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simplydozing · 5 months ago

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𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥

Stanford Pines X Reader After your reunion and a few shared drinks atop the Mystery Shack, you show him something about yourself that no one would even think you have. Word Count: 1222 || Ao3, Wattpad

A/N: Sorry For Being Inactive, There Was A Lot Going On These Past Couple Of Months. But I Prevail! (Long Enough To Write A Little Something For You Guys, Granted It's Not Ghost Related. Sorry About That Too, By The Way. Maybe And Hopefully You Guys Will Enjoy Anyway!) Thank You SO Much For Your Patience!

Oh what a time to be alive.

Your dear friend, one who’s been missing for the past few years, came back through an interdimensional portal that your boss made under his gift shop.

Indeed.

That doesn’t matter though, that’s a story for another day. He was back and that’s all you cared about.

Slurred words and laughter filled the warm night air as you both sat on the roof of the Mystery Shack. A few soda cans were strewn around, along with a couple of glasses and a bottle of your finest whiskey. You saved it for a time like this. You both had a couple of drinks already to start the night off so you’d be loose enough to talk. Because let’s be real, 30 years does something to a man. 30 years also made him the silver fox he is today and you needed a little something to distract yourself from that fact.

But enough of that now.

He was telling you about the things that Bill did to him while he was possessed.

“And then I almost got arrested for the third time! I had a real track record going then.”

You both laughed.

“I remember something like that! You went buck ass wild at one point in college,” you took a sip from your soda.

“You did a lot of stuff that I thought you would never do.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Yeah, I thought that too,” he rubbed the back of his neck, remembering that you attended the same university he did. You heard a lot from him.

“I also remember something about you waking up with a new tattoo,” you smiled.

Ford chokes on his drink.

You clap a hand over your mouth to try and not let out the laugh you were holding. He’s frantically sputtering and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. His face goes red and he’s fiddling with his glasses.

“That, I wish you didn’t,” he mutters.

You really didn’t mean to embarrass him, but you both used to pick on each other way back when. He should be used to it, but with the way he deflates, you could tell that it wasn’t his proudest moment. It seemed like you struck a chord.

You playfully roll your eyes and pour yourself another drink, deciding to go ahead and make things even.

“It can’t be as bad as mine though,” you pretend to sigh.

You see your plan go into effect when he perks back up.

He tilts his head with raised brows.

“You-“

“Mhm.” You abruptly answered his almost question.

“I can show you, if you’d like,” you tempt him. It could be the drinks, it could be your newfound confidence, but that twinge of seduction in your voice had him by the-

“Yes!” He blurted.

Bingo.

You down your glass of liquid courage and slide closer to him, however, you lean back and angle your side so that it would be more visible to him.

You wink, and with slow hands, you peel your shirt upwards, stopping right under your chest.

And Ford…

…Is cowering away from your form.

His glasses were off resting beside him and he had one- no, both of his hands covering his face. To add insult to injury, he turned away from you and was hunched over, further avoiding your gaze.

It quite honestly pissed you off.

“Stanford Pines, I asked if you wanted to see it!”

You still had your shirt raised.

“I-I didn’t know it would be in a place s-so…”

He paused, trying to look for the right (respectful) word.

“Revealing.”

Your face untwisted itself from anger and relaxed to a more somber, a more understanding look.

Despite being able to irritate the crap out of you, he was still a proper gentleman. He would never look at anyone’s body without their consent. On purpose, anyway.

He was never as vulgar as his brother, Stanley.

“Stanford,” you breathe.

Seeing how he would rather not “expose you to his wandering eyes” (he has said this before when he accidentally walked in on you changing) and would refuse to look at you instead of asking you to cover up made you realize just how soft and respectable he can be. It made your heart flutter.

He peeked through his fingers, still turned away from you.

“You can look, it’s just on my side.”

He shifts.

“You’re fine with me looking?”

“Yes.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Stanford-“

“Okay! Okay.”

He uncovers his face and reaches behind him for his glasses.

“I’m about to look,” he announces as he places them on his face.

He takes a shuddering breath and calmly turns back to you.

And what he sees makes his face go red.

You have a tattoo of a unicorn bursting through a field of clouds with a rainbow shooting from its horn. It covers your rib cage almost entirely.

His eyes. You never thought they could get that wide.

There’s a second spent in awe before he looks up at you, a hand coming up to touch it before immediately halting.

“May I?”

You simply nod.

Even with you allowing him to feel you, he does so with such hesitation.

His fingers make contact with the slightly faded ink and begin to trace each line.

He feels the same way he did when he found the symbol of the prophecy.

You watch him glide his way over your once drunken mistake.

Until he hits a certain spot that makes you twitch. He stops as soon as he feels you jolt.

“I’m sorry, I-I must have-“

“No, no. It’s okay! I’m just… a little ticklish there is all,” you calm him before he has the chance to freak out.

But you may have given him an idea instead.

“Ticklish, you say?” His fingers wriggle, threatening you.

“Don’t you dare!” You release your shirt and scoot away.

Laughter rang out in the night once again. He refrained from tickling you, being a man of his nature, but he now knows a new way to get under your skin.

“You were right, you know. That was bad,” he playfully nudges your shoulder.

“Hey! Be glad you saw it, Ford!“ You chide.

“No one even suspects I have a tattoo in the first place!”

Admittedly, you never told anyone about it. Not only did no one ask about it, but you were the type to keep to yourself. You don’t reveal too much of yourself unless you get to know someone.

“Really?!”

He almost took you out from how quick his gaze met yours.

You slid back to him, right next to him, and eased your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah…”

He gently rested his head on top of yours and slowly wrapped his arm around you.

When things settled down, you both stared off to the sky. The two of you had to sober up a bit before turning in for the night.

In truth, Ford could spend the rest of his life like this with you. He won’t tell you that, though.

Not yet, anyway.

For now, he was going to take this moment and etch it in his memory for a journal entry later.

“Unicorns don’t actually look like that, by the way.”

“I’m going to shove you off this roof.”

#♥︎#gravity falls #gravity falls fandom #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #ford pines #ford pines x reader #ford pines x you #gravity falls stanford #gravity falls ford

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drowned-captain · 24 days ago

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The Rebound - Pitfighter! Vi x Fem! Reader - Ch. 4

A/N: RAAH THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON THE LAST CHAPTER IT MEANS A LOT TO ME :)) I LITERALLY WENT TO BED SMILING BECAUSE OF Y'ALL AAAH Y’ALL HAVE NO IDEA asdjkfadslfjnaei I also did a crap ton of research and watched a lot of videos on writing fight scenes, so I hope the next one is better! Also, I made this chapter a little longer because we are almost at half a dozen cupcakes in the tag list :) Enjoy!

MDNI (18+ only).

TW// Mature themes like violence, drinking, drug use, infidelity, mean/triggering thoughts, toxic codependency

Word Count: ~ 6.3k

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Despite the wonderful time you had at the bar last night, you had a restless night. You swore that you wouldn’t think about your ex when you got home. You told yourself that you would just head straight to bed. You even walked through your apartment with your eyes closed! All you wanted to do was hold on to the glee of winning some cogs and the time you spent with Vi. All you wanted was to savor the sweet, savory bliss of forgetting everything wrong with your life.

But it all just slips through the cracks between your fingers like sand. You had a wonderful time, but no one to talk about it with. Your acquaintanceship with Vi ended up reminding you of your lack of companionship in general. When you were with them, their friends became your friends. Sure you never hung out with those people without your lover, but they were still your friends, right? But the minute you cut ties with that liar, it was radio silence from all of them. None of them even bothered to check up on you.

They all forgot you as fast as you shut the door on your relationship for the final time.

‘Geez, my so-called ‘friends’ broke up with me.’ you thought. It was hard to find friends in this city in general. You could always put that jinxer fit on and pretend to care about public figures like more than half of Zaun is. You could find some people to call friends through that. You could. The issue is pretending–you’re so damn tired of pretending. You almost can’t help it; three years of a horrible relationship made you an expert at the art of it, and it was getting so damn exhausting.

You remembered your conversation with Vi about cycles and loops and whatnot. So as much as you wanted to rot in bed until it was time to get ready to place another bet, you decided to get out of bed earlier. You probably got a total of four hours of on and off sleep, but whatever.

When you looked at your messy bed, you had forgotten that you were using some of your ex’s shirts as pillowcases. You strip one of the pillows of a shirt and hold it in your hands. Your thumbs brush its semi-worn out fabric, and you slowly bring it to your nose. Their scent still lingers on it. There were faint shimmer stains on it (their own line of shimmer stained clothes pretty badly). You walked up to your window, pushed the curtains aside, and opened the pane. You look down onto the street and watch the tops of people’s heads moving along below. You weren’t too high up– maybe about three stories. You hold your hand out the window, clenching the shirt. You slowly uncurl each finger until you let it go, and it floats down to the ground.

A couple of people were quick to notice it. One person grabs it only to be shoved by the other person. There is a yelling match of “I saw it first!” between them. You shut the window and let their yelling fade into the background. A part of you regretted tossing that shirt. You almost wanted to pounce on those people from your window and demand that they give it back. Instead, you fought your own tears as you went about a half-assed morning routine.

When preparing food from your half-stolen bag of semi stale fish meat, you instinctively made servings for two. Your eyes kept glancing at the extra serving on the stove as you slowly ate your (possibly radioactive) meal. At least you won’t have to cook later, right?

You get dressed into one of your favorite outfits. You might as well get some air this afternoon so you don’t have to run all the way to the arena like you did last night. You take half of your cogs with you and stuff them into a trusty bag before slinging it over your shoulder and taking off.

You walked along the bustling streets of Zaun and looked around for something to do. You stop along a bridge, walking up to the rickety railing and overlooking part of the city. It’s been a while since you were able to stop and appreciate the beauty of this place that only Zaunites like yourself can understand. Even though Piltover quite literally casts a big shadow over Zaun, it cannot snuff out the popping colors that glow even in daylight hours. You have never personally been to Piltover (not like you want to, especially because of the current political issues and all the rising problems with enforcers), but even in the distance it was very ‘sterile’ looking. In other words, not so fun.

You suddenly feel a heavy hand on your shoulder. You nearly jump out of your skin, clutching the strap of your bag as you bounce backwards, smacking the hand that touched you. Your face was twisted in aggression, glaring at whoever thought it was a good idea to sneak up on you.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” a bearded man spoke. Your face relaxed a bit, recognizing him as Vi’s handler. Still, you didn’t appreciate getting spooked. Plus, you don’t know anything about this guy other than he saved you from possibly needing a cast or three. But he could be dangerous! If only you could take someone as broad as he is down like Vi can with her opponents.

“The name’s Loris,” he holds out his hand for you to shake, “I think I saw you at that one bar a few days back. I’m one of Vi’s friends.”

You hesitate slightly before shaking his hand, “(Y/n).” You can smell alcohol on him, but he doesn’t seem wasted. He can tell that you’re still standoffish, so he turns away and leans his elbows on the rail of the bridge.

“Mind if I stand here with you for a moment? I gotta clear my head for a second before I go about my day.” He itches his beard, staring off into the distance. You stand there in silence, still suspicious. Most people who strike up a conversation in this city out of the blue probably want something, and you will not give him anything.

“I don’t own this bridge, so do what you must. I guess.” You state after a few moments of thinking.

He chuckles a bit at your tense tone before he takes another look at you, “You look like you’ve been through the grinder. It’s tough out here, isn’t it?”

You look down at yourself and frown a bit, “Gee, thanks.” So much for wearing your favorite fit.

“I meant your demeanor,” he pauses, choosing his words carefully, “You look like you’ve been dodging some of life’s punches. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Ain’t no bruises on that mug of yours. No offense, just an observation.”

“What’s it to you?” you ask defensively, crossing your arms. You’re still not sure what to make of him.

Loris shrugged, leaning more heavily on the railing. “Nothing, really. Just... I’ve been there. Lost a lot before I got to where I am now. Figured I’d say something in case you needed to hear it.”

“Not to be rude or anything, Loris, but I don’t think I’m in the mood for unsolicited advice, or…whatever you’re trying to do here.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his eyebrows raising at you skeptically, "Fair enough," he says, straightening up from the railing. "Didn’t mean to step on your toes." He stretches his arms behind his head, giving a small grin. "Just figured I’d try to be neighborly, but I’ll back off."

You’re a little taken aback by how easily he relents, expecting some pushback. Instead, he fishes a cog from his pocket, idly rolling it between his fingers as he looks back out over the city. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Vi.”

You tilt your head. “She told you about me? Wait. I haven’t even done anything for her. I’ve only spoken to her, like, twice. And the first time didn’t even go so well. I don’t even know her all that much.”

“No, she has not spoken about you. But you’re the one who had her go home both times with a cup of water, right?”

“That’s… yeah. Everybody should drink water with their booze. No biggie.”

Loris pockets his cog and pushes away from the rail, the metal making a creaky noise. "Well, don’t let me keep you. Gotta grab Vi for some pregaming soon—busy night ahead."

Before he walked away, he looked at you again, his expression softer. “Take care of yourself, (Y/n). And... try not to let whatever’s chasing you catch up.”

With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to wonder how someone you barely knew could read you like that.

Vi was tossing out her empty bottles outside of her apartment. She dusted her hands off and let out a somewhat satisfied sigh. She was up earlier than usual, which kind of felt nice for a change. There was another part of her, however, that gnawed at the back of her mind. Being awake and sober meant that her brain was free to juggle memories of Caitlyn around while reminding her of all the love that she lost in her life. It felt like there was a hole in her chest. How can a heart feel so heavy when there was an entire chunk missing from it?

She clenches her fists and shakes her head as if all the haunting memories and thoughts will fly off of her. If only it worked that way. It didn’t help that she dreamt of her last night. She dreamt of the life that she envisioned with Caitlyn; Waking up to her. Their hands combing through each other's hair. Seeing that adorable gap-toothed smile. Feeling her soft, perfect skin. Breathing in her scent. Walking the streets of Piltover together and basking in the sunlight.

She spun around and punched the wall behind her with an angry snarl.

“Well that was a close one.” Loris spoke, staring directly at Vi’s arm. If he were just a few inches closer, she would have probably punched him right in the chest.

Vi lets out a heavy sigh, shaking her hand off, “Hey, Loris. Sorry, I didn’t know you were right there.”

“Water under the bridge,” he hums, turning on his heel to rest against the alley’s wall, “You’re up early.”

“Maybe I just wanted to pregame longer.” Vi straightens her jacket out, the black leather squeaking with her movement.

Loris’s eyes look past Vi, seeing a large bag with the necks of glass bottles sticking out of it. He doesn’t say anything about it.

“Shall we get started with it, then?” he asks, pushing himself off the wall.

Vi leads the way. After a few moments she speaks up, “Make sure you tell me when you’re behind me. I could’ve accidentally hurt you.”

“Eh, s’alright. That would be the second time I’ve snuck up on someone today.”

Vi shakes her head disapprovingly. “You have to stop that. Not everybody takes kindly to that shit.”

Loris chuckles lightly, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you. But sometimes, it’s the only way to catch someone in their natural state, you know?" He thought about the way you looked out towards the city. The way your eyebrows were furrowed in thought. He almost laughed at how high you jumped when he spooked you even though a part of him felt kind of bad for it.

Vi side-eyes him, her mouth pulling into a line. "That’s one way to earn a black eye."

"Noted," Loris says with a smirk, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Though, between you and me, I think most people are too distracted to notice me sneaking around. The current state of Zaun has everyone clouded nowadays.”

Vi snorts softly, her hands in her jacket pockets. "You’re not wrong about that." She glances down at the cracked pavement beneath her boots. "Guess you’ve been busy keeping tabs on everyone, huh?"

"Only the important ones," Loris replies, his tone more serious now. "Speaking of, you alright, Vi? You seem… tenser than usual."

Vi slows her pace, her jaw tightening. "Just didn’t get much sleep, that’s all," she mutters, deflecting.

Loris doesn’t push, but the knowing look in his eyes says he doesn’t buy it. Instead, he switches gears. "Fair enough. Maybe the fight tonight’ll help clear your head. Nothing like knocking someone out to shake off the cobwebs, right? And if that’s not enough, there’s always a celebratory drink afterwards.”

Vi’s face softens. Her heartbeat quickens just a bit in anticipation. The image of you sitting at the bar blurred out Vi’s looping memories of Caitlyn. This time she wasn’t too fucked up to remember the conversation that she had with you the other night. She really, really hopes that you’ll be there to talk some more.

Loris catches a brief glimpse of Vi smiling. It makes him smile.

The day gets late enough for you to head to the arena. It was nice not having to rush for once, so you follow the crowd without a worry. Maybe you could get a front row seat this time!

However, something catches your attention. Your ears picked up on some gossip ahead of you.

“I heard Vi is guaranteed to lose tonight,” says one voice.

“Many people were saying that yesterday, but they were wrong. Did you see that guy? There was no way she was supposed to beat him, but she did. She always wins,” responds the other.

“I’m serious! Today she will lose. The Pit’s losing money because the majority are betting on Vi. I heard that tonight the opponent will be . . .”

You struggle to hear the conversation as more people follow the crowd, drowning that gossip with other voices. You think about it for a second. Should you not bet on Vi tonight? But that one guy says that she always manages to win. That one opponent seemed to have the biggest advantage being quick, big, and sturdy. Vi did take him down. You nod to yourself.

‘Yeah, gossip is just gossip. Vi never loses, right? That’s what everyone says.’

You get to the arena early enough to place a bet. You give up all the cogs you took with you and receive your ticket. When you were picking a seat, you decided to sit somewhere near the front. Hopefully you wouldn’t get queasy from seeing blood fly off of the fighters up close.

You feel a tap on your shoulder, so you look behind you. Upon seeing Loris, your face lit up in surprise.

“Oh! Loris, right? I guess you’d be here. Being Vi’s friend and all.”

He takes a step down, sitting next to you. You tense up a bit, not expecting him to move seats.

“Eeyup. Always here to support her.” He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He looks at you. “So you are a fan of hers, huh?”

You grip your ticket tightly. "This is my second time here, so it might be too soon for me to put a label like that on myself. I will admit, though, she’s something else in the ring."

"That she is," he says, his voice tinged with pride. "Vi’s got more fight in her than anyone I’ve ever met. But," he pauses, his tone lowering slightly, "it’s not just about the wins for her."

You tilt your head, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Loris straightens up, offering a small shrug. "Just saying, it’s not always about the glory. Sometimes, it’s about proving something to yourself. You know what I mean?"

‘Prove what exactly?’ you think, ‘If she’s going through her own grief, then is there more to punching someone’s lights out as a coping mechanism?’

You shift in your seat, recalling the gossip you overheard earlier, "Do you think she’ll win tonight?"

Loris looks at you for a moment before responding, his gaze steady, "She’s got the fire in herself to win. But I suppose anything can happen."

You nod slowly, the weight of his words settling in. As the crowd grows louder and the arena begins to fill, you can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and unease. Tonight's fight feels different somehow, and you wonder if Loris senses it too.

The stadium lights shut off, then the arena spotlights beam onto the pit. The crowd howls with excitement. You and Loris stay seated and quiet. Your leg bounces as you sit, feeling your clothing become a bit warm from the nerves. When the referee called out Vi’s name, you and Loris clapped.

Then you see her. She steps into the ring, arm raised into the air as nearly the entire audience cheers for her. Her steps are just a bit unstable– perhaps she’s been drinking beforehand. You slow your clapping upon seeing the opponent enter the ring. Then another opponent.

“Tonight is going to be a little bit different,” the referee says through the speakers, “Frontrunner Vi here has been tearing shit up for the past few months.”

The crowd hollers in agreement.

“Now, Vi is no stranger to fighting two people at once,” he laughs into the mic, “Does everyone think our champion has what it takes?”

The crowd screams louder. You want to cover your ears even though you agree with them all. However, you can feel your palms dampen at the thought of Vi having to fight two people. But if everyone seemed confident in her, and if she’s done it before, then she should be fine.

The bell rings, and the two opponents waste no time closing in on Vi. One is a tall and lean woman, with quick movements that scream agility, while the other is a hulking brute, slower but with arms as thick as Loris’ neck. Vi, her posture loose but ready, cracks her knuckles as a determined look crosses her face.

The agile one darts in first, aiming a sharp jab at her ribs. Vi sidesteps effortlessly, grabbing her arm and twisting it, using the momentum to slam her into the brute. The crowd roars as the two stumble apart, clearly thrown off by her opening move.

The brute growls, charging at her like a bear. Vi plants her feet, waiting until the last second before pivoting out of his path. She drives her elbow into his side as he barrels past, a sickening thud echoing through the arena. The brute grunts in pain but doesn’t go down, swinging a massive fist toward her head.

Vi barely manages to dodge it, feeling the end of his knuckle brush against her ear. The movement leaves her exposed to the agile one, who’s already recovered. She lands a quick kick to Vi’s thigh, causing her to fall. Vi quickly rolls out of the way when the brute slams his fists onto the ground. She springs to her feet, but is kicked down again by the slimmer one. The brute takes the opportunity to grab Vi, lifting her and squeezing the air out of her.

Vi swings her head back, making contact with his nose. He loosens his grip, and she drops to the ground, spinning to deliver a knee to his gut. Vi clutches her stomach, attempting to catch her breath. The agile one circles Vi as the brute covers his nose, staggering backwards. He shakes blood off of his hand, snarling in anger.

Vi’s eyes flick between them, calculating. When the agile one lunges, she ducks under his swing, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. Using her momentum, Vi launches her into the brute, the two of them crashing to the ground in a heap.

Vi, victorious, raises her fists high as the crowd chants her name.

In the crowd, you excitedly cheer for her. You look at Loris, whose face drops in horror. You quickly look back into the ring.

The two opponents are standing back up, throwing empty glass vials at the walls of the pit as they wipe their mouths. From where you were sitting, you can see a familiar substance dripping from their lips. Shimmer.

Vi looks back at her opponents, quickly putting her fists into a fighting position. You can see her face from where you sit. Her body language says ‘come at me’, but her eyes are laced with fear. Like she’s remembering something. Like she has seen something like this before.

The look of Vi’s opponents was enough to scare sobriety back into her. She feels like she’s fifteen again. She’s seeing flashbacks. Tears well up in her eyes.

As Vi is frozen in her stance the brute rushes in again, landing a right hook before slamming a heavy blow into her ribs. She gasps, doubling over, and the agile one takes the opportunity to sweep her legs out from under her.

Vi hits the ground hard, the breath knocked out of her once more. The crowd falls into a stunned silence as she struggles to get up, her arms trembling under her weight.

“Get up, Vi!” someone shouts from the audience, their voice nearly drowned out by the growing murmur of uncertainty. You look to whoever shouted; their voice was close enough to you. You caught a glimpse of the cloaked figure from yesterday. You turn back to the fight quickly.

The brute grabs her by the arm, hauling her to her feet. She swings wildly, desperation in her eyes, but he blocks her punch easily. The agile fighter moves in, landing a brutal uppercut that snaps her head back. Blood gushes from Vi’s nose as she struggles to find her footing.

The brute’s fist comes crashing down, and this time, she doesn’t get up.

The bell dings, signaling the end of the fight. The crowd erupts, but not in cheers—there’s a mix of shock, anger, and disbelief. If there was any cheering, they were concealed by angry yelling.

You sit frozen in your seat, your heart sinking as Vi lies on the ground. Loris stands abruptly, his face a mask of worry. “I need to check on her,” he mutters, darting toward the ring. You stand up from your seat, peering over the pit. Vi’s eyes are barely open, her breathing heavy.

You watch helplessly, gripping your ticket so tightly it crumples in your hand. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Vi was supposed to win. She always won.

But tonight, the champion had fallen.

The ringing in Vi’s ears was almost enough to drive her insane, but she was too out of it to express her discomfort. Her vision was blurry and coming in and out. She could barely hear any talking, if there was anyone speaking. She felt her body moving, some pressure on her sore belly as the ground beneath her got further away from her vision.

Her eyes fluttered open, trying to process what was happening. She is lowered to the ground, propped against a wall.

“Vander?” she mumbled out, her eyes trying to focus on her rescuer. Her head lols to the side, eyes shutting. Loris gently pats the side of her face, making her open her eyes again.

“You with me, Vi?” he asks. Vi grumbles, then winces as she puts a hand to her face.

“That’s it, come on. You’re okay,” Loris sighs.

Vi groans in pain, holding her sides now, “What the fuck happened?” she squeaks out, “Where are we?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers, “Just breathe. We’re near the locker rooms, but don’t worry. No one’s gonna hurt you here.”

“Those fuckers. They cheated, didn’t they?” she hisses, picking dried blood off of her upper lip.

“Don’t worry about it.” Loris repeats himself. Vi angrily tries to stand up, but Loris forces her to sit back down, “Damn it, Vi. Won’t you stay put?”

“I want a rematch. I was too tipsy, my head wasn’t in the game,” she demands.

“You can ask for a rematch later. You have to rest right now, Vi.”

You curse to yourself, now owing The Pit money. At least you didn’t bet all your cogs; there were still some at your apartment. You wish you bet half of the half that you brought with you. The people around you were reasonably upset. In fact, you would be upset too if you had zero connection with Vi.

Despite barely knowing a thing about her, maybe it’s the fact that you had a full-on conversation with her yesterday that made your worry for her quickly eclipse your disappointment about the bet. Maybe it’s the fact that both of you have established a connection over having suffered the same kind of emotional pain. Maybe it’s the fact that she looked so hopeful to see you again. Maybe it’s the fact that she seemed genuinely interested in becoming your friend. Maybe it’s the fact that you want to be her friend.

You fan your face with your hands, anxiety creeping up on you. You search the crowd for Loris, but can’t find him anywhere. You choose a random direction to walk in and stick to it. After a few moments of walking, you find yourself at the entrance of the ring. Hoping that Vi and Loris were around there somewhere, you cautiously enter the dark hall.

“Loris?” you whisper-shout. “Vi?” But there is no response.

You can see the ring ahead. You linger at the arch, looking around to the best of your ability to make sure that no one is around. You step into the light, looking up at all the empty seats in the arena. You don’t understand how Vi can do something so scary like this. A bunch of people screaming at you and having the weight of the title of ‘champion’ on your shoulders was enough to make you lightheaded.

You look at the floor, seeing old bloodstains on the concrete. You wonder how much of Vi’s blood is forever merged with the floor beneath you. You wonder how many peoples’ blood are also a part of this pit. Your shoe crunches on some glass, stopping your thoughts.

You crouch down a bit, seeing some dried purple shimmer stains among the pieces of glass. There was one vial up ahead that wasn’t completely shattered, so you reach over to it and pick it up. Your fingers trace over the intact part of the vial, turning it in your hand. But then you squint your eyes when you feel an embossment on the glass. You bring it close to your face, then immediately drop it. You stand up and back away from the scene, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand up because you recognized the embossment as your ex’s signature.

You run out of the arena. You wouldn’t put it past The Pit to use shady tactics for monetary gain, but out of all shimmer dealers it HAD to be theirs. You duck into an alleyway, looking at your fingers. There were tiny glowing droplets of shimmer on them, and you frantically wiped your hands off on the wall.

As you steady your breathing, you sink to the floor and hug your knees to your chest. Your mind wanders to all the times your ex would come home with heaps of cogs from selling their special formula. They would use their own supply sometimes just for the heck of it, and it would scare you. Luckily they never forced you to try it, but they would offer it to you constantly. You would never touch that stuff. Once, they got mad at you for refusing to help them sell it. Having an involvement in ruining people’s lives messed with your moral compass. You exclaim in frustration and bury your face in your hands, getting upset at yourself for even considering selling shimmer before you placed your first bet.

You pick your head back up, wondering if Vi was okay. Where could Loris have taken her?

Standing up, you walk around cautiously. There weren’t many people around. Most of them were hanging out in corners. Your nose burns with the smell of smoke and shimmer as gravel crunches beneath your shoes. Some people held out their hands for a spare cog, but you ignored them. Not like you had any on yourself at this time.

Eventually, you see the back of a familiar figure up ahead. You quicken your pace, “Loris!”

He turns around and slows his pace, letting you catch up. When you reach his side, he has Vi in his arms. Her face is wrinkled into a grimace.

“Vi!” You gasp out, putting a hand to your mouth upon seeing all the blood and bruises on her body. Her eyes slowly open, finding you.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” she croaks out, trying to find it in herself to laugh. “You saw my ass get handed to me. Now I’m being carried like a fucking baby.”

“Stop it,” you say almost in a scolding tone, “How do you feel? Are you alright? Could I get you something?” You bombard her with questions.

Your concern makes her scoff, a smile creeping onto her face. “I could really use a drink right now, (Y/n). That would make me feel a whole lot better.”

“I’ll get you one, just… hold on, okay?” You dig through your bag, struggling to see anything from how dark it is.

“Sweet as a cupcake,” Vi mumbles, closing her eyes, “Sweet things are hard to come by in Zaun, ya know.”

You give her a quizzical look, not like she can see your confusion.

“She’s concussed.” Loris explains. That explains it, you guess.

You find some spare napkins at the bottom of your bag, clutching them in your hands. You look around as you walk, spotting a shortcut to the bar strip through an alleyway.

“I’m sorry, cupcake,” Vi whines, her face scrunching up in a mixture of grief and pain, “I could’ve been better.”

Now you were very confused, but she was probably talking about her performance in the ring.

“It’s a straight walk to Vi’s apartment. Go get her a drink. I won’t be too far when you’re done.” Loris motions to that alleyway with his head. You nod at him, taking a light jog to the shortcut.

The strip was not nearly as lively as it was. The people who were standing around were moping about losing their bets, therefore having to reason to celebrate. You were let into the bar without a problem, and it sure as hell was a lot emptier than usual. You have never seen such unenthusiastic dancing in your life.

No one was really talking at the bar either.

You rush over towards the bartender.

“Ah, the water girl.” He greets as he polishes some glasses.

“Just one water please,” you drum your fingers on the counter in anticipation. It only takes him a few moments to grab you a plastic cup with stale water in it.

“I heard Vi lost tonight’s fight. I guess I won’t be making much today.” He sighs as he hands it over to you.

“None of us made anything today, so welcome to the club…” mutters a random customer.

You hightail it out of there, not caring enough about engaging in conversation with the bartender or other customers. You walk quickly, trying not to slosh the water around too much and spill any.

You quickly find Loris and Vi again. You dampen the napkins from your bag in the water and lightly dab Vi’s nose to clean her up. She hisses in pain, nearly swatting your hand away.

“Let me get the blood off of you.” You say firmly. Vi’s eyes open, and she tries to pick her head up. You lightly press her forehead down so she is fully resting on Loris’ forearm. “Down.”

“Let me walk. I want to walk,” she grumbles, wiggling out of her lying position. Loris gently sets her on her feet. Vi stumbles as her feet hit the ground, her legs barely holding her up. “See? I’m fine,” she mumbles, though her knees wobble dangerously. Loris steadies her with one arm, but you’re already stepping closer, the cup of water trembling slightly in your hands.

“You’re not fine, Vi. Just let me—” you start, but her sharp glare cuts you off.

“Don’t baby me,” she snaps, though her voice cracks halfway through. “I’ve had worse nights.” She leans heavily on Loris, her bravado faltering as her breaths come shallow and uneven.

The street feels suffocating now, the smell of smoke and sweat clinging to the damp air. Somewhere in the distance, a bottle shatters, followed by muffled shouting. You glance nervously over your shoulder, half-expecting to see shadows closing in.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” you say softly, trying to meet Vi’s gaze. “No one’s judging you for losing.”

She laughs bitterly, rasping like sandpaper, “You think they’re not judging? This city eats the weak alive. If you lose, you’re nothing.”

You try not to take her sudden snappiness to heart, but her icy glare was enough to make you look away in submission. Her ego was probably more bruised than her body was. Nonetheless, her words hit harder than they should, dredging up memories you’ve tried to bury.

“They cheated, Vi. It shouldn’t—” Loris was also cut off.

“I don’t fucking care, Loris!” she snaps.

“Vi,” you say, your voice gentle, “you’re not nothing.”

She looks at you then, her eyes glassy but piercing. For a moment, it’s as if she sees right through you, past your carefully constructed walls. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she murmurs, her voice softer now but no less sharp.

You step back, stung, but Loris steps in. “Enough, Vi,” he says firmly, “You’re concussed, confused, and bleeding. Save the tough act for later.”

You walk with them, trailing slightly behind. Eventually, the three of you climb up a small flight of stairs up to a shady-looking building. There is a rickety staircase attached to the right of it, so you and Loris carefully bring Vi over to it. She shrugs both of you off, putting a foot on one of the stairs and supporting herself with the railing.

“Did you get me a drink?” she asks, looking back at you. You quietly hand her the water cup. You brace yourself, expecting her to throw it at you. Instead, she takes it upstairs with her.

You relax, watching her leave. You exchange a glance with Loris, who rubs the back of his neck, looking equally drained. The faint creak of the rickety staircase echoes above, each step sounding like it might give way beneath her.

"Don’t take it to heart, (Y/n). There’s plenty of venom in her words, but she means no harm. She’s not in the right state of mind either," Loris mutters, breaking the silence.

“Has she ever been in the right state of mind?” Your voice is laced with bitterness.

“You know,” Loris surmised, “She really did look forward to seeing you tonight.” He ignored your question.

“Did she tell you that?” you scoff, skepticism in your tone.

“Not exactly, but last night she was probably the happiest I’ve ever seen. She kept looking to the sky today like she was waiting for time to pass,” he looks down at you, a smile on his face, “You seem like you’d be a great friend for her. Like I said, I appreciate what you’ve done for Vi. And I am thanking you for what you’ve done for her today.”

You exhale through your nose, unsure if Loris was just telling you that to make you feel better.

For a moment, the two of you stand there, listening to the sounds of the city creep back into focus. The buzz of lights, the low hum of voices muffled by brick walls. It’s almost peaceful if you ignore the sour stench of garbage and the flickering street lights overhead.

“You gonna hang around?” Loris asks, his tone neutral.

You hesitate, glancing back at the staircase Vi just climbed. There’s a part of you that wants to follow her, to make sure she doesn’t collapse in that dingy apartment. But another part of you—the part that remembers the weight of Vi’s concussed words—deems it inappropriate for you to intrude in her personal space. You were reminded that the two of you were far from that level.

“Nah, I think she wants space.”

“Alright then. Don’t worry too much about her, (Y/n), I’ll see how Vi’s holding up tomorrow.”

You nod at him, “Take care, Loris.”

As you turn to leave, you can’t shake the feeling that Vi’s words will stick with you long after tonight. ‘You don’t know a damn thing about me.’ She was right—but the question gnaws at you: Do you want to? And if you do, will you end up losing yourself in the process? Did yesterday's conversation mean nothing to her? Because for a moment, it meant a lot to you.

The thoughts linger, heavy and suffocating, as you walk away into the neon haze of the city night.

End of Ch. 4

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch.3 Ch. 5

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Taglist Cupcakes: @ren-ren23 @captain-crabbo @baylegend6 @winchestergirlspn @charcoal-heart

#arcane #arcane x reader #pit fighter vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi x you #arcane vi x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane vi x you #arcane x you #arcane x female reader

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utdrmv-confession-box · 29 days ago

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Transcript: Oh cool the sans au fans are already misreading my confession in the most "piss on the poor way " possible! Yay!

Anyways to clarify- horror sans lobotomizing alphys doesn't make the character abelist- the reaction to it as something she 'deserved' is abelist. I'm talking about the fan reaction and the authors role in choosing this as something to base her character around. *authors can be unintentionally offensive but their writing choices should be allowed to be critiqued.*

Horror sans and the rest of the horror tale cast 'going insane' as they are slowly starved and being turned into actual murderers is an abelist writing decision in the same way movies like Texas chainsaw massacre rely on abelist tropes to demonize people with mental and physical disabilities. Again- you can like horrortale- I like horrortale- I don't think this was the authors original intention either- it's just really REALLY infuriating how you cant seem to point these things out without people jumping to fictional characters defense.

Rocky horror picture show is a wonderful piece of queer media and is widely beloved- but it still uses transphobic tropes to tell its story. It's a good piece of queer media but it's still transphobic and I'd like to be able to idk TALK about the issues in the ut au fandom without people purposefully misreading the things I am saying because it happens to involve their blorbo.

Horror sans the character is not abelist. But the writing choices surrounding the work he comes from uses abelist tropes to tell the story and I think it's lame how incapable this fandom is of writing 'morally neutral characters' without falling back on hurtful tropes and stereotypes.

We can talk about how papyrus and/ blueberry are infantalized for having autistic traits but I can't talk about dust sans being a textbook example of the 'serial killer schizophrenic'????? Plz don't tag as au negative this isint me talking about how much I dislike sans aus, I do like them I just don't like how I can't talk about my dislike of aus that use abelist tropes and don't even deconstruct them. Dust sans isint a deconstruction of negative tropes affecting people with schizophrenia..he just is those tropes! Played straight!

-actually affected by this crap irl anon who is tired of this lame ass fandom perpetuating weird tropes like their lives depend on it. (Sorry mod 😅)

#utdrmv confession #confession #AU critical #horrortale critical #dusttale critical

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gothamite-rambler · 2 days ago

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Batman and Jim faced a woman who has the flu, her boyfriend was on the floor crying with a knife in his thigh.

Liz: I have the flu, not that 'flu', but regular flu. I am not feeling well. I just wanted to have my broth and relax in bed until my flu went away. Then… that motherfucker!

Liz pointed to her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend who glared back at her.

Liz: Was like, "Let's cook together! Let's cook together!" Like a damn Muppet!

Kyle: I don't sound like Kermit the Frog!

Jim: Maybe don't keep talking.

Liz: Thank you! Anyways, he said if I went to the store to shop, he'd make me a meal that I could digest, because you know I'm sick! So I relented, we got the stuff, went home and I couldn't 'cook together'. I couldn't stand… I could barely walk! Kyle sucked his teeth in denial

Liz: I went to bed and thought he would leave me alone, maybe bring me some Campbell's soup. He came in the room with a cutting board, a bell pepper and a knife.

Batman (pointing to the knife in the man's thigh): The knife that's in his thigh?

Liz nodded, hands on her hips.

Liz: Oh yeah, I lost it. I'm not proud to admit it, but "cooking together" with that man is me doing ninety percent of the cooking! He does this with all his family and I can usually let it go, but not when I'm going through the flu!

Kyle: Oh my God, I had a cold at ten and it wasn't even that bad. You're such a—

Liz tossed the bell pepper she had been gripping in her hand directly at Kyle's head, making him grunt and interrupting his whining for a second.

Kyle (whining again): I just wanted to cook together!

Jim: You keep saying that, but that doesn't mean anything. Especially since she's sick. Why would you want her to cook when she has the flu? Also you lied to her, you promised her a dinner you'd cook.

Kyle: There is a knife in my thigh!

Jim (jokingly): You're alive. I got stabbed once and could still work so that means yours can't be that bad.

Liz: He's done crap similar to this. One time he did that stupid TikTok challenge where the guy says 'what's for dinner, bitch?' and I let it slide, but what he did was uncalled for! Batman has said anything, but I'm ready for my scolding.

Batman covered his mouth, unintentionally laughing. He turned to Jim, placing his hand on the man's shoulder.

Batman: This is fucking wild!

Jim nodded, rubbing his eyes and laughing as well.

Batman: I'm sorry, I just keep picturing you grabbing the knife and jabbing it into his thigh and he shouts "I just wanted to cook together!"

Jim: This fucking guy. He's like the dog that keeps bringing the ball back and I just want to rest.

Liz started laughing next, still pissed but glad two other men were on her side.

Liz: Dude, agree. I couldn't take his nonsense anymore.

Kyle: I'm right here!

Liz scoffed rolling her eyes.

Liz: Look I know I overreacted, but he promised to make dinner and give me my medicine then brought me a cutting board!

Batman: Which is the worst task to give a sick person. Bringing a knife and cutting board in bed. You're going to prison, but I don't blame you.

Jim: Yeah, you overreacted, but he's alive. We just have to wait for the EMTs to take him away and then take you in for questioning. Honestly you might not get jail time.

Kyle (defiant, whining): I'm suing her either way!

Liz: I'll pay half of your medical bills douche. This was a good reason to dump him at least. Kyle, pack your shit later and leave. We're through.

Kyle: Fine! I'll find another—

Batman and Jim: STOP SAYING COOK TOGETHER!

Kyle pouted, resting on the ground with his arms cross while Liz sat down to blow her nose.

Based off a reddit story I saw on smosh pit that angered me so much I had to write a what if. In the AITA post OP is the boyfriend who brought in the cutting board and she didn't stab him (I would've hit him with the cutting board at least). I can only hope she dumped his ass.

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buggyjuggie · 1 year ago

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Hi! Can you write Mk mans x Pokémon trainer reader?

Basically reset somehow got into Earthrealm with not way back to their world and Liu Kang decided to kick them as one of his champions since he saw a potential in them. And when reader explains their world they like “Well yeah we have a Pokémon that possibly can destroy world” and “once I battled against god and mafia when I was ten haha”

──★ ˙ ̟ Random Mk1 men x GN! Pokemon trainer reader

Note: Im so sorry that this took so long to come out my mental health kinda took a nose dive with my creativity and i didn’t want to half ass this so that’s why this ended up being so short I apologise

「 ✦ Havik ✦ 」

* Lets start with just a random man Havik: he LOVES you and your little creatures

* Immediately asks which one is strongest

*Has tried teaching your pokemon about the way of living in chaos and freedom (basically indoctrinated them into his belief)

* Havik absolutely adores hearing stories of your realm, like you mean when you were 10 years old you took down a mafia gang, competed in a tournament and battled with a gang. ALL OF THAT and your fighters these little things. He’s impressed and entertained for hours

* Havik’s favourites are poison, ghost and rock type pokemon

「 ✦ Johnny Cage ✦ 」

* ,, Can i make a movie about these little guys please 🥺“

* Buys them clothes, accessories and dresses them up, they’re like little plushies to him

* Haa definitely bought custom glasses with the first letter of they’re names for all your little friends

* He posts pictures about your pokemon on insta even tough you said to explicitly NOT do it (he just tells people its photoshop

* When you tell him stories of all the wacky stuff that you see in your world he desperately want to go to the point he begs Liu kang to send him to your universe

「 ✦ Liu Kang ✦ 」

* He takes care of timelines and also now your pokemon

* Because he is the god of fire Liu Kang radiates a lot of warmth so when he meditates all your palls lay down next, on or near him

* Liu kang spoils the crap out of your pokemon to the point where they are absolutely attached to him following him all the time, annoying him and and some just bite his legs a sign of love but also attachment

* Ok this ones obvious bcuz hes a fire god he tends to like fire type and dragon type pokemon

* Looks at you with the most concerned expression possible while your just happily smiling and telling stories about how you fought off a mafia

「 ✦ Bi-han ✦ 」

* Goes withouth saying that fighting, ice and flying type pokemon are most interesting to Bihan

* Bihan learns the hard way that you can’t train pokemon like little soldiers and you teach him how to properly train them

* If you and Bihan ever manage to return to your universe he’ll look at you with proud eyes when you win battles

* Tries to apply the same strategy you use when in combat to his own fights or training sessions for the Lin Kuei soldiers

* Don’t even try to explain how certain types are categorised or how some pokemon can defeat other with the most random luck because he’ll just end up with a headache

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

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allbark-no-bite · 2 years ago

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kiss me and apologize || Carmen Berzatto x reader

summary: from private chef to working in a rundown restaurant in Chicago, your life does a 180 as you try to fit into the world that is the Beef. Richie isn’t helping and Carmen just can’t figure you out

word count: 3.7k

warnings: swearing, mentions of michael’s death/suicide

author’s note: so um i guess i write for the Bear now?? official obsessed with the show and was inspired by all of the great writers that write for Carmy on here :)

"Carmen? The door?"

"What—? Oh yeah, yeah. Sorry."

He turns towards the door, fumbling for the key with numb fingers, his face burning hot.

He wasn't used to anyone else besides himself showing up to the restaurant so early in the morning, and he definitely wasn't used to you and your pink cheeks and and warm smile greeting him at the door. You were a new hire to the Beef, a godforsaken miracle dressed in oversized overalls who had shown up two weeks ago and been hired by Sydney on the spot.

She had been smitten with you from the start, dead set on hiring you without so much as a second interview.

"—studied in Copenhagen, worked at multiple Michelins in New York. I mean look at this, Carmen. She's a private chef in the Hamptons. We would be stupid not to hired her."

And you were great. You are great. Except for the fact that you're really fucking distracting.

"You sure you got it, chef?"

Carmen can't even blame the heat rising from his cheeks from the cold at this point because his hands are sweating as he jiggles the door knob that somehow always seems to get jammed at the worst possible moments. This is one of those moments.

Finally, he hefts his weight against the door while twisting the knob and it busts open. A muffled snort escapes you from behind him. Carmen steps inside, holding the door open for you with a small wave of his hand. "Sorry. I'm sure this crap isn't what you were expecting when you applied here—"

He's rambling, stomach twisting in knots. His nerves always screw up his stomach—maybe he'll pop a few Tums before—

"It's fine, Camren," you assure him, stepping in from the cold, body pressing against his in the small entry way. "I like it here."

I like you.

"Yo, am I interrupting something, cousin? You and the princess wanna take that shit somewhere else?" Richie's shout can be heard from all the way across the parking lot, and it makes Carmen visibly cringe.

"Fuck off, cousin," Carmen mutters, reluctantly breaking away from you.

Still standing in the doorway, you huff, whatever moment you and Carmen had shared broken by Richie's arrival. The taller man stomps up the front steps, shaking snow from his boots.

So far, he had been the only staff member you found unbearable. Even Tina had warmed to you after a few weeks and now took great pleasure in listening to your elaborate stories as a private chef. Richie, on the other hand, hated your guts.

"You just gonna stand there and let all the fuckin' cold air in? I'll let Sugar know to take the heating outta your paycheck."

"Fuck off, Richie."

The morning is only the beginning of his wrath.

——

"Richie, you fucking imbecile—"

"Every single time you open your mouth, all I hear is this fuckin' bullshit. Jesus, you're so fuckin' high and mighty with your fancy ass college degree," he sneers, looming over you. If he stepped any closer you would have lacked the self control not to hit him. "You wanna come in here, act like you know everything because daddy sent you to school—"

"You don't have to fucking like me, Richie, but what you're not going to do is push me around and be an egotistical misogynist just because you have a set of balls. So give me my fucking knife."

Richie's hand is in the air beside your head, waving about in wild gesticulation that he does not have your knife, or any fucking knife for that matter. "I don't have your shit!"

With your jaw clenched together, you breathe in deeply through your nose and take in the taller man through narrowed, disbelieving eyes. "Fine." You turn on your heals and storm off. "CARMEN."

Richie throws his hands up and scoffs at your retreating back, yelling after you. "Ohh go ahead, fuckin' call mommy. Like I'm scared of him," he snorts.

"CARMEN!" Your fury only fueled by Richie's taunts, your stride quickens as you shove your way through the chaos of the kitchen, dodging both Sydney and Marcus.

"Woah, chef. What's the matter?" Sydney asks as you whip past her, her hands busy with mashing potatoes, but you don't stop to answer, instead rounding the corner like a woman on a mission.

"CARMEN—"

"—What?!" At the third sound of his name, Carmen finally jerks his head up from his prep station, only to be met with you head on. "What's going on, chef?" he repeats, looking back down to his station after taking in your vexed disposition and gathering that no one's dying. He puts on these sort of metaphorical blinders once he's in the kitchen and nothing, not even you, is going to distract him from what he does best. He becomes an entirely different animal in the kitchen.

"That fucking dickwad has my knife and he won't give it back. How am I supposed to—"

Still urgently chopping carrots, Carmen cuts you off. "Chef, just get another knife," he instructs, stepping around you to dump a pile of sliced carrots into the bin.

His dismissal throws you for a loop and leaves you open mouthed, protest caught in your throat. Just this morning he had been stuttering nervously, cheeks flushed as you stood waiting for him to unlock the staff door. Now he's biting and abrasive, domineering in the way he takes control of the kitchen. You know he's just doing his job, doing whatever it takes to keep his head above the water—keep everyone's head above the water, but right now you want to scream at him. "Just tell him to—"

"Yes, Chef," he provides, indicating that he's done refereeing yours and Richie's squabble. He moves across the station so that you have to step sideways to avoid being in his way.

"But I—"

"Yes, Chef?" Carmen effectively cuts you off with a hard stare, momentarily stopping his urgent chopping. His blue eyes are fixating despite their look of wild urgency.

When it becomes obvious that arguing your point further is going to get you nowhere, you nod, growling a reluctant, 'Yes, Chef.'

If Carmen notices your attitude, he either pointedly ignores it or is too busy shouting at Tina about onions to care. You grab a knife laid out at one of the empty stations, purposefully shoving Richie as you round the corner.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Mommy didn't take your side?" he calls from the expo station "Didn't fuckin' see that coming."

You ignore him, deciding that he's not worth anymore of your energy for the time being. There's an entire rack of ribs that needs to be sliced and it's going to take you twice as long with this poor excuse of a knife.

"Chef, how are those ribs coming?" Sydney calls amidst the kitchen chaos. "Doors open in fifteen minutes."

Glancing at the digital kitchen clock, panic sets into you as you realize just how much time you've lost. "Fuck," you mutter, more to yourself than anyone. "Ahh—I'm going to need at least twenty," you shout back.

"What? What's taking so long?" Sydney asks. You can hear her moving behind you, finishing up with her own prep.

"Yeah, what's takin' so fuckin' long?" Richie chimes in.

Your grip on the knife's handle tightens, but you don't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his words. "I'm working on it, Syd," you promise her, praying you can somehow speak that confidence into existence.

Richie is still running his mouth behind you. "Y'know, maybe you just aren't cut out for this. It's not too late to go back to makin' your fancy little hors d'oeuvres up in New York."

"Screw you, Richie," you mutter, your brow furrowed as you concentrate on cutting through the ribs. The knife is hardly cutting and it's taking everything in you not to just start hacking away and be done with it.

"This ain't a cocktail party. This is a real fuckin' business, and we don't need you over here messin' us up and screwin' around—"

"Screw. You. Richie."

"What was that? Can't hear you, princess," he taunts.

Just as you turn to open your mouth, ready to snap at him, the knife hits a dull spot and slips against your grip, catching your fingers along the way. Immediately you jerk your hand back, biting back a cry. The knife clatters to the ground at your feet.

"Fucking dammit!" you exclaim, clutching your bleeding fingers with your other hand.

"Oh now you've really fuckin' done it," Richie laughs, shaking his head.

You only glare at him before muttering, "Move," as you shove past him. To his credit, he doesn't say anymore as you shoulder him out of the way.

By the time you get to the back sink, there's blood seeping from between your gloved fingers and onto the floor. You have to fight back a whimper as you peal away the latex from your skin.

"Woah, woah— what the hell??"

Hands appear beside you, grabbing your own bloody hand and wrapping it tightly in a clean kitchen rag. You close your eyes, willing yourself not to faint. The pressure stings but serves to staunch the blood flow and relieve some of your dizziness.

When you open your eyes, Carmen's blue ones are staring at you worriedly. "You good, chef?"

You close your eyes again, this time not because you're dizzy, but rather to avoid the intensity of his stare. "Yeah," you manage hoarsely, finding your voice. "Yeah. Just bandage me up okay? I've still got prep to do."

Even with your eyes closed you can still feel his eyes on you. He's so close that you can feel the brush of his body against yours.

"Yeah, okay," he finally says, but you can hear the hesitation in his voice. Immediate loss fills your body as he pulls away, but then he's pressed up against you again, holding your fingers steady as he wraps them up.

It hurts and you want so badly to just let go of the cry of pain and frustration that you're holding back. But instead you bite the inside of your cheek and watch Carmen bandage your fingers like he's done it a hundred times before. When he's done, he draws your hand up to his mouth and tears the tape with his teeth. You force back a swallow when his lips brush your skin.

"This okay, Chef?" he asks, looking up at you with those ridiculously anxious blue eyes—anxious like he's always got somewhere to be, something to do, something on his mind. Now they're focused entirely on you.

Somehow you find your voice. "Y-yeah—yeah, thank you." You pause, still staring at him, not moving. "I, um—I should go finish prep..."

"Okay," he answers softly.

"Okay."

"—Hey." Before you turn to slip out of his office, Carmen calls after you. He raises a fist to his chest, tracing it clockwise over his heart.

I'm sorry.

Your brows furrow at his apology. "Carmen, it wasn't your—"

"Yes. It was," he clarifies, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against the desk. "I blew you off earlier and you got hurt because of it... So I'm sorry."

From the doorframe, you offer him a half smile.

"Apology accepted, Chef." And then you leave him before he can say anymore, slipping back out into the chaos of rush hour.

——

You do end up finishing you prep before opening. Your fingers hurt like a bitch, and you may need to visit a 24 hour clinic on your way home for a few stitches, but you make it though. Rush hour was hell, your head hurts from both screaming and being screamed at, but now the Beef is closed, the kitchen is quiet, and you can just breathe.

Slowly but surely, everyone files out of the kitchen once they finish their end of the day tasks, bidding you goodbyes and see you tomorrows as they leave—except for Richie, who you flip off once his back is turned.

The bell above the front door chimes, announcing Tina's departure, and then it's just you left tending to your station. Sydney had offered to take care of it for you, seeing as you were down a hand, but cleaning your space at the end of the day gives you peace of mind and time to cool down after all the chaos.

At some point, the lights in the back office click off and heavy foot steps make their way towards the kitchen. Carmen appears beside you, arms crossed as he watches you clean. He's quiet, observing the way you scrub the already pristine table top over and over and over. You don't learn that kind of precision from working in a place like this.

You're an anomaly to him and he doesn't know what to do with you

You certainly don't fit in here with your perfectly refined private school vocabulary and your Michelin star palette and your fucking expensive gold chain necklace that's probably worth more than the rent for his apartment.

"What're you doing here?" he finally asks.

"Wiping my station?" Your voice is leaning on the defensive side and he figures that probably has to do with Richie.

"Exactly," he concedes. "So what are you doing here? Because six months ago you were making fuckin' soufflés in the Hamptons."

This time you actually kind of laugh because that statement is not too far off from the truth. "I don't know, Carmen. I was bored?"

"You don't give up the Hamptons because you're bored."

You look up at him for the first time since he's walked up. There's no bristling anger in your eyes like there was earlier when Richie took your knife—he did and you both know it. You just look at him, really look at him, and then you set down the rag and you nod. "Just like you don't give up Noma?"

Carmen holds your heavy gaze for a while. It's as if some sort of unspoken understanding passes between the two of you and eventually he sighs, nodding. "Right."

You look around at the restaurant surrounding you, the stained floors, the rundown kitchen appliances, the framed 'let it rip' note. "Natalie, uh she told me about him—Micheal... I'm really sorry. He seemed like a good guy."

His eyes follow yours to the note, and he doesn't say anything for a minute, which isn't unusual, Carmen has always been decently shy since you met him, but it makes you wonder if it was a mistake bringing it up.

Strangely enough, this is the first time that someone's brought up Michael and he hasn't wanted to slam a door in their face. Normally, he would just nod and say something like, 'yeah, he was a good guy' and that would be his way of wiggling out of another unwelcome conversation, but he doesn't. Instead, he stares at the note and wonders for the first time since Micheal died if he should have gone to the funeral.

It made him feel like a fucking asshole for not going, but he couldn't listen to all those people saying how good it was to have him back—how happy Micheal would have been to have him back—because if Micheal hadn't gone and killed himself, he wouldn't be here anyhow. He'd still be in New York. He'd still be angry at Micheal like he is now.

Carmen sighs. "I—I wish that I had talked to him more instead of just fucking off to New York. Because after that I just hated coming back too all of this... y'know? And then it was like even when I was here, he kinda just knew that I didn't want to be here, and so we spent that time just fuckin'... at each other's throats.." He trails off, sniffing to clear the choked up feeling from his throat. "Just—who the fuck does that?"

He's asking you. Who shoots themself and doesn't even leave a note? Who shoots themself and leaves their little brother to pick up the remains of their shithole restaurant?

"Well," you begin, laughing a little at the absurdity of it all. "You're talking to a girl who decided to quit her job after three years as a private chef and is now slicing spare ribs in Chicago for just over minimum wage."

The unseriousness of the confession makes him crack a smile and now he's fighting a grin off of his face. "Yeah, that was uh..." He's still chuckling, shaking his head. "That was really stupid of you. Why would you do that?"

You're fighting a smile too now, heart pumping in your chest because he's really fucking pretty when he laughs. His cheeks are flushed and his curly hair is a disheveled mess and you just want to reach over and smooth a hand through it.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip and his blue eyes don't miss the nervous habit. "Well, there's this guy..."

"Yeah?" Carmen's smiling, the tired expression on his face softened by the twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, there's this guy. And I've looked up to him my entire life. He's brilliant—like really fucking brilliant. And I promised myself that if I ever got the opportunity to work for him, I would do it."

Carmen snorts softly, glancing down at the white tile floor a bit bashfully before looking back to you again. "And now you know what a freaking psycho I am, huh?"

You can see it, him retreating back into the mellow, unsure person he becomes when he's not manning an overflowing expo station, a broken freezer, and an entire staff of chefs. It's endearing how timid he is, like he almost doesn't really know himself or how he fits in anywhere outside the kitchen. "I don't think you're a psycho, Carm. I mean, I would be a little crazy too if I had what you have on my plate."

He just nods, still a little sheepish at your praise. Just like this morning, when you had caught him at the back door before opening, he doesn't know what to do with himself when you're around.

You break the silence by turning back towards your station. "I'm going to finish up here. I don't mind locking up if you don't want to stay."

Carmen watches as you lean forward onto the toes of your beat up sneakers to grab the paper towels off the overhead shelf and the hem of your hand cropped t-shirt rides up. His first instinct is to look away because the exposed flesh of your rib cage feels like something he shouldn't be seeing, much less staring at, but it's like he freezes out of panic and now he's looking at the tattoo just under your breast.

He stands there, mouth partially open to reply back to you, but it's like his tongue is numb in his mouth and he doesn't even remember what he was going to say anymore. And then it's gone, concealed again by the hem of your white t-shirt.

When you walked into the Beef two weeks ago, your tattoos had been strangely surprising to him at first. He hadn't pictured you like that in his mind—bronzed skin and tatted forearms and cherry glossed lips—just grunge enough to make anyone who passes you look twice. Now you're all he thinks about.

"Carmy. Carmy?"

You're staring at him, head cocked to the side, brows furrowed in confusion and—God, he wants to kiss you.

"Are you oka—"

"Can I kiss you?" He blurts out the question as if he won't be able to finish it if he doesn't get it all out in one breath. Like he knows that if he doesn't ask now he's never going to have the courage to do it again, and he'll be stuck shoving down these feelings for you for the rest of his life.

When you stare at him, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights, he knows he screwed up. His stomach drops and—fuck, he really needs a Tums right now. He looks away, hand reaching to his hair, eyes darting to the ceiling because he can't take the embarrassment of looking at you.

"I—fuck, I'm sorry. That was totally—um. I shouldn't have—"

"Shut up, Carmen."

"No, that was stupid of me. I—"

"Shut up so I can kiss you, you moron."

Stepping forward, your hand curls around the back of his neck, drawing him down to close the gap between the two of you. Even then you have to stand on your toes to reach him. Although the tense, anticipatory stiffness of his body against yours is screaming wait, you press your lips to his before he has the chance to back down.

It's everything that a first kiss should be—hot and sweet and a bit awkwardly reserved. You can tell he’s nervous. Nevertheless, you can't help the hum that escapes you at the feeling of his plush bottom lip pressed between your own. If given the choice, you’d never pull away from the warm taste of his mouth.

Carmen's breathing heavy, heart pounding in his chest, hand pressing into your back, pulling you closer as he kisses you impossibly harder. He's never kissed a girl before and he decides then and there that he never wants to kiss any girl that's not you.

It’s not clear which of you pulls away first—coming up for air more than anything—but it leaves you both nose to nose, mouths still inches from each other, still sharing the same air that you would had your mouths been connected.

“Carmen?” you ask softly, nose brushing his as you speak. You can feel his heart beating against his chest.

“Yeah?” he replies in same breathy tone.

“Did I mention I really like it here?”

#carmy the bear #carmy berzatto #carmy x you #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto fluff #the bear #carmy berzatto imagines

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project-sekai-facts · 7 months ago

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which characters have cursed in-game? I know akito does a lot but I was wondering if anyone else has at all or if all the swears just go to akito and sometimes ena lmao

Akito swears the most, but I'm pretty sure some of the VBS characters (side characters included) user coarser language from time to time. If memory serves that covers Kotaro, Arata, and Tatsuya. Ena is translated as saying "pain in the ass" in the niigo main story if you count that as a swear, and I'm pretty sure she tends to use ruder language sometimes like her brother (though I don't read the scripts in their original language, so I'm basing this off of how fan TLers choose to adapt them).

Ensekai rarely puts profanity in the script. Like quite a bit of Akito's dialogue on JP could be TL'd as "fuck" or "shit" (he often uses ruder language). It makes sense though since this is a game with a relatively young target audience. I don't keep up with ensekai's translations but I don't think they've used profanity (aside from "crap" which doesn't qualify imo) much at all since 2022?

The following characters have used crap on ensekai (which again isn't really profanity but it's like the rudest word that ensekai frequently uses)

Shiho

Airi

Akito

Tsukasa <- only says it once

Nene

Ena <- most frequent user

Mizuki

Kotaro <- only says it once

Sometimes these are just used as filler words for exclamation points. In a flashback in the Leoneed main story one of Honami's bullies says "were you talking crap about me". That's probably the most severe the use of crap has ever been on ensekai, because it is being used as substitute for the word shit. There may be other instances of this - I didn't cross check every single piece of dialogue since it's 1am as i'm writing this and they use crap quite a lot.

Also Tsukasa says "fuck" in english twice in Dappou Rock. Len says it once in Ego Rock.

#asks #swears don't translate directly back and forth from english and japanese #and i'm not exactly familiar with what words pass as profanity in JP. i know a few but i'm no expert #'kuso' is what they say in VBS stories a lot which is usually just translated as some sort of annoyed 'argh' noise or smth else entirel

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jinxsmascara · 1 month ago

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"Why do you like Silco from arcane SOOOOO much ?"

Well... number one: father figure of a character i KIN

Number two: his back story is the perfect exemple of ascending into...pure rage and unforgiveness like:

WARNING ARCANE S2 SPOILER !:

He was just a guy who worked with his brother in the mines and both were friends with Vi and Powder/Jinx mother (Felicia) ... yes he was a revolutionary , yes he was like "im too punk and edgy and cool for caring about the future ! Lets make Zaun !" Which was understandable i mean you live in a poor shitty undercity and you are looked down by the Pilities who never have to worry while you are in the slums worried if you will even have a tomorrow (lack of food n water / contaminated food n water , live in the streets for the most unlucky ones etc etc) and the Topside wont hear you , if course you go "FUCK IT LETS RIOT !" ... as we all know Silco fought on the bridge with Vander and Felicia (well maybe she didnt wanna fight because she had Vi and Powder/Jinx so maybe she was with them because she had to run from enforcers ?) ... and Felicia died (we dont know if Silco accidentally killed her wanting to punch an enforcer but in his "high" of "OH MY GOD IM PUNCHING EVERYONE !" or she was already dead (i think its the second option because we can see his face drop as he sees Felicia lifeless like "...no no no hey no this isnt supposed to happen !") ..) , Vander saw Silco at the wrong moment wrong time , and decided to just attack him...

Now just imagine that: you are fighting for your life and your people's lives , and you see your bestfriend dead , and you try to process that shit all while you have raging enforcers running at you wanting to arrest/kill you , and on top of that you have no time to explain or you simply cant explain to your brother why and how y'all best friend died ... and this brother of yours decides to attack you and kill you in the worse ways (drowning + gauging your left eye out) ... all you can think about is "i lost everyone... he hates me ! They all hate me! i hate them all ! Betrayers !" , you dont have time to think "its a misunderstanding ... its gonna be okay" ...

Of course i aint condoneing everything , im just stating the facts like...of course he would turn out this way after that crap ! The opposite woulda surprised me !

Also despite his "im a fucking menace" act... you can see when Vander attacks him again in S1 A3 , his first reaction is to FREEZE and have flashbacks of him being drowned again... THAT GUY STILL GETS MF PTSD LIKE DUDE GO TO THERAPY AND CALM YOUR TITS ! (He has to shake himself off like "WAKE UP HE IS GONNA KILL YOU !" to react)

(No i wont mention how...lame the excuse letter was , i mean , I know vander is shit at this (thats what he says in the letter too bwaha) but...he could have maybe asked for Benzo or someone else to help him write the letter for Silco ? Like instead of just "yeah uhm im sorry uhm...find me at the bar eh ?" (Which would have infuriated Silco even more imo , like imagine you get disfigurated and almost killed and the person who did that gives you a poor piece of paper ? He would have gone like "OH YEAH IM COMING TO THE MF LAST DROP AND IM GONNA KICK HIS DAMN ASS !" instead of "...mehhh fine okay") like an actual "lets have a talk...like two adults" one-)

Thankyou for assisting an episode of: Jinx takes a globally insignificant thing too much at heart !

- Jinx out

#arcane #arcane lol #silco #arcane silco #young silco arcane #vander #I understand that motherfucker #anyways he is a hot bastard #and my father figure #i like him #i have daddy issues and idk which one #.

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physalian · 11 months ago

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Take A Risk and Don’t Write a Chosen One

This trope stands the test of time for some very good reasons: Audience wish-fulfillment as they live vicariously through the hero, automatic plot-induced agency for your protagonist, and automatic legitimate reasons for your protagonist to join the whirlwind adventure of the day.

I like chosen ones. We all have our favorite famous chosen ones and I’m not here to say the concept of a chosen one is bad at all.

However.

Those “automatic” windfalls that come pre-packaged with the trope can lead to the author taking shortcuts, or not thinking they have to put in more effort to write a compelling character, because they’re the “chosen one,” what more do you need?

Not writing your protagonist as commanded by the powers that be to participate in the plot forces you to get creative with why they’re here, what they want, and how they entrench themselves in the story. And most importantly, if the gods haven’t chosen them to act, they must now choose themselves to act.

—

I have never read Harry Potter and after its author-who-shan’t-be-named flushed her reputation down the toilet, I never will. I’ve seen the movies, they’re ok. I have no nostalgia-driven love for this franchise, and most of that comes from watching Harry be an incredibly boring protagonist.

Book readers correct me, but Harry is the poster child of “only exists so the audience can live vicariously” with generic heroic traits and nonexistent or at least unimportant side quirks and distinguishing hobbies, interests, or personality tics. He’s “brave” and “courageous” and “determined”... as most child protagonists of children’s books should be. He has zero flaws that come back to bite him in the ass. He acts the way he’s supposed to, not the way he should want to, as an independent being.

He’s the least interesting character in this entire cast, and I can’t stand Movie Ron. Ron, Hermione, Neville, or Draco would have made much more compelling protagonists and so much of this relies on the “Harry is important because the plot demands it” crutch.

Why is he the chosen one? Because his birthday happened at the right time of year? What is the story trying to say about the dichotomy between him and Voldemort? What about his personality, his wizard-societal stances on the many faux pas in this series, or the choices he makes, that makes him the chosen one? Why should I care?

You know who’s a great chosen one? Percy Jackson. Why? Because he understands the screwed up world he lives in on page 1. Being a demigod isn’t everything he ever dreamed and despite what Disney + wants you to believe, he’s got a crap bio dad who’s as disappointing in book one as Percy expects him to be.

He’s not even the chosen one by the end of the original series, and what a fantastic twist that was.

An infamously self-chosen protagonist has her own iconic hero quote: "I volunteer as tribute". Katniss is a nobody. She's not the evil president's daughter, she's not the child of a famously martyred revolutionary, she's just a girl who refuses to bow down to the reaping, refuses to let her sister get slaughtered, and volunteers for a death match that historically sees anyone living to survive another year cowering in relief. Yeah, she has some convenient skills in her archery and survival knowledge, but those matter because her district is starving, she learned through necessity.

Every second of her story, Katniss is fighting for her right to exist, and she only becomes a "chosen one" dragged around by the powers that be when she becomes marketable to the grand scheming of the actual revolutionaries, when, before, she didn't care about politics, she just wanted to save her sister. She matters because she chose compassion in a world where survival demands only serving yourself.

—

It’s so, so easy to start planning your book and make your cool fantasy world and figure out how your protagonist fits into it. So easy to say “well they’re the long-lost princess and the only heir to the throne” or “this magic amulet from her great great aunt is the key to saving the world” or “she’s the villain’s secret love child and the only one who can stop him because blood magic” or “this vague prophecy picked this little desert slave boy to bring balance to the Force”.

None of these stories are at fault for writing chosen ones.

But push yourself to let go of that crutch and come up with other reasons for why your hero is the hero. Usually this character has been isekai'd into magical-fantasy-land or magical-hidden-fantasy-urban-underbelly and you can still write that character.

Refusing to make them the chosen one demands one thing first and foremost: How is this outsider going to fight for their place to exist here? What do they bring to the table with their hobbies or interests or unique skillset that happens to be mighty applicable and useful in this new world? What is it about their personality that draws these strangers in? What do they want from this new world, and what are they willing to do to get it?

This choice demands you give your hero agency (though whether you give into those demands is up to you).

More importantly: I think it gives your audience agency, as they still live vicariously through their hero. Sure, lots of kids have lost their parents and live in horrid conditions like a cupboard under the stairs, but none of us will ever be “chosen” by omniscient wizard prophets. Harry would have immediately been a more compelling protagonist to me if he’d stumbled upon magical shenaniganry and fought for his place as some forgotten nobody mudblood.

Harry would have shown us his courage, instead of the story insisting he has it, we promise, just don’t think too hard about it.

Stop giving me characters who accept their destiny because God said so. Give me characters who fight tooth and nail for a destiny they discover on their own and I’ll root for them to succeed even more than someone compelled by force. Not everyone can be a chosen one, but everyone *can* choose themselves and decide to act.

—

With that said, I have an announcement! I have a new book in the works bereft of a prophecy-ordained hero. It’s time I put all my sagely writing wisdom to the test in a shiny published paperback myself. If you’ve learned anything from my blog in your writing journey, please subscribe for updates on the upcoming novel!

#chosen ones #character design #writing advice #character development #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fantasy #urban fantasy #scifi #harry potter #percy jackson #katniss everdeen #the hunger games

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creedslove · 1 year ago

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RE-ENCOUNTER 🎨

Marcus Pike x f!reader

"I'd rather get divorced while still loving you, than remaining together and risking to hate you"

Summary: you and Marcus had a brief but loving marriage, until it wasn't anymore. Choosing an amicable divorce you both moved on with your lives until destiny made you run into each other once more, with a difference this time: your ex-husband was engaged now

Warnings: mentions of divorce, a little bit of angst, fluff, some jealousy, age gap (their ages are not specified but he's 10 years older than her)

A/N: besties, I'm so happy I finally managed to write something for our husband Pike. I've always wanted to do so, but I knew I couldn't just force myself into it otherwise it wouldn't work properly, and just like that, this idea came up and I couldn't get it out of my mind ❤️ also, I know some people don't like age gap, but I can't imagine reader being Marcus age mostly because reader is me 🥴 and also because it would make sense to the story, so although it's not specified, I pictured them getting married around early 20s(reader) early 30s (Pike) and running into each other again around late 20s/early 30s (reader) and late 30s/early 40s (Pike)

3.9k words

You weren't fond of getting married young, to you, it sounded nothing like madness, as you simply couldn't wrap your head around the fact that people often abdicated from their lives, plans and dreams to get stuck in a relationship. It made no sense to you, especially since you had been working your ass off during all your years in college, the prospect of having a successful and promising career motivated you to go after your dreams. Relationships, marriages, building up families hadn't crossed your mind at all, a little affair with a cute guy here and there were the only things that ever got remotely close to dating, at the same time you only saw yourself as someone who wouldn't settle down.

And that was before Marcus Pike walked into your life.

If someone asked you to explain what exactly happened, perhaps you wouldn't be able to understand it yourself let alone explain it to someone, but that man swept you off your feet. You'd met him during a history of art lecture at campus one Thursday evening. He had just joined the FBI in the art department, fresh in his new job but still assisting his former professor and mentor in college lectures. He was probably ten or so years older than you, and yet, you couldn't keep your eyes off him. He was by far the most handsome man you'd seen in those four long years you'd spent in that institution, there was something so captivating in his beautiful eyes, his breathtaking smile and how smart and sweet he was towards anyone. And he caught you staring; it seemed you took his attention as much as he took yours, and even if you needed that lecture for extra credit, you couldn't give a single crap about medieval art, because that man was everything you could see in front of you. That was so unlike your personality, usually, you'd be focused on everything else, but you simply couldn't look away from that handsome assistant.

When the lecture was finally over, you were sure you'd missed at least half of it, being too busy concentrating on someone else instead of the subject, you still had a few doubts about the matter and you walked to the stage, willing to ask the professor some questions and clarify any doubts you had, and that was the moment you both locked eyes for the first time. The handsome guy that caught your attention, whose name was Marcus, soon found out the moment you shook hands and realized how big his was compared to yours and how truly handsome he was, even more so than you had already noticed when you were a few meters away. He was also mesmerized by you and he couldn't hide it, he knew you were younger than him, but at that moment all he could process was how gorgeous and smart that girl was in front of him. He kept around while you talked to his mentor, being polite enough not to interrupt him but holding himself back so he wouldn't add his own comments. He just wanted an excuse to talk to you, see if he could approach and see where things could go, so the moment he had the opportunity to be with you alone for a while, he immediately threw his charms - and Marcus was a charming guy - in your first conversation you liked how intelligent and nice he was, he made you laugh and when he invited you to have pancakes some dinner nearby the campus, you couldn't say no.

And that was the beginning of your love story.

Everything you believed went through the roof from the moment you met Marcus. He was incredible, the most fascinating man you'd met and whereas he was older than you, that only seemed to spice things up both in the sexual and emotional sense. You had never been treated like that before, he made you feel like a queen, as cheesy as it may sound, that's just how you felt through your relationship with Marcus. He was a gentleman, sweet and he didn't know what to do in order to please you; he went slowly at first, even if his intentions were clear from the very first time you went out to eat, he was a little afraid you would be weirded out by him, and he couldn't be further from the truth. Each time he took you out on a date, it felt like you were living the plot of any sweet but cliche rom com movie. It felt just too good to be true and a part of you feared that it wouldn't work. But it did, for as long as it lasted.

The dates with Marcus were so special, he was thoughtful and he always made sure to take you somewhere nice; it was either a nice restaurant so you could get to know their different menu, or art galleries in which he would show you his favorite works and tell you as much as you wanted to hear about them. He was always afraid of boring you with his subjects but on the contrary, you always enjoyed listening to him talk, it was entertaining, soothing and you could spend hours watching how his eyes sparkled whenever he addressed anything he truly enjoyed. And even if he put some effort into them, your favorite date by far was whenever you two would spend some time just hanging out together in his apartment. Dim lights, old movies on TV and Marcus' protective grip around your body, always pulling you closer and making sure you were warm in his embrace for the rest of the night.

The first kiss you shared with him after you both went to the movies together. It was a classic movie rerun and even if Casablanca wasn't your favorite, you knew he enjoyed it, and seeing it on a big screen was definitely a nice experience. Besides, he promised you that once Titanic hit the theaters in the next classic session, he would definitely take you.

At the end of the movie, you walked out the theater holding hands, you were silent, but instead of reflecting over the story you'd just watched you reflected over your relationship with Marcus; you were falling deeper and deeper for him, deeper and more intensely than you ever thought you would, and when he stopped and placed your hands on your hips you couldn't resist being kissed by him.

It felt right.

The first night you both spent together was right after he took you to see the concert of his former band; he'd left the band when he graduated from college, but he still remained friends with the guys and eventually enjoyed visiting them on stage. And that night he insisted on taking his bass for a last ride and even risked a song on the microphone, all of that for you.

By then, there was no fighting or convincing otherwise, you were head over heels for Marcus; especially when you two had sex for the first time after that. One could think Marcus is too soft, but not when it comes to that; he knows how to act, how to please and how to demand what he wants and after you tried him, a real man, there was no way you could go back to college boys ever again.

Your relationship evolved fast and in less than a year he proposed to you; he was sure you were what he wanted in the future, just as you had thrown away all your beliefs and you'd surrounded yourself completely to the man you loved, so you said yes. Even if your whole life you said you wouldn't get married, not while young at least, not without having a consistent, successful career.

And there you were, fresh out of college, with very little work experience, a job in an area you didn't want but had to take in order to gather experience and knowledge and walking down the aisle in a white dress, feeling as happy as you could be, in order to become Mrs.Pike. The honeymoon had to be in Paris, a few people told you that couldn't be more cliche, and even if they meant it out of spite or if they were actually right, it didn't really matter to you; it felt so right for the two of you. Surrounded by art constantly during the day and making love at night, it was like a dream coming true, and you remember hoping your entire marriage would be like that: light, fun, full of love and happiness. And it was until it wasn't anymore.

You couldn't tell exactly when things started to go downhill, but if you had to guess, it would probably be due to the lack of time you both faced towards the end of your relationship. It just started getting harder after about a year, when the two of you really began struggling for your own careers. You, in your area, and Marcus with the FBI, it seemed to have become an obsession for you both, as date nights, walks in the park and gallery visitations simply stopped happening in order to focus on your extra tasks, overtime, solving cases. At some point it became a looping of excuses and promises to spend more time together:

"We'll go next weekend honey"

"We can have dinner together tomorrow"

"I promise I'll take you with me next time"

Needless to say, they never truly happened.

Just as you two distanced yourselves without even realizing, the bickering also started, adding another venomous sting to your relationship. Suddenly, small things turned into bigger ones, sources of stress and fights; if someone ever told you one day you'd have heated arguments with Marcus over a dropped sock, or an unwashed plate on the sink, you would call them crazy, but when that unfortunately happened to the two of you, you were shocked for a while, not believing you had become the kind of couple to argue over stupid things like those. It was heartbreaking. As you two barely had time for each other, sex was also off the table most nights, being too tired to do anything else other than sleep, Marcus suddenly came up with the idea of having a baby; he had a deep hope of fixing your marriage by getting you pregnant, after all, having kids had always been part of his plan and he was sure it was part of yours too.

At the same time you hadn't really thought it through. Technically, you had. You wanted kids. At some point, in the future, it wasn't rocket science to figure that adding a baby to a troubled marriage could not be the best idea. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to tell him that, not when you saw the spike of excitement in his eyes, not when he held you and kissed you like in the beginning of your relationship, how he made time for you even if his FBI work was killing him, he still managed to bring you flowers, kiss you and made love to you. Perhaps he was trying to save your marriage, or he was just trying for the baby, you weren't so sure, but you could see the effort. And it was why it broke your heart to know you couldn't get pregnant at that moment, not with your job finally taking you places, the new opportunity of actually building a career and how young you still thought you were, being married was hard, but it was about you and Marcus, two adults who could handle yourselves but a baby? It was way too much responsibility. You couldn't find a way to tell him that, even if you were being a coward, it pained you you felt so hopeless to simply lie to Marcus and tell him you'd stopped taking your birth control pills, and even more so each time he looked at you with those disappointed, sad eyes, month after month of excitement and longing for that baby to be there, just to get a negative test after another. It was eating you up alive and after his insistence on taking you to a doctor - which you immediately refused - he managed to find your hidden stash of pills among your stuff. You tried explaining everything to him; how you weren't ready, you were scared and how broken you'd been at seeing him so upset. You cried, you opened your heart to Marcus and told him you wanted to be a mom to his child, some day, not at that moment, but in the future because things were finally working for the two of you once more. But you had lied to your husband, and lying to Marcus had no turning back.

He had no other option other than asking for a divorce after you lied and broke his heart, he felt upset, he could've forgiven you for many things, but not for playing with his heart when it came to the kids he dreamed of every single day.

You were tired, upset and at some point during your divorce process you'd convinced yourself you didn't love him anymore, but the reality was that you were just so empty you weren't able to feel things, you were numb.

The day you both signed the divorce papers in front of your lawyer and you were questioned whether you two wanted to go ahead with that decision, your heart shattered into a million pieces, more than any fights, when you heard Marcus' justification to why he was asking for the divorce.

"I'd rather get divorced while still loving you, than remaining together and risking to hate you"

When you heard those words, you had a sudden urge to get up and tear those papers into pieces, tell him you were both making a huge mistake, that toyover him and that you could make it work, you wanted to tell him you still had a beautiful future ahead of you, you and the gorgeous family you would have together. And the moment you took a deep breath to finally say all that out loud, you looked at Marcus signing the papers and officializing the divorce.

That was the last time you saw your ex-husband Marcus Pike, you just had no idea the next time you would run into him again would be in a few years later, while he was taking his new fiancee on a date.

•••

Marcus sighed as he could see the lack of excitement in Teresa's face the moment they got to the exhibit, he just didn't know why she agreed to go out with him if she didn't like it, it would be so much easier for the two of them if she was honest and told him she'd rather stay home and read a magazine, that way they would both be happy, and Marcus wouldn't have the feeling he was trying too hard all the time. Teresa liked him, she must have liked him, otherwise she wouldn't have accepted his proposal and moved to DC with him. It was still early, she'd been there for a few weeks but he was confident things would work. He was hitting his forties now, one divorce, no kids and even if he finally got the position he had not only dreamed of but also worked so hard for in his dream job, he still felt something was missing. It took him a failed marriage to realize that money wasn't everything he needed, he simply missed the family he never had.

When he found Teresa he was still trying to pick the pieces of his heart, still trying to make things work on his own and when he saw her - an attractive, mature and intelligent woman, he thought that maybe he wouldn't be alone this time. You'd been the love of his life, he was convinced of that, but you two had gone way too fast and too intense, you were still young, you had so much to live so it made sense to him he would let you go and be free. He vowed himself not to rush into things, but this time it wasn't his choice, he was liking Teresa more and more and even if they weren't compatible most of the time, but when the opportunity of a lifetime came up he had to take his chances and she'd said yes. Still a little unsure and divided between him and Jane, but she said yes.

As they walked through the exhibit, he paid close attention to all the beautiful paintings scattered around the long hallways. He loved that atmosphere, the pictures so beautifully made by talented hands years or sometimes centuries ago.

"So it's just flowers?!" Teresa broke the silence as she looked around unimpressed and dragged his attention back to reality

"It's not just flowers, it's Monet… don't you like it? You told me you liked his paintings on our first date.." Marcus stated confused until the realization that she was just lying so she wouldn't appear ignorant or perhaps try to impress him a little. He saw how she cleared her throat and tried fixing what she just said but he stopped listening the moment he caught a glimpse of someone else crossing the same room and standing next to Rouen Cathedral, admiring it intently. He didn't even need to look twice to know it was you. You, who always loved that painting, even if it wasn't Monet's best in your ex-husband's opinion, you who had a fascination with old constructions such as cathedrals and would always snap several pictures of them, you, who was never exceptional at art but managed to get by and eventually fell more and more in love with art because of Marcus, not because you wanted to impress him or have him thinking you were smart, but because he actually made you see why he had that passion for it. And the moment that you turned around, his heart skipped a beat.

You looked the same, and yet, you also managed to look even more beautiful; more mature, more confident in yourself and for a brief moment Marcus was frozen in time, it was just like the first time he saw you, in which he could only see you in front of him and nothing else. He had no idea you still had that effect on him, it was so unusual and surprising and even if he had stalked your social media profiles here and there over the course of your separation, even if he wasn't proud of it, it was completely different than seeing you right there in front of him. He wasn't sure what to do, should he approach you? Talk to you? Pretend he didn't see you?

However, he didn't time to think any further about it, not when you turned around and spotted him, your eyes widening at the moment you saw him. Much to your surprise your heart also raced at the sight of your ex-husband. Was it your mind playing tricks or was he even more handsome? You hadn't planned on approaching him, but you felt as if you were being taken involuntarily towards him.

"Marcus?! Hi!" You said with a sweet smile as he politely greeted you, expressing how surprised he was to see you and even more so to actually talk to you

"Wow, you look great… So beautiful" he smiled as you blushed softly and giggled

"You too, still very handsome… so what brings you to D-" you interrupted by a woman who walked in and wrapped her arm around his waist. She eyed you up and down, even if she still tried to be polite and discreet about it. You swallowed hard feeling awkward and Marcus turned to the other woman

"This is Teresa, my fiancee and this is my ex-wife" he cleared his throat as he said your name and Teresa simply nodded her head. You returned the gesture and the moment you meant to ask him a question she barged in

"You're his ex-wife? But you're so young…" you could see the light pink spreading through his cheek and groaned at how dumb she really was.

"Yeah, I'm younger than him… and are you a little older than Marcus?" You returned the sting with the same amount of poison and she scoffed, looking at him and groaned

"I'll go to the restroom" she said without looking into your eyes and walked away, making you chuckle as Marcus shot you a questioning look which you just shrugged and went back to the question that was lingering on your mind

"So, what are you doing here in DC? Having a romantic getaway or vacations?"

"Actually, I've moved here after I was promoted to the head of the new art department" he said with his typical smile and you could see how his eyes crinkled, your heart warming up as you expressed genuine surprise and happiness to know that. You were a witness to how hard he had worked for that and it just filled your heart with pride to know he made it. You weren't sure how to act, perhaps it wasn't right, but you had already wrapped your arms around his neck and given him probably the tightest hug you'd ever done. Even if it was brief, you couldn't help but feel how built up he was, how stronger he'd become and his characteristic scent made you so warm on the inside, it felt like you could've stayed forever in his embrace.

"I'm so happy for you, Marcus! Honestly, you deserve it! I know I haven't been the most supportive wife and I'm very sorry about everything that happened, I should've been nicer to you, but well, all I'm trying to say is that I'm so proud of you!"

You said wholeheartedly and even if there were so many other things you needed to tell him, you knew it wasn't the right time and place. He just smiled and nodded, taking your hands into his big ones and thanking you for the support.

"Do you think we could grab a coffee or something? Just catch up?"

"I'd love to, but I don't know if it's a good idea, I mean, I can tell Teresa isn't my biggest fan and being honest with you, I wouldn't like my fiance's ex-wife around very much, but it's amazing to see you Marcus, truly, it makes me glad to know you are somewhat closer" you smiled again but let go of his hands the moment Teresa returned. Once more she just lingered around him, almost territorial as if she wanted to show you who owned Marcus. He also felt that, and it made him quite uncomfortable, so he cleared his throat and looked at you, saying goodbye and explaining they had dinner reservations.

As you watched them both leave, you felt a pang in your chest, thinking of the wonderful place he was probably taking her, the elaborate dates he had planned, the beautiful family they would probably build together. It could've been you, it was you for a while, unlike he might have thought you wanted all that with him, but it took you a divorce to realize it was a situation of the right person, wrong time. Perhaps if you tried again, it would work, you would like it to work, but Marcus had moved on, found himself someone he cared about and you had no right to break his heart and ruin his happiness once more.

____

A/N: my besties, I really hope you enjoyed it! I don't know if this is just a one-shot or if there'll be a continuation but I am so happy how this turned out. I love Marcus and I'm so happy our handsome FBI boyfriend finally got his own piece here! ❤️ remember that feedback is life, I'd love to hear what you all thought of it ❤️

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