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ikemenomegas · 2 years ago

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Itachi Uchiha x Reader

Fear is the mind killer (1)

cw: navel gazey fake sherlock holms bullshit, set in the omegaverse although that's largely irrelevant to plot, alpha!reader, this oc suffers from a good amount of justified paranoia, also warning for attempts to be realistic about the whole child-soldier thing

A better member of the village would have put it all behind them, the whole sordid affair of one of the village's founding clans, a noble clan, being all but wiped out in a night.

It was an act of madness, of power, sometimes seen in the shinobi world. In a single night, the entire clan, fair and shrewd, cruel and arrogant, kind and dedicated, had been made martyrs.

Everyone except the eldest son of the clan head, who was now a villain, and the youngest son of the same, who was now a victim.

If anyone else was stunned into denial and disbelief they, like you, kept their silence. If this was the work of an enemy then it was one that was strong enough only the highest ranking members of the village would know much about it. If it was, more terrifying, the work of a supposed friend to the village, then there was something rotten in the roots of Konoha's great tree.

If it was truly madness, part of you didn't wonder if maybe the village deserved its grief. Itachi had had friends, or at least people who considered themselves his friends. He was an ANBU, one who waded into the dark. Those around him should have never let things get this far.

There was no funeral, which would have been the choice of the last village-bound Uchiha.

Still for there to be no public memorial for a founding clan was strange.

It would have been Uchiha Sasuke's choice, but you wished someone had counseled him to make a different one, even if it would dredge up painful memories. The completely silent and echoing absence of a whole clan in the village was resounding.

The knowledge of who had done it - the jounin and chunin were all whispering about it, it was impossible to keep secret and the village had given up trying almost before it had began - felt like the aftermath of a punch pulled right before it hit your nose.

You suspected you weren't alone in feeling like the massacre being just the Uchiha had been a near miss.

Your mind craved distraction from its own grief, and for better or worse, any information about the event was placed into some box in your mind like sweeping up the shattered remains of a vase. And like broken porcelain, it rattled when you walked with it.

It rattled when villagers fell suddenly silent at odd moments in their own conversations, whether what conversation you heard had seemed to hint at ill will or sympathy towards the Uchiha.

It rattled when you realized it was the forty-ninth day after the massacre and while your steps had taken you past the village's largest temple, your fear of being watched - you had after all been one of the friends (or at least acquaintances) of now traitor Uchiha Itachi - kept you from going inside.

It rattled whenever you caught sight of the other clan heads, distant and alone or with a cohort of vassal clan members and trusted guards, and wondered what they made of the event. What did they think of the lack of response from the village? What did they make of the power vacuum?

You walked back to your apartment in silence after leaving your teammates each day, the back of your neck prickling.

Most jounin sensei preached against fear. It froze the senses or focused them without the benefit of incorporating other information. Your sensei was a beta woman from no clan lineage in particular who had taken one look at your team, fresh out of the academy, in the middle of a village still somewhat resentful of how it was still rebuilding itself after being trampled on by a hundred meter chakra monster, and told you all that fear, like pain, meant something was wrong.

Sometimes it could be ignored or fought through to be dealt with in the future. Sometimes it was telling you something important about yourself or your environment.

As fear was in the mind, however, it liked to be more difficult to deal with than pain. It was the shinobi's responsibility, she counseled, to discern when your body was being reasonably ridiculous about it (like when your teammate put a thorny beetle down the back of your collar), or when it could put you in danger.

Such as would be the case for one trapped in a potent genjutsu. Or one of likely a number being watched for their response in the aftermath of a local upheaval.

Everyone seemed to be watching with bated breath to see if anyone else would do something. You had no idea what would happen if someone decided to break rank. The enemy on the other side of the field was entirely obscured.

Or at least they were trying to be.

You went to training and returned home day by day with only the varied and mindless sort of wandering someone both surprised and grieving might do.

The pieces rattled around as you sifted through them, thoughtlessly tracing the edges.

There was a formation among many others that your sensei had laid before your team. Shinobi had many ways of laying traps for their enemies, and for those they were not sure yet were enemies.

Nagano Botan was a branch member of the Akimichi family and blessed with the corresponding large build and large chakra reserves. He was the center of a strategy in your team that involved his intentionally neglecting to suppress his chakra if you suspected yourselves being monitored. The enormity of his natural power effectively drowned out the other chakra signatures in close proximity so that a typical sensor who wasn't sure what they were looking for could underestimate your team's number or miss a position.

It also had the secondary effect of intimidation. There was less likelihood of an attack from those without enough information if they thought they were outclassed to begin with.

This plan didn't work all the time, but it worked often enough on simple protection missions where the enemy were hill bandits or mountain bandits or simply cowards that the technique was taught to genin.

Sometimes the best defense was a distraction. It aligned at least with the philosophy of those whose job it was to be a constant and possible threat, lurking in the dark.

You frowned to yourself. ANBU was about as deep as the shadows got but there hadn't been any other announced defections from the village in the same week or even month.

There had been very ostensibly nothing else happening at all.

Not that you would know what was happening, you thought sourly, pulling your mind back to the exercise at hand.

Your other teammate, Kuniko, was on a hidden branch practicing throwing senbon through leaves that you sent spiraling into the air

She was very good with them and it had become one of your favorite things to see a fall of steel needles coming down like rain from a direction that your enemies hadn't anticipated. She was however working on precision and you were working on control and cultivating a second chakra nature, so this resulted in you sending leaves spiraling the wrong way in relation to the ground and trying to will your chakra to split them before Kuniko could pin them through with her throwing needles.

By tally, she was winning and it seemed more and more likely that you were going end up buying her the wagered plate of sakuramochi.

It was one of the less physically demanding but mentally taxing exercises your team had in its training repertoire and you and Kuniko, who was experimenting with adjusting throwing angles with chakra threads as well, took scheduled breaks to let Botan ply the two of you with snacks and meditate in order to recenter your control and focus.

They were talking, each pressing Arakawa-sensei with questions about their individual training, while you twirled a leaf between your fingers. You were comfortable, nestled between the roots of a tree with your back pressed to its warm trunk. You were trying to sense the layers of the leaf and direct your chakra to split it that way, rather than along the main vein.

It was perhaps a tad too complicated, certainly too complicated to be useful in the field right now, but you were feeling a bit mischievous and bifurcating Kuniko's target in a way that appeared to duplicate it was tempting.

You rolled the stem between your fingers, careful to maintain the chakra-cycling breath that was the base root of this particular meditation. The leaf's top side was shiny, glossy and very green, the other less vibrant and soft, spongy. You brought it to your nose and pulled in the green growing scent. The underside prickled your skin, not as soft as you had imagined.

Kuniko was laughing at something but somehow that sound suddenly made you wary, like there was something at just that same frequency you couldn't hear.

You were careful. This feeling was not unfamiliar since the massacre. The sudden and unprovoked sense of panic, of missing something. Intentionally, you avoided catching Arakawa-sensei's eye. She would help you if it was unreasoned panic, but you felt like this was one of those thing she had mentioned.

One of those times when fear meant that something was wrong and that something important was right there, just beyond articulation, and it needed to be brought into the realm of thought before it could be dealt with.

What kind of threats were simply too deep to be acknowledged?

The kind that lived at your very back.

Kuniko called your name to begin again and you used the tree to support you when you stood and picked carefully over the grass when you walked over.

It was now time for a rotation. Botan was to practice tree walking, standing upside down or sideways in order to avoid detection, so fluid that not even a leaf would fall from the trees above. Kuniko was to try burning the leaves that did fall before you could catch them in your hand. At the same time, you were each trying to tag Botan out before he got to one of you, without being seen.

You fought back a scowl, because there was already an answer. Like a sliver of porcelain found under the wardrobe or stabbed into your palm. A shiver passed over your back when Arakawa-sensei popped up behind the two of you on the ground, a sinister warning to get out there and get started in her eyes, but the shiver stayed for different reasons.

For one, the kind of wind that promised a chill storm had kicked up, helping Botan to hide within the noise. For another, you quite literally felt like you would jump at your own shadow if the forest hadn't already swallowed it.

What kind of shadow was deeper than ANBU?

You didn't know, but you were certain that Uchiha Itachi had a good idea.

A/n: This is the promised start to a short series that is about Itachi's Alpha's decision to go find Itachi, and their thought process in discerning what was going on behind the scenes of the Uchiha massacre. It is incredibly navel gazey and doesn't have much to do with the omegaverse apart from being set in that realm. As writer and readers I think we understand that despite the shinobi practice of treating academy graduates as adults, this does not mean that genin and advanced ranks are making completely rational/unemotional decisions. Itachi's decisions, which are focused on here, were incredibly emotional. Despite being saddled with an adult's burden and expected to make an adult's decisions, after watching and rewatching the relevant scenes of his conversations with the elders, as well as his confessions to Sasuke and others later on, I have come to a greater appreciation of the writing for those scenes(whether this is confirmation bias or truly present I don't know). Itachi's decision regarding the massacre is made based on fear, anger, desperation, love, and watching him makes his youth more obvious, even behind the reputation of his being an ANBU captain and the clan heir. The mc in this is an unreliable narrator partly due to their own age, as well as what I imagine would be incredibly stressful circumstances post-massacre. In part 1, they don't love Itachi. Yet. They just remember him. If you've had such similar experience regarding persistent thoughts about someone before, you may recognize the experience of the object of mc's thoughts becoming a kind of obsession as they replay scenes and ideas over and over. They also know that although Itachi was at a level far beyond his own peers, he was also part of their age group, which is a bit like watching one of the gifted kids go to all the advanced classes but still know they're in the same literature class as you or something. So I don't think they, starting off as a genin when this happens, has quite the understanding of ANBU to really believe that Itachi is behaving like an ANBU or jounin veteran would. Everything in this will come from the mc's point of view and they are not always aware of the assumptions they are making at every step, despite doing their best to reason things out. Importantly, they are being coached by Itachi's "voice". Some assumptions they eventually will have to admit came into being because they didn't want a friend and someone they looked up to be a murderer and leave it at that. Sometimes the things we want to be true about ourselves and other people give us blinders. Shinobi are taught to be unfeeling and told that the highest honor would be to be a perfect tool, easily molded. But we see how that works out over and over again, with Itachi, with Obito, with Kakashi, with Sasuke, with Rin, with Tsunade and so on. And we see how individual thinking or great problem solving abilities, often in the children deemed prodigies by the villages (including many of the series' missing nin), sometimes going hand in hand with a nearly curse-level ability to empathize, buts up against the shinobi ideal. After all, empathy with your enemies would make you a fantastic strategist, but only if you can also stop thinking of other people as people. For better or worse, this mc becomes aware that they are "not a good shinobi" early on, and this transforms into an internalization of a "ninja way" that is not quite in lockstep with the village policies.

#uchiha itachi #itachi uchiha #omega!itachi #alpha!reader #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha x reader #reader insert #omegaverse #io.omegas #a/b/o dynamics #fic with a little meta on the side #alpha reader #i talk too much #that's why the author note is at the bottom #so that people can freely skip it #this has been in my drafts for a billion years and i want it out #i'm still working on the promptfills and the izuna fic #i'm just a cranky lady who needs this out of my “to do list” part of my brain

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demonicangelics-world · 5 months ago

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Redamancy - Zestial X Angel!OC

Chapter One: The Parade

Synopsis: In the shadowy realms of Hell and the celestial heights of Heaven, two souls grapple with the ache of unrequited love. Zestial, the formidable demon overlord, commands respect and fear. His past has forged a reputation that isolates him. Resigned to a life of power and isolation, he yearned for companionship and understanding, knowing that his intimidating demeanor made such connections seemingly impossible. Gabriela, once a radiant angel, admired the archangel Michael from afar, her heart swelling with unspoken affection for his divine strength and kindness. Casted into Hell on a mission, she now struggles to survive in a world where danger lurks at every corner, her angelic essence buried beneath a demonic exterior. Amidst the chaos of Hell and the secrets of Heaven, a profound and forbidden love ignites between them, challenging the very core of their beliefs and values.

Chapter One: The Parade Next Chapter: The Extermination

word count: 4,328

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The sky above Heaven shimmered with radiant hues, as if the very essence of joy and triumph painted the heavens.

On this glorious night, known as the Parade, we guardian angels from across the Earth returned to our heavenly home. Streets of pearl and gold thronged with winners and heavenborn, their songs of praise echoing through the air. The Parade was a grand spectacle, a testament to our hard work and dedication in successfully guiding countless souls to the gates of Heaven.

I scanned the sea of radiant faces for familiar ones. It had been over a year since I last saw Aramel and Charlotte, and the anticipation of reuniting with them added an extra flutter to my wings. The golden light and the throng of celebrating angels made it difficult to spot anyone, but I was determined to find them before the gates opened.

As I maneuvered through the dense crowd, a burst of laughter caught my attention. I turned towards the sound and there they were—Aramel, his light eyes sparkling with mischief, and Charlotte, her broad smile as radiant as the heavens themselves.

"Aramel! Charlotte!" I called out, waving energetically.

They spotted me almost immediately. Aramel elbowed his way through the crowd with his usual enthusiasm, while Charlotte followed, her laughter ringing like a bell.

"Gabriela!" Aramel shouted, reaching me first. "You look like you've just stepped out of a painting. Must be that heavenly glow."

"Aramel, you're still as charming as ever," I laughed, hugging him tightly.

Charlotte joined us, her eyes twinkling. "It’s been too long! How have you been, Gabriela? Still managing to stay out of trouble?"

"Trouble? Me? Never!" I grinned, embracing her. "But you two look fantastic. How was your year on Earth?"

"Busy," Charlotte said, rolling her eyes playfully. "I swear, humans find the most creative ways to mess up their lives."

"And here we are, cleaning up the mess," Aramel added with a mock sigh. "But hey, all worth it for this moment, right?"

"Absolutely," I agreed, feeling a surge of warmth and happiness. "I've missed you both so much.”

As the gates of Heaven began to slowly open, we stood together, ready to step into the next chapter of our divine journey, our hearts full of joy and camaraderie.

This parade occurred each year on December 31st, which mortals considered as New Year’s Eve. Over the gates, the Eternal Clock stood as a towering masterpiece at the center of the celestial city. Its hands, slender and elegant, moved with a grace that belied their immense size, each tick resonating with a melodious chime that echoed through the celestial realm. When the chime finally struck midnight, it signaled a new year and all of heaven broke into joyous celebration.

The gates of Heaven opened wide as we floated high on golden platforms through the crowded streets. Among the procession, I floated with Aramel and Charlotte, dressed in white robes and my wings gleaming with a soft, divine light. I basked in the adoration of the heavenly crowd. Trumpets blared, and a shower of golden petals rained down upon us, each petal symbolizing the purity and virtue we had upheld.

"This is what we strive for, the ultimate recognition of our efforts!” Aramel shouted over the cheering crowds, "To be celebrated here, in the heart of Heaven!"

Charlotte laughed, her voice carrying a musical quality even over the noise. "Aramel, you always know how to make everything sound like a grand adventure."

My heart swelled with pride as I waved to the crowd, my eyes catching sight of a grand banner bearing the words, "Welcome, Guardians of Light." The celebration seemed endless.

"It is a grand adventure!" Aramel declared, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Just think of all the souls we’ve saved, all the chaos we've averted. And now, we're back here, the heroes of the hour!"

"Heroes, huh?" I said, grinning. "And here I thought we were just doing our job."

"Hey, if doing our job means we get to ride on golden platforms and have petals thrown at us, I'll take it," Charlotte quipped, adjusting her halo with a playful wink.

Aramel nudged me with his elbow. "Remember that one soul in New York? The guy who almost jumped off the bridge? I swear, he had more issues than a newspaper stand."

"Oh, definitely," I nodded, recalling the tense moment vividly. "But you handled it well, Aramel. Your knack for talking people down is unmatched."

"Thanks, Gabby. And Charlotte, remember that time in Paris with the artist who lost his muse? You practically inspired a whole new art movement!" Aramel added, his tone admiring.

Charlotte shrugged modestly, but her smile was proud. "Well, someone had to remind him that beauty exists everywhere. And speaking of beauty, look at this place! Heaven really knows how to throw a parade."

We floated higher, the adoring crowd cheered louder as we passed. I took a moment to soak in the scene, the grandeur of the celebration a stark contrast to the moments of doubt and hardship we faced on Earth.

As we floated on, the golden petals continued to rain down, and for a brief, perfect moment, everything felt exactly as it should.

The platforms ascended gracefully, lifting us higher into the radiant skies toward the grand banquet hall. As we floated upward, the sounds of cheering and music gradually blended into a harmonious symphony. The hall itself was a marvel, constructed of shimmering crystal and gold, with vast windows that opened to the celestial vistas beyond. At the center of the platform stood Sera and Emily, their divine presence even more striking amidst the splendor.

Aramel, Charlotte, and I exchanged excited glances as we neared the banquet. “Look at this place,” Charlotte whispered, awe evident in her voice.

We touched down softly, the platforms seamlessly blending into the grand expanse of the banquet hall. The air was filled with the enticing aromas of heavenly cuisine, and tables laden with ambrosial delights stretched out before us. Guardian angels from all corners of Earth gathered, their faces glowing with pride and joy.

At the heart of it all, Sera and Emily stood in the center with welcoming smiles. Sera spoke, her gaze warm yet powerful. “Welcome home, guardians. Your dedication has not gone unnoticed.”

Emily, standing beside her, nodded in agreement. “You’ve all done incredible work. Tonight, we celebrate you!”

The crowd settled into their seats, the buzz of excited conversation filling the air. Aramel, Charlotte, and I found a table near the front, our eyes constantly drawn to the central stage where Sera and Emily presided.

Once everyone was seated, Sera raised her hand, and a hush fell over the hall. Her presence commanded instant attention, the room’s atmosphere shifting to one of reverent anticipation.

“Guardians,” Sera began, her voice resonant and clear, “Today, we honor your tireless efforts and unwavering dedication. Each of you has played a vital role in guiding souls to our heavenly home, and for that, we are eternally grateful.”

The crowd erupted into applause, the sound a joyous affirmation of her words. Sera waited for the noise to subside before continuing.

“In a world filled with challenges and trials, you have been beacons of hope and light. Your bravery, compassion, and perseverance have not only saved lives but also upheld the virtues we cherish. Tonight, we gather not just to celebrate your achievements, but to recognize the strength of your spirits and the purity of your hearts.”

Emily stepped forward, her smile radiant. “Let this banquet be a testament to the unity and love that bind us all. May you find joy in each other’s company, and may your hearts be filled with the peace that only Heaven can bestow.”

Sera raised her glass, the golden liquid within catching the light. “To the guardians of Heaven. May your wings always carry you forward, and may your souls forever shine.”

“To the guardians!” the crowd echoed, raising their glasses high.

Sera smiled, her eyes twinkling with a hint of something special. “And now, esteemed guardians, it is my great honor to introduce a special guest speaker. Someone who has guided many of you with wisdom and strength—Archangel Michael.”

The room buzzed with excitement as Michael stepped forward. Towering above the crowd, he was the epitome of divine strength and grace. His long blonde hair cascaded down his broad shoulders, catching the light and creating a halo effect around his head. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room with a commanding presence, and his chiseled features exuded an aura of both power and kindness. Clad in armor that gleamed like molten gold, he was every inch the warrior angel I had always admired, perhaps a little too deeply.

My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him, every inch of him radiating an unearthly beauty and strength. I had trained under him, learned from him, and somewhere along the way, developed feelings that I had never dared to express.

Michael raised his hand, and the hall fell into a respectful silence. “Guardians, tonight we celebrate your incredible achievements. You have faced unimaginable challenges on Earth, and yet, you have risen above them, guiding souls with unwavering faith and courage.”

He paused, his gaze settling briefly on me, and my breath hitched. “As your mentor, I have had the honor of witnessing your growth and dedication firsthand. Each of you has shown remarkable strength and compassion, embodying the very essence of what it means to be a guardian angel.”

The crowd listened intently, hanging on his every word. “Your hard work and perseverance have not only saved souls but have also strengthened the bond between Heaven and Earth. It is this bond that makes our mission possible, and it is your unyielding spirit that upholds it.”

Michael’s smile broadened, his eyes shining with pride. “As a token of my appreciation, I have crafted a special gift for each of my mentees. A weapon that symbolizes your courage and dedication. These weapons have been delivered to your residences, each one unique and tailored to your strengths. May they serve you well in your future endeavors.”

The room erupted into applause. I felt a mixture of awe and humility wash over me. Michael’s words were a powerful reminder of why we did what we did, and his gift was a tangible symbol of his faith in us.

He raised his glass, a final toast. “To the guardians, may your light continue to shine brightly in the darkest of places.”

“To the guardians!” We echoed once more, our voices filled with renewed determination and pride.

The celestial music began to play and the feast commenced. I couldn't help but steal glances at Michael, my heart swelling with a mix of admiration and longing. He was everything I aspired to be—strong, wise, and infinitely kind. And though my feelings for him might remain unspoken, I took comfort in knowing that I was among those he trusted and valued.

As I turned back to my friends, Aramel and Charlotte were already making faces at each other.

“Can you believe Uriel didn’t even show up?” Aramel grumbled, crossing his arms. “It’s like he doesn’t even care about us.”

Aramel and Charlotte were under Uriel’s mentorship.

Charlotte nodded, rolling her eyes. “Typical Uriel. Always off somewhere, doing who knows what. Probably lost in a cloud or something. We get all these epic tales, but when it’s party time, poof! He’s a no-show.”

“You two are just unlucky,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Aramel leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Unlike you, Miss Fortunate. Not only did Michael show up, but he also made a special speech and gave you all weapons! You hit the mentor jackpot!”

Charlotte smirked, nudging me with her elbow. “And don’t think we didn’t notice how flustered you got when he looked at you. Your wings were practically glowing.”

I felt my cheeks flush and tried to wave them off. “Oh, come on. He’s just... inspiring, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Aramel said, raising an eyebrow. “Inspiring in a tall, handsome, heroic kind of way, right? I mean, those chiseled features could probably cut through clouds.”

I place both hands on my reddening cheeks. “Oh stop it, Aramel!” I mentally picture the description.

I sighed, unable to keep a smile off my face. “Okay, fine. Maybe I admire him a bit more than just professionally. But it’s not like it matters. He probably doesn’t even see me that way.”

Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, please. Did you see the way he looked at you? If looks could launch a thousand ships, you’d be Helen of Troy.”

“Don’t feed into my delusion,” I hopelessly said

Aramel shakes his head in disagreement. “Hey, even if he doesn’t, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re an amazing guardian angel. He trusts and values you, and that’s something to be proud of. Plus, we all know you could outshine any archangel with your skills.”

I looked between my friends, grateful for their support. “Thanks, guys. You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Anytime,” Charlotte said with a grin. “Now, let’s enjoy this feast. We’ve earned it. And who knows, maybe Michael will come over and ask you for a dance.”

Aramel wiggled his eyebrows. “Or maybe he’ll just swoop you off your feet and fly you to the moon. Literally.”

I laughed, feeling a bit lighter. “Well, if he does, I hope he knows how to waltz.”

As we dug into the delicacies before us, the laughter and conversation flowed easily, making the celebration feel even more special. Despite the undercurrent of unspoken feelings and occasional pangs of longing, I knew I was surrounded by friends who had my back, and for now, that was enough.

Suddenly, the room dimmed slightly, and all eyes turned toward Emily as she stepped forward, her hands raised gracefully. With a knowing smile, she began to weave intricate patterns in the air, each movement creating trails of shimmering light. The room filled with gasps of awe as the lights morphed into a dazzling display of magic and fireworks.

Celestial flowers bloomed in mid-air, their petals made of pure starlight. Comets streaked across the ceiling, leaving glittering tails in their wake. The colors were beyond earthly comprehension, a blend of hues that seemed to sing to the soul. As Emily continued her enchanting performance, the hall transformed into a dreamscape of light and wonder.

Aramel and Charlotte watched in awe beside me, their faces illuminated by the brilliant display. “She always outdoes herself,” Aramel whispered, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, she’s like the Picasso of light shows,” Charlotte added, her gaze fixed on the spectacle above.

Around us, the other angels reacted in various ways. Some danced beneath the celestial canopy, their movements fluid and joyful. Others chatted animatedly, their voices rising and falling with the rhythm of the light show. Many continued to eat and drink, toasting to the beauty and magnificence surrounding them.

I glanced toward the center of the room, where Michael stood, his presence commanding yet approachable. He was surrounded by a group of angels, all eager to speak with him and bask in his radiance. My heart tugged with a mix of admiration and longing. I wanted to approach him, to share a moment, but he was already enveloped in a sea of admirers.

Aramel nudged me gently. “Thinking about making your move?”

I sighed, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I was, but it looks like he’s a bit busy.”

Charlotte gave me a sympathetic look. “He always draws a crowd. But hey, if anyone can get his attention, it’s you. Just wait for the right moment.”

I nodded, appreciating their encouragement. For now, I decided to simply enjoy the celebration. The light show continued, casting a magical glow over everything and everyone. The air was filled with a sense of unity and joy, a perfect reflection of Heaven’s eternal glory.

Perfect. That word keeps lingering in my mind. Surrounded by the laughter and music, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. It was as if I was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit, a discordant note in the symphony of perfection.

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed when Michael approached me, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. It took me a few seconds to register his presence.

“Gabriela,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Can we speak privately in the gardens?”

I blinked, startled out of my reverie. “Oh, yes, of course.”

As we made our way to the garden outside the banquet hall, I could feel the curious stares of Aramel and Charlotte burning into my back. Their smirks and playful gestures were not lost on me, but I pushed aside their antics, focusing instead on the enigmatic archangel at my side.

Once we were alone in the tranquil garden, Michael turned to me, his expression grave yet gentle. “Gabriela, I couldn’t help but notice that something seems to be troubling you. Is everything alright?”

I hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the turmoil raging within me. “I... I suppose I’m just feeling a bit... overwhelmed. Everything here is so perfect, and yet...”

“And yet, you feel as if you don’t belong,” Michael finished, his eyes understanding. “I know the feeling all too well.”

I looked up at him, surprised by his admission. “You do?”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Even in Heaven, there are moments when we question our place in the grand design. But I believe that each of us has a purpose, a unique role to play in the divine tapestry. Perhaps you just haven’t discovered yours yet.”

His words resonated with me, offering a glimmer of solace amidst the uncertainty. “Thank you, Michael. That... that means a lot.”

He reached out, his hand warm and reassuring on my shoulder. “Anytime, Gabriela. You’re not alone in this journey.”

In a fleeting moment, the depth of Michael's gaze revealed a vulnerability that stirred something deep within me. It was as if he carried a secret, a hidden longing that yearned to be shared. For an instant, our eyes locked, and I felt a connection that transcended words—a silent exchange of unspoken truths and unexplored desires.

In that moment, it felt as though he wanted to confess something, to bridge the gap between us and lay bare the emotions that simmered beneath the surface. But like a fleeting dream, the vulnerability vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a mask of composure and professionalism.

“You’re one of the best guardian angels I’ve had the privilege to train,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm. “You take your work seriously, and it shows. I appreciate your dedication and your unwavering commitment.”

I nodded, grateful for his words of praise, but secretly disappointed. “Thank you, Michael.”

Michael turned his gaze to the duck pond in the garden, where the water shimmered under the soft light of the moon. Ducks glided gracefully across the pond's surface, creating gentle ripples that spread outward.

He smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “You remind me of someone I once knew, someone who was dear to me. I lost them a long time ago, and since then, I’ve made it my mission to protect all those under my guidance, to ensure they never fall into the same fate.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for him, sensing the weight of his unspoken sorrow.

It wasn't a big secret in Heaven that Michael's twin brother, Lucifer, was once very close to him. Their bond was legendary until Lucifer was cast out of Heaven for causing the Great Betrayal, a moment that changed the course of history forever. However, I was created many years after Lucifer's exile and had only heard stories of those tumultuous times.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said softly. “And I admire your strength and your determination to prevent others from suffering the same fate.”

Michael nodded, his expression somber yet resolute. “Thank you, Gabriela. It’s a duty I take very seriously. And with guardians like you by my side, I know that together, we can make a difference.”

We turned our attention back to the duck pond and stood together in peaceful silence, watching the ducks.

As Michael watched the pond, I turned to admire his white skin, a signature look of the archangels, gleaming in the moonlight. The red circles on his cheeks, his signature eternal blush, stood out vividly against his pale complexion, adding a touch of warmth to his otherwise ethereal appearance. We continued to stand in silence, observing the family of ducks as they floated effortlessly on the water's surface.

I contemplated whether now was the moment to confess my feelings to Michael, to end my inner turmoil. Even if my feelings weren't reciprocated by him, sharing them might bring me some relief. The tranquil setting, the gentle sounds of the ducks, and the soft glow of the moon created an atmosphere of intimacy that seemed perfect for such a revelation

Just as I was about to confess, we are interrupted by a small sheep cherub. She fluttered eagerly towards us, her innocent face contorted with urgency as she delivered her message to Michael.

"Michael! Oh, pardon the interruption, but there's an emergency meeting, and you're needed immediately!"

Michael excused himself politely. “Thank you, Keenie. Looks like the party's cut short for me, Gabriela, but that's the life of an archangel” His expression was apologetic as he offered me a fleeting smile.

As he soared off to address the emergency, Keenie's innocent facade crumbled the instant Michael's back was turned, her gaze turning icy as it lingered on me. There was a jealousy simmering beneath her surface, palpable enough to send a shiver down my spine. With a pointed glare, she flew off after Michael, leaving me alone in the bustling garden, the weight of her unspoken animosity lingering in the air.

I brushed off Keenie’s hostility, and I decided to explore the garden, to clear my mind. The pathways were lined with blooming flowers, their sweet fragrance mingling with the crisp night air. Twinkling fairy lights hung from the trees, casting a soft, magical glow on everything around me. I wandered deeper into the garden until I reached the edge, where the garden's boundaries met the vast expanse of Heaven's city.

Peering over the edge, I was greeted with a breathtaking sight. The entire city was alive with celebration. Fireworks burst in brilliant colors across the night sky, their dazzling displays reflected in the rivers of golden light that flowed through the streets below. Winners and heavenborn danced joyfully in the squares, their movements graceful and free, while music filled the air, a harmonious symphony that seemed to emanate from every corner of the city.

With a deep breath, I turned away from the edge and made my way back to the banquet. The music grew louder and the laughter more infectious as I approached. I quickly spotted Aramel and Charlotte engaged in animated conversation, their faces alight with mirth.

"Well, well, well, look who's back from her little rendezvous in the garden," Aramel teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Charlotte joined in with a knowing smirk. "Oh, don't try to play innocent, Gabby. We saw the way Michael was looking at you."

I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress a blush. "Oh, please. It was nothing. Just a conversation."

Aramel leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just a conversation, huh? With Michael? Alone? In the moonlit garden?"

Charlotte nodded in agreement. "Sounds awfully romantic to me."

I couldn't help but laugh at their playful teasing. "Trust me, it was anything but romantic. We were interrupted by a cherub."

Their eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A cherub?" Aramel exclaimed.

Charlotte chimed in, her tone incredulous. "What was the cherub doing interrupting your moment with Michael?"

I shrugged, still bemused by the unexpected turn of events. "Looked like Michael was needed elsewhere urgently. But whatever it was, the cherub definitely killed the mood."

Charlotte chimed in with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, if the party's over here, why don't we continue the celebration at my place? I've got some delicious red wine waiting to be uncorked."

Aramel grinned, his excitement evident. "Sounds like a plan to me. Nothing like a little impromptu gathering to keep the festivities going."

I nodded eagerly, the prospect of continuing the night's revelry with my friends too tempting to resist. "Count me in. Lead the way, Charlotte."

With laughter and excitement, we made our way out of the bustling banquet hall, eager to extend the night's festivities in the comfort of Charlotte's home.

*********************************************************

Hours later, the three of us found ourselves sprawled out on a fluffy cloud in Charlotte's celestial residence, empty wine bottles scattered haphazardly around us. The room was filled with the soft glow of moonlight, casting a serene aura over our intoxicated forms.

Charlotte hoisted her half-empty wine glass in a tipsy salute. Her robe was stained with wine. "To impromptu parties and nights that'll make the cherubs jealous!"

Aramel chortled, clinking his glass against hers with a slosh. His face was red and happy. "A-men tuo tha-t! *hiccup* Let's shope our librers can forgib ush in the mornin'”

I joined in with a hiccup, the euphoria of the evening making me feel like I was floating on, well, a cloud. "And here's to never forgetting the night we got so drunk, we mistook stars for pillowcases!"

As we drifted off into a drunken slumber, the echoes of our laughter mingled with the gentle rustle of celestial winds, a testament to the enduring bond of friendship that had brought us together on this unforgettable Parade night.

*********************************************************

Thank you for reading the first chapter! The other chapters are also available on AO3 !

Next chapter: The Extermination

#zestial #zestial x oc #hazbin hotel #angel ocs #archangel michael #hazbin hotel heaven #valentino #vox #carmilla carmine #alastor's mom #valentino's daughter #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lilth #lilith

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foxieflower · 6 months ago

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oc asks: not-so-nice edition

Vanq: ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

Aywin: failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

Both: secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

Ghost: What always haunts Vanquish is the fact he was indoors and blissfully unaware that Aywin was being taken when he was. It constantly haunts him and he always dreams up scenarios of how everything should have been so much better if he just went outside with Aywun that day instead of saying he had to deal with meetings. Meetings that meant nothing in the long run, nothing but petty queries and complaints. Barely anything that brought them anything.

Either that or arguing the literal ghost of Jareth haunts him, not in a regretful way but the fact he can never forget how that man played him and allowed him to think he was some easy to bargain with soul when he fully knew better and yet…

Failure: Direct from @gluskincasual "Aywin feeling like he got too comfortable with Vanquish too quickly, letting his guard down and underestimating how far Jareth would go for revenge. He failed to see the obvious trap laid out for him and let Jareth put him and Vanquish thru hell. He looks back on it and thinks to himself how he should of just let Vanquish kill Jareth to win Aywin's freedom instead of trying to remain civil and make Vanquish buy it instead. Not only did he lose his legs, but Vanquish suffered as well. Not to mention the torment Vanquish suffered on their way to go kill Jareth after the golden bastard discovered the necklace he swiped from Aywin as a trophy of sorts actually held some of Vanquish's essence within it, allowing the wizard to fuck with the two men from afar. Taking control of Vanquish's body against his will, causing the pink tiefling so much pain and torment. Hells, Jareth almost succeeded when he tried to have Vanquish drown an unconscious Aywin. And even tho in the end, Vanquish and Aywin managed to find Jareth in time and kill him once and for all, Aywin can't help but sometimes feel like this could have all been avoided so long ago. But I'm sure Vanquish is eager to comfort his husband and tell him otherwise." Only one who knows how he feels about this is Vanquish Secret: An interesting thing about Vanquish and Aywin is that this is sort of an impossible question for them. Once they consider themselves together, they dont find themselves hiding anything from one another. Any dark story or embarrassing moment is shared between them. They have things they have not told others, such as Vanquish would never tell his cult that before he made his commune, he almost died on the streets. But otherwise, its known between them.

#foxie thoughts #vanquish the tiefling #vanquish and aywin #vanquish #ask game

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alren-ki · 1 year ago

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👪🎂🌙🕷️🌌🎁🌟for all

Oh this is gonna be Some Typing huh. Theres four of these guys.

👪 FAMILY - what is their family like? what is your ocs relationship to them? does your oc have any siblings?

Oleander: - Answered

Marius: Ok so, it should be noted that I am taking Fallout Three and using a whisk on it, that said: Marius has only ever known one of their mothers, and was basically attached to her leg their whole life, she was an alright mom, a bit overprotective at times, but it was understandable given the circumstances, non-biologically, eventually comes to consider Kellogg almost their father, and its one of the few healthy relationships to any other human they have after leaving the vault.

Nemesis: It was just him and his mother as well, though, for a large potion of his life it was him caring for her after she got sick and deteriorated, it was the whole reason for him becoming a courier, to get enough caps to support her. He knows Of several extended family members though, just never met them, thats how he knows the weird hair mutation he has is a family thing.

Morrie: Pre-War, Morrie had a HUGE family, cousins and aunts and all that. She also had an older brother, and they were practically inseparable. Mitchell was three years older and had some pretty severe undiagnosed ADHD, Morrie did her best to keep him grounded and keep jerks off his back, and he did his best to pull her back when she was going to far and help bridge the gaps left by her aggressiveness. The fact he's probably dead is genuinely impossible for her to process on top of everything else.

🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE - when is their birthday? do they like celebrating it?

Ole: Not quite sure themselves anymore, and they don't really, hard to celebrate when you don't have anyone to celebrate with (Its November 7th)

Marius: July 13th, the canon one for the LW. They haven't celebrated it since they left the vault, and it'd take a lot of convincing for them to even think about it.

Morrie: September 17th, She hasn't had time to in a few years, plus it just felt, wrong to do it without sharing it with Mitch, since his was literally the day after they always used to combine it, just another thing they shared.

Nem: April 6th, Yes He Celebrates it, You Celebrate it now, sprawls himself out and does the most pathetic birthday boy pout, flirts with guys and asks if they want to give a kiss to the birthday boy, its Insufferable and he's enjoying himself So Much.

🌙 MOON - what is your oc's greatest wish? how far are they willing to go for it?

Ole: If you asked them this question you'd break them. They, don't really know what they wish for, especially right after the Benny Incident, it takes them a long time to figure it out. But, what they really want is a life where they have what they need, have a small group of people to love them, and a place to go to sleep safe each night, and their willing to work for it however hard they have to.

Marius: They want to be able to keep the people they love safe for once, just once, just this *fucking* once. And they'll kill with their bare hands for that if they have to, if it will change just one outcome. And failing that? They Want Fucking Revenge, and they want it to fucking hurt.

Morrie: For people to stop being bullies, for the strong and cruel to stop picking on others, for someone like her to be unnecessary. For the world to un-end, to have the slightest fucking bit of luck, to have gotten the CHANCE for her and Jimmy to figure out if they could work or not. She wants fairness, The impartial judge to finally really be impartial. She wants a lot. She's not sure where she'd go to get it.

Nem: He just wants plenty of caps, plenty of power and for no one to expect him to lead shit. He doesn't care what it takes to get it, its him and anyone he likes against the world. Fuck everyone else. If they weren't made for the top, who gives a shit. Just means more booze for him.

🕷️ SPIDER - what is their biggest fear? do they have any irrational / mundane fears?

Ole: ....I'mma be honest, I don't know what Ole's scared of, maybe being in a bad situation without an exit or someone taking the shrink-boy from them but like, thats all they got. Anything else is so close to their chest even I don't know it. Marius: Heights. They Fucking Hate Heights, They grew up underground people were not meant to go into the sky please let them climb down now, also, rickety buildings, they are fat and not very graceful, if something looks like it might come down at the wrong step, fuck that.

Morrie: She's just a little claustrophobic, also, spiderwebs specifically, spiders not on a web are fine but spiderwebs feature in WAY to many of her nightmares actually.

Nem: He's actually scared shitless of feral ghouls, like, climb up a tree level scared shitless, he can't manipulate, manwhore, Malewife his way out of this one. Please come get him. He's also not generally a fan of dogs.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

Oleander: Ok so, originally, Ole was GOING to be an attempt to make another OC of mine but in Fallout, so, technically the Inspo for Ole was Dande, so the flat affect and trouble with emotions were the first building blocks, and then I decided the fact I picked specifically a poisonous flower should mean something about how they view themselves

Marius: *Looks directly at @flamestar1031* You know what you did. In less jokes directed at my dearest friends, I started thinking about how I might twist Fo3 to my whims the way I have with literally every other fallout game I have played, I have opinions and unfortunately the fallout fangame did not contain them. Due to a cross with a fic ANOTHER friend inflicted on me, I decided right off the bat they'd be deaf, nonbinary, and have a trans mom. Their name was the last thing they got and I fucking outsourced it lol.

Morrie: I just crumbled things together for her, didn't have any ideas going in, then, picked up the older brother thing and immediately decided the core tenant of her character was she Doesn't Like Bullies

Nem: He invaded my brain fully formed as a house run guy and I shot him in the fucking heart for it, Unfortunately it seems Doc Mitchell is a Heart Surgeon as well as a brain surgeon. Now everyone has to deal with my asshole man. I'd say I'm Sorry but I refuse to suffer alone.

🎁 PRESENT - what types of presents would they be most happy to receive? are they good at gift giving?

Ole: Practical, fabric to repair their clothes, sewing needles, food, anything really, also, No, They are so not, The best they got is putting things they think you might need on your bed and fucking booking it, They are So Unpracticed, help them. Please.

Marius: Nostalgic, things that remind them of the vault, of being a kid, that or chems, but thats not as sweet. Also, surprisingly, yes, Marius can be incredibly thoughtful at times, if you convince them to be.

Morrie: Things with weight, an inside joke, some acknowledgement of an event, kitschy tourist shit that reminds you of being close to someone, Morgan Farrier's a bit of a fucking dork. She does her best in the giving department but oftentimes is so shy about it its hard to not laugh at her a little, and then she's gotta hit ya just a little about it, so, if your good with that kind of interaction then yes.

Nem: All The Things, especially shiney things, This should be obvious by now lol, but also just, he's the person its best to just give money to. Granted, if he genuinely cares about you, you will also, straight up get spoiled about it. so, surprisingly decent at giving, for a prick.

🌟 GLOWING STAR - what do they think about when they look at the night sky? is there someone they want to star gaze with?

Ole: A map, a compass, all that, Bron taught them how to read the sky when they were younger, it reminds them a lot of being a kid sometimes, They don't have anyone in particular right now, but, maybe someday they'd also teach someone to see the sky like they do.

Marius: They Fucking Hate It, Its blurry and hard to see, just more reminders things aren't like they used to be, more reminders of uncomfortable corners they had to tuck into, if they had their way they'd never acknowledge the stars again.

Morrie: A lot of things, stargazing is one of those things that just makes her mind drift and forces her to actually think things through, she's admitted a lot of stuff while staring upwards, it reminds her of when she and Mitch were young, sneaking out at night to stargaze and talk where their parents couldn't hear them about kids stuff, she wishes she had gotten to do it with Jimmy more, maybe they could have worked more of their problems out with the sky as company.

Nem: I don't know if he thinks anything of the stars, surrounding himself in artificial ones the way he does, but stargazing sounds like a decent date with the right guy to him.

Questions from: [x]

#prompt response #Awled Ren Responds #OC: Oleander Tress #OC: Marius Moore #OC: Morgan ''Morrie'' Farrier #OC: Nemesis ''Nem'' Devin #FNV OC #Fo3 OC #fo4 OC #I love all my bastards #Even Nem #Who is Such A Fucking Bastard #Anyway if you have noticed a trend in emotional Ole questions being a lot of ?'s #Thats because Oleander has so very many problems #This is also why Marius answers are so angry #Also casually just pretending people will know and accept what the Shrink Boy is lol

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frostythefrostedfox · 1 year ago

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This has to be the most “My bubble is everyone’s bubble” and the “My reality is the real reality” argument I’ve ever seen in the Sonic fandom (fandumb?) before; fans of the comics are, more often than not, American and Canadian, where the comics are easy to access, buy and come by, but for the rest of the world, that is not the case, even if IDW were to be a perfect representation of game sonic and not some made up mouth piece for an OC that keeps using sonic’s likeness to sell units (and its already failing at that), which is not, not even close to be, tying the understanding and the enjoyment of your franchise to a specific piece of media that is not available to the majority of your audience would be the dumbest move ever done since like Too Human or something like that.

This is the same reason why me and other people loves to clown on Kingdom Heart’s story (besides the fact that it was written by a monkey on a typewriter), to understand Kingdom Hearts you are required to consume pieces of media that are not only hard to come by but in other parts outright unnacessible or impossible to own because some 500 IQ CEO decided that they should make “Kindom hearts 2 1/2.5.33 remix ultra mega turbo reloaded extreme 5.11111 remake” available only in Japan, for a short period of time, and offer no translation whatsoever.

Now the third point I want to make is how fucking stupid it would be to have two separate pieces of media that are expected to be bought and consumed by the same user, to be written by two different people. Does anyone knows why nobody considers the Evangelion manga to be canon? Because although it was released alongside the show, it was written by another guy that is not the same guy who wrote the anime, so it has two completely different understandings of the subject at matter; and that’s in a comic book (a manga is just a comic book in japanese, get over it) that is actually good and written by someone who knows how to write. IDW already features several “oof” moments where they actively contradict events from the games, narrate them differently or outright change facts and how things work (like shadow’s chaos spear, they made it an actual spear in IDW, yeah, they totally played the games, right?), now imagine that but turned to 11, how much of a mess do you think it’ll be if Our Beloved Loremaster, Ian, were to write the “prequel” comics to a game, and Good Ian (the one that we all like so far) were to write the game?

Well let me tell you, it’ll be a shitshow, MoStH and IDW are basically like day and night, just take Shadow for example, he behaves almost like polar opposites in both pieces, imagine the tonal whiplash that you’ll get reading that, I’m pretty sure that’ll drive people away from the franchise at lightspeed, after all, why would I want to be a fan of something that can’t even give some consistency to its own characters, because now every single character, considering that their In-Game depictions and their IDW depictions are like day and night (IDW being the night, they are all ass, don’t even bother) would be as inconsistent as Frontiers’ framerate and loading times.

Aight I'll dip my toe in this discourse.

I don't really get why some folks want the IDW Sonic comics to be canon to the games. Like you WANT them to tie together? Make the comics mandatory reading to fully understand the games?

The prequel comics are a big reason I knocked Forces because yeah, there's context there, but unless you followed the social media, you would never see it. There's no gallery for viewing 'em in-game. Those were also solely created for marketing - not tied to the mainline comic.

Now imagine if you wanted to just get context for the next game, but you had to read 50+ issues to get the most out of, or worse, understand the story. That would be bad design.

I seriously don't get this big push for everything to be canon to the games. I'm not just talking about the comics, I mean Prime and even bringing Boom, an established AU, into the games. Why does each piece of media have to effect the main timeline? Why are so many fans—and SOA apparently—against just having separate continuities?

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #rant #sonic opinions #sonic

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cat-r-gunn · 5 years ago

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My brain, after finishing a 345,000 word series: So...sequel series about Addie huh?

Me: We literally just...

Brain: Sequel series about Addie huh?

Me: Listen you're not wrong but give me a minute to breath.

#seriously half the time this brain doesnt want to do anything #and here it is pulling this shit #not like anyone will read it anyway #considering its almost impossible that anyone likes OCs that much #but you know #cat.rambles #addie denivar #adalet denivar

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astudyincontrasts · 3 years ago

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The Inventor and the Archivist

Viktor x Fem!Reader (only slightly NSFW)

Synopsis: Lore faithful, reader insert as an OC university archivist Viktor becomes close with. Set in a time frame between before he meets Jayce and hopefully wrapping up somewhere just before he starts experimenting with shimmer. Sexy times ahead in later chapters.

Warnings: fluff, flirting, longing, you are a sasspants, Viktor is a precious angel among men, brief blowjob, bad language, what do you mean libraries aren’t sexy af, occasional Czech swearing

*edit* Swapping Russian to Czech in the story, both because it makes tons more sense and because of recent world events.

Author’s Note: This fic fully inspired by @gaybybirth and all her glorious fics in the Arcane fandom. Go treat yourself and read her luscious work. Ugh I’m so painfully obsessed with Viktor. sEND HELP. Posting two chapters today - if there is interest I will write more - a lot more. If not, welp I sure have a filthy Silco fic up my sleeve.

Ch 1. My Church Offers No Absolution

You would think for such a revered institution of higher learning like the University of Piltover that the Library would be considered sacrosanct, like unto a chapel at the heart of that glittering establishment to "The Nobel Pursuit of Progress." Certainly it had that same holy hush to it, especially this late at night. And much like a church its doors never closed, always open to welcome those pilgrims of progress and penitents to the fickle gods of knowledge.

But no. It was not sacred to all. To you, yes. But to others....

You sighed and it practically came out a growl between clenched teeth, more frustration than resignation. They were at it again. You could hear the rustling and the soft, wet sounds, the hushed, strangled moans. Hell, at this time of night almost anyone could hear those, echoing softly off the high polish of the white marble floors as they did. Why in all the living hells students chose to come here for trysts was beyond you. They had dorms! Perfectly comfortable, plush dorms - and the really privileged ones had fancy little penthouses with all the luxuries anyone could long for. No, they came HERE, to your precious stacks to have a clumsy fumble among books more beloved by you than their sex-drenched, spoilt little minds could comprehend. It didn't seem to bother the librarians and assistants nearly as much as it irritated you, a fact which they all were always so quick to point out anytime you tried to complain about the matter at staff meetings or even just in the offices one on one.

"Why do you care? They are kids, so what? Look its embarrassing, but its hardly hurting anything. Just ignore them, find a different stack to organize until they are gone. What's the matter, you jealous?" Oooh that last one burned, you swore you could feel the fire lick behind your glare, the residual heat that reddened your cheeks was surely from righteous anger, not because the librarian in question had possibly been anywhere close to correct. You would NEVER. And you had resolved to never say more than two words to that particular librarian after that, as well.

Drawing a breath, you summoned all that righteous rage now and rounded the stacks. This was a popular area, a dead end near some rarely used carrels along a stretch of tall windows that looked out over the glittering city below. It offered privacy from the rest of the enormously open room while those towering windows tantalized with the illusion of exhibitionism; left one feeling on display to the wide sky. A sky now dark and spattered with stars between thin fingers of clouds that raked the full moon, its silver light a brilliant wash much brighter than any of the warm, golden, dim lights that illuminated impossibly high shelves.

You rounded the end of the shelf and stood glaring at the couple in flagrante delicto at the dead end, looking no doubt like a bull about to charge, fists clenched at your sides, feet shoulder width apart. You frankly wouldn't have been shocked if steam huffed from your nostrils. One of the boys was on his knees before the other, who was languidly stretched out on his feet with his back against the bookshelf, hands gripping a shelf well above his head, arms spread wide, his head back as he failed at stifling another throaty groan. The one on his knees was bobbing his head in what looked very much like frantic, unpracticed gestures, and the anger burning in your belly clenched at the quiet gagging sound he made. The one enjoying his artless, novice blow job slanted his eyes open and then jerked as they flew wide, your enraged silhouette at the end of the stacks coming into focus for him.

"What the f - " He pushed his friend's head back and desperately fumbled to get his dick back in his pants. Your gritted-teeth scowl turned into an almost cruel, lopsided smirk. Good to see one of the spoilt rich boys squirm, lovely to see hot-cheeked panic where usually only cool distain made its home.

"Get. Out." You were quiet. Imperious.

The one on his knees scrambled to his feet as his glance whipped over his shoulder in your direction. You watched him wipe uselessly at his drool soaked chin with the back of his hand, glaring at you hatefully with his swollen lips still hanging open. Half in shock no doubt, and half because you largely suspected the lock jaw he was experiencing was very, very real. Dick back behind hastily done up flies the boy already on his feet was rapidly recovering from the shock of the interruption and seemed to be just as rapidly building in indignation and anger to outpace your own, handsome features darkening like a storm cloud.

"Fucking stupid bitch, what the fuck?" Yeah that was the vocabulary mommy and daddy were paying so dearly for their precious son to acquire here at the highest institution of learning money could buy your way into. You thought very sincerely about tossing that quip out loud but as he pushed past his friend who was struggling to gain his feet from knees no doubt aching from cold, hard marble, nearly toppling the other boy as he came toward you, it seemed that discretion would serve you better than wit. It was rapidly becoming apparent, with each of the boy's livid, clipped steps toward you, that you had vastly overestimated your ability to control this situation. Usually they just ran, mortified. Not this one. Shit. You could feel your feet disobey a direct order and begin to back up, hesitantly at first and then in four rapid steps, back around the stack from whence you had come as he bore down on you, his friend a few stumbling paces behind. You were suddenly keenly aware of how much taller they both were than you, how well fed and strong looking, if pampered. And exceedingly aware of the fact that you were nearly very much alone in the vastness of the library, one of only two or three on the graveyard shift.

Oh but you were stubborn. Famously so. And there was no way in seven hells you were going to let this murderously angry little shit get the best of you. So back around the corner but no further, and he came flying around the corner to draw up, nose to nose with you, seething. You glared coldly up at him, chin lifting like a dare. Watcha gonna do? "Get. Out." You willed steel into your voice, cold fire.

"C'mon Viren." The second boy had caught up and grabbed hold of his friend's elbow, using his own momentum to try to tug him along. He either had better sense than his lover or else was more easily embarrassed because he couldn't even bring himself to meet your gaze, and was in the kind of terrible hurry to leave that usually met your interruption of a tryst. Not so with Viren. He jerked his arm from the other boy's grasp sharply and kept encroaching on your space, hot breath an unpleasant rush over the bridge of your nose. But his gaze flicked toward his rapidly retreating friend and you could see the tug of war that played out behind his nastily handsome face. More blow job.... or beat the tar out of a university employee.... more blow job.... or possible expulsion. You really wished the see-saw of his decision making process were less blatantly obvious.

Your poker face was flawless. And his eyes kept straying toward his companion. He gave up the fight with a sharp curse under his breath and reached out his hand nearest the bookshelf, a wicked grin blooming across his face as he backed up... and you watched in horror as he slid his hand into the end of the bookshelf and with one sharp arcing motion swept every book in that row off the shelf. Your arms came up to deflect the ones that came flying at you and you watched in dismay as he ran directly over a few that fell in his path, leaving a dark boot print on an open page of one and fully tearing another half out of his spine. You were practically shaking with rage as his mirthless laughter drifted back toward you and his fleeing footsteps faded.

"Jdi do prdele! Ty jseš zmrd." You muttered hotly under your breath in your grandparents' native tongue, kneeling to collect the fallen. Your traitorous knees, long since gone to water and barely holding you up were grateful for the collapse. You almost went fully over, however, at the soft sound of a throat clearing that gave you the start of your life. Peering around in the gloom your wide eyes quickly focused on a mess of dark hair that appeared over the top of one of the carrel walls, followed by thick, dark brows and amused golden eyes. How in the world hadn't you noticed there was someone occupying the carrel at the end of the stack? Well... you had been rather single minded in your pursuit of the lovers sullying your beloved library.

"Don't let them catch you using that language around here." Said the owner of those unnervingly brilliant eyes, voice soft and clipped with a very familiar accent. An accent your own family had forbade you from acquiring in your youth, had trained out of you 'for the sake of progress' as they put it. An accent that made it clear he'd understood completely the ugly insult you'd just muttered.

Your shock was longing to sink into the safe mire of blustery irritation when the man in the carrel pushed back his chair and leaned down to collect those books that had landed nearest him, elegantly long fingers careful. He tsk'd softly as he lifted the book that had been torn half from its binding and his obvious care of an item you found most precious threw your usual default cold demeanor for a loop.

You reached absently for the one with a boot print on it as the man rose (and rose and rose and rose and oh god was he tall). Tall and spindly like no one had ever made him stop for a hot meal his entire life; long limbed and all sharp angles. You were staring. He pulled his cane from where it had rested against the far side of the desk in the carrel and leaned heavily upon it as he stepped forward, some of your books tucked between his ribs and his elbow, the forlorn broken one in hand.

"It'll do you no favors to remind them where you come from." He continued with his unsolicited advice, and gentle though it was it caused a heat to creep up your cheeks. He gestured with his chin in the direction of the boys who had fled. "And while I am grateful to you for your interruption, I do not think they will need any additional reasons to dislike you."

There was something so calm and self-assured about his voice. Perhaps it was just the familiarity of the accent you enjoyed, or maybe it was the bemused smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, but where normally you would have simply gathered your fallen soldiers in stony silence and marched off, instead you felt bound to the spot, mesmerized. It took a few hard blinks to get the gears turning in your brain once more, to stop staring. You dropped your gaze instead to the book open in your lap with the boot print smudged across it and tried absently stroking it away with the flat of your palm.

Why on earth was your heart throbbing in your throat? Shock, that's all, yes. He'd surprised you, and right after that near death experience with the students. He was a student too, if his manner of dress was any indication - and the white tie at his lean throat showed he hadn't yet made his full marks on the university. It was nice how the snowy color of it offset the dark shirt he wore, matched his slightly crumpled and lived in looking vest, nice how the tri-knot of it laid under the rise of his adam's apple as it moved with the lean tendons of his throat as he spoke. Wait. He was speaking and you'd just missed it.

"S-sorry?" You squeaked out. Ugh, you squeaked! You had to get a hold of yourself. You gathered the last of the fallen books hastily and rose to your feet once more, turning to set the undamaged ones back on their shelf. "I said, I'm Viktor." He repeated, a touch of dry amusement lingering in his tone. Being laughed at was one of your prime pet peeves and you rounded on him, more sharply than was necessary. But you just couldn't seem to make your usual sang-froid bravado work. Your defense mechanism was broken and you needed to abandon ship. The corner of his mouth tugged back again in that brief touch of a smile. He had a freckle right above it. And one below one of those honey colored eyes. His head canted in question, "And you are?"

"I." You exhaled, dropping your shoulders square and lifting your chin much more haughtily than you felt, "I am the Archivist."

Both his heavy, dark brows lifted and his expression opened with them to a degree that made your stupid knees do that internal wobble once more. How dare he.

"Oh. Madam Archivist." He made a slight bow, very slight, cockeyed grin absolutely shit-eating as he rolled his eyes a touch. "I had no idea. Please, forgive me my ignorance."

His teasing did it, finally broke you out of your awkward vacillation toward the icy façade you'd developed as camouflage among all the privileged, snooty students and faculty you were surrounded by. You caught yourself matching his grin, albeit wryly, and moved to take the books he'd tucked under his arm. He obligingly released them to you.

"Miss." You corrected him, after all, you were probably about the same age to be honest, "And its (y/n)."

"How nice to be properly introduced, (y/n)." He remarked, watching you return the books in loving order to their home. "And correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you terribly young to be the Archivist of the University's main library?"

One look at his earnest expression, one thick dark brow lifted in query was enough to to dispel any notion he was being unkind in his surmise. What hung unsaid was: young and an undercity creature. Like me. You lifted and dropped a shoulder, the very picture of nonchalance as your hands smoothed spines and ensured all was in order before gathering the damaged book you'd picked up. He still hadn't given up the damaged one he held and you were in no real rush to wrest it from those long fingered hands.

"We're all driven, here." You justified, voice slow but firm, choosing your words carefully, "It is what I love. This is what I love."

You glanced meaningfully around the vast vaulted-ceilinged space of the library, Viktor's gaze following your own before coming back to rest upon your face. He held an unnerving amount of guileless eye contact, but you soldiered on.

"My family sacrificed much that I might have my position. And I did what I had to to earn it as well." You stepped forward, reaching for the book he held, closing your fingers around its edge. He did not release it. You could feel one corner of your mouth tug up and glanced up at him from under your slightly knit brows, almost bashful, "That... and the professor who held the post had a massive stroke three months back and has been bed ridden since."

You held the position, even if the University's nepotistic board hadn't yet seen their way toward granting some lowly young woman the title outright. You drew a breath and lifted your chin again. Be proud, včelička , your grandmother used to say, placing her gnarled forefinger under your chin and pushing it upward when you slumped. Be proud and no one can hurt you.

Viktor nodded, slowly.

"Not your life's ambition to be an assistant." He summarized neatly, in a tone that clearly understood, looking down into your face with an introspective gaze that felt somehow more piercing than his gently humorous ones. It was unnerving, to feel like a specimen pinned to a board under the sharp scalpel of such an unusually gentle scientist. You offered up an affirmative, dark smile. If he found ambition unattractive you couldn't read it there on the expression that played across high cheek-boned features. Not that it mattered. Did it? You swallowed and tried again to pull the book from his hand. Again, no luck.

"Well Miss Archivist. You -and the lovers you chased off- have ruined my train of thought for the evening. Any hope I had of touching genius tonight is gone." The velvet edge of self deprecating sarcasm in his own voice was charming all on its own. Infuriatingly so. "Do you intend to mend these books tonight?"

"Of course." You replied, schooling yourself to keep what had become a habitual tone of annoyance out of your voice. This place had made you so hard, had honed all your edges to sharp glass. Viktor had done nothing to deserve the prickliness that had become your second nature and you felt somehow determined not to inflict it upon him. It was... difficult. Felt uncomfortably vulnerable. But it wasn't, you kept telling yourself. It was just common human decency. The type not to be found in the halls of this vaunted house of learning. Or at least not regularly.

"May I help then?"

Your eyebrows must have shot for your hairline and he smiled shyly at your surprise, shrugging the one shoulder not already hitched high by his lean upon his cane.

"I have the notion that being in the good graces of the Archivist could only come as a benefit to a techmaturgist."

You laughed softly at that. Someone currying your favor? What a novelty. And how flattering. Your heart took a moment to let you know it had not yet decided to come down out from where it had lodged itself in your throat. His fingers disengaged your grip upon the book he held, gently, and he hobbled back over to the carrel to collect his things, slinging them in a messenger bag across his chest. You flexed your fingers against the utterly unfamiliar tender pickling sensation he'd left on your skin. His back to you, you could unabashedly take in the length of him again. Shoulders broad if habitually uneven, hips taut and narrow, movements almost graceful when not impeded by his cane, or perhaps even in spite of it. He turned around on one heel and lifted both heavy brows in a silent 'shall we?'

"Alright then." The words felt unintendedly begrudging in your mouth, though your tone as it hit your ears was slightly hitched, like your voice couldn't quite make it out of your throat past where your heart had so stubbornly taken up residence. Why was every part of you so determined to undermine your usually steady control tonight?

You led him down the long bank of windows and out into the open air of the library's court where the lower shelves, catalogue and periodicals were located, past the large, glistening main desk where its exhausted and bored late night librarian sat, bleary eyed reading some trashy novel, steadfastly ignoring the piles upon piles of books she ought to be checking back in and organizing on carts to be re-shelved. You cast an absolutely withering glance in her direction and cleared your throat pointedly. She stiffened in surprised before relaxing and barely hiding her distain as she set her book down and got back to work. You swore you caught the huffed breath of a laugh from Viktor at your side, and couldn't work up the gall to glance over and see if it was genuine amusement at the weight you so imperiously pulled or just a 'pfft' at your antics. You settled for deciding that either way the ability to make him laugh felt much better than being a bossy bully did, and allowed for a small pang of regret that you felt the need to act like such a goddamned tough had become second nature. Something to work on.

Past the desk and toward the flight of stairs that lead down to your lair, the archives. Where the rare books were kept, and the uncatalogued items; the new bits, the ancient bits, the pieces of literary treasure that were not bound books. And your offices, your lab, so to speak, where you could restore, research, codify and organize and preserve and perfect. Down here you could breathe, you could relax, and even with Viktor trailing along behind you you could feel the tension in your shoulders give. Your desks - plural - were a riot of organized chaos. The prize jewel, the rare books collection, lay contained in the very center of the room; two long, long shelves inside an intricate and beautiful walk in wire cage, like a beautiful gilded prison for all that glorious, precious knowledge it contained. Too damned important to just be let loose in the world. Books within had delicate chains affixed to their spines. Beloved captives. You wore the keys on a fine chain of your own across your waistcoat, like gentlemen wore a pocketwatch, the soft jingle of them an accompaniment to you every move. Quiet music that sang of your position. Not unlike the way Viktor's soft tapping cane did for him, you'd noticed. You cast a glance at it and then up, only to find he'd caught you looking. You flustered a touch.

"How long have you been - "

"Always." He cut you off in that clipped accent.

It was curt, final. Not a topic for discussion, not who he was, and not one for misplaced pity or sympathy. You'd have felt a rush of embarrassment for even broaching the topic had his attention not already moved on, water under the bridge. He was drinking in your archives, approval writ clean on those lovely angular features, something like pride fluttered wings in the hole your heart had left vacant in your chest. This was ridiculous, he was practically a stranger, how on earth could his enjoyment of your lair feel so damn good?

You made your way to the repairs desk and nearly sank into the chair before remembering yourself, jumping up and grabbing a chair for him, dragging it over and making space at the long, workshop-like desk for him beside you. He stood a while longer, still looking around, and unslung his bag, setting it on the chair instead of himself. You followed his attention around the room before clearing your throat again, this time much less harshly than you had done to the poor librarian upstairs.

"You can explore, if you like, but please keep your hands to yourself. For now." You had no idea what for the love of Zaun possessed you to tack that 'for now' on, but you instantly regretted it when Viktor shot you a fleeting, amused glance. You could feel your jaw ache with how it clenched, but he was already off, softly clicking away to poke around. You settled to the task of the boot print smudged page in front of you. This would be simple enough, if you were gentle. You could lose yourself in it. This was not a rare manuscript or ancient vellum ready to disintegrate under hand, but that didn't mean you showed it any less love. You were so engaged in the task ten minutes later that you didn't realize Viktor had returned until you felt the weight of his hand leaning on the back of your chair and the undeniable electricity of another human body invading your space as he leaned over your shoulder to examine your work. If you could hear the way your breath hitched in that moment, you were certain he could. Still, he did nothing but hum approvingly.

"A neat job." He congratulated you - as if this kind of thing weren't absolute child's play in your field. You pummeled the urge to say something snide or sarcastic into submission and instead offered a wordless dip of your head in thanks. If he had any idea how you felt the urge to turn yourself inside out for his praise you might well go throw yourself off a bridge. What was wrong with you tonight?

Suddenly the closeness of him was gone, along with the weight on the back of your chair, then he was there beside you, pulling up the chair you'd offered earlier and tossing himself into it. Long, long legs sprawled under the desk, a knee brushing your own and then not moving. You swallowed against the hammering in your throat and held perfectly still. He'd move soon. He didn't. Or rather, he did but it didn't help. He leaned over the desk, the arch of his spine like a happy cat asking to be stroked as he hunched, elbows on the desk, damaged book before him. It made that knee rub against your own and one of his gangling sharp elbows bump your side when he took it off the desk. He couldn't have seemed to notice less.

It took you a full minute to realize he was rolling up his sleeves and getting to work on the poor mangled book he'd brought down with him from upstairs. You stiffened, sucking a breath to tell him to stop, don't, let you do it. Fingers itched to snatch the book out from under his hands but you couldn't move. He spread the poor thing out, long fingers delicately smoothing pages, realigning things, taking stock of how extensive the damage had been, then his attention snapped up to the desk before him, littered with tools, boxes of cleaners, solvents, neatly chaotic in all the needs a bookbinder could long for. His hand reached out and those fingers moved slow, hovering over the tools until he snapped one up decisively. The perfect pick, as if he knew what he was doing. You could only watch in strangled silence as he went to work, the tip of his tongue poking out from one side of his expressive mouth, dark brows drawing together tight every so often, only to release in satisfaction as he made the binding do as he pleased. It was mesmerizing, really, to watch him work. You could have watched hours of this, but he was done in less than twenty minutes.

Setting tools back almost exactly where he found them he spread his hands, open palms up, and startled you with the return of those amber eyes to your line of sight. So earnest. Some kind of quiet pain swimming in the back of them that you hadn't noticed before. It lurked back there in spite of the tenuous smile that touched his lips.

"Well? Is it to your satisfaction?" He asked when you were too slow to catch on. You started and forced your attention from his face (and that damn knee) to the book.

"Its-" You began but then stopped, reached over his arm to flip the book open, then to pick it up, fan its pages, flex its spine.

"Its perfect." You breathed, surprise opening your expression unabashedly. His face, unfocused in the background of your utter concentration as you examined his work, lit up faintly, like praise was a novelty to him as well, and he might have been as afraid as you to accept it at face value.

"How?" You demanded, lowering the book to your lap and twisting to fully face him. It only caused the sprawl of his leg to brush across both of your knees now.

"How is it perfect? You've done this before?"

"No, never." He replied mildly, "But a book? It is not so difficult a thing. Not so many moving parts. Aaaaand maybe I've bound my own journals now and then when new ones were in short supply." He added, sheepishly, which drew a small smile out of you in spite of yourself. He took the book back from you, turned it over and over in his hands, brushed imagined dust from it, considered it for a thoughtful moment, then gave its cover a kiss, like a parent would kiss a boo-boo better, and honey eyes flicked up to meet yours for the tease of a fleeting second before he relinquished the book back into your hands once more. Hands you hoped he couldn't see tremble ever so slightly.

He rose, taking his cane in hand and searched out the bag he'd tossed on the floor.

"There, well, all better." He said, as if he'd put you back together instead of the book. He slung the bag back over himself and without much of any additional hesitation began to see himself out.

"Good night, Miss Archivist," he murmured at the foot of the stairs, offering you a final cant of his head, both hands momentarily clasped over his cane before himself. And then he was gone, the soft click that accompanied his movement fading almost instantly.

You had no idea how long you sat there in perfect stillness staring after his departure as if there was a spell you'd break if you moved more than drawing a breath or dragging your thumb over the place he'd kissed the book's leather binding. The grey of dawn had begun to creep through the enormous windows of the library by the time you'd made your way upstairs again.

Chapter 2

#viktor #viktor x reader arcane #arcane #viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane fic #viktor fic

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quietlywatchingwritingreading · 2 years ago

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Day 2: Cry

@carsgeek24

another fanfic written with @robocatfan and my Monster Hunter Ocs, set in the Monster Hunter Universe.

TW for being lost in the snow,

Things had been going from bad to worse. First, there had been too many large monsters roaming the mountainside. With dwindling supplies and fewer options, the band of researchers decided to seek safety in the snow capped highlands.

Derick wished they’d just turned back.

He was one of three hunters traveling with the scientists. Of those three, only one actually had actually worked as a hunter for more than five years, and none of them had even seen snow. He’d hoped that the scientists had some idea what they were doing.

They did not. He figured that out just as quickly. Around the second time the Wagon got caught in the snow, and the scientists started bickering about tire chains. By now, it was impossible to turn back. The cliffs were too steep and icy from this side. All they could do was keep going forward.

By day eight, they were almost completely out of supplies.

There wasn’t much discussion. The most experienced hunter would stay behind to defend the researchers. The others would separate, gathering whatever they could carry. Food, medicinal herbs, fishing supplies: anything and everything.

The cold was worse than Derick thought. It ripped though his armor, and he was starting to have trouble walking. His hands were stiff, and it took effort to pluck the different plants he saw along the way. Not that he had even found much: just some herbs and hot peppers.

Technically, the peppers were actually useful when it came to enduring the bitter cold. Someone must have been farming them nearby, and the peppers spread to the surrounding wilderness. Or maybe they traveled here thanks to a passing bird.

While he didn’t have the materials to make them more palatable, he wasn’t sure how much choice he had. Besides, it would just be two peppers, he could probably handle that.

He could not handle that.

It felt like he tried to drink molten steel. He started coughing, and tears started pouring from his eyes. They wouldn’t stop. He was muttering curses to himself, as he fell beside a tree.

Time lost all meaning behind the pain. All he could do was sob to himself, regretting his decisions. At least regret was something he could focus on: he didn’t want to think about how he might freeze out here. How his failure might doom the others. At least if he was alone-

“Excuse me?”

He looked at the unfamiliar voice. A gunner was standing in the snow, weapon drawn.

“are.. ..are you crying? …did a Tigrex get you?”

He couldn’t respond. The woman took a moment to examine him. “Okay, you’re still in one piece, os its not a Tigrex-“

“Ate-Ate pepper…”

She started laughing. Hard. “What?! How—how?! No, how did you even-“

After a few moments, she pulled him up to his feet. She bit back her laughter. “I’m sorry! I’ve NEVER seen anyone eat a hot pepper before!”

“Not funny.”

“It's not. You must be desperate.Yeah this armor’s paper thin- This a solo quest, or-?”

“W-Researchers. Stranded near the lake.”

The other looked grim. “Understood. Don’t speak” s

She shoved a potion in his hands. “My village is nearby. We’ll bring you there first, and I’ll send a rescue party for the rest of your group. If a hunter’s willing to eat a pepper, then I don’t want to think about what they’re considering.”

“The Tigrex?” It was hard to make himself talk.

“Well, the Popo were acting weird. Thought there was one nearby: but it could have just been you. I’ll fight it if we see it. You just consider this a successful quest and follow me.”

#monster hunter fanfiction #october #october writing prompts

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dylanobrienisbatman · 3 years ago

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I literally do not understand, like I really don’t get it, how anyone could think the Darkling and Alina make a good pair. I can seriously ship Alina with everyone (hell even Nikolai) but him, cause it’s just so obvious that he’s hurting her. I don’t know, it’s literally impossible for me to see it. I don’t like the Darkling like at all, cause I don’t really think he’s well written, that’s is. I don’t consider him a well written villain but if somehow I did, I still wouldn’t ship him with Alina? I’d ship him with an evil OC? Cause to me it’s just something that totally doesn’t work and IT’S MEANT NOT TO WORK.

And as a Malina shipper, I must say that I’m tired of hearing that Alina “chose Mal” over the Darkling cause that’s not what happened. Alina didn’t have to choose between two guys, that’s not what the story is about. This is about Alina REFUSING the Darkling and that’s it. She chose HAPPINESS, and her happiness meant Mal, Genya, Zoya, Nikolai, Tamar, Tolya, Nadia, Misha etc... It’s not about what love story is better. What made me love the ending of the series wasn’t that Alina “chose the good guy over the bad guy”, it was that she wanted to get away from something/someone that hurt her and she MANAGED TO DO IT.

And a book targeted for teenagers published in 2012 (aka the period were toxic relationships where romanticized SO MUCH) that treats such themes, it’s really far more interesting than a story about a girl falling in love with a villain.

(Sorry for the long ask lmao)

Okay, well, sorry for the long response, but this is a WHOLE mood.

I personally think the Darkling is a well written villain, but that's mostly because he has the exact effect on the fanbase that Leigh was trying to prove by writing him the way she did, that attractive men can get away with pretty much anything because of their charm and their pretty faces, but overall I find him pretty lacking in a lot of ways. As an abuser, manipulator, and groomer, so specifically in his interactions with Alina, i think he's great, but overall in the story i find him kind of meh.

But honestly same!! Like honestly, I'm not really someone who enjoys "dark" ships. There are a few 'dark' ships that I've liked over the years, like early days Damon/Elena and Chuck/Blair (lol... to your point about romanticized toxic relationships...), but I was a lot younger when I was really invested in those ships, and as I've gotten older I really don't see the appeal in them as much as I used too. So I'm probably not the authority on what makes a good "dark" ship. But to each their own! Ship what you want! But to me, i hate it. Why would I want my heroine to be with someone who abuses her? Why would I want a strong female character to end up with someone who subjugates and controls her, and harms the people she loves? It's just not for me.

And yeah!! It's the misinterpretation of the ending that truly gets me. Alina would never choose the Darkling. Even if Mal had really died, and Alina had gone fully insane, I still dont think she would have been with him. If she had gone dark and went full power hungry crazy, I think she would have still killed him (@mal-zoya said it super well in this post). He hurt her friends, people she loves, like Nikolai and Genya, like Zoya, like Ana Kuya and the other teachers at the orphange, like Mal, and he hurt her. Even if she decided she wanted to become this immortal all powerful evil Grisha queen, it still makes no sense to think that she would side with the man who enslaved her. It just... doesn't make sense.

Alina didn't choose Mal OVER someone else, (possibly Nikolai, but still... not really? she never loved Nikolai?), she chose the life she wanted over the lives she didn't want. Even after her powers were taken from her (she did NOT give them up, despite what some people want to claim), she still could have become the Queen with Nikolai, or spent her life revered as Sankta Alina, but she chose to go live an ordinary life, full of ordinary things, full of friends who adored her and children who admired her and a husband who loved her.

I think the biggest thing that always gets lost is that the men in the story that were her 'choices', much like the hunger games 'love triangle', aren't just love interests. They represent paths that Alina can take during the story.

The Darkling represents greed and corruption. He represents a path where Alina loses sight of everything that is important to her and becomes the evil she is trying to defeat. Alina choosing The Darkling would be her loosing herself to her trauma and becoming a malevolent villain who torments the people she was meant to protect.

Nikolai represents political power and the need to be loved and worshiped by the people. He represents a path where Alina gives up the things she has always wanted for herself in pursuit of status and political power. Alina choosing Nikolai, and becoming the Queen, would be her abandoning her true calling, as the savior and protector of the people of Ravka, to rule them instead.

Mal represents humanity, sacrifice, and her true self. He represents the path Alina begins and ends the story on. Discovering that she is the Sun Summoner thrusts Alina into a life she didn't want as a child and never wanted, even by the end of the story. Harnessing the power of Morozova hurts her, and almost kills her. Accepting Nikolai's proposal makes her feel lonely, uncomfortable, and out of place. Alina choosing Mal, and by extension an ordinary life with the people she loves, represents Alina choosing to follow her heart, and to use her power for its true intention, to protect the people of Ravka and the world.

The power of the Sun Summoner wasn't granted to Alina so she could rule the world as some malevolent god-like figure, or be worshiped as a Saint, or rule the world as some immortal queen. The power of the Sun Summoner existed so that one day, someone who was pure of heart could step up and save the people of Ravka from the darkness and peril brought by The Darkling. The power of the Sun Summoner was granted to Alina because she had a pure heart, and because of her pure heart, she could withstand the greed for power, the corruption of the amplifiers, and the draw of political power and fame, to do the right thing and bring balance and peace back to the world. Her story is a beautiful thing because it reminds us that sometimes, the most important thing we can be is human, and kind.

#alina starkov #shadow and bone #i love this ask okay and i love Alina's story #malina #i mean its kind of malina? but also not really? but its still pro malina so im tagging it lol

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thechildofstark · 4 years ago

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Sympathetic Villains and the Rise of Overt Apologism.

I’ve seen a lot of discourse recently about how being a fan of villainous characters has become polarized, and how the way people treat villainous characters (and people who support them) needs to change. The two main issues seems to be:

a) the classic “if you support this character you support their actions” bs.

and

b) “oh no, my character isn’t a villain, they’re just a misunderstood baby who would never hurt anyone”. This, I think is much more worrying, and almost certainly came into practice as a response to point a).

As has been said many times before, appreciation of a character does not equal agreement with a character. Nobody is accusing fannibals of being actual cannibals ;). This can often follow on with issues in the source material/with the actors. A great deal of the negative attention on the WandaVision storyline (racism/anti-Semitism/anti-Romanyism/anti-blackness/gaslighting/torture/O***n using slurs/etc.) means that anyone that supports Whitewashed-Wanda (Wendy) is automatically labelled as in agreement with her actions in the text. And to be fair, this version of her is a pretty terrible character. It’s just incredibly bad writing. But this feeds into the second point. Wendy-fans, faced with such strong hatred for their fav, go too far in the other direction, insisting that she did nothing wrong. And there in lies the issue. This is by no means limited to Wendy - so I might as well use another completely divisive example: Kylo Ren.

Kylie Ron is an objectively terrible character. He is a badly written whingy asshole. (okay that’s mostly on the lack of coherency between films/creative teams - aka a post for another time.) The problem is that his fans behave like he never did anything wrong, ever - and is he is one of the ultimate good guys and was all along, actually. In doing so, they completely undermine his role within the text, and gloss over the fact that:

He killed his dad

He joined a neo-N*zi organization

He took over leadership of said organization

He completely screwed the First Order over. A story is only as good as its villain and he is a terrible leader with no core beliefs or alignment to the radicals he leads.

Yes that last point was literally me being annoyed that he is bad a being a N*zi. I want the evil bad guys to be cool and competent. He is neither.

He has awful relationship skills

He dies like a newb

He is literally a terrorist

This is a short, totally unbiased list of reasons that I think that saying Kyle is a ‘perfect lovely hero uwu’ just doesn’t work. If you want to be a fan of him, that’s fine and up to you, but if you want to be a fan of him and in the process erase all the bad things he did, you aren’t a fan of Kylo Ren. You are a fan of an aggressively altered and de-problematized oc insert played by Tall Brooding White Man #1785.

The idea of being a fan of a character that does bad things has become quite heavily judged over the last few years, and I think that this is the response: making it so that all the beloved main characters are good and perfect beyond reproach. So that it is impossible to be judged for liking this character, because they’re such a good person. But in the process, many of the negative and positive aspects of the character are wiped away, leaving a blank slate insert with no culpability and no positive discussion of any of the potentially harmful things that they did in the text.

Earlier I mentioned Hannibal. I consider Hannibal Lecter to be pretty much a textbook case of liking a character you disagree with. As someone who appreciates high art, good food, psychological discourse, angst, and fun murders, I love NBC’s Hannibal. But I don’t actually condone eating people in real life, and neither does the fandom. But I can appreciate art as separate from myself because that’s how it works.

The other classic is Darth Dad himself, Anakin Skywalker. Is he Evil™? Yes. Does he murder children? Yes. Is he also a member of a fascist dictatorship? Yes. Do I love him? YES. Because all of these things are part of his character. Without them, he wouldn’t be Darth Vader anymore.

TL;DR: Villains are really cool, but once you deny all the aspects that make them villainous it automatically devalues the character and removes the opportunity to learn from their mistakes, and to discuss genuinely problematic things within the text.

also fuck d*sney :)

#meta #discourse #my thoughts #wandavision #wanda maximoff #wendy mayomoff #star wars #star wars sequals #kylo ren #kyle ron #kylie ron #hannibal #nbc hannibal #cw racism #cw antisemitism #cw antiblackness #darth vader #anakin skywalker #disney

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sunflowerstache · 4 years ago

Text

Lifespan

A/N: Hello! This is very different from most of my writing, not only because its an OC, but because the storyline is just something out of my comfort zone. But I really hope you enjoy it(: I got the inspiration from a ad I saw on Facebook a long time ago lmao but yeah, come say hi once you’ve read it and tell me what you think! It’s much appreciated! I love you all so very much! Also hugeeeee shoutout to @devil-in-bw-the-sheets for spending like six months reading and re-reading this every single time I rewrote it and changed things and encouraging me each time! And @emotionally-imbruised for beta reading it for me!💛💛

Word Count: 7.3k

“Doll?”

The fog that seemed to have settled over your mind instantly melted away upon hearing the barista’s voice, her sweet drawl grounding your focus back on her. She was an older woman, probably nearing her sixties based on the collection of grey hairs scattered throughout her small ponytail. But still so incredibly full of life. She had red glasses perched atop her nose - which perfectly completed the red polka dots covering her black dress - a beaded chain dangling from the end to the front of the frame, a pair of silver peace sign studs resided in her ears, and the anatomically correct symbol for caffeine dangled in necklace form on her chest.

“What? I’m sorry.”

“Just asked if you wanted the cream on that.” She smiled, thin lines spreading out and away from the sides of her eyes as her mouth widened. Upon glancing down quickly, you took notice of her clearly hand drawn name tag filled with swirling letters - different then when you stopped by earlier in the week when she had used stickers to spell out “Rita”.

“Oh, um yeah sure. Why not.”

“My husband always says that during weather like this, the calories don’t count. That they disappear with your shivering. Can I just have your name, dear?”

“Georgie. And your husband sounds like a very smart man.”

“Oh, he is.” A dreamy look took over Rita’s features, like just thinking about the man made her heart race. “Been together for forty-two years and he still teaches me new things.”

Your heart ached with each word; the fog slowly started to creep back through your mind while you watched her grin fondly. The hope and excitement for the future that was always so very clear in people’s eyes was what made it so hard not to explain everything you knew, every secret you held. However, as much as you wanted to urge everyone to live the life they’ve always wanted, you knew there was a natural balance to life, and opening your mouth would undoubtedly throw that balance off. So instead, you grinned and nodded your head.

“He sounds wonderful.”

“My best friend. Counting down the minutes until the end of my shift. We’re heading up to see our grandbabies for the week.” It was like she knew exactly what kind of secret you were keeping and made sure to hit you where it hurt each time she opened her mouth. As if her being impossibly sweet didn’t hurt enough.

“That sounds nice.” Digging around in your bag for your wallet made it much easier not to focus on the ticking time bomb in front of you. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh my! I’m sorry, I know I can’t talk forever if no one stops me.” her laugh was soft, inviting, one you would love to listen to while storytelling. “It’s four pounds.”

“You can keep the change.” You said when handing her some cash, but stopped yourself before you turned to walk away. Even if you weren’t ever going to outright explain anything to anyone, slipping in tiny, reassuring comments made you feel at least a little better before parting ways. “Have an amazing night with your family Rita.”

The coffee shop was relatively empty at the hours you stopped by. Other than the same group of men that were there every morning, chatting over the newspaper and a black coffee and a young nurse who was just getting off of her night shift, only customers on their way to work stopped by. But that was just how you preferred it. It was much easier to avoid running into people when the sun had barely just peeked over the morning horizon. You suppose the city isn’t exactly the best place to reside when you’re on a mission not to get close to anyone, but you’d much preferred the hustle and bustle of the city than the silence of the countryside. At least here you were able to escape your thoughts when they got to be too much, out there you were left to drown in the weights you held.

Rita was right when she said the weather would bring shivering. The moment you stepped through the café doors, all sense of warmth you previously had was sucked out of you, leaving the tips of your fingers tingling against the warm cup. You hadn’t ever really gotten to know the woman behind the counter, a few kind greetings every now and again, but she seemed to be someone who brought a lot of joy to those around her. And she always put extra chocolate curls on your drink. You made a mental note to send some flowers to her family within the coming days.

It was a car horn that initially took your attention off of the pavement, turning to look for who was in such a rush at 5:30am, but the hard torso smacking into her shoulder is what brought your attention back. Followed by the searing heat of your hot chocolate spilling down your front.

“Oh fuck!” you yelled, immediately dropping the paper cup and trying to pull your shirt away from your body to decrease the chance of a burn. There goes your chance to get home and drive right to work without any issue.

“Oh my god! Oh shit!” the man that had ran into you gasped, stopping in his tracks and grabbing onto your elbow to steady your wild movements.

Even though his words were quite loud on the empty street, his voice was still husky, almost like he wasn’t awake yet and still had some left over sleep in his throat. And when you turned to look at who had ruined your shirt, your own voice got stuck in your throat. He was tall, which made sense considering your head had bounced right off of his chest. He was wearing black basketball shorts with tall white socks and a light grey hoodie, which was pulled up to cover the dark grey beanie resting on his head. With one hand he was holding a water bottle with ease, while the other was frantically pulling the airpod from his ear. But apart from his sheer stature, you couldn’t ignore how beautiful this man was. How even the worry lines littering his face were perfectly accenting his features. Or how the green of his eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the Whole Foods you had been stopped in front of.

“I’m so sorry! Shit are you okay?” he quickly asked, shaking his head before you could even respond. “Obviously not, that was probably hot. Oh god I’m so sorry!”

Finally getting your bearings back, you couldn’t help but nod. “Yeah it was pretty hot.”

“Shit, I don’t even know how that happened. I must’ve taken my eyes off the pavement for one second. I’m so sorry.”

“So you’ve said.” You chuckled, bending down to pick up your now empty cup at your feet and tossing it in the bin by your side. “Don’t worry about it. Really it’s fine.”

“It’s not, I’ve ruined your shirt.” If the disappointment in his voice wasn’t evident enough, the small pout on his lips definitely was. He looked absolutely distraught at the sight of what he’d done. “Let me at least get you a new drink. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, um, that’s alright.” You’d always known it was rude to speak to someone and not give them eye contact, it was something your father had drilled into you as a child, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Looking someone in the eyes meant seeing above their head, and that was an area you actively tried to avoid looking. But there was something about him that drew you in, and you couldn’t help glancing up at him quickly again. “I actually have to be getting to work. Thanks though.”

“Are you sure? I feel terrible.”

“Positive. Have a good morning.” Your touch was soft on his arm as you made your way past him, leaving the mystery man standing on the pavement staring as you walked towards your flat.

You didn’t mean to be so short with him, but it’s just how you’d grown accustomed to living life. It was the easiest way you found not to get close to many people, which meant less hurt in the end. And you’d been around enough hurt in your short twenty three years. It may be a lonely life, but you were happy with your cat, comically named Lucifer, and living a simple life. Sure, there were times you wished you could live the carefree life everyone around you got to experience, your only issues being stresses of work or relationship drama, but that wasn’t who you were. After living the life you did, there’d be no way you could live a normal life.

“Don’t give me that look, Luci.” you grumbled when walking through your front door, your cat perched on the dining table just watching as you moved through the living room, ripping your destroyed shirt from your body. “This wasn’t my fault.”

You’re sure that you looked like a crazy person if anyone was watching on, talking to your cat while walking around your flat in nothing but a pair of black slacks and a bra. But you didn’t care, because this was your normal. You ranted to her after a long day at work or a particularly draining day, and she always sat and listened. Mostly because she was a cat.

“He just ran right into me, like he literally couldn’t see me. How odd, right?” you stopped briefly while searching your closet for a new shirt. “God Luci, he was cute though. So cute. And tall.”

Just because you secluded yourself in the world didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy taking a peak at what it had to offer. It was the forming relationships that put you off, not because there was a level of uncertainty - nothing was uncertain to you - but because you always knew the timeline of said relationships. It was always the same. So why put yourself through it? But also, why not? What if that was just what you needed to make such a painful existence a little more bearable?

“I didn’t even get his name. Maybe I’ll see him around the cafe sometime.” you hummed, throwing the new peach colored blouse over your head and peeking your face out of the hole. “No. No Georgie, don’t go there. Who are we kidding, it’s not like anything could ever happen anyway.”

Lucifer meows loudly at your comment., making you turn around to glare at her. Obviously she didn’t know what was actually going on, but it was nice to entertain the idea of someone listening to your problems and helping you talk them out. You were a secluded young woman, not crazy.

“What? Like I’m wrong? It’s not something I’d be able to keep from a boyfriend forever. And It’s not like I’d be able to just flat out tell them.”

She meowed again, jumping off the table and prancing her way to your feet, rubbing her side against your ankles.

“What would I even say? Hey, I was born with this thing where I can see a floating clock above everyone’s head that literally counts down to the day you die? Yeah because that won’t get me sent to the looney bin.”

From the start of time, there has always been a beginning and an end to everything. No matter if it was an Oscar award winning film, delicate relationships, or even life itself, it all ended. People come, and they go, but the world continues on; taking care of those who stay to see another day. And on a daily basis, the idea of the end rarely floats through anyone’s mind. Except for you.

For you, it was impossible not to think about when it was quite literally staring you in the face. For as long as you could remember, you walked through life with a different outlook on the end than most other people.It wasn’t because you had some near death experience, but due to a gift. Or at least what some people in the world would consider a gift, because in no way would you call being able to see the exact day someone is going to die, a gift.

It was something that over the years you had grown to ignore, trying not to look too far away from people’s eyes and never thinking too hard about the ticking numbers.They weren’t obnoxious or flashy signs hanging above everyone’s heads - like you had seen some films try and depict - but instead, just a simple, faint, white clock just above the tops of everyone’s head, showing each individual’s lifespan. No matter how many hours you sat down and tried to rationalize why you were able to see this, there was never any answer. No one else in your family carried the burden, and because of that, you never mentioned it to anyone in fear of sounding crazy. But you knew you weren’t crazy, not when you prayed night after night for those numbers to disappear or for someone’s clock to be wrong, only to be let down.

You knew you weren’t crazy when you finally saw your favorite florist Don after he spent some time away, and his clock suddenly read 3 years, 20 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes, and 6 seconds instead of the 27 years you had grown used to seeing on him every day before he left. It didn’t take long for you to find out he was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer and treatments had stopped working.

You knew you weren’t crazy when you got to watch Kim’s clock - the very sweet receptionist at your job - begin to slow down the more she adjusted to a healthy lifestyle of eating right and taking care of her body. What was once a ticking time of a measly 21 years adjusted what would be a long and fulfilled 59 years more.

And you knew you weren’t crazy when at only seventeen years old, you watched as your best friend’s clock suddenly dwindled down to zero’s across the board like a slot machine while laying on the bathroom floor of a house party. The drugs in her system being too much for her young body to handle and completely consuming the 72 years she once had left.

You weren’t crazy, you just carried a burden no one should ever have. And because of it, you made sure not to get close to anyone in fear of watching yet another clock strike zero.

So you moved on with your life, forgetting all about the tall man who had spilled your drink and run into your mind, making you think things you hadn’t in so long, and instead, focused solely on getting through your days at work and getting back home. It was an easy routine, one you hadn’t strayed from much since moving to the city six years ago; wake up, feed Luci, get coffee, go to work, go home, shower, watch tv, go to bed. And as happy as you were that life wasn’t so painful these days, boring would be the only word good enough to describe your life.

Until your neighbors moved in.

You were standing in the kitchen, lifting the collar up to your mouth to try and quickly lick the hot sauce off the old, ratty Elton John Tour shirt you were wearing before it left a stain, wearing nothing else but some shorts, a nice pair of cheetah print slippers to cover your chilly toes, and one of the two hundred paper face masks you’d ordered off of Amazon in an attempt to clear your skin, when the loud bang on your front door startled you. Not only did your family not live in town, but your neighbors knew that you weren’t a people person. Ever since you made that very clear to them upon moving in, they hadn’t tried to contact you, so you just assumed whoever it was had gotten the wrong flat number.

But the knocking persisted.

Lucifer’s head had picked up from her lap upon hearing the first knock, now watching as you made our way closer to the front door. “What do I do?” but the only response you received was her head tilting to the right, like she was saying ‘Really? Answer it you idiot.’

You wanted to be angry, you really did, because you were nearly ready to be completely settled in for the night after a terribly long day and you just wanted to watch some bad tv with Luci, but the moment you twisted the door knob and peered into the hallway, any anger you had felt, completely washed away.

“Hey! Sorry, my mates and I-” he abruptly stopped mid sentence once his eyes landed on you, like his train of thought literally face planted into a brick wall. A look of realization flashed across his face quickly, and in a matter of milliseconds, what was once stress turned into a look of excitement. “Hey! It’s you!” he smiled.

“It’s me.” something about him made it very difficult for you not to mirror his smile, but that desire was overpowered by the confusion coursing through your mind.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again! I still feel terrible about what happened, are you sure you were alright? You didn’t burn yourself, did you?” The man was incredible at changing his emotions at the drop of a dime, for now his eyes were laced with concern where excitement had just lived. “Or I guess I should say I didn’t burn you, did I?”

He was much more put together this time, the workout attire you had last seen him in was traded in for a pair of light red slacks that looked to be a crushed velvet material paired with a plain white t-shirt and a pair of black vans. He looked like any university boy you’d see walking the streets, but at the same time, like nothing you had ever seen before. Something about him standing in your doorway brought you a sense of calm, like just his presence was enough to wash away the stresses of your day.

“I mean I can’t say that it felt particularly good, but I didn’t get burned, no.”

“Oh good. That’s good.” he nodded, and you made the mistake of following his hand with your eyes as he lifted it up to his curls to fix the glasses perched on his head. You didn’t want to know, didn’t want to see what kind of fate the universe had in store for him because the peace he had brought to you in the few moments he’d been standing there felt better than anything had in the past few years. But you were never that lucky.

Your eyes quickly casted back down, looking back at the white of his shirt while you cleared your throat. “Did you need something….” you dragged out the end of the word to indicate that you didn’t know what to call him since he hadn’t bothered to mention his name.

“Oh, right. ‘M Harry.”

“Georgie.

“Hello Georgie.” if possible, the grin on his face doubled in size, causing two dimples to appear at the corners and the air in your chest to feel as though it was tightening.

The two of you stood in your doorway without saying anything for another moment before you spoke up; “So did you need something or…”

“Fuck, yeah.” his voice was breathy when he responded, standing up straighter, “My mates and I just saw you come home and we’re in desperate need of a needle and thread. You’ve got one?”

It only took a second for him to realize his words and that surprised look from when you first opened the door was back. His eyes widened and his hands raised in front of him as a way to stop you before you could respond.

“Not in a creepy way! We weren’t like watching you or summat, swear! My mates Niall and Louis just moved in across the hall.” using his thumb he pointed to the open door across the hall where you could see two other guys watching yours and Harry’s interaction. Upon realizing they were spotted, they raised their hands in a small wave. “We heard you come in. Not that we were actively listening! Just - ‘m sorry. I swear we aren’t creeps.”

“Good. Thought I’d have to sic my monster of a dog on you.” you replied, turning to dig through the small table in what could barely be considered an entryway. The table had started out as a place to keep your keys and mail, but like most did, quickly turned into a junk drawer. An abyss to put any and everything only to never see it again.

Harry’s eyes frantically looked behind you like some crazy monster was about to lunge at him for bothering you at night, even going as far as taking a small step back when the door opened a bit wider while you were looking for the tool. You laughed when glancing up quickly at the movement. It was obvious he was panicking at the new information of potentially getting mauled by a massive dog while simply asking for thread. So you put him out of his misery.

“There’s no dog. I’m just joking…”

As if on cue, Lucifer waltzed up to see what was going on at the front door, her small body weaving between your legs to get a nice scratch while checking out the never before seen man. “Oh! A cat! I love cats!”

“Yeah she’s pretty great.” you nodded, closing the drawer and holding your hand out to Harry. “Here you go. Um, not sure what colour you need so you can just take the whole bag.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you! Niall has a date in ten minutes and he’s split his only good pair of trousers.” he turned his head to look over his shoulder at the boys inside the other flat, trying to seem like they weren’t listening to the conversation, but very obviously doing just that. “Have to sew him in like ‘m some sort of tailor.” he chuckled, turning back to face you.

“Sounds like an exciting night.”

“Oh riveting. I would ask if you’d like to join but you look very busy-” the corners of his lips were trying hard not to curl upwards with the light sarcasm, wobbling a bit as he continued speaking, “-so I wouldn’t want to interrupt anymore than I already have. I’m sure I’ll see you again, I practically live with these two idiots.”

“‘M sure I will.” Luci hadn’t left your side since joining you at the door, instead, she began meowing quite loudly, so you bent down to scoop her into your arms.

You liked Harry, not only because he was a very obviously a good looking man, but because he seemed to pick up on your social cues fairly quickly. He didn’t linger and try to get as much out of you as possible or make the fact that you clearly didn’t have much interest in talking uncomfortable. And it was the first time in a long time that you felt content being around someone. Not fearing what the future brought.

Harry halted his movements halfway between flats and spun back around quickly. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you press kisses to Lucifer’s head while standing in the doorway. Something you gathered from the very brief times you’d shared an encounter was that Harry was not very good at hiding his emotions. It was almost like he had no control of his mouth, because you could see him try to stop the smile from spreading, but it was no use. The dimples popped out in full force.

“I still owe you for that coffee.”

“Oh, um not a coffee.” you tried not to be loud enough for him to hear, noting that the fact that it wasn’t a coffee was not really that important, but he heard you anyway.

“Pardon?”

“Just um, it wasn’t a coffee. More of a hot chocolate drinker actually.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead just continued watching you with fond eyes and a now very prominent smile. You felt as though he could sense how out of touch with relationships you had begun to get over the years. What other explanation could he have for being so soft with someone he had just met and barely even known

“Right, well keep your schedule open so I can take you out for that replacement cocoa.”

Your door swiftly closed the second he turned back around, not leaving any extra seconds for him to turn around and look at you again. And the second she heard the click of the lock, Luci leaped out of your arms and made her way over to the sofa, meowing her entire journey.

“Yes that was him.” another meow. “I told you he was cute, and I also told you nothing would be happening there.”

Harry wasn’t lying when he said you’d be seeing him again. It seemed as though every day when you got back to your flat, he was there. Sometimes on his way out, other times just standing outside the door waiting for the other boys. And despite how at peace being around Harry had made you feel that day he came knocking at your door, you never put in much more effort than a “hello” here and there. He and the others had tried quite a few times to get you to join them on their night out, but each time you came up with a different excuse. Even if they were comforting, what was the point in forming that friendship when you knew you’d just isolate yourself again eventually. You had made it this long without getting too close to anyone else, and you weren’t going to start just because two attractive lads moved in across the hall who happened to have a very fit, very inviting, friend.

It wasn’t until nearly a month later that you actually had a full conversation with Harry again.

Typically you tried not to go to the coffee shop by your flat any later than lunchtime because it just got too busy. There were too many people for you to fully avoid them all and seeing too many clocks dampened your mood significantly. But you had already had a shitty morning and needed something to give you a boost.

The place had felt very melancholy since Rita’s unfortunate passing last month, she’d passed peacefully in her sleep while spending time with her family. You’d sent the family flowers as remembered, and also made sure to drop a few bills in the jar on the counter each time you’d been in the shop. Other employees were setting up a fund for Rita’s family since she was such a loved member of the community just with the joy she brought from behind the counter.

“Just a large hot chocolate for me, please.”

“For here or take away?”

“Take away please.”

“Actually she’ll have that for here, please.” a familiar voice behind you spoke up as you were digging through your bag for your wallet. You could see him out of the corner of your eye move from his spot behind you, to gradually standing next to you, looking directly at the barista behind the counter.

“Um..” you felt bad for the young kid, he couldn’t be any older than eighteen and all he wanted to do was get to work and get out. But here you were making his day more stressful than it needed to be. “So… for here then?”

“Harry I -”

“Come on Georgie. Please.” never in your life had you seen a grown man bat his eyelashes, but here he was, trying to lure you in with his breathtaking green eyes.

“Fine.” your voice came out soft and you rolled your eyes, but on the inside you felt giddy, like what you remember life to feel like before you started isolating yourself. “Um, sorry. I’ll have it for here I suppose.”

“Do you want the cream?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, I’ll have a -” Harry’s profile was something you could get lost in. How the tip of his nose seemed to bounce with every word he said, how it looked as if his lips were made to form the words falling from between them, or how no matter how many times he tried to get it to stay back, one of his curls would continue to break loose from the rest and fall past his forehead. From what little you’ve seen of it, Harry had a great sense of fashion. Comfortable. A brown teddy bear jumper was covering his upper body, sleeves long enough to gather just past his hands and torso short enough that you could see his white shirt peeking out from underneath, ripped black jeans, a pair of black chelsea boots, and those same tortoise shell glasses perched on his nose completed his look.

“Ready?”

“Huh?”

“You ready? ‘ve got a table back by the door.”

The two of you made your move to walk back towards the front of the shop, but you halted in your tracks when you saw that yes, he in fact did have a table waiting for him, but it was also being inhabited by the two boys you had seen behind him when he came to ask for thread. Neal and Liam? And a girl was sitting between the two as they chatted amongst themselves.

“Harry I don’t -”

“Come on, I promise we don’t bite.” Apparently you still didn’t look convinced because he leaned down to be at your eye level and stuck his lip out in a pout. “One drink. Please? I owe you remember?”

“Yes and you’ve already bought me a new one, thank you by the way, so you don’t owe me anything else.”

“I know.” the apples of his cheeks began getting pinker the longer he stared at you, “But I’d very much like to spend some time with you.”

Just like he did when he knocked on your door, his eyes widened and immediately seemed to want to backtrack what he had said. “Wait no, not in that way. In like a ‘hey I think you’re cute -’ no fuck that’s not -”

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“One drink.”

The relief was instant on his features, his shoulders sagging and eyebrows un-furrowing at your words. “Good. Afraid my mates were going to start thinking I made you up.”

“I live across the hall, they’ve seen me.”

“Well yeah, but I talk about you so much they thi- I - fuck.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from between your lips. You may not have had many friendships or relationships of any kind, but you did know excessive rattling wasn't generally how people spoke to one another. “You babble a lot.”

“Only when ‘m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?”

Harry wasted no time in his response, taking a quick glance over to you. “Because I finally get to spend time with the pretty girl across the hall.”

The heat rushing to your cheeks had become something of a common occurrence when speaking with Harry. It wasn’t obvious if he knew what he was doing or not, but you couldn’t imagine someone like Harry not knowing how to flirt. Thankfully, however, someone from the table spoke up before you could dwell on his comment longer than necessary.

“Finally!” the man sitting at the end of the booth spoke. He was dressed very similar to Harry in color - a tan quilted shirt was hidden beneath a cream colored teddy bear jacket, and pleated brown trousers. The light facial hair stubbled along his cheeks made him look slightly older than Harry, but his complete baby face counteracted that.

Harry looked at you briefly, raising his eyebrows with a ‘what did I tell you?’ kind of look as he bent down to slide into the booth next to the other man. His style was much different than the other two, more streetwear. He was wearing black trackies and an old gray band tee under a denim jacket, baseball hat and the very apparent smell of cigarettes finishing off the outfit. Another difference with him was that he had a girl with him. What you assumed to be his girlfriend by the way her head was resting on his shoulder and his hand fell on her knee. She was beautiful, long brown hair fell loose around her shoulders, only kept back by the fragile looking sunnies that rested at the top of her head. She was wearing a simple white top and a pair of white,black, and brown plaid trousers, both of which were overshadowed by the beautiful black Balenciaga jacket hanging off of her shoulders.

“Was starting to think you’d been lying about actually knowing her, Haz.” the one closest to Harry spoke, earning a light slap to his chest from the girl on his shoulder.

Harry disregarded all of their antics and turned to pat the seat next to him, indicating he wanted you to sit down, and he gave you a reassuring nod when you nibbled your lower lip between your teeth.

It was subtle acts like Harry letting you sit on the outside of the booth so you could make a quick getaway if needed that reminded you how easily he seemed to pick up on your social cues - even if you didn’t realize you did them. It made your chest tickle that even just from the two substantial conversations you’d had with him, Harry picked up on things you did.

“Piss off.” Harry chuckled, reminding you a lot of friendships you’d seen on tv where they all take the piss but it was easy to see that they all cared for one another. It was something you’d always been envious of while watching the world from the sidelines. “Georgie, this is Niall, Louis, and Louis’ girlfriend Eleanor. Everyone, this is Georgie.”

You were met with a chorus of hellos and you would’ve loved to just jump right into their conversation about the best places to get guacamole, just so that they knew you weren’t intentionally being rude to them. But not only were you not good at this conversation thing, but you also were still on edge about forming any sort of connection with these people. Apparently you should get used to Harry and his all knowing mind, because before you could excuse yourself from the awkwardness, he spoke up.

“So, how long have you lived in the building?”

Unprepared for the question, you froze for a second. “Oh, um going on six years now.”

“Impossible! What are you, like twenty? No way you’ve lived there that long!” Eleanor asked, her head no longer on Louis’ shoulder, instead she was sitting upright and looking directly at you. Of course, over the span of the years, you had gotten quite good at looking at people without really paying any attention to what was only visible to you above their heads, but it still made you uneasy. The best solution was just not to look at them at all. But these people, people who had no idea who you were a mere ten minutes ago yet were now welcoming you into their lives, made you want to work on avoiding the numbers. Because this was the most alive you’d felt in years.

“‘M twenty three. Be twenty four next Friday.”

“No shit! Alright well I’m coming over so you can teach me your skincare routine because you look flawless.” she gleamed, leaning forward on the table to jot down her phone number on one of the many spare napkins littering the tabletop.

“As much as I love a good skincare routine, let’s not skip over the more important part of that sentence. Your birthday is next week?” Harry asked, gently shoving his shoulder against yours and offering a kind smile when you glanced up at him.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. I haven’t really celebrated my birthday since I turned like eleven.” your parents used to throw you a party every year while growing up, a lavish over the top kind of party where all of your classmates were invited and family you had never even heard of pinched your cheeks. But as time went on and you didn’t give up your ‘ridiculous fantasy’ as your mother so kindly put it, they began to stop throwing the party. Now, you were lucky if they sent you a card on the day. Plus, celebrating your birthday alone is kind of a downer.

“You haven’t celebrated your birthday in over a decade?” Niall’s mouth hung open like that was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

“Nope.”

“Well that just won’t do.” you may not know very much about the people seated around you, but the smirk on Louis’ face told you everything you needed to know. “We’re having a party.”

“Um, thank you. Really. But parties aren’t really my thing. Plus I’m working that day so…”

“Oh, where do you work?” Harry asked, thoroughly interested in where you spend most of your days.

“Good Samaritan.”

“The nursing home down on Adams?”

“That’s the one. I’m a caregiver.” when you first applied for the position, you thought you were crazy. For someone who doesn’t want to get close to anyone in fear of their untimely demise, you definitely went for a job exactly the opposite. But that was the appeal to you. Sure, it was terribly sad to see one of your patients pass, but in the time leading up to it, you knew exactly who needed a little extra love. It was nice to be able to remind their loved ones to visit while making routine phone calls, and to do things to make them smile in what only you knew were their last days. It was the only time you thought what you were born with was some kind of gift. The tiniest most unwelcomed gift.

“That’s wonderful.” Harry’s voice was gently next to you, like he was hanging on to every short word that you said.

“Well, we’ll just have a party once you’re done with work.” Louis shrugged, but held his hands up when you opened your mouth to remind him you didn’t want anything. “Not a party, a friendly get together with friendly neighbors and alcohol.”

That day in the cafe was the beginning to a new start for you.

Obviously Lucifer had to hear about everything that happened that afternoon, but she was there to experience it first hand when Eleanor came knocking on your door the following day. She got to watch as you bent over in genuine laughter at your shared banter. She watched from the kitchen counter as Harry came by with food one night, saying he just happened to order extra lo mein and heard you come home. And as the two of you sat in the living room watching Big Brother, talking about everything from your favorite color to why he majored in physical therapy in university. Luci got to watch you break out of the shell you’d worked so hard on forming around you, and even though you knew she couldn’t understand what was happening, you liked to think her frequent meows were those of encouragement.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” The yells came from all corners of the room when you walked into Louis’s flat the following Friday, making your eyes widen and shoulders straighten. As much progress as you’d been making in your life, with branching out and slowly losing your fear of connection, it would take more than a week to crack down those barriers you’d built so high for so long.

“Thank you.” you laughed, putting down the bottle of wine you’d brought just in time for everyone to start surrounding you in hugs.

“Happy Birthday, love.” Harry’s voice was soothing in your ear, like a sense of relief in the overstimulation the other three had given you. You didn’t regret their company like you would have only a month ago, instead you welcomed the foriegn feelings. But it was still nice to have a moment of calm to fully process everything.

“Thank you Harry.”

“I hope it’s not too much. I told them to cool it on the balloons and confetti - especially since we all know I’ll be the one to pick it up in the morning.” he laughed, offering you a glass of wine that everyone else seemed to already be enjoying.

“No, no, it’s great. A nice segway from doing nothing every year.”

“Still can’t believe you haven’t celebrated your birthday in so long! That’s a day that should be celebrated by everyone!”that same look you’d grown to quite enjoy flashed over his features, his momentary distress as he realized he said something he wasn’t planning on sharing. But the look disappeared when he saw your knowing smile. “Don’t start.”

As promised, there was no party, per say. Everyone was just scattered around Louis’ living room telling stories about absolutely nothing that had everyone in stitches. It was the kind of party you’d always been envious of, one where mates could hang out and lose themselves in the company of each other. It was the first time you didn’t have a single thought about impending doom for more than an hour, a feit you would be sure not to forget.

Niall was laid out on the floor under the windows, a half empty bottle of rum in his hand and the other rested on his stomach, occasionally itching an invisible nuisance. Louis was seated in the arm chair directly across from Niall, a very buzzed Eleanor draped across his lap and the more the night went on, the less chances you had of seeing their faces separated. And Harry was seated next to you on the sofa, his arm hung on the back of the cushion in such a way that everyone so often you would feel the very tips of his fingers skim the exposed skin on your shoulder.

You wished you could freeze this moment in time, because a photograph or video would never do it justice. It was almost as if you were watching the night play out in front of you like a movie, not really in your body but watching from afar. Watching as the girl who hid herself from the world began to hatch, slowly cracking the hard exterior surrounding her. And you would do anything to bottle the feeling of pride that swelled in your chest knowing you had achieved that.

“Literally right in the face mate. No joke.” Niall cackled, his laugh a contrast in that moment; escaping his mouth loudly but carrying throughout the room softly. Taking off like a leaf blowing through the fall breeze.

“Georgie.” your name slipped from between Harry’s lips beautifully, like he was created for the sole purpose of saying your name over and over again; forever. “Alright?”

And sitting in the living room of Louis’ flat, listening to your friends’ wine induced giggles, looking at the most captivating pair of green eyes and curly hair that only whatever magical being that was above could’ve created, you were alright. You were so alright that the minuscule ticks of the clocks of your new and only friends, ticks you tried so hard to avoid paying attention to, almost seemed to disappear completely. Almost.

71 years, 2 months, 10 days, 3 hours, 16 minutes, 55 seconds. 68 years, 11 months, 3 days, 19 hours, 43 minutes, 2 seconds. 68 years, 7 months, 21 days, 1 hour, 58 minutes, 33 seconds. 62 years, 8 months, 9 days, 11 hours, 12 minutes, 2 seconds. 2 years, 1 month, 30 days, 23 hours, 34 minutes, 56 seconds.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you

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hazbbyhaz · 4 years ago

Text

sleepless || harry styles

twenty four

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: the party cleanup

disclaimer: mentions of selfharm, mentions of scars

just remember that sometimes, the way you think about a person isn’t the way they actually are - John Green

At 3am the party had finally started to die down, people slowly funneling their way out. And by 3:30, All the guests were gone, leaving Avery, Harry, and Francis. Avery was on her fourth cup of coffee, the caffeine keeping her awake enough to not pass out on the couch. Everyone was sitting in the living room, strewn around the space. All of them winding down from the energy that the party created. It was silent. Serene. Comforting, in a way.

Harry was the first to move, starting to pick up the mess that swept the entire flat. Avery and Francis joined him soon after. They collected all the cups and plates that were scattered about, bringing all of them to the kitchen. Francis washed the dishes, Avery dried and put them away, and Harry made several trips around the apartment to collect all the trash.

Avery was lost in her own world, taking her time in drying the dishes and figuring out where they were kept. A tap on her shoulder had broken her from her trance. When she looked back, she saw Francis with a big soapy beard on his face. His jaw was completely covered in bubbles.

“How do I look, Avery?”

“Absolutely fabulous, if I do say so myself.” They were giggling like children, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

The laughter had Harry making his way to the source, and the sight in front of him had him laughing too. It was nice seeing Avery and Francis smiling and laughing. It was something that he hadn’t seen in a while, mainly from his friend. Maybe this party really was what he needed. Maybe this was a fresh start.

“Alright Old Saint Nick, let's get the kitchen cleaned up, after that we are finished till the morning.”

Harry chuckled, throwing a towel to Francis, and after he wiped his face clean, they continued. The rest of the dishes were washed and put away, the counters were wiped down, and the floors were swept. Avery had the cake she made in her hands, about to put it in the fridge, before she heard someone protest.

“Nope. You're not putting that masterpiece away until you try a piece.”

Francis hastily took it out of her hands, grabbed a paper plate, and cut a small slice out of the cake. He just about shoved it into her hands, not taking his eyes off of her until she took a bite. "It's very sugary," She said, grimacing as she swallows her first bite. "I think I need to cut down on that the next time"

"I think it’s great," Francis shrugs, getting a new fork to take a bite from her piece. "I mean, considering this is one of your first cakes, this is amazing."

"Thank you." After tasting the cake herself, Avery doubted that he was telling the truth. It was awful. "Harry, you try a bite" She holds the fork out to Harry and he doesn't even take the utensil from her, but eats it straight from the fork. The silly action instantly made her blush, All the heat rushing to her face and making it beet red. But the redness of her cheeks quickly vanishes as Harry loudly coughs, and nearly downs a whole glass of water after swallowing the small bite of cake.

"I'm sorry, Ave, but..." He takes a breath. "that is revolting. Francis, how are you just eating that?" Avery giggles, looking over at Francis, who has almost finished her piece.

"I can feel the cavities forming in my teeth..." He takes another sip off his water.

"I like it." Francis concludes with a shrug. "Anyways, Avery, are you staying here or should we take you home? I can play my charm and convince Mrs Sheffield to give us her car keys."

"It's 4am," Harry frowns.

“Trust me, she loves me!"

They keep bantering back and forth while Avery contemplates if she should stay or go. She had been with Harry for a majority of the weekend, rarely leaving his side. She didn’t want to overwhelm him. Didn’t want him to get tired of her presence or feel like she was clinging to him. "You can stay, Ave. It's no problem." Harry says, bringing her back into reality with his green eyes looking into her own.

"I don't want to bother you guys"

"You're not bothering anyone. Stay. I can walk you home after breakfast"

Her gaze moves over to Francis, who was putting the cake back into its container. She was looking for him to protest, for him to say that he didn’t want her there. But he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, so she nods. "Alright, just til after breakfast."

Harry breaks into a smile and Francis puts the dessert in the fridge, slowly closing the door. "Great, now that this has been discussed, I am going to bed." Francis said goodnight to the two before vanishing in his bedroom. Avery noticed how Harry's eyes stayed fixed on his friends door for a moment.

"He likes you." Harry then says, turning back to her with a gleaming smile.

"I'm glad"

He walks over to her, leaning against the kitchen counter. "When do you go back to work?"

"Tomorrow."

"You're going to be tired."

"I'll be fine." She murmurs. In the dim kitchen light, Harry can see the three freckles on her nose, and the different shades of blue in her eyes. There had been numerous times where he’d thought about kissing Avery. More than he would like to admit. So many times where he wanted to sweep the loose strand of hair behind her ear, cup her cheek, and put his lips onto her own. He believed that, maybe, her pain would leave after he kissed her. He knew that it was stupid. That it was impossible. That something that mundane could ever fix the pain that she had felt.

So, out of all these times, he picked this one. He picked this time because he was tired. He picked this time because he still had some liquid courage coursing through his veins. He picked this time because she looked just… so unbearably sad. Even though he knew she had a great time that night, there was this underlying look to her. Even at her happiest, she always looked to be sad. Like she was in a great world of pain. Always.

He slowly leaned closer, his gaze fixed on hers. She didn't move away from him as their eyes met. "I don't think we should do that," Her breath is warm against his lips. "You'd regret it."

"I doubt that." His words are hushed, and if he leaned a bit closer, just the smallest bit, their lips would touch. Averys gaze switched between his eyes and his lips. She wants to be brave enough to close the gap. She does. But there is a small voice in her head telling her that it's wrong. That she will destroy everything that she has created if she moves forward with what's happening.

"You're so soft nobody knows how to take care of you".. "You know what you are? An ungrateful brat. That's all that you are, and that’s all you’ll ever be".

"You're pathetic, I can't deal with you anymore. No one can."

"I'm sorry but... I can't." She whispers and she doesn't have to tell him that's it because of her mind, her past, and everything that she continues to hide from him. He knows.

"I get it." Harry reassures her and instead of kissing her lips, he kisses her forehead.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” He leaned in again, pressing his lips to her forehead once more. This time letting them linger.

“It’s okay, Ave. It’s alright. You don't need to be sorry.”

So, instead of kissing, they watch Lost In Translation. Harry had fallen asleep shortly after, his head resting on her thigh, and Avery’s fingers gently carted through his soft, honey brown curls. Somewhen, the morning sun illuminated the living room. The early morning rays casting a golden shadow over the room. Bathing everything in what could only be described as eternal light.

Francis emerged from his bedroom soon after the sun rose, stopping for a short second to look at his friend. Harry was asleep on Avery's lap, his face cuddled into her stomach with her hand resting on his head. He looked so at peace, even youthful in his sleep. He was getting the rest that Francis knew he deserved. That he needed.

Seeing him and Avery together made Francis happy. He saw the way that they had interacted during the party. They were always together, never spending much time apart.

Francis made his way to the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water. He got a cup out of a cabinet, one that had been washed only hours ago, and filled it at the kitchen sink. not bothering with ice, it was too early for ice cold water. Once the cup was full, he turned off the tap and turned around. He jumped and nearly dropped his cup, startled to see Avery stood at the entrance of the small space.

“Jesus! You scared me.” Francis leaned against the counter, holding a hand up to his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

They stood there in silence for a while. Avery eventually made her way into the kitchen, sitting atop of the counter closest to the entrance. Francis was looking out the small window they had in the kitchen, and Avery watched. He didn’t seem to be actively in the room. His mind was elsewhere. This was a different kind of silence. Not like the atmosphere that they had experienced after everyone had left hours ago. This one was darker, in a way.

Somehow, Avery knew. She just knew. She knew that he was troubled. Maybe it was the worry that Harry always had in his eyes when looking at his friend. Maybe it was the dread that showed in Harry’s face whenever he called. Or maybe it was her own personal experience. But, either way, she knew. She could see the scars that littered his arms, the ones he had tried so desperately to cover, and it made her angry. Did she have a real right to be angry? No. She didn’t truly know the boy that was standing in front of her, but she knew enough. She knew enough to know that he shouldn’t feel that kind of pain. From what she had seen, he was funny, caring, and he stood by his friends. He cared for his friends. She didn’t want anyone to know half of what she had been through, what she had felt. And she knew that he had.

“Francis?”

“Yes?”

“Just… thank you.”

He looked bewildered by her words, not knowing what they were for. “For what, Avery?”

“For earlier. Eric. You saw that he was bothering me and you told him off. I never got to thank you for it.”

“Oh… it was no problem. He was being a prick. He kept on advancing towards you when you told him no, and I won't stand by to see that.” He made his way to the kitchen sink, Avery not too far from him, and started to rinse out his empty glass. Avery watched as he did so, closing her eyes shortly after to let them rest for a minute.

“Avery?”

“Yes, Francis?”

“Can you promise me something?” He looked into her eyes, a serious glint inside of them.

“I guess so… what is it?”

“This probably isn’t my place, and I apologize if I offend you in any way. But, just… please stand up for yourself. Okay? There are loads of blokes like Eric, people who will take advantage of you because you are too nice, people who will disregard your rejection of their actions. You have to stand up for yourself. I would hate to see you get hurt because of something like that.”

She was taken aback by what he was saying. She didn’t know how to respond, at least not right now. So she simply nodded her head, casting her eyes downward.

“And thank you for the cake, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. I'm glad.”

Avery’s apartment was a wreck. Various papers and notebooks littered every surface as she tried to find a good sample she could send over to Hughes Magazine. This was a real opportunity, one that needed to be taken seriously. She has the chance to be a published writer, to have something that she had written somewhere in the world for people to see. To say that this was nerve wracking was a major understatement. Avery was sitting in the middle of her living room looking like a mad woman, frantically flipping through notebooks in hopes of finding something that she deemed good enough.

After going through every piece of writing she had, she decided to submit two short stories and a handful of poems. She chose pieces that, she hopes, shows her diversity as a writer. Avery wanted this to be something, just once. She added her CV and all the other required information before attaching the poems and stories at the end of the e-mail, sending it off to their office in London before closing her laptop, pushing every bad thought aside.

As she began to pick up the mess she had made in the process, Avery's phone lit up showing her a message from Tom.

Tom: Hey, is there any chance you could come in early tomorrow? I've found a potential new employee and I would like you to show her around a bit.

Avery: Sure. How much earlier?

Tom: Thirty minutes early will be fine, just need a second opinion on her. She would be starting work soon, if she is decent at everything.

Avery: I'll be there.

Tom: Thank you, Avery :)

"What do you think about the editing?" Harry questions Francis, showing his laptop with the edited photo on the screen. He spent the whole Sunday in front of the computer, trying to finish editing the set his boss needed for an upcoming ad. His eyes were exhausted and his head ached from the hours he spent looking at the monitor screen.

"I like it," Francis says with a shrug, continuing to eat his Ben and Jerry's out of the paper container.

"I need constructive criticism, Frany. Saying you like it is not cutting it anymore." Harry groans, putting his head back to regain composure and stretch his sore neck.

"You know I'm devoted to the numbers.'" Francis replies with a sigh. "I can't give you constructive criticism when I don't understand it."

"It's art. Most of the time you don't have to understand it."

"Why are you not doing your black and white photography? I love it and I know you do too, I'm sure there are some people who would buy it."

"Those “some people” aren't going to pay rent," Harry closes the laptop, realizing Francis really wouldn't be much help here, and layed down on the sofa, his head atop the arm rest. "I wish I could just do that."

"I’d say do it. Do what makes you happy. That's what you always tell me, anyway."

"Yes, but you're different," Harry murmurs, his eyes closed and his forearm shielding them from the sunlight. "And what would I photograph? I don't go out anymore, I barely see James or Emily or Anais anymore. And God, I have a million photographs of you already."

"First of all, you make that sound like a bad thing." Francis replies, before eating another spoon of his ice cream. "Why don't you do a series on Avery?"

"She doesn't like being photographed."

“May I remind you that that's what you do? Take photographs without people noticing, so it's not staged."

"Yes I know, but-" Before Harry can finish his sentence Francis makes his way to Harry's room only to come out a minute later with a large black and white print. Harry remembered that day as if it were yesterday. It was Anais’s birthday party. Francis wasn't well that day so Harry had to take him to the party, he didn’t trust him enough to leave him home alone. He had spent the whole evening making rounds around the house, camera in tow, capturing every guest he could.

The photo in front of him showed Francis in an armchair in Anais’s living room. There was a half empty glass of champagne in his hand and a red balloon tied to his pinky, and at the first glance it almost looked comical. This sad boy with all the balloons, presents, and dancing people around him.

That same night, Harry had gotten absolutely wasted. So, when Francis told him that he wanted to go home, he didn't hold him back. He didn't look at him, not really, not like he should have. Once he had finally made his way back to their flat, he found Francis cutting himself on the bathroom floor and immediately sobered up. They didn't talk while Harry gently patched his friend up, doing so with so much care that it made Francis cry. And they didn't talk while Harry sent Francis to bed before he cleaned the bathroom, blaming himself for everything that had happened in the process.

Despite everything that came after, this was still one of his favorite photographs he had ever taken. The black and white didn't seem dramatic, but natural. He caught Francis without a mask, just Francis. It was safe to say that his best friend despised the whole thing, he didn't like it one bit and Harry was sure that if he hadn't stopped him, Francis would have ripped the print to shreds immediately.

"I really like that print..." Harry mumbles, eyeing the photograph that feels like it was taken so long ago. When he was still so naive and inexperienced, thinking he could just do this his whole life. "But I can't do it. I have to think about earning money, this dream won't take me anywhere."

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little-mad · 3 years ago

Note

“Stop looking at me like that.” With Sebastian saying it?

I had absolutely nothing to do today so I was glad to spend the day working on this!

From this list of prompts here

And for anyone who doesn’t know, more details about these two can be found on my oc masterlist

___________________________________________________________

It had been exactly two weeks since Sebastian had gained a new roommate in his pixie companion, Ambry. He’d offered to let her live with him rather than move into a human sized house all by herself. He had his logical reasons for making the decision, like the convenience of having his companion readily at hand. However, Sebastian also secretly felt the need to keep an eye on the pixie. Prior to moving in with him, she had apparently had no experience with the human world. He had to assume it was all very overwhelming for such a tiny creature.

During the first couple of days she had been so skittish, flinching whenever he made the slightest move. It was obvious she was intimidated by the vast disparity in their sizes. The reaction was understandable, but that didn’t change the fact that it made Sebastian incredibly uncomfortable. As a witch, it wasn’t uncommon for even other humans to view him with a level of trepidation. But next to Ambry, it was difficult not to feel completely monstrous.

Of course, Sebastian did his best to ignore the moments when the pixie would react fearfully to something he did. He could tell by the way she always tried to play the reactions off that she was embarrassed by them. For that reason, he pretended as if he didn’t notice and that it didn’t faze him.

Over the past couple weeks, Ambry had seemed to progressively get more comfortable with Sebastian’s presence. At the very least, the startled yelps and winces had become less frequent. He hoped she was really getting used to the human world and not just putting on a brave face.

Sebastian sighed, running a hand through his white bangs. He had never been particularly great with people beyond surface level niceties. The bond between a witch and their companion was meant to be something special, he didn’t want to screw it up by making Ambry afraid of him.

That had been a big reason Sebastian had decided she needed her own private, appropriately portioned space. For the past two weeks she’d been sleeping in a doll’s bed on his bedside table. From the start he had known it would be a temporary set-up, but he hadn’t known what to replace it with until a friend from his coven informed him of a local witch that specialized in shrinking magic. The witch owned a shop that crafted incredibly detailed miniature houses, and when Sebastian had informed her that the house would be inhabited by a pixie, she had eagerly offered to equip it with working electricity and running water.

The finished house was now set up on a table in the corner of Sebastian’s room, and while it had come with a set of furniture, Ambry had insisted she wanted to decorate the place herself. It was for that reason that the pixie was currently standing on a spread of newspapers atop the kitchen table, painting intricate designs on a tiny wooden wardrobe.

Sebastian was determined to give her space, he didn’t want to loom over her while she was trying to work. So instead of sitting at the table with her, he had taken to busying himself with cooking dinner. Originally, he’d been planning on ordering out tonight, but considering he needed something to keep himself out of Ambry’s way, he decided to whip something up instead.

The vegetable and chicken medley had just gone into the oven to cook when Sebastian heard a frustrated grunt come from the table. Glancing across the peninsula, he caught sight of Ambry attempting to move the now finished wardrobe. She didn’t seriously plan on attempting to carry that thing all the way to the bedroom by herself, did she? Of course, she had demonstrated somewhat of a reluctance to accept too much physical help from Sebastian. It wasn’t completely far-fetched to imagine that she was trying to avoid requesting human assistance.

Letting out a soft sigh, Sebastian set down the knife he had been rinsing off and made his way over to the kitchen table. It was impossible for him not to notice the way Ambry froze as soon as he began to approach. As he stepped up beside the table, the pixie backed away from the wardrobe and turned to stare up at him.

First, Sebastian took a moment to appreciate Ambry’s handiwork. The once plain wooden piece of furniture was now covered in intricate vines and flowers of various colors. It definitely matched Ambry’s personality much better now. “It looks good,” he noted. “I can take that to your house for you.” Without hesitating, Sebastian reached down and plucked up the wardrobe in one hand. As he lifted it up from the table, he couldn’t help but notice the wide eyed look Ambry was suddenly giving him.

Sebastian stiffened as the pixie’s vibrant yellow eyes looked up at him in what almost seemed like awe. Looks of simple fear or anxiety he was used to, but this wasn’t that. Although, whatever this reaction was also made him uncomfortable, just in a different way. “Stop looking at me like that,” Sebastian found himself saying before he could stop himself.

As if his words had shattered a spell she’d been under, Ambry’s stare broke as she shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” she apologized with a chuckle. With a seemingly effortless flutter of her wings, Ambry lifted up into the air so that she hovered closer to Sebastian’s eye level. “It’s just wild seeing you pick up something so heavy like that.”

While Ambry seemed to be very determined not to appear too intimidated by everything around her, that didn’t mean she was afraid to talk about the subject of size disparity altogether. After only a couple days of knowing each other, Ambry had taken to playfully referring to humans as “giants.” She’d even marveled at how big his bed was the first time she had seen it. It was almost like she was fine talking about size so long as it was in a lighthearted manner.

Glancing at the miniature wardrobe he held in his hand, Sebastian took note of its weight. Because it was made from real wood, the thing was fairly hefty relative to its size. Still, there was no muscular strain from holding it. To him, it wasn’t heavy. Of course, Ambry had a completely different perspective. She’d just been struggling to move it even a couple inches across the surface of the table.

Sebastian gave a shrug. “You act impressed by that as you’re flying.” Being able to fly was as natural as breathing to pixies, but Sebastian still found himself wowed by it whenever he saw Ambry do it. He’d encountered other flying creatures before meeting Ambry, like griffins and harpies, but they lacked the aerial grace that pixies possessed. It was easy for Sebastian to feel big and clunky around someone so lithe and agile.

Ambry looked slightly taken aback by Sebastian’s comment at first, but her expression quickly shifted into a smirk. “I don’t blame you for being jealous, I am a top-notch flier,” she teased.

“I don’t have any other pixies to compare you to so I guess I’m forced to believe you,” Sebastian remarked. He allowed the corners of his mouth to pull up in a small smile.

“Exactly,” Ambry declared, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Now be careful with that wardrobe. I wouldn’t want all my hardwork getting ruined by a big clumsy human.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, the slight smile still on his face. “Right,” he responded before turning to make his way to the bedroom. It was funny how such a small interaction could have the power to improve his mood so much.

#thanks for the prompt!#g/t prompt #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #trahb #oc: Sebastian Altalune #oc: Ambry

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dostthouhavenochill · 3 years ago

Text

Performance

Rating: Gen

Fandom: Castlevania (Netflix)

Word Count: 2.6k

Characters: Alucard, Greta of Danesti, Sypha Belnades, minor OCs (mentioned)

Relationships: pre-Gretacard, Trephacard (mentioned)

Warnings: none

Summary: Alucard muses on how life has changed since the head woman of Danesti, now Belmont, and her people have settled about his home.

The clearing was relatively quiet that afternoon, with the odd settler or two roaming around, enjoying a moment’s rest after doing their part in the rebuilding effort for the day. The setting sun warmed Alucard’s skin as he sat against a large oak tree. Strong winds shook the branches above his head, sending bursts of orange and red drifting about him. He brushed errant leaves out of his basket and plucked out a dark spool to finish his mending.

Aaliya and Rahim, bless their hearts, were the most rambunctious out of all of Alucard's children. So it came as no surprise when a few hours ago, Rahim came to him with pieces of what used to be a stuffed horse, “His name is Sumac, Father!”, wailing his dark eyes out. Alucard promised to make time to mend him by the end of the day. The toy was a well-loved thing, with stains and misaligned stuffing, all evidence of a boy who took his friend everywhere he went. The horse’s reddish-brown fur was now a muddled sepia and its once cream mane and markings now gray. Alucard just about had his fill of bloody horses, but he could make an exception just this once.

He wasn’t resting alone though. After depositing lumber and stone for Solomon and his building team, Greta settled beside him. She only dozed off a short while ago, but not before giving a knowing chuckle at his project and a snark about how he was finally as used to people as people were used to him. Absolutely maniacal. He couldn’t find room to complain.

So much had changed in just these last four months. Alucard would be lying to himself if he said that it wasn’t jarring to go from months of solitude to human interaction and back again, a hellish cycle that always seemed to end with him alone. But with the settlement of the people of Danesti, now Belmont, that cycle had been broken. Funny, considering how he had been hesitant towards the idea.

Except hesitant wasn’t an accurate description. Initially, Alucard had to wrestle with his desires for both solitude and companionship. As much as he longed for the latter, Alucard wasn’t prepared for its magnitude. Saint Germain, for all his scheming, offered a reasonable solution to a suffering people. Only that reasonable solution left Alucard feeling bare and scrubbed raw, as if the entirety of the world made itself at home in his ribcage before even giving him the courtesy of undoing the frog of his cape first.

Those first nights after the battle was when the enormity of his hospitality truly began to set in. He lamented the loss of his solitude. Protection, knowledge, and safety-he would never hesitate to offer, but with so many rooms holding so many personal memories, he’d unintentionally left his soul bare to all. He remembers all but dashing ahead of Greta while showing her the food supply to hide his makeshift companions from her teasing, scrutinous gaze.

But...it was nice.

It had been so long since the halls were alive, filled with laughter and with people milling about the halls. It hardly ever seemed like he was alone now. His role as champion along with Greta’s say-so granted him a founding role in Belmont and as such was bombarded with questions daily; someone asking for aid, someone asking for instruction, someone...just asking how he’s faring that day.

From beside him, Greta, with her arms crossed, snored softly. Alucard let out an undignified chuckle. For someone who had such hasty and scathing observations about settling at Castlevania, she seems quite content.

Greta wasn’t wrong when she called the Castle cold. Alucard remembers plenty of nights alone, abandoned, shivering and craving nothing but someone, anyone, to ease his loneliness. His mother. His father. Belmont. Sypha. Anyone. But after Sumi and Taka’s betrayal, Alucard began to appreciate the aura Castlevania emanated. It’s dark, cavernous windows and ominous silhouette, looming and judging those who came across it, a warning sign to all. It stood imposingly with cautionary tales skewered at its lip. Greta was simply experiencing the emotions Castlevania intended to elicit from oncomers; the cold, fear, and danger.

Even so, after everything that’s happened, Alucard couldn’t help but feel a sense of welcome and warmth in those dark, cavernous windows.

The windows that led to the study where Adrian spent years on years learning a multitude of languages, preferring the ones with lots of “s’s” because of the way it slithered off his tongue.

The windows that led to the southwestern dining room, where an infantile Adrian nearly chomped off his mother’s finger whilst she tried to stop him from swallowing a frozen carrot he’d been teething on.

The windows that led to the science hall, where he, Sypha, and Trevor spent the last few blissful days of their union getting drunk and blasting off various spells into the ceiling to see what would happen.

Yes, there had been plenty of warmth in the Castle, even before it had been graced with the people of Danesti. Almost every room he can recall with a smile and a fond tale. He’d had to convince Greta, he thinks. He can already imagine it; the disbelief on her face when he tells her he learned to shapeshift into a dire pup in a conservatory, a room filled with foliage and beakers and sunlight and all sorts of breakable things. And he can imagine telling her that Lord Dracula himself had to call for aid from his wife when their son burst through a window and pranced about nude in the outdoor sun. He can imagine that curious wrinkle in her brows before she thinks of something, immediately says it, and rarely regrets it.

He can imagine telling her so much about his childhood. About Vlad and Lisa Țepeș. About growing up the only dhampir, to his knowledge. He can imagine telling her so much about his past and about, ahem, possibly their present; what’s changed since he met her and what’s stayed the same. The tangled but firm bundle of feelings she’s elicited from him. He’ll have to ask for her time one day, one day when she isn’t exhausted from doing the work of half a dozen persons in a few hours time and taking a well-earned break.

Alucard was broken from his musings when he saw Sypha striding up to him in the distance. In the midst of Sypha’s pregnancy, her passion and spitfire were amplified. As such, she had enough of all the side looks and loaded barbs between them all.

They had talked, Trevor and Sypha and Alucard. They talked about feelings, about abandonment and betrayal and neglect, about Trevor and Sypha’s child also calling Alucard father. About how it was almost too soon to make such a leap, feelings too raw. About sentiments that could have, perhaps should have, been properly expressed before fucking off across Europe. About regrets and pain, about trust and building it back up. It wasn’t ruined, but it was worse for wear. Nothing that some regular maintenance wouldn’t help.

Alucard almost stands to offer Sypha a hand, but she politely declines, saying that if she gets down, she won’t get back up as easily. Besides, she was only here for a quick thing. Then, she took note of the sleeping Greta, and lowered her voice, saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so still before.” Alucard was inclined to agree. With her coat draped over her lap, and her head lopped to the side, Greta looked at peace. The tasks of a head woman were never-ending, it seems.

“What brings you out here, then?” Alucard asked, once he was able to drag his gaze away from Greta’s sleeping form.

“Rahim was looking for you,” she cocked her head, giving him a puzzled look. “He said that you would help him find some sumac?.” Chuckling into his chest, Alucard ties off the thread on the poor thing's left haunch and passes it up to Sypha.

“I believe I stitched together all the bits of his Sumac as best I could.” Alucard wonders if Sypha even heard him over all her soft albeit consistent cooing.

“Alucaaaard. I never knew you were so good with a needle,” she spoke as she ran her fingers lovingly through its sullied mane. “With the state of Trevor’s socks, he could learn a thing or two from you.”

And then the most terrifying thing happened; Sypha got The Look. To the casual observer, looking at the duo of Belnades and Belmont, one would think that the former was the sensible one. And they wouldn’t necessarily be wrong. However, what the casual observer typically fails to notice is that Sypha, for all her grace and intellect, was at least half as crazy and twice as impulsive as Belmont himself. Arguably, she was at her worst when she got mischievous, and the only tell for that was a distinct Look; one where her impossibly large eyes sparkled and her lips twitched like a kitten holding onto a canary for a little too long.

“You knoooooow,” she began, sounding like a child all too eager to tell an adult about some fact they recently learned, a fact that they had no business knowing. “It's never too early to start preparing things for the baby-books, clothes, toys and things. Perhaps little Trefor would appreciate something personal from his Alucard. Mayhaps if you had any miniature dolls of his parents lying about,” her bright eyes squinting in mischief, “Or something like that.”

Alucard would’ve liked the earth to swallow him whole or for a wayward night creature to snatch him away into the woods. He would’ve liked a multitude of things, but he was stopped by a soft snort coming from behind him. He turned to see Greta trying and failing to suppress a smirk.

With her eyes still closed, she gave up her storybook act and said, “I’m sure sunshine here could pull something off. Yours and Trevor’s resemblance is quite striking.” Sypha howls with laughter, calming herself only after Alucard throws her a glare, all the while blush painting his...well, everything. He sighs, turning back to Greta.

“I hadn’t known you were such a fan of my needlework.”

“Well, I hadn’t intended on saying anything.” Greta barely got her last word out before Alucard rounded back, still mortified.

“Quite unlike you. I ought to be worried.” Greta cracks open an eye at that, playfully raising an eyebrow at the dhampir.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said indignantly.

“I don’t know what gave you that impression,” Greta closed her eye again, crossing her arms behind her head, “ I was merely resting my eyes.”

“And your heart rate?” Alucard bent an arm against his leg, resting his chin in his palm and gazing at her through lidded lashes. “If I had poorer hearing, I would have almost certainly mistaken you for a sleeping person.”

Greta raised a single finger. “Almost. Key word: almost.”

Rolling his eyes under closed lids, Alucard said, “You would make an excellent performer, you know.”

“I am a woman of many skills.”

“Indeed. One day, I imagine you might even be able to successfully imitate a rock.”

Greta effortlessly lands a hit against Alucard’s thigh. There’s no real force behind it. It’s the same friendly banter they’ve always shared, the same heat that fills his chest, the same stir it causes in his gut, and the same burn to the spot she touched.

“Smartass.” As she draws her hand back, the smirk on her face never drops.

Alucard, chuckling and chest warming, cocks his head back to Sypha to ask if she needs anything else from him and is surprised to see an intensity in her widened eyes. Wide as they were when they first entered the Belmont hold, large and curious and flickering as she combed through every book she could find, devouring any new information at her grasp with a thrilling quickness. Before the embarrassment at being perceived settled in his bones, Greta spoke up, this time to Sypha, making her eyes softer than usual.

“How are you and the little one today, Sypha?”

“We’re well, thank you,” Sypha takes her hand and rubs it across her slowly increasing bump, giving the head woman a pleased grin. “I see you’re taking a well-earned break.”

“Nothing wrong with a little rest,” Greta shrugs, relaxing further back against the bark. Her brows get that curious wrinkle, however, and she says, “Especially for those of us with child who’ve been running about since dawn.”

Alucard takes solace in the fact that the air around Sypha tingles ever so slightly and he is, for once, not subject to embarrassment. If Greta sensed Sypha’s chagrin, as she almost certainly did, she didn’t make it known, aside perhaps from the cute crinkle around her eyes and nose.

But Sypha recovers much faster than Alucard ever has, giving Greta a self-satisfied smile. “I’ll have you know I wasn’t up and about until after the sun broke.” She then releases a long sigh. “But between Trevor, Khadijah and the other healers’ constant fretting, you’d think I was on my last legs instead of giving life.”

Mischief incarnate would do well to take note of Greta of Danesti, with a hand propped under chin, a single digit tapping her cheek, and a dangerous glint in her burnished eyes. “Foolish of them, then, to disregard the woman who battles night creatures regularly and moved an entire fucking castle as incapable of anything.”

“Foolish indeed!”

Alucard cast a sly gaze towards Greta, naughty of you to rile her up like this-Belmont is sure to get an earful later. Coy is never a word he would’ve ascribed to the head woman, but the curve of her lips and flutter of her lashes had him reconsidering.

Sypha says her goodbyes and goes to return the horse to its rightful owner. Stopping short, she looks back to Greta and says, “I don’t think you have much room to talk, however, Head Woman Greta of Danesti-now-Belmont-who-wakes-with-the-sun-and-slays-night-creatures-and-carries-lumber-and-.”

Greta ducks her head, sending the Speaker off with a wave, “Enough of that, Belnades.” She lowers her hand, her brows creasing as she says, “Thank you and be well.”

As Sypha departs, Greta settles back against the tree. With nothing to keep his hands busy, Alucard joins her in relaxing in the setting sun, hands folded in his lap. Being immortal, the dhampir never needed excessive amounts of sleep to function, per se. Perhaps he would just rest his eyes and enjoy the company.

Alucard sighs as the cool breeze passes through his hair and picks up fallen leaves, carrying them across the clearing. Then he sputters as one flies straight into his mouth. The dhampir gets no warning as Greta’s soft hands pull his hair aside, causing him to jump slightly. Her slender fingers pick out the foliage from his hair and shoulders before tossing them to the ground beneath them.

She can’t stop herself from letting out one last chuckle at Alucard’s expense. “Are you sure you don’t have anything better to do that loaf about with me, sunshine?” Her tawny eyes held still against his. Alucard arched his head back against the tree to appreciate her gaze.

“Nothing in particular springs to mind,” he doesn’t bother smothering the smirk growing on his face, “Besides, as I understand it, Khadijah has ordered you to loaf about after your mishap two nights ago.”

That earns him quite the eyeroll. “Khadijah, the worrywart, would order me to loaf about if I tripped over a stick.”

“Tripping over a mere stick?,” he lilted, “ I’d think he’d need to examine your head if that ever happened.”

Another thwack. Another burst of heat. Only this time, Alucard held fast, catching her hand before it could completely fall away. Greta startled at his reflexes, her head teasingly cocked aside as her eyes flicked from his to their joined hands. Before he lost his nerve, Alucard placed his other hand atop hers, giving it a soft squeeze and resting it in his lap. “I’m sure. I’d much rather be here than anywhere else.”

#come get y'all juice #fanfic #who did this #castlevania #gretacard #greta danesti #alucard #adrian tepes #sypha belnades #trephacard #castlevania fanfic

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