's a thing. But good news! Between commissions and gifts, I have enough money to get them replaced! I don't think I've ever like... Been so excited about that before.

And, well. Now I'm here, pretty much. God, I just went through my entire year summary, and it feels like it was both forever long but also not long at all. I don't get it. 2021 still feels like a far off future, despite the fact I'm now 5 hours into it. Yes, I spent 4 hours writing this. Whoops. Oh well. I couldn't sleep anyway, so it's not that big of a deal.

All in all though... Despite being locked inside, away from my friends, unable to talk to anyone about the things i was enjoying, and living in fear of getting sick at all ever with anything, 2020 definitely fuckin changed me for the better. It was a hellhole of a year and I'd never do it again or wish it upon my worst enemy, but I came out a better person... I think. I hope.

It seems cliche to bring back but fuck it. Undertale? My friend insists its core message was that anyone can be a good person if they just try, which I mean, it definitely probably was intended that way. But that never was the message I felt while playing it.

What lesson I took from it was "things aren't always as they seem."

Flowey betrays you immediately, but then you find out he's just the remnants of a boy who died years ago and is still grieving over the loss of his best friend, whomst, despite how much he cares for them, recognizes they weren't good to him and he'd been manipulated and used by them.

Toriel is a kind and caring woman, a still grieving mother over the loss of her children, who seems to have kindness to no end, but is actually filled with such hatred and depression that she regularly gets drunk, swears, and still, without resilience, hates her ex husband.

Sans is a playful character who is full of puns, a gross atmosphere, and decided to break physics just because he can. He's the embodiment of a comic relief character. But at the same time, he's suffering, struggling, in constant pain and worry. He's lazy, but quick on his feet. He's harmless but will kill without hesitation if need be. He's both caring and the least caring of them all.

Papyrus is like... a self-centered asshole in a way, when you first meet him. He prides himself and everything he does. Yet still, he's actually quite open and accepting and loves everyone. He loves talking with and being with other people, even if maybe sometimes he has a different interpretation of social interaction from the "norm."

Undyne comes off as cruel and deadly, such even being emphasized in many points. But, deep down, she's extremely caring for those who are close to her, and her only cruelty is dealt to those who have wronged her in some way.

Alphys is a sweet and nervous wreck who comes off as helpful and lacking a filter due to her tendency to ramble. She seems to be merely anxious due to likely social anxiety... But you eventually find out that she's a liar who merely wants to create a world to be a better place, and by doing so, she pretends all the bads do not exist.

Mettaton comes off as an absolute self-centered asshole. Like. There's no way around that. He seemingly has no regard for other people with only full intentions of helping himself. But, deep down, he actually cares a lot for other people, especially his family and friends, and just tends to get caught up in things while he's in the moment.

Muffet seems to be greedy with how much money she begs people to give her for the spiders, but, as it turns out, she's flat broke and drops no G when you beat or kill her. She merely needs the money to help the spiders.

Asgore, too, is built up to be this ruthless killer throughout the whole game, and when you finally meet him, he's an incredibly sweet guy who's only filled with regret, and because of his past decisions, has decided to put aside his hopes for the sake of his people.

I...

Didn't see any of these characters for who they really were right away. Why would I? Few of these archetypes are explored much in a lot of fiction lately, or at least what I've been consuming; and is more focused around how someone can change their flaws into something positive... Not how to accept someone for who they are, despite the wrongs they may have committed or the lives they lead. Everyone's different. Everyone's grown up differently. Everyone has a reason for what they do.

And it took me playing this game to realize such a simple concept that I probably should have learned years ago.

That's why I really think 2020 changed me for the better. I made a realization that I should have had many years ago, and it's made me a lot more confident in expressing myself, accepting people for what they do, and seeing the brighter side to everything. I say that, sitting here filled with nothing and void of all emotion whatsoever... But it's a conscious thought i have. My emotions are so weird... They're either on full blast or I feel nothing at all. But yet I have... Thoughts of what i should feel? It's weird. Idk. This is why I'm getting therapy LMAO

But yea. 2020? Fuck you. But also thank you. But mostly fuck you and good riddance lmao

#zircon rambles #a lot #lol #its very long im sorry #i spent way too long writing this too #also please don't reblog this

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