#even the ones that work at the fucking restaurant and canonically DESPISE IT

[tealchameleon]

Squiddy hates his job but apparently eats there on his days off?

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[namazunomegami]

A healthy dose of stalker Geto thoughts

a/n: FYI, thats the result if you lock me up in an empty room with my laptop and a playlist full of mareux, NIN and MSI. At least I got a newfound love for Closer now bc some years ago a fic ruined the song for me lmao

Before you ask, yes, I have mental problems. But likes and reblogs are still appreciated <33

wc: 1919

cw: geto is fucking delulu, online stalking, serial murder, poisoning, dismemberment, geto cooks his blood into a meal, implied bondage, kidnapping, reader was abused, corruption, reader is forced to torture and kill their abuser, gore

credits: nakatsuji sakutaro for one of my fave geto fanarts ever <33, my dearest @notveryrussian for proofreading, my criminal pedagogy teacher for some interesting details about organized criminals lol and arone_cosplay on tiktok bc his scream au cosplay was the sole inspiration when I started writing

The dark content is heavy with this one so there's nothing wrong if you won't interact with this post! If my horror enthusiast bestie says that this shit is scary, believe them. Minors are gonna get kicked, obviously.

He’s definitely not that “Joe Goldberg from You” type of stalker. He despises the guy, he watches that show to have a laugh. It’s his form of disaster tourism. Geto is almost the antithesis of Joe. I was a big fan of the first season of You so let me elaborate. Joe has a savior complex and he latches onto any conventionally attractive rich woman in his proximity and tries to mold them into his ideal type (which is vulnerable, dependent, innocent, and forgiving) and when shit hits the fan he becomes a whiney little bitch saying stuff like “aww, but I did this all for you :cc” because he’s in complete denial about his crimes and psychopathic nature. Geto is the opposite, and what makes him so fucking scary is that he doesn’t need to convince himself that his actions are right. He knows he’s right.

Also, he won’t put on a fucking cap and go out on the streets to stalk you. That’s just a dumb decision, he has a job to do, and it’s easy to recognize him. But that doesn’t mean that he won’t do it in his spare time, from a comfortable distance. He only needs one of your socials and digs up every little detail about you. Your entire lore. Pictures shared by your relatives when you were just a little kid, he tracks your friends’ accounts (he wants to make sure that you’re surrounded by the right people), all the locations, cafés, restaurants you share on your instagram highlights, your celebrity crushes, all the playlists you made on spotify, everything. He gets to know you before you’re even aware of his existence, you’re an open book to him before he talks to you. It’s so easy to get a feel of your essence in the online space, use the tremendous information to his advantage, surprise you, win you over with his fake thoughtfulness.

"Aw, you’re so sweet, how did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

Yeah, a lucky guess, he just scrolled your twitter until 4 am to reach your first ever post.

The easiest way to understand how his mind works is to look at his MBTI type and I’ll try to hold myself back to not flood you all with my everlasting love for Jungian psychology and cognitive functions. INTJs are meticulous, skeptical, analytical, practical, everything is centered around a bigger, more complex system, a spiderweb of thoughts. Their subjective ideals and values have the utmost importance. They get lost in the details sometimes, but they manage to prioritize creativity and rationality in their actions and thought process. So, if we want to pick a category among murderers, he’d definitely belong into a mission oriented type (canon is my only proof for this). He couldn’t care less about money, power, or satisfying his needs for control. He’s the personification of punishment in his mind.

Evil is petty, he is petty, but not so much to just deal with every single nuisance in the shape of a person (looking at Joe again lol). He won’t go after the Karens at your workplace or the shitty classmates who just wanted their name on your assignment without any contribution. If he kills, he must kill for a valid reason and does it brilliantly. Calm and level-headed, organized, devoid of anger or any intense emotion. He makes awful lot of preparations for a kill. He studies the victim just like he studies with you. Their schedule, relationships, habits, social media presence. He’d rather arrange the scene to give the impression of an accident. Mixing cleaning products, fucking around with the heating system and letting them die of carbon monoxide poisoning or a house fire (an easy kill if the victim smokes). He rarely lets himself get carried away and get all bloody and gorey because he knows how much effort he must put into disposing of the body. But he does feel like a god during the process. That he rules over life and death. That he has the divine right to decide who should be removed from existence.

The only slightly risky thing he allows himself, is to put his earphones in and call you up while dismembering a corpse. Good thing that his grandma has no use for that big ass meat grinder, a literal jackpot for getting rid of the bodies. His voice is soothing, so sweet you can turn into a blushing and giggling mess, but you can still hear the loud chopping noises as he severs the body parts right at the joints. He shrugs it off that he’s just meal prepping.

You believe him, you don’t question him further. But he does cook a delicious meal just for you and sends it to your workplace. And you have absolutely no idea that he was thinking about cutting up the ingredients with the same knife he killed his victim with. Luckily, he changed his mind. You don’t deserve to have any remnants of a lowlife in your system. But the idea was nice, just like how modern witches tie their favorite person to them. There’s something ritualistic about blood consumption in his mind that he can’t explain. Hopefully, a few drops of his own didn’t ruin the meal. At least you weren’t complaining about the metallic taste. He doesn’t mind he has to live off on two cans of Monster because he pulled an all-nighter. You’re falling head over heels for him so it’s worth the suffering.

The only thing that makes his heart ache is that as your relationship develops, he must use you to forge his alibis. He immediately copied the keys to your apartment, without your knowledge of course. Sometimes he drops by when you’re absent, goes through your stuff, sniffs around, looking for trinkets. He comes over specifically when he plans to kill his next victim. Sneaks out in the middle of the night, kills them, then goes back to your place and crawls back next to you. And he’s as silent as a cat, as a phantom, as a ghost.

He’s a fucked up man in every aspect. You think he’s too hyper fixated on restraints and bondage. He’s far too keen to spend an excruciatingly long time arranging the rope in an aesthetically pleasing way, or have the gag’s and blindfold’s colors match perfectly. His creativity and imagination are running wild when you’re the rigger. You almost question his sanity when he asks you to use cable ties and masking tape on him. What does he want? To feel tortured? Deep down he’s fascinated with the feelings a potential victim might experience. A taste of distress, vulnerability, helplessness that he usually has no chance to feel, yet he’s thrilled about it. You still won’t suspect a thing, everybody’s got a weird kink or two that they can’t explain, right?

He knows that one day, you’ll discover his secret. That he can’t hide it forever and even though he justifies his vile actions by giving it a noble cause, he must earn your forgiveness. He deliberately kept those who hurt you mostly alive. Whether it’s a bully, the shittiest ex known to mankind, or an abusive parent. He knows he has no right to kill them. But he can bring them to your basement, gagged and tied up. The best birthday gift ever is to let you have your revenge, right? Or maybe he just wants somebody as irredeemable as him, like he’s undeserving of anything nice in life so he must break it, tarnish it, ruin it. The world is a such a cruel place for kind spirits, he feels the need to corrupt them. Bring them down to his level.

He lined up a bunch of tools, a wooden bat, scissors, knives, razor blades, a hatchet, a hammer. He transformed the basement into a makeshift rage room. You don’t dare to cry, run, or scream at him, the person before your eyes makes you freeze completely, your features are distorted in dread. An old response got triggered, your nervous system remembers those years, you’re flooded with memories. You feel yourself regressing back to the victim you once were and that’s the process that Geto wants to stop once and for all. It’s so strange that you find safety in his presence and his firm hold above your elbows. He’s looming over you like a shadow, a shroud. Like the devil on your shoulder. Cooing in your ear to pick up something and have fun, let your rage cloud your mind, make them relive your pain. Don’t worry about a single thing because he will do all the clean-up. And you have no idea why, but you accept.

It’s strangely comforting. You feel in control, all-powerful, accomplished. It feels better than it should. It feels so right but it shouldn’t. There’s no guilt in you, only endorphins running rampant in your veins. The dopamine rush enslaves you, fills your brain with white noise. The pain does fade a little or something just irrevocably breaks in you. Maybe you’re just as fucked up as him and you managed to bury it in the deepest corner of your psyche. All bottled up for years like the most exquisite French wine, chained just like a beast but now it’s freed. Your reward is a bloody pile of flesh and guts that once was a person, and utter devotion gleaming in Geto’s eyes.

Your consciousness gets clearer, you notice the sensation of being drenched in blood and sweat when the realization hits you that there’s no going back. Now, you’re sticked together for life. You know his dirty little secret and now you’ve forged your own that he can blackmail you with if you ever want to get away from him. But why would you do that? You’re everything he needs and he’s all you have.

[some-user-some-place]

For One Night Only

Rodent brainrot - Vincent Charbonneau x Rody Lamoree ( + Manon and her relationships with these two)

Vincent character study fic (kinda going for my interpretation of his motives in canon + a little fan service :D)

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: Shitload of angst, Light Smut, Implied Manon Death, She steak in this :/, Biting, Alcohol and cigarette abuse, not manon friendly, sad (catastrophic) ending, Implied cannibalism.

You can also read this on ao3! Or just drop by, leave a kudo or comment, read my author's notes, or don't, anything you feel like tbh.

♡ ~✿~ ♡

Vincent always had a complicated relationship with silence. 

Truth be told, it surrounded him everyday, and he absolutely despised it. It was usually accompanied by piles of paperwork in his office, the same tasteless wine he had made a habit of downing, and the reality that he was alone. 

Don't get him wrong, he likes being alone, prefers it actually, but that specific variety of loneliness just doesn't suit his taste. 

Ha . 

Either way, he also misses the silence, when there's a busy day in the restaurant, when he's trying to do some paperwork on a particularly noisy night, and especially, when a group of drunk patrons are delaying his much needed rest.

Much like right now. 

He already sent his cooks home, the chatty group of girls won't order anything else, he knows it. And yet, 30 minutes after closing time, he's watching his newly hired waiter entertain their whims. 

“Thank you, mister” The giggling girls are already halfway out the door by the time he snaps out of his inner musings. They're awfully touchy in their drunken state, he wonders how Rody manages it all, smiling like a puppy receiving a treat.

I guess that is why I don't do customer service .

“Boss? Are you there?” There's a hand waving itself in front of his eyes by now, accompanied by a mildly concerned face.

He could touch it if he reached out.

“You've got tables to clean and a floor to sweep, I wouldn't waste any time if I planned on getting home tonight.”

“Oh yeah, right to it boss!”

The process of cleaning the restaurant was always the same, cleaning, checking the ingredients, giving Rody a plate…

Oh yeah, he totally forgot about that. 

“Hey, Rody. I have something for you.” That perked up his waiter's attention. He watched his face morph from surprise at being caught off guard, to curiosity, until it landed in complete and utter disbelief.

“Really?!” Rody looked like he was about to hug him, and Vincent still couldn't pinpoint exactly why. 

“Uhm… is there a problem?”

“NO! I mean, thank you so much boss, I really could do with that raise! I just didn't think you'd actually give it to me but I've been working hard and-” If he didn't stop babbling Vincent would lose his ability to hear things too.

“It's not a raise.”

“Oh”

I guess he is a good waiter, and it's not like the bistro is doing badly, he could raise his hourly pay a little bit. Maybe it'd give him an incentive to actually arrive on time, and if nothing else it would severely diminish his exposure to Rody’s puppy dog eyes…

Ok this was getting ridiculous, even for him. 

“Take this, it's one of the dead plates from today.” He handed him a neatly tied package from the kitchen. He spent way too long trying to make the perfect ribbon, secure enough but also elegant. Because Rody rides a bike, and he couldn't give him a plate, at least not if he ever wanted to see it again. Nothing else.

“Oh, thank you, Vince.” 

Vincent could feel the following silence suffocating him, but he didn't really know why. 

“You know, you're actually nice.” The waiter blurted out. And if his eyes didn't mislead him, there was a touch of red in Rody’s face.

I like it.

What.

He was babbling again. Oh fuck. 

“-and you know boss I didn't mean that you look unpleasant to be around, I mean you kinda do, I think it's the frown you wear all the time, if you smiled more I think you'd get more ladies… I don't think I've ever seen you smile, actually. You really should, like that picture of you in the newspaper! But actually real, you know, natural. And-”

“And you're talking about women again.”

“I mean, yeah. That's why I do this, all of it. To share it with a special person, right?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“I guess, both…? Don't you have anyone to share everything with?”

Not until very recently. Although, he didn't really want to share anything with his newest… acquaintance. He couldn't bear even thinking about her.

“Do you?” 

Wait, oh fuck no, he's gonna start talking about-

“Of course! I share everything with my girlfriend!”

The same one whose smell was all over Vincent's pillow. 

NO

“... I guess I used to. Share everything with her. She hasn't been picking up for a while, I think she's mad at me actually…”

Was he… crying?!? Oh hell no!

“Would you stop acting like an abandoned puppy for two seconds! It's quite pathetic.”

“Oh, I'm sorry boss, I guess I am. Maybe that's why she-”

That's about enough. 

“I have- I mean, would you like a glass of wine? I have some in my office and…” A breath. “You look like you need it.”

His waiter, his tall, muscular, 30 something year old waiter, was nodding like a reprimanded toddler. Head down, holding back tears. It was pitiful to say the least. 

I want to hug him.

Again, what. 

At that moment Vincent made the intelligent decision to leave the room, maybe the wine wasn't the worst idea. Who knows how Rody would act, maybe he'd actually get some of the faux bravado alcohol was so known for producing… maybe he'd break down crying hysterically… Either way, the chef would certainly be more apt to deal with it if he too had his own fix. 

Exactly, this was for Rody’s benefit, he totally was not looking to drown his own emotions. Of course. And forgetting his own unpleasant situation was just an added bonus, the cherry on top per say.

What a pity party they both were.

After procuring his most expensive bottle - he didn't even know why he chose that one. The 20 year old mess of a man crying in his restaurant did not have the paladar for it - Vincent made his way back to his companion. Who, at this point, was no longer crying, but could still crush his heart with the lost look all over his complexion. 

“Uhm… Rody, I don't think there's any easy way to say this but…” Consciously, he knew telling the truth was the right thing to do. It was unbearable to see him running after a girl that has long since moved on. How genuine she was in that process, Vincent couldn't say. He very much felt she was also just running away from her problems, probably why they started this… thing between them. Truth be told, he didn't mind being a replacement, he was actually relieved. God knew he wasn't in it for her. That just meant he didn't have to concern himself with her feelings. Still, she had moved on, in her own way, and Rody needed to let go too. He deserves to know, deserved a better situation, deserved the truth. 

Besides, that thing eating him up inside every time he mentioned his “soulmate ” was rapidly becoming too complicated for his liking. It needed to stop, before he no longer could just shove it to the back of his mind. 

Brought back to reality by a call of his name, the chef takes a deep breath. “... What I'm trying to say is-

“No, I get it. I've overstayed my welcome.” A nervous giggle. “I probably should get going, it's getting late already. And you shouldn't have to deal with my mess either way, I'm so sorry-”

Before Rody could descend into his usual rambling, Vincent took a hand to his own temple, a frustrated sigh involuntarily escaping him. “No, it's not that Rody.” An exasperated laugh made its way into the air between them. “You really can't let me finish a sentence, can you?” 

His attempt at teasing was, surprisingly, appreciated. A short lived laugh accompanied by a huff from his employee was a sight he was much thankful for in that exact moment. Especially when the remains of it were still present in his face, in the form of a small smile. 

I want to feel it .

There was something seriously wrong with him today. 

The newfound faint levity of this atmosphere was inevitably short-lived. Vincent knew there was no going back in his decision, so he knew taking the opportunity to do this now was preferable. Particularly as he couldn't help but understand that if he didn't do this now, he would never. 

“Look, you have to recognize that… this isn't healthy for you,” Hearing that, Rody looked up, trapping Vince in inescapable eye contact. “Even you have to recognize you are chasing after someone that doesn't want you to, not at this moment at least. I can't know for sure what she feels, but it's painfully obvious to see that you are giving yourself up for something and it just won't pay off the way you want to.” 

Every day he would watch him struggling and sacrificing everything, and he couldn't help but replay her words in his head.

“He's just, he loves too much.” She had told him one night. In the comfort of her own apartment, nursing a drink, she had started recounting memories of her younger years. Vincent resigned himself to listen, not too keen in talking about his own… complicated youth. She had eventually decided to tell stories from her past relationships, and a considerable amount of them were related to his own waiter.

“He's too kind for his own good.” Behind her compliment lied a sense of worry and pity. Akin to that of a person watching a little lamb grow, knowing of the inevitable slaughter in its future. 

He couldn't help but pay attention to her words, as if she was letting him into a hidden part of their lives, which she was. But he suspected there was more to this, a bigger inaccessible part of Rody he could never truly know.

“I just… I couldn't keep letting him destroy everything he ever built for himself, everything he could ever build, just to make me happy . Well I wasn't even happy, I never wanted any of it! It was all for nothing!” Marieanne took a lengthy breath, recomposing herself from her small rant.

When she continued, in a much quieter voice, she no longer seemed on the verge of tears. Instead, she looked… soulless . “I had to keep seeing the one I love - loved - the most, ruin everything good that ever happened to him, all in my name.” 

Vincent wanted to say something, but the renewed bitterness in her expression left no room for anything other than listening. He was trapped in his seat, hanging on her every word. Every feeling that sparked onto her features was a new spotlight on him, he felt as if he was never supposed to witness such intimate sentiments. And yet, he was nothing more than a moth to flame, eager to receive every little bit of information she was willing to share.

“I know I did the right thing, I just wish he knew it too. He just won't let go, and I…” She paused, contemplating her words. “I don't know what to do, but I promised myself I wouldn't let this go on, and I won't. His obsession, his delusion, will not drag him down any longer. Even if I have to break his heart for it.”

At the time, Vince didn't completely understand what she was describing. Rody could be passionate, but he couldn't see him as the obsessive, unhealthy love type. He now realized she never meant to call him a stalker or an abuser, he didn't harm her, only himself. He was paranoid of losing her, to his own detriment. 

These days, he is confronted with this reality every time he sees his employee. He is brought back to Manon's words, and he too could no longer bear to see his never ending spiral downwards. 

Currently, the waiter looked absolutely distraught. Having downed about two glasses of wine, he emanated a feeling of hopelessness. 

“I think-” He clears his throat, readjusting his thoughts. “You need to move on, Rody. She gave you this opportunity for you to get your life together, not dwell on this failed relationship until it kills you. Maybe, set new goals for yourself, like getting a better apartment, having a better routine, work on earning that raise you want so much… or, start going out more, maybe meet new people,… work on the relationships you already have, let people in.”

Vincent didn't know where the urge to look down came from, or why it was here at all, but it was too strong to fight. The distraught look on the older man’s eyes had only gotten worse, but a surprised aura did cross his face at the chef’s advice. Socializing was one of the few things Vince looked incapable of ever doing, so it was uncharacteristic for him to be encouraging it. Even so, it was still good advice, nonetheless. 

“Besides, you are making it even more painful for her. Have you thought about that? She also lost a relationship, and you keep making it so that she's always confronted with what she had to give up. And displaying even more obsessive behaviors isn't doing you any favors.”

“...” His employee was speechless, guilt flickered all across his features, so intense that it looked as if it pained him physically. 

“She feels unsafe, Rody, she feels followed. She can't even connect her phone or check her mail without being bombarded by you.” Marieanne had told him as much, in her endless explanations of her past relationship-

But she shouldn't have, right? To Rody, she never did, and it has to stay that way . 

Well now it won't, as he just outed himself with much too personal information. How could he know how she feels in any other way?

FUCK

Panicking, he decided to evade the situation, distract him so that he can't think too much about what was just said. But in doing so, he startled Rody, who was much too tipsy and lost in his own disgust and guilt. 

Then, there is a crash, glass is everywhere, alongside its contents. The red wine paints a grim picture on the formerly pearl white flooring, dripping from the table, it is mesmerizing for Vince. His gaze, unashamedly, follows the patterns displayed before him, the contrast of the wood and the free flowing carnage, the sounds of the droplets as they fall onto the tiles. It is beautiful. 

I want to keep it. This image, this feeling, the stillness, the quiet, everything. 

If only his cooking was as enthralling. 

Still seated at the table, his waiter also takes in the mess all around him, or better speaking, on him. He's now entirely soaked, as the glass fell directly from his hand. Only one thought in his mind: For fuck's sake that glass’ gotta be at least twice my monthly pay.

To minimize the scolding he is sure to receive, as he mistakes the sudden darkness in his boss’ complexion for anger, he spirals into a spree of apologies. He wants to clean this up, but there are no cleaning cloths around, and Vince will kill him if he dirties one of the folded up table cloths stacked not too far from them.

His hands twitch, a show of his nervousness, and he resorts to picking up the glass shards off of the floor.

That's when Vincent snaps out of his trance, slightly confused still. He needs to recompose himself from… whatever that was.

“I- uhm- I'll, I should get something to clean this, I… yes. I'll be right back.”

He heads to his office, his legs give out almost immediately. His mind seems incapable of coherent thought, his body trembles, his breathing is wrong. 

Get yourself together. 

He closes his eyes, seated on the floor, back to the door. 

GET YOURSELF TOGETHER.

He opens his eyes again, no more trembling, but his chest still moves much too fast.

GET. YOURSELF. TOGETHER.

He gets up, picking up a cloth and a change of clothes for his companion. 

It's ok, it's all fine. 

Heading back, he cannot muster many words, delivering the pile of fabrics with a simple “Here.”

Unfortunately, he forgot Rody is an absolute idiot, as he almost uses the shirt to soak up the wine. Luckily, the chef restrains his hands with a simple touch. 

“This is for you to put on, that is for cleaning!”

“Oh. Sure. But I don't think I need it, I'm sure I can just dry this up and change at home. Thank you, but-”

“You look like you just got murdered.” Ever blunt, Vincent had no intention of letting this moron walk home in such a state. As if to end the discussion, he heads to the back, giving the privacy needed to change. 

And yet, he finds himself in his office, fighting the urge to see what's going on in the suddenly impossibly quiet salon of his bistro. He tells himself it's because Rody is incapable of not making noise, he could be breaking even more things. Or because it's very likely he’ll just be stubborn and not change at all.

I'm reality, he just can't bear not knowing what's happening. The lack of control, especially after… that thing, left a sour feeling of helplessness within him. 

So he looks, and beyond the small hole in his office wall, he discovers the familiar silhouette of the man he observed running across his restaurant every day. Today however, it was very still, contemplative, as it slowly undid the buttons of the dress shirt enveloping it. One by one, it revealed more of that tanned smoothness that had transfixed him on more than one occasion.

What am I doing?

The illicitness of it all wasn't lost on him, quite the opposite, it made his heartbeat pick up, adrenaline speeding through his veins. He felt powerless in his own skin for the second time this night, but this time he had no rush to break out of this trance. He needed more.

Vincent's shirt was picked up from where it previously sat in the empty table, in its place, the formerly white top of the waiter's uniform. That diverged Vince's attention to his hands and arms, he hadn't realized how strong he actually was. It was surprising, but… interesting. 

He could probably pick me up, huh.

That realization seemed to be enough for his newly discovered creativity to take hold of his mind, and yet, he couldn't quite grasp a single one of those thoughts. As if they didn't belong to him, foreign concepts and feelings yet to reveal themselves to his consciousness.

In his state of fascination, the sudden ring of the telephone went almost unheard. In contrast, the very object of his leering had started to head towards the offending noise, making Vince suddenly aware of it in the process. 

“Hello.” The annoyance in his tone was impossible to miss, and still he had no intention of even attempting to hide it. 

“Hey! Sorry to bother you in your restaurant, but you didn't pick up your personal phone sooo…” The familiar voice trailed off, in an effort to sound cute. It would never work on him, but he still had to pretend it did. 

“Oh, Marieanne.” He wasn't surprised, she had called him before, in such late nights even. He suspected it was when she got especially lonely, wallowing in those distinctly hurtful memories. 

“I was just wondering, maybe you'd like to eat something with me… perhaps, home cooked?” There was an evident smirk decorating her last words, a joke for herself only. 

“Are you asking for a free meal?” It sounded like an accusation, but it lacked the fervor to be serious. And it didn't go unnoticed. 

“Well, what other reason would I have to date a chef, a renowned one at that? It's only fair…” There was a small laugh by the end of the sentence, but Vincent tuned it out in favor of focusing on that one word: “date”.

Ugh

He did not have the mental capacity to entertain her whims tonight.

“I'm not exactly sure I'll be able to make it tonight, it's been a long day that refuses to end… I'll call you back.” And just like that he hung up the phone, before any objections or bargains ensued.

Heading out, he found himself lingering at the entrance to the salon, analyzing the scene in front of him. Rody was holding that photograph he carried everywhere. He had shown it to Vince before - multiple times, actually - he would go on and on about the date he had taken his ex girlfriend on, how he'd worked tirelessly to afford it, how he wasn't able to sleep for two days from the sheer yearning, and how he had insisted on a picture to remember it all. 

Now, it was forever a reminder of his loss. One he carried everywhere, even though it brought him nothing more than sadness. 

I will never understand him. Why? Why make yourself suffer?

“I've been there before.”

“What?” Jumping out of his skin, the waiter’s confusion was imprinted in his face. Understandably so, for the older man’s sudden words were more akin to an out loud thought than a conversation starter. 

“The restaurant, from the picture,” he made a vague gesture towards it, shrugging, “I’ve known the chef for a long time, actually.”

“Oh… oh yeah, the food's great!” It seems like the mere mention of eating is enough to cheer him up. Idiot.

“How'd you meet her?”

“Who?” Vince completely forgot about the conversation currently taking place, regardless of the fact that he started it.

“The chef, the one you mentioned, from the restaurant…”

“Ah… that,” He was rapidly regretting having ever acquired the ability to speak, or mastering this language, or even being born at all. “That is… a long story.”

That would surely discourage the ever impatient man currently staring into his soul. 

Or so he thought, as Rody simply kept looking at him, letting out a single “oh?” as permission to continue. 

“She's a friend from college.” He had no intention of adding anything else, so it didn't bother him when he got “interrupted��, as for what was actually said…

“You went to college, what for? I guess cooking shit but, I mean, did you like it?”

“Uhm… yes. Did you?”

“Ah… I guess, uh… I should get going huh, it's getting late and everything.” There was an awkward smile on his face, one that reflected very well how Vincent felt himself. 

Maybe it was the wine, maybe the emotional rollercoaster that was that night had permanently damaged his ability to think straight, or maybe Rody’s stupidity was actually contagious. For whatever reason, despite all the alarms going off in his head, all the uncountable reasons against this awful idea, and his general better judgment, he still found himself speaking the following words: “You should stay here.” 

Bad idea!!!!

“It is late, as you said yourself, so it could be dangerous to ride back so far, especially on a bike… Besides, there's a couch in my office, and I can give you a blanket.” He should've lost his vocal cords as a child. “Perhaps, this will be the day you actually arrive on time.” He added, as a mutter, consumed by the need to escape the silence overtaking the room.

“Hey! I can arrive early! In fact, I will arrive here the earliest, you'll see!” It's so easy to get a rise out of him, huh.

“So what you're saying is you're late on purpose?”

“No! Uhm… That's not, I just, I have really bad luck. But I still try! I swear!” He was almost begging not to be fired by now, it was amusing, but Vince knew he should give him a break, and he still hadn't gotten an answer yet…

“So? Are you staying?” He did his best to look uncaring, maybe annoyed even, but deep down he felt like burying his face in a pillow and screaming bloody murder. Maybe that's actually a better coping mechanism than all the wine and cigarettes…

“I don't want to intrude-”

“Don't be stupid.” If he wasn't welcome, he wouldn't have gotten an offer. 

“Oh- okay. Sure. Thanks!” Rody offered a flustered but grateful smile, and Vince decided he was too tired to deal with whatever it did to his insides. 

After getting everything ready, he was about ready to collapse in his own bed upstairs, still, good manners had him going back to his employee. 

“Uhm, everything settled?”

“Oh yeah, thanks boss!” He was shirtless. 

Goddamnit, Rody.

“Great. Goodnight, then.” He needed to leave, now. It was not the time to unpack what had happened earlier, none of it. It was time to not stare at his employee's - That's right, I'm his boss! - naked torso.

“Wait, I- You, you can be a really cool person, you know?” There was a hand touching his own, stopping him from leaving. “I know you're a bit private, and that's totally cool,” Curse whoever invented prolonged eye contact! “I just think you should, I don't know, maybe be a bit more open?” There was a coy smile in his lips, and yet he could barely take it in before being recaptured by the older’s mesmerizing eyes. 

He wanted to run. No, small correction, he needed to run, as far as he could. Before whatever sickness is giving him all these strange and mortifying reactions could completely overpower his conscious mind. 

He couldn't form words, almost in a trance. He settled for nodding, loosely registering the goodnight thrown his way. He didn't feel his legs at all, his brain had stopped, even his vision was blurry. But his heart hammered in his chest with a vigor, slowly clawing its way to his throat. 

The only image in his mind was of fluffy hair, emerald eyes, a tanned figure, and smooth skin. Maybe that's why he didn't see the pile of boxes in the entrance to the kitchen, newly acquired ingredients yet to be organized. 

Next thing he knew, he was on the floor, as a familiar form hovered over him, just out of his reach. 

“Are you okay, boss? Do you want some ice?” Rody was frowning, clearly concerned, as he alternated between helping him sit up, checking for injuries and picking up the many things scattered across the floor. 

He wanted to say something, anything, but as he stared into his eyes, letting himself be cared for, the more fearful of it all ending he became. It was so rare - probably as a result of his own actions, but nonetheless - having someone worry. Rody didn't even have to, it wasn't a dangerous fall, and Vincent was nothing to him, so why? And worse, why did he like this so much? He didn't need this pointless attention and pandering, he was a grown man, with his own restaurant, a luxurious apartment, a promising career, so why?

And none of it changed the concern in those beautiful eyes, or the softness of a frantic, but sweet touch, the poorly hidden panic behind meaningless reassurances and a weak but oh so touching smile. 

He’s taking care of me.

He cares for me.

He cares. 

This was terrifying. The realization brought forth a completely unknown feeling that took his breath away with its sheer intensity. He had people be “in love” with him before, he had people admire him and his conquests, he had been envied, resented, coveted, hated. But not this, this was too sweet, too fragile, too… much. 

Or maybe, just maybe, this had happened before. Maybe people had cared for him, and worried as much as those eyes, and dropped everything to help him, and cheered when he succeeded, and wanted to know him, be a part of his life, and none of it mattered. Not to him, it never did. 

So why? Why could Rody reduce him, the acclaimed chef Vincent Charbonneau, to a shy wordless disgusting mess. He didn't want this at all. It was pathetic, it was madness, it was confusing, and awful, and embarrassing and, and he didn't even know what it was. 

These feelings, and reactions, and situations and thoughts, they were foreign in every sense of the word. Entirely new, terrifyingly weird, but also, external, like none of it belonged to him. This wasn't who he was, or ever wanted to be.

And it continued to grow, especially as - in the height of his panic - Rody picked him up, placing him on the kitchen counter. He proceeded to roll Vince's ankles, checking if they were twisted when he fell. He would pause, asking if anything hurt. The chef shook his head, finally coming to his senses, but he still couldn't help but get caught by the seriousness dominating the otherwise carefree man. 

“I'm fine, you don't need to worry.” Vincent muttered, still mesmerized, but it was for nothing, as his waiter simply moved to examine his head.

Believing he might've spoken too quietly, he elaborated. “I’m serious, I just wasn't paying attention to where I was going. It was a small fall, after all.” And still, the hands in his hair limited themselves to turn his head to the side, looking for better access.

“Rody! I do not like repeating myself, I've told you to stop already!” He resorted to his commanding voice, the one he reserved for the poor cooks in his bistro's kitchen and particularly troublesome clients. 

To no avail. He straightened himself, facing the stubborn employee head on. He would not be ignored, that was the one thing Vincent Charbonneau would not be: unnoticed and disregarded. Almost on impulse, he captured those energetic hands, finally ceasing the other man's movements. 

Rody was never particularly hard to read, always wearing his heart on his sleeves, so it was truly fascinating to see as emotion after emotion flashed behind his eyes. First it was confusion, presumably from the abruptness of Vince's hold, then - as his thoughts slowly caught up to him - he was ashamed, flushing red as his face darted across the younger man's figure. And lastly, a peculiar darkness took hold of him, maybe regret for putting them in this position? Perhaps anger, from getting restrained… Would he feel unappreciated for trying to help and getting scolded instead? He could very well think Vincent was being ungrateful…

It was brief, that conflicting emotion, as Rody became aware of Vince's gaze. As their eyes locked, the air in the room shifted. Suddenly, it was as if all of the oxygen vanished, a suffocating aura taking its place, heavy for reasons unknown. 

A new emotion overcame the man in front of him, even more indecipherable, locking away Rody's thoughts. His expression was eager, but fearful; determined, and yet lost; confused, but all consuming; like nothing the chef had ever experienced, or had someone experience in relation to him. It made him feel small and uncertain, and for that alone he prayed he'd never encounter it again. 

That stare had frozen him in place, and still, he felt like he was slowly getting closer to it. It was magnetizing, irresistible even, but he would not dare to move. Still, the more he lost himself in it, the more detailed it became. He became aware of his own reflection, presented to him in the center of emerald eyes, of their conjoined breaths, hanging in the small space between them. Had Rody's lips been this red all of this time? Was his hair always this smooth?

A puff of air hit his face, soft, but much too sudden. It startled him, enough to bring him back to the fact that the hands he was previously holding were now resting on top of his own. One arm to each side of him, he was effectively trapped, although he had no intention of escaping. Their touch was sweet, almost disinterested, unintentional; unlike the nose brushing his own. 

Wait, what?!

It happened fast, one second he was gazing at the man before him, hands now gripping his wrists, forcing him down. Their chests were touching, his legs parted for better access. He was hyper-aware of the trail Rody was tenderly tracing with his nose, only stopping when he reached his ear, hot breath hitting his cheek in fast, short pants. His head twisted slightly sideways, lips aligning with his own. Vincent could no longer bear the eye contact, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. It was only a simple caress of lips, quick but electrifying. It had him leaning forward, desperate to deepen the contact. It was addicting, a drug so powerful it had him hopeless with the smallest of doses.

The next, he was falling. The space in front of him now empty - cold - as the man previously occupying it yanked himself away so fast he stumbled. He had a horrified look on his face, and it was slowly killing a part of Vincent. He opened his mouth, he didn't really have anything to say, but he was terrified of what Rody might do. If he let him break the silence, he might verbalize whatever thought caused that expression to cross his face, and that would certainly be the last nail in the chef's coffin. He had to act fast. 

“Rody… Look, listen-”

Hearing his voice seemed to be the catalyst Rody needed, the spark to light his internal flame. And it burned. 

“I'm so sorry! I should’ve never- I wasn't thinking at all and I just… I swear I'll never do this again! How could I do this?! I'm so sorry, boss. I'll totally understand if you wanna fire me now, actually, I better just leave. I'll never see you again! Please, just don't call the police, please!!!” What.

The oldest was about to get down on his knees, forcing Vince to spring into action, pulling the much bigger man up by his shirt. The waiter now looked up, eyes burning holes in his soul. They fixated on his mouth for a short second, but rapidly moved up to meet his gaze.

Vincent still couldn't think of anything to say, but as he observed Rody's lips part, apologies ready to burst from his tongue, something overtook him. Determination, the likes of which he had never felt, not even towards his job or education. He needed to shut that moron up, with his unwarranted apologies and incessant begging.

He closed his eyes again, and simply dove forwards. The electricity was back, but this time it was deliberate, aggressive even. This was a statement, but it was also a challenge, with a touch of annoyance. It screamed Just fuck me already, but it still had an edge of hesitancy - waiting for permission, reciprocation too. 

Vincent was persistent, he waited until the shock subsided, hanging on every noise, every twitch the other man made. And yet, his bravado was quickly dying. Maybe he had misread the situation, maybe that expression on his face was regret. Either way, this was probably a mistake. 

He was about to pull away, both out of shame and due to the human need for air, which he had ignored for what felt like an hour now. That's when he felt a sudden grip on his waist, desperately pulling him in. It was rough, nails digging into his flesh, as if biting, to leave a mark. He felt drunk, probably because he was, but this high was like nothing he'd even dreamed of. Before he could even think to stop himself, his hands were grasping frantically at Rody, alternating between their hold on his shoulders, or pulling his neck closer. 

His lungs were pleading with him for much needed air, forcing him to break off the contact. He took a deep breath, only to have it be promptly knocked out of him as sharp teeth started nibbling away at his skin. They took their time abusing him: starting at his neck, then slowly climbing up to his ear, only to return to his misused neck, sucking on the sensitive bruises on their way down. 

All semblance of dignity left Vincent as the noises he was struggling to suppress hit his ears. And worse, he couldn't care less, as Rody started working on his collarbone - when had his shirt gotten unbuttoned? - he could only hopelessly beg. He didn't even know what he was pleading for, but the all-consuming want was rapidly becoming too much, he needed relief, he needed more.  

His back hit a wall, his office wall to be more precise, lips recaptured as hungry teeth attacked his bottom lip. He was trapped again, hands pulling him off the wall, into Rody, as his own were tangled in auburn locks. 

He had never felt like this before, this was too good to be true, he knew it. His mind told him to be prepared, he'd surely wake up any minute now, and yet he never did. Nonetheless, he kept waiting, it was terrifying, but in a thrilling way. Maybe this was a dream, that meant he didn't have to give a fuck. No fears, no consequences, he was free. He could give in, fulfill all of those needs long forgotten. He couldn't get enough, and yet he felt completely overwhelmed. He didn't know what to do, how to feel, anything. So he surrendered, completely turning off his brain. He was ruled by the sensations, that thing inside of him slowly rising, controlling his movements, like an instinct he'd long suppressed. 

He felt his knees part, a leg taking refuge between them, further pinning him to the wall. He could feel himself shaking, slowly losing balance, but the lower he slid against that very wall, the higher that knee rose against him. That contact was dangerous, and so was the smug look directed at him now. Like an artist admiring their creation, Vince could feel as Rody’s eyes memorized him, what he did to him, and he couldn't feel more wanted. 

They locked eyes, just as he was pulled down against that damned leg, which immediately took the opportunity to tease him, dragging itself onto him at a tantalizing pace. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin, craving the contact as if it was oxygen, he mustered up the last of the strength left in his muscles to get back on his own feet, pushing Rody back a little bit. 

The older man was left a bit confused, especially when he reached out to continue what he started, only to be met with swatting hands. 

“This is a bit unfair, don't you think?” Vincent signaled to his naked torso, then, pointed at the waiter's uniform which, although heavily disheveled, remained untouched. 

“Uhm… sure.” What followed was a rather cute display, as that idiot - a very well built, handsome, skilled idiot, but still! - nervously attempted to get out of his dress shirt, almost choking himself with the poorly tied bow tie. 

“Are you, uh- are you giggling?” Rody looked rather amused, but the sparkle in his eyes revealed a deeper emotion, one Vince couldn't afford to dissect. 

“I… I guess?” In his defense, Rody's theatrics were ridiculous to everybody but himself. On the other hand, Vincent Charbonneau did not giggle . He simply didn't, end of story. And he was damn good at masking his laughter too, that is, when he found anything worth laughing at at all. But somehow, right now, he couldn't care less. What if he was giggling? Tonight, the critically acclaimed chef was nowhere to be seen. What was left was the touch starved 20 year old lonely mess of a man, clinging to the only thing that’s made his pulse quicken in years, and his image was the last thing on his mind. 

The expectations, the predetermined life he was supposed to want, the opinions, the fears that kept him up at night, the control he so desperately craved, in here, in this office, it was all drowned. Not by a bottle, or the cigarettes in his pocket, but by the touch of someone. It was ridiculous.

Maybe that's why people cling to those ridiculous romance novels…

For the first time, the prospect of pleasure was within his grasp. Rody did something to him, something none of his previous partners could. He could finally understand why his colleagues were so enamored with the idea of women, even if he could never think of them in that way. And what if it was wrong, or unnatural? This - intimacy - was something he could never truly feel, never even wanted it either, but now that he's found it, he'd discovered that he was starving.

Lucky for him, he had a rather appetizing meal right in front of him. In the form of his blushing half-undressed employee, but one takes what they can get, right? Besides, he wasn't one to complain either…

So he did what any other would in his position, recaptured those lips. And next thing he knew he was being thrown across his desk, belt half-undone as kisses were left half-haphazardly across his body, trailing closer and closer to the darker circles in his chest. Waves of divine shocks pulse through his veins, blinding him to the fact that he was effectively pinned underneath the larger man. 

As he finished positioning himself, the oldest bent down to Vince’s ear, whispering: “Is this okay?”

His brain barely had time to register the confusion, for right after this question, Rody rolled his hips into Vincent's, effectively ripping any semblance of thought from his mind. If what he was feeling before was shocks, sparkles that teased his skin in such an inebriating way, this was an explosion, an all consuming fire that blinded him with its intensity.

“AH!~” He could no longer control his vocal cords, much less his legs, which had tangled themselves on Rody's back. 

Talking about him, the waiter wasn't unaffected either, having tightly shut his eyes, as he regained his breath. But he still decided to be a tease, murmuring against his neck: “What did you say?”

“Fuck, yes. YES! Don't you fucking stop!”

“Sure thing, boss.”

The idiot was giggling, GIGGLING! The audacity! With a smug smile all over his face too! Vincent wanted to strangle him right now. But soon those hips were moving again, bringing that fire back to life.

True to his word, Rody kept a steady pace. Not too fast, but enough to keep Vince on the edge, feeding that madness of a sensation taking control of his body. Still, unlike his rhythm, his hands were frantic, switching between guiding him in for kisses, holding his arms or hips, or even just hugging him close. It was probably for better hold, or to further contact, he knew this. And yet, he still felt like crying out every time it happened.

In the few moments of clarity, a small, but persistent part of him felt awkward. What should he do in a situation like this? It was silly, really, but he was holding one of the most beautiful men he'd ever laid his eyes upon. He wanted to just gaze upon him, admire his face, his hair, how it felt to be pressed against him, the way his chest rose, how his erratic breaths felt hitting his neck, the fullness of his lips, how his skin glistened in the low light, sweat rolling off his temple. He needed to memorize that concentrated expression, barely containing itself from crumbling in pleasure. 

Truth is, Rody was surprisingly good at volume control, at least if compared to the chef currently screaming himself hoarse. Nevertheless, he wasn't made of steel, letting out small little puffs of air against his skin. Alternately, to Vincent's dismay, he'd bite all over his chest to keep quiet. He discovered he loved his little noises, especially the gasps and whines that did manage to escape. They were rare, but oh so delicious. It felt good to know he could make him feel like that, it was making him crazy in such an unexpected way. He decided, right then and there, he could do anything to see such adoration in his complexion, he wanted to be needed, to be able to make him cry out in every single way he could, he wanted him to stay.

“Hah~ You're- I'm, fuck! I'm close.” The way he bit out the words served to confirm them, and it drove him crazy. Vince took it upon himself to make him crumble, not only matching his movements, but picking up the pace to an excruciating speed. It was his sweet revenge, and besides, he also greatly appreciated the motions. So he allowed himself to be petty, and if he got even bigger bite marks as a result, that was tomorrow's problem. 

This was heaven, especially as he felt nails dug themselves into his hips, driving him upwards as the larger man all but collapsed with a cry of his name. He kept up the pace, although slowed, even as Rody freezed, never letting go of him. And so Vincent didn't either, continuing to hug him through the intense explosion. 

That's when he felt little cold droplets hit his skin, shaking him to his core. He immediately froze, thoughts cutting through his head like a million stray knives. He didn't understand, he was effectively lost, like he'd never been before. 

Suddenly, he felt as the crying man sat up, as if burned by the body beneath him. As Vince rose after him, Rody was already getting dressed, shaking hands struggling with his belt. The panic set in - He wants to leave… - he lunged for anything he could reach, successfully catching one of his hands. 

The realization that the waiter was refusing to even look at him crumbled the ground he stood on, he felt small, as a wave of shame took hold of him.

“What have I done?! ” He wasn't the target of that sentence, he knew it was nothing more than an out-loud thought, murmured under one's breath unconsciously. So why? Why did he feel a dagger embedded on his chest, bleeding him dry of every semblance of happiness he could hope to still hold onto. It was the desperation in his tone, the disgust and self-hatred, as if he was begging to go back in time. To undo this mistake.

Taking in the state of the man in front of him, he gave up on any hopes to make him stay, to save any part of the sliver of paradise he had been gifted. He just needed to know, to understand, why? What had happened, had he done something? Had he read it all wrong?

“Rody-”

“I quit.”

NO.

“RODY!” The younger was desperate now, powerless in all the wrong ways, and still the larger man continued to dress himself, with renewed vigor. And he could do nothing but beg.

“Just, please! ” His legs were failing him. In a last ditch attempt to stop this, he clasped both his hands around Rody’s wrist, praying for any answer. “Please, talk to me.”

“I can't do this to her!”

The following silence was suffocating, even if short lived. 

“What.” It wasn't a question, it was a chance. An opportunity for the other man to rethink, and for himself, to pretend he'd heard wrong, to ignore it all.

“Look, I- I started all of this for her, Manon. I promised I'd get a job, and get myself together.” A dry laugh. “And here I am, cheating on my girlfriend with a- with, with you! ”

All of a sudden, he was back to staring at that mysterious darkness, except this time he knew exactly what it was. Nausea. Pure and simple. Both at himself, for ‘betraying Marieanne’, and directed at Vince. 

He's disgusted with me.

And it was all because of what, a long lost relationship with a woman who was already seeking out other people? This is unbelievable, truly.

“For fuck's sake, Rody! She doesn't want you! Christ, she hasn't for a while. She's done, moved on, she's probably out there fucking some other guy as we speak!” The regret hit as soon as he saw the rage behind emerald eyes, sharp jewels that shined with unrestrained anger. Especially, when it wasn't true. He knew she wasn't with anybody else, that is, besides himself.

“I. Quit.” His tone left no room for discussion, neither did his attitude, as he marched out of the office, slamming the door along the way. Still, Vincent wouldn't just let himself be discarded, cast off like some old plaything.

“STOP!” It was hard to think through the hurt, all of his emotions hushing through his head, rendering him a caged animal, driven by nothing but blinding rage and the instinct to fight. 

“Can you stop acting like this pathetic abandoned dog?! How many times do I have to tell you, she's gone! And you stalking her to hell won't change that. And neither will this pity party you throw every single time she's mentioned. Are you incapable of being your own person for one fucking night?!”

Without the anger to fuel him, he felt hollow. He knew he needed to correct what he just did, but in the end, he hadn't lied a single bit. He was tired, tired of tiptoeing around this. Finally it was out there, it was freeing, but he needed Rody to understand. And being rude wouldn't help with that at all. 

“Look, I'm sorry, but you have to recognize it's over. I just, I don't want you to suffer even more. She's not coming back! And I worry, okay?! I care about you! God, why do you think I hired you in the first place?!”

The waiter's expressions flashed so fast it gave him whiplash, and he continued to hang on every single breath he took. It was agonizing, but he was all but maxed out. He was done, with this rollercoaster, with these emotions, with this night, with this dance they kept doing, with pretending. It, too, was over now. 

And it immediately backfired.

“Fuck you! You, you're sick! This is sick, all of it!” He made to leave again, only for Vincent to put himself in front of the door. 

“Get the fuck out of my way!” He didn't touch Vince, but for a split second the aggression radiating off of him made him scared. He desperately wanted to hold his ground, but he had nothing left in him. And just seeing the usually upbeat clumsy jokester, who would always make the best of a situation, glare at him with such disdain. He felt like crying. 

So he stepped out of the way without another word, heading to his office. He barely hesitated when he heard the door slam shut, but he knew there wasn't a thing left to look back for. It was a lost cause, and yet he desperately wanted to keep clinging to some delusional hope that this was still salvageable. Rody would walk back in at any moment, or he would wake up back in his room after some liquor induced fever dream - or nightmare, all things considered.

He collapsed on the very desk he'd been perched on earlier, when the tears strolling down his face were a result of the pleasure induced joy. Now, he couldn't even cry, for he had no tears left, he was nothing more than a used up rag. Discarded and forgotten. 

When the telephone rang, he was barely aware of his surroundings. Picking it up out of habit, in a daze. He heard her voice, something about a dinner he'd never gotten back to her about. He couldn't focus. His hand brushed against something, fabric, a shirt. The shirt he'd given his employee - if he still was that - a couple of hours earlier. He laughed out of despair, lifting it up to his face. 

The smell brought back newly formed memories, turned sour so soon, and he suddenly needed a drink. 

He told her something, probably a yes to whatever she wanted, all he registered was the loathing her voice dug out as she asked: “My house, is that okay?”.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing, she wanted to meet at a night like this?! Ha. She would, wouldn't she? After all, all this bitch is ever good for is ruining whatever good thing happens to him. And Rody still loves her. Even when she's bland, and self absorbed, and just like all the other women he's ‘dated’.

At that moment, he understood. It wasn't about what he could give, or what he was doing. No. It was about what he could feel. It was about love, that pestering unforgiving thing, he could never truly get. Of course he would fall for her - ‘She's so sweet!’ - she's filled with it, so much it's dripping down her every fucking pore. And isn't it what everyone wants, they need to feel loved, they live off it. He needs to show him he too can give love, shower him in it, serve it on a silver platter, so he can taste it all. 

“Mine. My place.” He responded, hanging up almost immediately.

He knew what he had to do, to show Rody that he too could give him love. Mind made up, he went about cleaning up. Eventually stumbling across the discarded drinks - instantly downing the much deserved scarlet tranquilizer - and the forgotten ‘dead plate’ he'd so tenderly prepared. It was no bother, this next dish he'd serve would be so full of love that he would finally realize just what Vincent can actually give him. And he'd be solving both of their problems, it was perfect. It will be perfect! 

As he heard the bell on top of the bistro's door ring, signaling her arrival, he quickly stashed away his utensil. He couldn't have her stressed, the meat would be too full of nerves, and he could never serve such a thing. He was a renowned chef after all, he ought to have strict standards, especially with the most important dish of his life.

She called for him, so he signaled her over. “In the kitchen.” Her footsteps responded almost instantaneously, driving closer and closer. So he hid. She would look for him, he knew, and she wouldn't check the blacked out corner closest to the freezer, because why would she? But she would walk by it to check his office, and she wouldn't see a thing. It was best like this, no fight, no noise, nothing. 

So when she entered, with another call of his name, he took hold of the knife, counted her footsteps, and most of all…

He smiled.

[emo-emu64]

Where the Angels Fall

Isaac "Zack" Foster x Reader

Demon AU

"As I walked into my run-down apartment I expected to be greeted by my loving house cat and the hole in the wall left by the previous residents. Instead I found a lost-looking, extraordinarily tall, inhuman, beast of a "man" wandering around, and mumbling something about "fucking humans"."

CW: Blood, gore, murder, severe injury, canon typical violence, language

Read the first chapter here.

Booze, Body Odor, and Blood

It had been almost a week since I was visited by Zack. He folded the blankets, fixed the pillows, and left before I woke up.

 I was right about one thing, however. It was in fact the adrenaline keeping me going. That morning, when the reality of the situation hit me, I cried. A lot. And considering calling the police, but I figured there was no point. I would sound hopelessly insane, there was no signs of forced entry, no blood, no property damage, and I was left in peak physical condition. 

'Besides,' I remember trying to convince myself, 'that was the end of it. I helped him out and I'll never see him again.'

I was wrong, of course.

I was sore and tired and hungry, but alas there is no rest for the under-paid. When I wasn't in class I was working at the nice restaurant uptown. It was a bit of a drive, but it paid well enough, and most people tipped good.

There was one thing I absolutely despised about this job, though. And that would be that there was a bar. People would come in with their friends after work, get drunk off their asses, and treat the staff like shit. 

On this particular night, there was a well-off looking business man, who was demanding that he was served before anyone else. This wouldn't have been a major issue if it wasn't for the fact that it was packed and there were only three people on duty.

Shit really started to hit the fan when he started demanding that we continue to serve him long after we had cut him and his buddies off.

"I'm sorry sir, but we can't do that," Felicity was desperately trying to explain to him that even if we wanted to serve him, we couldn't, "it's the law."

Felicity was a kind young woman who had inherited the restaurant from her late father. She had been a close friend of mine in high school and offered me the job offer as soon as she started running it. 

"To hell with the law!" The man yelled, and his friends all drunkenly cheered, " Tell ya what, I'll... I'll pay ya double what I owe ya."

The dumbass couldn't even speak properly, constantly trailing off like he was about to fall asleep. It was a miracle he was still upright.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave," I could see she was growing impatient, but she stayed calm.

The man abruptly stopped and sighed, "Alright, alright, but I think I'll need help gettin' out to call a cab." 

Felicity pursed her lips into a thin line as she turned to me, "Do you think you could take him out, since you're heading out already?" 

I stopped to think about it, this was not a good idea. Felicity grew up in a very nice neighborhood, with little to no trouble at all, so it didn't surprise me that she didn't see this the way I did. She saw the best in everybody, and that put her at a disadvantage sometimes.

Against my better judgement, I nodded. She does a lot for me, taking this asshole off her hands was the least I could do. Besides, I carried pepper spray in the small bag I took back and forth to work with me, "Yeah, see you tomorrow." 

The man laid his arm around my shoulder, he reeked of booze and B.O. 

After what seemed like ages we made it to what I could only assume was his car

"Would ya be a dear and get my phone out of the backseat. It's in the black bag."

He supported himself on a nearby lamp post as he dug the keys out of his pocket and unlocked his vehicle. 

It was an expensive looking white sports car. New and clean, in pristine condition.

I opened the back door an began rooting through the small black bag on the floor. I found it after some digging.  "Sir, is this it?"

I began to turn around when something cool and sharp was pressed to my throat and a hand over my mouth, "If you scream, I'm going to slit your throat, got that?"

It was the same man, his mouth was pressed against my ear and his voice was just above a whisper.

I should've known. It was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should've been smarter. If a strange man asks you to go out to his car you say no! It's basic knowledge. Burned into children's brains with programs like "Stranger Danger." It's one of the earliest lessons you're taught as a child, and I had thrown it aside.

He removed his hand from my mouth, and I made no effort to speak. I don't think I could've if I wanted to. My breaths were shallow and sharp. I felt tears well in my eyes.

I closed my eyes and awaited something. Anything. But there was nothing.

That was until the man began to cough, his arms went limp. I felt him stagger backwards, and heard him fall to the concrete. There was sickeningly familiar laughter, and the crack of snapping bones. 

When I finally gained the courage to turn around my stomach lurched. Thinking back on it, it was probably a good thing I hadn't had a chance to eat all shift because I definitely would have puked it up.

The man from before was sprawled across the pavement. One of his hands clawed at his bleeding throat as he hopelessly gasped for air. I could see his mouth forming words, but I couldn't understand any of them. His reddening eyes bugged out of their sockets as the veins popped out of his forehead.

My ears were ringing and my vision was beginning to blur. I could vaguely make out the form that was still cackling insanely.  His boot pressed the man's other hand into the sidewalk as it turned purple. His fingers straining in all different directions. 

I stumbled back, falling onto my ass. I pressed my back to the man's car as my own hand flew over my mouth to stifle the sobs. Pulling my knees to my chest with my free arm.  

The laughing almost immediately died, and the silence became thick. The not dead man moved from his position over the dead one and extended his hand out to me. I shakily took it, and he pulled me to stand. I looked up at him. It was, unfortunately, exactly who I suspected it was. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and stared up at him. 

Zack. Why was he here? Was it a strange coincidence, or has he changed his mind?

"Are you-" I heaved a loud sob,  "Are you here to kill me?"

He cocked his head. The expression on his face unreadable, "No, I promised I wouldn't, remember? If I wanted ya dead, I woulda let this  bastard do it," he jerked his head back to the mess of blood and gore behind him.

There was that word again. Promise. It must have meant something to him.

"Are you bleedin'? Turn around." His eyes narrowed as he looked me over.

I obeyed, facing the car once more. His hand traced over my scalp, his finger stopped mid-way and pressed.

"Ah!" I flinched and whipped around to face him. My hands shooting up to feel around where the pain was.

"You cracked your head on the car," He raised his left hand, and it was covered in fresh blood.

I looked back to see a streak of blood running down the side of the otherwise spotless car.  

"You got a car?"  He turned his head to survey the rest of the area.

"Yeah?"

"Alright, well we gotta go."

"Wait-" I grabbed his arm before he could turn around, "they'll know I was here- I can't just leave!" 

"Relax, I've already got someone coming to take care of it. For now, we've gotta move."

I swallowed thickly and nodded, "Okay, I'm parked over here."

It was a short walk to the car, and when we arrived he held out his hand like he was expecting something. I gave him a questioning look.

"Do ya really think it's a good idea for you to be drivin'?"

I shook my head and handed him the keys. I really didn't want to let him drive my car. He had showcased that he was more than capable of  horrific violence, but for some reason I didn't feel like he would use that against me.

The drive was quiet, other than when I told him to turn.

"Make a left here," I whispered.

He nodded and flipped the turn signal. I honestly wasn't expecting him to know how to drive, but he was doing pretty well.

"Why did you do that?" I was the one to abruptly break the tense silence that engulfed the car.

He gave me a strange look out of the corner of his eye, "Do what?"

"Save me."

"Jesus, how many times are we gonna go over this?" he sighed, "I promised to keep ya alive. Not sure if you caught on, sweetheart, but that piece of shit was planning on killing you," his voice was laced with sarcasm.

"You promised you wouldn't kill me. How does some rando perv have anything to do with that?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Zack cursed as he pulled the car off to the side of the road.

'Fuck me, I'm stupid. I go with strange drunk men to their cars, I piss off serial killer demons. My parents would be so proud. Good going, y/n.'

I was pulled from my thoughts when Zack heaved another large sigh.

"Listen, I'm gonna explain everything real fast. Do not ask questions, do not freak out, and do not scream. Got that?"

I nodded quickly and quietly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before explaining, "Last week, I got into a bad scrap with another demon. I kicked his ass, but I still got the shit kicked outta me. That's why I needed ya to patch me up. With me so far?"

I nodded yet again.

"Good. The only problem is that the motherfucker I beat in that fight is a real powerful demon, with alotta people stuck under his thumb. So he started sendin' his goons after me. Which would be fine, if it weren't for the fact that one of em' snitched about me usin' your help. They planned to use you to find me. That 'rando' was one the hotshot's lil' side pieces, so letting them kill ya is the same damn thing as me doin' the job myself," he paused, inhaling deeply, "Ya got all that?"

"Uhm...yeah?"

"Good," he pulled the car back onto the road and continued through the dark.

I contemplated my next words for a brief moment before speaking, "Thank you, for saving me, Zack."

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. 'S not a problem."

I kept quiet, as we pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex, "This is it, yeah?"

"Yeah," We both got out of the car, and he followed me into the elevator. The ride to my floor was silent except for the groan of the pulleys and the ding of the opening doors. He trailed behind me as I made my way through the hall. 

The keys clicked in the lock, and he stepped in through the open door just behind me. I shut it once again and turned the lock.

Zack was the first to break the  droning silence, "Where's that shit you used to fix me up?"

"In the blue bag in my room, why?"

"Alright, come on. We're gonna need to do somethin' bout your head," he beckoned me with a bloodstained hand. I wasn't sure if that blood was mine, the man with the knife's, or someone else's entirely. What I was sure of, though, is that I had no desire to know.

When he opened the door to my room, he motioned for me to sit at the chair in front of my vanity. He then swiftly grabbed the bag off the floor, and opened the bathroom door. 

I watched him from the mirror.  He washed his hands of the blood before wetting a small amount of gauze from the faucet. He then carried the kit along with the gauze back into the room and set them on the dresser of the vanity next to me. 

He placed a gentle hand on the top of my head to tilt it down. His other parted my hair and began to delicately dab the edges of the wound with gauze he had wet in the sink. As he worked, he spoke, "Listen, those assholes are going to be comin' after you for a while. I can keep em' off your back, but I'll have to stay here with ya."

I weighed my options, on one hand, a murderous demon would be staying in my living room. On the other hand, if he stayed he would ensure that he was the only murderous demon in my living room.

'Better the devil you know.'

"Yeah, you can stay, as long as you don't mind the couch."

He laughed, "I've slept through worse."

When he had finished with the gauze, he skillfully wrapped a roll of bandages around my head. 

"You look like you could do this with your eyes closed," I muttered.

He scoffed, "I can. I used to wear em' a lot."

There was a harsh venom underlining his words. It wasn't directed at me, but it was still enough to get the message across.

'Do. Not. Pry.'

So I didn't.

It had been about 2 weeks of Zack staying with me at the apartment, and it was...nice. I won't lie, I was terrified to the first few days. I barely spoke and holed up in my room whenever possible, but he was so... laid back.

He was funny and made surprisingly good company. Most importantly, he had done exactly what he said he would.  Protect me.

There had been another incident, while I was at work. When I returned Zack had already somehow disposed of the body of the man who broke into my apartment. He had not finished cleaning up what the dead man had left behind, however. It was mostly just blood, but it was a lot of blood.

I did throw up that time. Zack, surprisingly, apologized many times, and finished cleaning everything up rather quickly.

I was sat in between the coffee table and the couch. The paper I was working on for class open on my laptop in front of me. Zack was sprawled out on the couch behind me, watching something on Netflix. I then heard rustling, and felt his presence behind me.

His hand moved through my hair, fingers tentatively tracing  over where I split my head open just two weeks prior. 

"Looks like yer head's all healed up," his voice was soft and calming. With a sudden realization I noticed that I was sat directly between his legs, one on each side of me. I hummed lowly as I looked up at him. He just stared at me, as his eyes lazily traced over my face.  

"Yer real pretty, ya know that?"

I froze, my face heated up, and my head felt fuzzy. I just stared back, before choking out a small "thank you."

He was stupidly handsome too, as I had begun to realize. With a sharp jawline and defined cheekbones. A sly smirk crossed his face, and I quickly turned my attention back to my research paper.

"Why so red, sweetheart?" He chuckled just above my ear.

I looked back up at him again, the same smirk remained on his face.

"You're really attractive too, Zack," He paused, and I saw his cheeks redden. 

'Gotcha.'

ZACK

'There's no way in hell she just said what I think she said.'

She seemed so genuine, but that didn't make it any more believable. She wasn't lying, though. I could smell a liar from a mile a way. I sniff them out and then hunt them like a fuckin' dog.

But she was no liar, she was much too good for that, I could tell.

"Are you high?"

She shifted her gaze from her laptop to my face again, "No, why?"

I scoffed, "I look like fuckin' Frankenstein."

She gives me a sad look, the kind that usually makes me wanna puke my guts up. Or kill something. But her's doesn't, it feels natural and real. It was not pity, it was concern. I think at least. I really don't think I'd ever seen it before this.

She slowly moved to sit next to me on the couch. She the crossed her legs and faced me, "Everyone has scars, Zack. They're natural. Hell, your belly button is a scar. And you are attractive."

I sighed, "You have no clue what your gettin' yourself into here, sweetheart."

She smiled, "I know."

[experimentaldragonfire-fics]

experimentaldragonfire’s SU Fic Rec List

Stuck at home? Running out of stuff to read? I figured I’d put together a semi-comprehensive series of fanfic recommendations so that all the hours I’ve spent on AO3 over the years can be considered at least vaguely useful. A lot of these are quite old, so if you’ve only read more recent fics, you might find something that you haven’t seen here!

Please feel free to add your own links and recommendations--I personally would love more reading material! This list will focus on SU fics, but I’ll probably make more for other fandoms going forward if anyone’s interested. Bear in mind that, as I’ve mentioned, since many (most) of these were written a while ago, they might not represent exactly how the plot of the show progressed (though they now provide a pretty interesting look at the older fanfic tropes/theories!)

Also, upfront: most of these, when ships do appear, are Lapidot or PearlRose--clearly, I’m very narrowly-focused on what I read. And if one of your fics is on here and you want to be tagged, let me know and I will do so!

Steven Universe Fic Recs

General (None or canonical/background/multiple ships):

histories by avulle (T, F/F, Gen)

“Pearl (pearl) is born in what would have been the year 100,492 BCE. (She is not older than the entire human race—but only just.)”

An introspective look at the Crystal Gems through the years, written in a style that’s practically poetic and absolutely gorgeous.

Inferior Blue by hTeDruknenPotaT (M, Gen)

"Your name is Lapis Lazuli. Lapis is a fun thing to name your child when your last name is Lazuli, and when your name is Lapis Lazuli, blue seem like a nice color to dye your hair. It's fortunate that blue is your favorite color, that you manage not to despise it after all the blue you've been surrounded by all your life."

Lapis Lazuli meets a strange young boy who helps to heal the scars of her past.

The first time I read this fic, I stayed up until 5AM and cried into my pillow through the final chapters. And it continued to make me cry every time I reread it. Massive angst warning, but if you can handle fics that are beautiful but tragic, this is for you.

capacity by broken_halleluiah (G, F/F)

After a routine council meeting, Pink Diamond insists on repairing a broken piece of equipment. The result is far more than she bargained for.

A fic speculating on the nature of Pearls in Homeworld society, written well before we got to see any of that in canon. As such, it isn’t entirely in-line with later canon, but is still entirely worth reading.

Breaking Down by PTlikesTea (M, multi)

Rose's world view is shattered by a black market pearl and the realization that everything she knows about them is wrong.

An extensively long series of shorter mostly-self-contained stories exploring a version of Homeworld society where Pearls are considered as little more than disposable property. Major warnings for Pretty Much Everything--definitely keep an eye on the tags--but this is an iconic series of works, started in 2015 and predating many of the later revelations about canon Homeworld. 

A Gem and Her Pearl (Rose) by Potential Violet (G, gen)

Blue Diamond forces Rose Quartz to get a pearl, changing Rose's life, the pearl's life and the course of Gem history. All relationships begin somewhere, this is the beginning of Rose and Pearl's.

Another take on Rose and Pearl’s meeting, and the status of Pearls in Homeworld society (there’s a bit of a theme here with these recommendations). Again, predates most canon revelations regarding the topics, and predates all of the canon information about the Diamonds.

Pearl, Interrupted by AceyEnn (E, multi)

In August, Steven Quartz Universe was born.

In August, Rose Quartz died in childbirth.

In December, Pearl decides she can't handle any of it.

Or: Pearl Tries To Kill Herself And Ends Up In A Therapy Group Run By Her Best Friend's Mom (Well, One Of Her Moms).

Human AU focusing on Pearl dealing with Rose's death--or rather, not dealing with Rose’s death. Major content warnings for suicide attempts, self-harm, etc (please read the tags), but overall a very well-written story. Still updating, despite being first posted in 2016! 

Lapidot:

in which Peridot is Not At All Surprised by the sudden appearance of a new waiter by gaySpaceRock_exe (G, F/F)

Peridot meets the new waiter at her regular restaurant and immediately falls head-first in love. 

Cute and fluffy, what more do you need in a fic? 

Homesick by DrPaine (G, F/F)

An encounter at the Galaxy Warp.

Short oneshot predating the Peridemption/Barn Arc, can be read as friendship rather than romantic. 

Observation by DrPaine (G, F/F)

Peridot is a technician, meant to catch every detail. Not something she’s very fond of, but making yourself aware of your surroundings can be helpful, when you’re slipping into troublesome thoughts.

Incomplete but very much an introspective look at Peri’s character as perceived back in 2015-ish. Not as much focused on romance as on concepts of identity and anxiety. 

Of Stage Lights and Stage Fright by AcrylicPaint (M, F/F)

All Lapis wanted was to participate in the local production, but there was a minor element she hadn't taken into consideration when she agreed to take the leading role, and that was; dealing with the cute techie's constant staring.

That, and the fact she was beginning to stare too.

Human theatre AU, and an excellent completed multichapter fic. I remember that when I first read this, I was in high school and part of the musical, so it was a very topical read--and now it’s the height of nostalgia. 

No Regrets by Raptor_Red (E, F/F)

No Regrets, or, the story of how Peridot tried to romance the blue-haired tattoo artist from the parlor across the street

A personal favorite! The writing in this fic is just so nice to read, and though I’m not usually a fan of tattoo artist AUs, this one really managed to make the whole concept make sense within the story. I can’t count how many times I’ve read this fic. Please read this.

12 O’Clock at Your Local King Soopers by InsomniacArrest (T, F/F)

Lapis works late night shifts, Peridot is somebody's overworked assistant, they both need more sleep and better people skills: the grocery store story.

Is it a Lapidot fic rec list if I don’t include 12KS? Probably the most iconic fic for this pairing, with good reason. Also, consider this a recommendation for literally everything IA has ever written--there are too many good fics to name them all individually, otherwise they’d comprise half of this entire list.

Of Meteors and Minimal Speech by Waypaststrange (moonbeatblues)(F/F)

In which things at the barn settle down, nobody speaks much, and strange lights appear in the sky.

Vaguely fluffy oneshot, very cute!!

Awkward Office Encounters by SilverEyedRukia (T, F/F) 

Due to a broken down air conditioner on a scorching hot day the computers' overheated systems need fixing. Luckily for everyone a blonde technician is up for the job, but unbeknowst to them the IT nerd turns out to be someone they didn't expect her to be, especially not Lapis who kind of asked her out on a date already.

Human workplace AU, starts off relatively comedic but gets into Emotional Territory towards the end.

Camp Pining Hearts by kamanzi (M, F/F)

Peridot and Jasper return to summer camp after their freshmen year of college--this time, as counselors. Peridot is disappointed to learn that nothing is quite the same, especially her relationship with her best friend. Whose fault is this? She blames Jasper's girlfriend.

“‘Let’s go back next year and be counselors,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ she said.”

Human summer camp counselors AU that’s definitely long enough to use up some stuck-at-home-self-isolating time.

A Week by teamchaosprez  (E, F/F)

Who knew that a single night of drunken sex could push Peridot and Lapis from being roommates with a mutual crush to regularly fucking and maybe - just maybe - eventually becoming girlfriends and standing up to the homophobia surrounding both of their family lives.

A human college AU focusing a lot on working through interpersonal relationships and coming to terms with emotions

Set Me Free by cym70 (T, F/F) 

Being roommates gives Lapis and Peridot a lot of time to get to know each other and, despite their rocky history, they might just be able to make something entirely new.

A friends-to-lovers fic, post-Barn Mates. Very sweet!

Waltz of the Nian by QuickYoke (T, F/F)

Lapis doesn't understand fusion at heart, but she does know she's an unideal partner for it.

 Lapis' relationship with fusion, and also Peridot. A fic that basically encapsulates the ideal of profound prose that makes you feel things, even if you don’t precisely know how or why.

Pushing by Like Hearts by mautadite (T, F/F)

“Sounds like you’re really counting on that road trip magic.”

(Peridot and Lapis do Midway City, and Empire City, and Plateau Ville, and all the places in between.)

Canonverse road trip, because every rec list needs a “the characters go on a long journey together and find themselves, and each other” fic. And because this fic made me feel so many emotions.

A thousand years (F/F)

I have died a thousand years, waiting for you.

 Childhood friends-to-adult-lovers human AU, one of the fic tropes that always just punches me in the face with feelings.

[ppppp167452]

hi i um present to u a reverse crush/foreign student au

- marinette grew up and was pratically born in america, particularly in new york

- of course, she still loves fashion. she admires audrey's work and alot of other people's and she made clothing lines even she was young

- which got audrey impressed, wanted to bring marinette's passion to an international level.

- mari's parents were chefs and bakers, although they were reluctant to go back in paris (they left once they got married yeah) but they wanted to do anything for their daughter so they agreed

- tom and sabine owns chains of restaurants and bakeries (they're that rich yes) and they think with their stay in paris, they could still continue their work by opening a bakery there (basically their place like in canon) (maybe a restaurant but they think a bakery would do good

- so yeah audrey flies marinette and her fam to paris woo

- this could also happen to be a time where hawkmoth came to be, but marinette could also hold a bee/fox/turtle miraculous since audrey comes back to paris in s2

- though i think this is better off to start at origins,,

- marinette's not that clumsy. she's brave and independent on her own (she could make her own clothing line bruh) but still tends to be shy

- fluent in french and english and maybe mandarin too (i haven't thought abt the language thing yet, but since i think both her parents met in france i think they thought of teaching mari french)

- mari also dreamt of going to france and of course she was estatic when audrey offered her to go to paris

- mari doesn't wear pigtails, she was taunted alot back then that perhaps it became some weird trauma for her. nonetheless, using pigtails looks childish to her (oh boy)

- she wears buns and ponytails instead, sometimes she let her hair down but it always bother her especially when working

- CHLOENETTE

- i mean, chloe was forced to become friends with marinette, to which the other didn't mind but chloe was pestered by this

- and sabrina too

- at mari's first day, she certainly sat beside chloe per audrey's request, ofc mari sits behind nino but could feel guilt when chloé shooed off alya and sabrina to other seats.

- chloé doesn't mind if marinette knows how she acts, as long as she knows she is despised by her then she might not be bothered by this

- in fact the two put a feud in front of chloé mother to act all friendly and whatnot but audrey's better than that hmp

- this way, audrey remember's chloé name entirely and goes and try to make chloé and mari friends skkskskdksk forcefully

- "i know you hate me, maybe i could just go back to america and stu-" "no, it's my fault. i'm sorry." and fuck yeah we get CHLOE AND MARINETTE FRIENDSHIP!!!!!

- sabrina is still bitter and is actually the first akuma, if only ivan was more irritated at first, stoneheart would've happened but sabrina's anger was first that hawkmoth caught

- insert sabrina's akumatization

- the school just let the students go home, cue origins

- marinette was frightened, yes, but she was more calmer abt it and tried to keep on.

- and BOY when she turned into ladybug, she was terrified that she had pigtails

- but, she knew that she wouldn't get her identity revealed too easily, so that reassured her

- she then went on but her meeting with chat in the au is the same as in canon

- she was annoyed at him at first, but seeing as he was too devoted on his work made her more motivated in work and sometimes she snuck glances at him

- at first it was denial but she definitely liked him,, but she was the only girl in paris who likes chat in that way and she felt like out of the society in that so she says it's adoration in order to hide (but chloé sabrina and alya knows)

- mari apologizes to alya for chloé's rash behaviour and when sabrina's akuma and stoneheart were defeated, she would sit beside alya from then on making sabrina happier

- alya appreciates mari alot

- speaking of that boy

- adrien and marinette have met before school started

- when marinette told gabriel that she was going to a public school, this fazed him for a little since adrien now knew two girls but he was still contemplating

- but of course origins happen quite the same, adrien was not present first day which bothered chloé and mari was just like 'ok'

- chloé and mari go and persuade the fuck out of gabriel (troublesome children) and in the end, he lets him yeah!!!

- so adrien has three friends nice nice

- i don't have anything much to put on him,,

- chat sure felt affectionate to ladybug but when he realized mari also participated in trying to make his father rethink, of course that side of her was on his thoughts first

- to which he came with the conclusion in the end that he adores ladybug but loves/likes marinette

- everytime he hears that marinette adores chat noir he would almost fAinT if nino's not around

- if cappy isn't, then poor boy would've been in the hospital

- UMBRELLA SCENE UMBRELLA SCENE

- adrien ok hands out umbrella but seems flustered abt it, marinette accepts it, still gets laughed on by adrien when the umbrella closed on her

- she felt guilty when he gave her an umbrella, so she gave him something from her bag in which it was a scarf that was one piece left from her clothing line and she said like 'take it, the stock will run out eventually'

- boy did he accepted it and always have it with him (maybe not at school, but her lucky charm to him surely he kept that around)

- my brain lost connection thank you for hearing me out

[edgewoodrp]

Congratulations and welcome back, Zoey! You have been accepted as your desired character, Bridgette Kingsley. Please be sure to complete the steps listed on the New Member checklist and send in your account within the next 24 hours.

Welcome to Edgewood. There’s no place like home.

OOC INFORMATION

Name (or alias): Zoey

Age: 23

Pronouns: She/her

Timezone: EST

CANON CHARACTER APPLICATION

Character: Bridgette Kingsley

Gender & Pronouns: n/a

Sexual Orientation: n/a

WRITING SAMPLE

TW: Drugs

Bridgette tapped her foot on the ground as she stared into the mirror. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she gazed into her own chocolate brown eyes. There she was yet again, in the bathroom of some grimy club peering into her distorted reflection. Another night wasted. Wasted in a sense that she wouldn’t be sober until sunrise and wasted in a sense that she’d never get this time back. It didn’t matter though. Anything for the high, right? Anything for the exhilerating feeling of magic flowing through her veins, right? Anything to get the giant weight of anger, disappointment, and the crushing feeling of being unremarkable and dull off her chest, right?

You weren’t always like this, she reminded herself. This wasn’t her fault. It was their fault. They were the reason why she did this to herself night after night after night after—

Bridgette screamed when she found out what the Council would do to her and how she’d be punished for the forseeable future. It wasn’t a pretty scream. It wasn’t like how girls screamed in horror films or rom coms. It was gutteral, feral, and furious. It made you wonder if she was a werewolf instead of a witch.

“What the fuck?” At first she felt confused. She didn’t do anything wrong. Not exactly. “What the fuck?!” Bridgette spat the words. “How dare they! How fucking dare they! They’re going to fucking condemn me to a life of being a useless, pathetic, mundane human being!” She didn’t think all humans were useless or pathetic, but in that moment, she’d rather die than become disconnected from magic, something that made her her.

“Who the fuck do they think they are, trying to control me?” She wasn’t sure who she was shouting out. She wasn’t sure why she was throwing glasses. It was like her body was operating on autopilot. Bridgette was already in so much trouble that it didn’t matter if she threw a few glasses and overturned a table. It didn’t matter if she threw a chair against the wall. She slammed her fists against the door over and over again as she screamed in outrage. She threw a tantrum as if she were a child, except that she never threw temper tantrums as a kid. She always got what she wanted and this was the one time she couldn’t charm her way out of it.

When they bound her powers, Bridgette never told anyone, but she felt like a cord was being cut. She felt a hollowness and an emptyness that was far worse than any heartbreak she’d ever experienced. Despite the weird weightlessness she was experiencing, there was a great and terrible pressure in her chest. A part of her was forcefully removed. They resigned her to living trapped inside Edgewood, forced to study at UW Edgewood. She was no longer allowed to live the life she wanted, the life she planned. She would never admit to anyone that she cried that night.

She barely even recognized herself when she looked in the mirror. She wasn’t the same girl for what seemed like ages, but then Pixie Dust was Bridgette’s saving grace or so it seemed. She was so desperate, it didn’t matter the cost. It was the very reason why she was in another bathroom in the back of another seedy club on another night before she’d have to go to work again the next day. Ever since she lost her powers, she was chasing a feeling. She could be in her own little world, remembering what it was like when she was young and things were easier. She owed it all to that little pink drug.

The Council’s punishment was meant to teach her a lesson and force her to think about her actions. She was supposed to change her ways and become a much more respectable witch. Instead, Bridgette would only bide her time, dreaming up scheme after scheme to get back at them. For now, it’d only be a dream.

Bridgette would think of different schemes, trying to find the best punishment to fit the crime. Sometimes, she’d imagine them on fire as terrible as it sounded or tying a rock to their leg and throwing them into the lake. Other days she imagined them as a bunch of bumbling fools who had no memory of who they were, quite possibly a fate worse than death. She wasn’t an inherantly dark or murderous person, but she could never find the right words to say to let the Council know how much she despised them.

Bridgette lifted her head and looked back into the mirror again after taking in the pink, sugary substance. If someone didn’t know better, it looked like candy. She ran her hands down her face, wiped any trace of drug away, and pushed her hair back. She gripped the sides of the counter top and inhaled deeply. She pulled back the corners of her mouth, putting on a big and bright smile. She flashed those perfectly straight white teeth. She frowned and then smiled again. She laughed. She put on a surprised face, opening her mouth up wide. She smiled again.

She turned her head towards the door when there was a knock. “Give me a minute! I’m almost done!” she said, grabbing her lipstick. She ran it over her lips and then fixed her hair so not one strand was out of place. She smiled again in the mirror, as if that would make her happier or make the drugs work faster. Bridgette slung her bag over her shoulder and opened the door, grinning ear to ear as she greeted her friends. Bridgette walked down the hall with her friends, throwing an arm over one of their shoulders and heading for the main room of the club. The lights flashed and the music was blaring. Her heart began pounding in her chest as the drugs started to take their effect on her. Pretty soon, she’d feel a high that she’d never feel with any ordinary drug. This one was pure magic.

“Oh my god, you better not have started without me!” one girl whined. “If you get wasted before us, it’s sooooo not going to be fun.”

“I swear to Goooodddd, if I see Jasper hanging out with Sophia again, I’m just going to fucking scream!” another girl said, staring at her phone. She swiped left and right as she scrolled through the people on Tinder. “She’s just such a fucking bitch. Like, no one’s fucking decked her. Everyone fucking knows she’s a ho.”

“Bridgey, were you able to get those tickets to that concert next week?” another girl asked as she took selfies of the group.

“Yeah, bitch, you know I did!” Bridgette replied. “It’s next Saturday and we got tickets for the pit, so you know what that means!” She smirked and waggled her eyebrows as she shimmied her shoulders. Put on a happy face.

“Ooooh! We should go get some Chinese after this!” another girl said, not realizing the time. Nearly every restaurant would be closed by now.

“Wait, Bridgey, I thought you were going to be the designated driver tonight,” another girl said, pouting her oversized lips.

Bridgette mentally rolled her eyes as the girl called her Bridgey. She didn’t always like these girls, but they knew how to have a good time and it was an excuse to go out and get high instead of being depressed and high in her apartment. Plus, most of them knew some great places to party. They had their perks and for now while she was trapped in this town, she might as well live her best life and stick with the crew she got. It was better to hang out with these clueless hens who barely knew a thing about her than to be with anyone else who truly knew her.

“I know, but I kind of thought I’d be going home with someone else tonight, if you know what I mean,” Bridgette replied. “And besides, I was the designated driver last weekend.” It wasn’t technically a lie. She was supposed to be the designated driver last week, but instead she threw back three shots as soon as they got to the bar before anything else could happen. “Maybe you could do it since you can’t hold your tequila?” She gave her friend a sickeningly sweet smile that was borderline snide. The other girl let out a huff and was about to protest.

“Who wants to do shots of tequila?!” Bridgette half yelled so the rest of the girls could hear her. Her squad all looked at each other and screamed in excitement as they all ran for the bar. She did a round of shots and then leaned her head back as the blood began to pound in her ears. Everything sounded tinny and hollow. As she looked around, the whole world melted like a burning candlestick. It was like the mirror in the bathroom where everything was distorted.

Only this time instead of all the dirt and filth of the glass, Bridgette began to see every color in existence, or so she thought. It was like everything was in a kaleidescope. Different colors and crystals and auras. And, after all the shots she did, time didn’t seem like a real concept anymore. Bridgette was light as a cloud and felt free as a bird. Everything she saw and heard was a burst of highly saturated colors. Everything was bright and airy. It didn’t mattter what she saw, only that feeling that it gave her. Nothing could ever replace real magic, but this came pretty damn close.

She wasn’t sure how long she was out or when and how she got home or if it was even her home. Somehow, Bridgette landed herself of a couch. Whether it was her own or someone else’s, that didn’t matter. A some point in the night, she did another line of Pixie Dust, just to get herself through the night and into the next morning. Sometimes, she’d take some of it during the day to get through her shifts before going right back into it at night. She just needed that high, that spark in her veins, to get through the day. Anything for the familiar sensation of magic in her blood, a reminder of better days and simpler times. 

That was all that mattered.

[zehecatl]

@obedere i mean... i ALWAYS love talking abt my silly little ideas

tho this one isn't SUPER complex (at least not yet dijfd) mostly because i... haven't actually played MHW yet, despise owning it jfksjf

(i haven't gotten around to it 😔)

but, tbf, it's not OVERLY complex, and i did play some of the wii version, sooo

basically, i'm picturing it as pretty close to canon set up. Sun Wukong is a famous monster hunter, and MK has been a fan for years

always admired him, looked up to him, full tilt hero crush kinda thing

he's the reason MK himself is working towards being a hunter, though he also has to juggle working for his dad (the urge to make Pigsy a felyne... immense) in the restaurant and also, like, a social life

i like the idea of their village being so small, there's no hunters to actually teach him, so he has to do that too, which, of course, is how Wukong comes in

maybe during an outing, MK gets into trouble, and Wukong, who is passing through, swoops in to save him; of course, MK recnogizes him instantly, and flails all over him, because he'd NEVER imagine he'd actually MEET his hero

Wukong does his awkward little 'haha idk how to talk to people wtf' and after probably doing some cool one liner or giving him a tip, he fucking bolts

MK is in awe. amazed. starstruck. wow. his hero is so cool (that is a lie)

anyway he goes back home, excited to tell Pigsy all about it, and when he walks into the restaurant, already yelling at the top of his lungs, he freezes in shock

because lo and behold, there's Wukong. eating

they do some back and forth, Pigsy is unamused, MK is high energy, and Wukong is maybe a bit amused by this excitable kid, and somehow, someway, it stumbles into MK asking him to be his mentor

and it's not like MK expects him to say yes, but Wukong is here, and he can't let this opportunity pass him by without at least trying, and he's steeling himself for disappointment, because why would Sun Wukong ever want to take on him-?

Wukong tilts his head. hmms. "you do have potential," he says, and MK doesn't even dare breathe

"sure! why not, eh?"

and so they're mentor and mentee!! i'd imagine the rest is just, kind of slice of life-y? going on hunts, Wukong teaching MK, daily life happening, as it does. there might be a possible deeper plot, but it'd something i would have to like, play the game to explore jfksjfkd

also it'd be a slow burn, bc OF COURSE IT WOULD

MK coming to terms with his idol being a person, being flawed, and Wukong learning to open up, to let someone in.. also big monsters trying to kill them dead :)

... thinking abt monster hunter peachynoodles au

[janeaustentextposts]

Hi! You talk quite a bit about adaptations, could you give your thoughts on some adaptations of other classic novels, ones you particularly like or hate?

Well, let me think. I’ll give you the rundown on literary adaptations I like or love, as it’s getting late in the evening here and a bout of solid rage isn’t going to send me off to sleep so much as bring on a bout of indigestion. Also I went to review my DVD collection and for obvious reasons I don’t own many DVDs of things that I loathed. (I do recall nearly bursting into tears after a matinee viewing of I Capture the Castle because I felt the movie ended on such a bittersweet note that I was not prepared to walk out of a darkened cinema into a sunny day with birds singing while I was still Feeling a Lot of Unhappy Things, and so I felt like I hated that movie for a long time because of the sheer mood whiplash of it all. Also I wish I’d read the book first. The book is lovely, and I think I’d’ve stomached the film better, had I gone through the book first.)

Oh! I just remembered The Wings of the Dove (1997). I should have loved it, it had a lot going for it, buuuut fuck that movie and everyone involved in it, it just fell flat, for me. I don’t even care how critically-acclaimed it was, all the characters are The Worst and I never have a moment’s sympathy enough to care what happens to any of them. I hate even thinking about this movie and it is largely responsible for how much I despise Helena Bonham-Carter to this very day. Her and Jeremy Irons (who I admit I have many more personal issues with ‘cause he’s a silver-spoon gross-ass fuckshit.) A movie has got to be pretty damn brilliant on several other points for me to get past the knee-jerk rage I feel whenever either of them appear on-screen.

Also The Portrait of a Lady was terrible and riddled with pointless alterations and please just read The Making of a Marchioness, instead. Maybe I should add Linus Roache to my shitlist as he’s in this one, as well as The Wings of the Dove.

And now for adaptations I liked:

Wives and Daughters (1999) is quite good, in my view, and the ending they added to Gaskell’s unfinished work is quite satisfying, I think. (I don’t know about realistic, but it was sweet and simple and I dug it.)

Orlando (1992) Beautifully done. (Billy Zane! I love him in everything and I literally don’t even know why.)

Little Women (1994) is a classic, but I’m also very excited to see what Heidi Thomas and Vanessa Caswill do with the new miniseries from the BBC and PBS next year.

Daniel Deronda (2002) It’s prettyyyyyy. And so is Jodhi Maaaay.

Washington Square (1997) has a beautiful soundtrack, solid direction, and a stellar cast.

Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003) had some great cinematography and a good cast.

Dangerous Liasons (1988) I have such mixed feelings about Malkovich in this one but Glenn Close, holy shit she’s good.

Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001) A TRUE CLASSIC LITERARY ADAPTATION I WILL FIGHT EVERYONE. THEN PAY FOR THE RUINED GREEK RESTAURANT.The Remains of the Day (1993) A somewhat underrated classic that I think perhaps unfairly sits in the shadow of Howard’s End a lot of the time, what with the comparisons of the Thompson-Hopkins casting in a Merchant-Ivory film. (I do like Howard’s End, but, again, Helena Bonham-Carter, and I just connect a lot more with The Remains of the Day, as a story.)

Wide Sargasso Sea (2006) I don’t recall unabashedly loving this one, but I own it, so I feel like I must’ve liked it well enough. Then again, I also just found a copy of Sweeney Todd still in its plastic-wrap that I don’t know how I came by, I don’t even like the concept enough to want to watch it in the first place. Also, Helena Bonham-Carter is in it. And Johnny Depp. Why the fuck do I even own Sweeney Todd? Anyway, Wide Sargasso Sea is alright, though I feel like I preferred Karina Lombard’s Antoinette to Rebecca Hall’s.

The Scarlet Pimpernel (1982) I’m pretty sure this is where Jane Seymour and Anthony Andrews made me bi and SIR IAN MCKELLEN HOW DO YOU DO?

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (2006) HOW DO YOU FILM SMELLS? LIKE THIS. MY GOD. (Also please read the book.)

Dracula (1992) I mean, the cast swings between pretty good and absolutely wooden, but from a literary standpoint this is one of the more faithful adaptations of Stoker’s novel out there–though this movie is by no means The Best Anyone Could Do. There’s a lot wrong with it. But then Coppola didn’t need to include the blue fire thing, but he did, and I appreciate that.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1994) is worth it for Robert de Niro, alone; and maybe a handful of really, really good shots. Otherwise there’s too much Helena Bonham-Carter and also Ken Branagh just recently hauled himself onto my shitlist but GOOD NEWS the character of Victor Frankenstein was always an annoying fucko and that’s canon, so feel free to hate him throughout, anyhow.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1996) Does not get enough love. A good antidote to Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights for anyone who sat there thinking Rochester and Heathcliff were BIG PILES OF RED FLAGS. Wildfell is a cautionary tale, but actually ends reasonably happily (and more believably happily, IMO, than Jane Eyre.)

The Secret Garden (1993) Pure nostalgia for this one, excellent casting, and the same director as Washington Square.

Ivanhoe (1982) Sam Neill has no business making a villain that compelling. (I know, I know, Bois-Gilbert’s characterization is softened a lot in this adaptation.) And this time I’m bi for Neill and Olivia Hussey. Sorry, Anthony Andrews, you drop to second-slot in this love-fest. Also Rowena ruins everything but that’s canon, so what can you do?

Maurice (1987) Who doesn’t love a fluffy gay gamekeeper?

Cousin Bette (1998) Changes stuff from the book, and on the whole the story can be a bit rocky, especially in the second half or so, but it’s worth seeing for Jessica Lange, alone, I think, as well as some broadly comic notes from side-characters in Hugh Laurie and Bob Hoskins.

Possession (2002) Ignore Gwyneth Paltrow as best you can and otherwise enjoy the literary mystery unfolding in between some amazing flashbacks. Most of the good actors are crammed into the flashback bits, but at least there’s some snarky Tom Hollander and dastardly-but-personally-I-think-he’s-in-love-with-Roland Toby Stephens in the modern-day sections to give us some fun.

Twelfth Night (1996) Again, ignoring Helena Bonham-Carter, this one’s got a lot going for it. Trevor Nunn directing, Toby Stephens managing to be damn fine and somehow I don’t entirely mind that Orsino’s kind of a douchebag, Imogen Stubbs being cute as fuck, and stellar supporting actors.

The Inheritance (1997) Look, this is a little-known Louisa May Alcott thing, and I’ll be honest, it’s not Groundbreaking Television. As far as direction and score and acting and script goes, there is no danger of anyone ever losing sight of the fact that it’s a made-for-TV-movie from 1997 and Meredith Baxter was probably the biggest name they could get for it at the time. Anyway, there’s a reason I own it, and that reason is that watching it is the equivalent of a big mug of hot chocolate after a terrible day. It is pretty and sweet and funny and the villains and heroes are clearly marked from the moment they appear on-screen, and is it perhaps a bit too sweet? Yes. Embrace the sugar-shock.Titus (1999) Goes on a little long, perhaps, but you can’t look away. Anthony Hopkins and Jessica Lange go toe to toe and it’s a thing of horrific beauty. Shhh don’t question the batshit bloodbath, just let Julie Taymor do her thing.

Enchanted April (1991) Run away to Italy with your girlfriends. Just do it.

The Princess Diaries (2001) A modern masterpiece. GET OFF THE GRASS.

Bleak House (2005) Oh my God, this cast??? Is so magnificent?

Persepolis (2007) One of those films that are so good you need to lie down afterwards. Again, please also read the graphic novels.

Any Agatha Christie adaptation, ever–I am HERE FOR IT.

I know I’m forgetting one I thought of earlier, but oh well.

[rvsingsvn]

so after being inspired by @pastwinter‘s post, i decided i would put a collection of plots i want for all of my characters (even ones not currently on my muse page because i’m a lazy pos)! anyway if you see any you like, message me or like this post and maybe we can do something!

maxine brown / 26 / pansexual / architect:

max was raised as rich, catholic girl but she is obsessed with the ideas and looks of witchcraft so id love her to try a ritual from a book and accidently summon a demon or a spirit!

but also she experienced a lot of BS in college. her first boyfriend really fucked her up (it was highly abusive and toxic but ya girl was in deep). luckily she snapped herself out of it and was able to get away but i kinda want another meeting between these two or someone who knew her before her boyfriend. the person who came before knows happy peppy max and now she’s like -_____- yeah

max needs a reason to dress up. period.

i really want a sort of siren au for her tbh. just being alluring!

yuna jeon / 29 / unknown (probably demisexual) / psych professor:

yuna is probably my favorite character i’ve ever written so...i have a lot of ideas for her. she’s only experienced love once. it was a brief night after a dance and this guy was unbelievably handsome and seemed to love the fact that she was absorbed in her book rather than the music surrounding them and they spent the whole night talking about books and getting to know each other. but he was only in town for one night and she never saw him again. a lot of this is based on the song ‘the night we met’ by lord huron. i want them to meet again, with the same song they first saw each playing in the background. they both remember that night so clearly and with such fondness. they both wanted to see each other again but now it’s YEARS later.

i’d also love a person to come into yuna’s life to give her some life. she didn’t really experience much when she was a young adult so now she regrets so much so i want someone to come help her experience life

i also want an enemy for her. someone who despises her success and wants to drag her through the mud. someone who just doesn’t like her.

i love the idea of yuna caring for one of her students deeply. not in a romantic way but she sees herself in them and wants them to flourish

casper lee / 23 / bisexual (leans a little more towards guys) / bar owner:

oh casper he’s my new son! so canonically, he has a 3 year old daughter who lives with her mother due to personal reasons but you can be the mother, a friend supporting him trying to be a good dad, even the mother’s sibling who think he ruined their life. just give me cool family stuff

casper is also struggling with his bar. i mean it’s doing well enough to keep a roof over his head and he can pay the bills but thats it. i want a regular who comes just to check on him, maybe get some free drinks or try his new recipes while he’s trying to gear up for the restaurant part of his bar to open

he grew up in a pretty homophobic family (trigger warning for all you folks) so the first time he came home with a boyfriend, he was yelled at pretty bad and was temporarily disowned but they have finally been able to accept it but i want his old boyfriend or his first boyfriend, maybe even a current boyfriend who interacts with his kid

jung haewon / 20 / pansexual / marketing student-music performer:

haewon is a total babe. she’s got a marketing internship right now and things are going great but she really wants to be a music producer or a singer so she performs at nearby clubs late at night under a different name, maddie kim. and the image maddie has is 100% different from haewon. maddie is more punk rock-cool girl vibes while haewon is much more professional and innocent looking?? anyway i really want someone to know that she performs under a different name and pushes her to do new stuff with her music

or someone who is going to expose her more risque self to her employers in exchange for a favor or to even do their homework

i also want a roadtrip au for her where she just packs her shit and just travels around couchhopping and stuff

natalie kwon / 25 / bisexual (prefers girls) / fashion stylist-personal assistant:

oh nat oh nat. she’s a babe. she’s kinda inspired by the devil wears prada in the sense she just goes around doing everything for her boss to where she has no personal life but she gets paid a bunch

i would love for her to interact with her boss’ children and one of them is just super freaking bossy and shit ya-da

but also a model that she’s styling for a show who notices how busy she is all the time and is just like “wanna get some coffee after for a breather?”

her first girl crush from college, please

travis yoon / 21 / pansexual / astrophysics student:

TRAVIS! my little astronaut weeb. he loves space so much. he went to space camp and everything. anyway so many things i want for him

this boy is MANNERS. he’s always super polite and a total mama’s boy. in my head though, he has this one friend who his mother and everyone knows is bad news but travis just sees the good in them and wants to help so bad and stays by their side through everything

but also this guy never goes out to anything. i want a friend who will take him to parties and make him try to get a social life but i want him to meet a fellow anti-social butterfly and they hit it off and actually become super close friends

my boy works at a bakery whenever he can so i’d love it if a regular came in all sad and he’s just like “want some coffee and a cupcake? it might help.”

[marsupial-tapir]

okay ANIMORPHS cooking headcanons, who can follow a recipe, who doesnt understand portion control, who sets pasta on fire

wow what a surprise i cannot believe u have requested this

take 3 on the cooking headcanons. U ASKED FOR IT

marco: remember how whenmarco was 11 his mum died and his dad fell into a major depressive episode andmarco unofficially became his own sole carer for 2 years? HA good times wellmarco knows how to cook. thats how he’s alive. he never viewed the task withmuch enthusiasm bc it was just like,, something that needed to be done,, (atleast some of the time. obviously 2 in 5 days it was just m&ms for dinner)and he’s got all his skills from trial-and-error and from watching the terribledaytime cooking shows that his dad watches, so he’s not an Artiste™ but hispractical skills are off the wall. he can make a shockingly palatable meal outof nothing but convenience-store canned items, jake’s lunch leftovers, andgently-expired condiments. also he is a MASTER when it comes to Secret KitchenTricks (many of which were cannily passed down to him by a forward-thinking evabefore she disappeared). the only person who knows about these talents this iscassie. one time he called her and she was like “im SORRY marco im distractedby this bacon disaster, i just put the olive oil in and its all going wrong”and marco’s like “well duh there’s your first problem. you dont FRY withOLIVE OIL cassie. thats why it SMOKES. use rice bran oil like the rest of us”and cassies like ???????? she never tells anyone bc she realises hes lowkeyembarrassed by the fact that he’s developed this as an Adaptive Survival skill,and when hes a kid he plays it down like nbd, but later on when he getsolder he starts to milk this talent for all it’s worth. hes like hang on…. thisshit is VALUABLE. that’s when his true culinary talents can blossom

jake: uworded this “who sets pasta on fire regularly” and my response to that is thatone (1) time jake did Not set the pasta on fire and it made marco cry realtears of joy. listen jake tries So Hard (because, in the spirit of being theUltimate Straight Ally Dadfriend and an All Round Decent Fella, he’s lowkeyaware of his existence as a straight white guy and makes well-meaning attemptsto avoid hypermasculinic douchebaggery in domestic life. also he’s probablythat disgustingly wholesome Hey Mom Do You Need Some Help In The Kitchen kindof kid) but when he tries its just. so bad. oh my god its so bad. he’s onlyever tried like 3 ultra-basic Good Ol Classic American meals and every time hedoes its a crime against his culinary heritage. his brownies come out lopsided,, he putswildly incorrect ingredient volumes in,, he confuses salt for sugar,, somehownever manages to stir the cake mix properly,, tries to do taste tests like “i thinkit tastes ok??” no it doesnt jake this gravy tastes like toxic waste,, withoutfail lets something catch on fire while he’s squinting at the recipe trying tofigure out which step he was up to,,, its a mess. his family suffers through itnevertheless because they are Heroes. “t-tastess – gre at,, llittleb uddy”pre-yeerk tom says once, with tears of anguish streaming from his eyes

rachel: terriblecooking is a berenson gene and if rachel had survived the war marco’s talk showwould have included a nailbiting Reality TV segment where contestants sample amystery berenson dish and have to race to identify the Cousin of Origin beforefood poisoning sets in. this segment would have been discontinued after the 3rdhospitalisation and a food safety inquiry. in essence rachel is as terrible asjake but also worse because the constant failure pisses her off so much thatall of her concoctions are brewed with a terrible bitter malice. Fuck You,Pasta. You Deserve to Burn. also i think at some point in the series itmentions taht rachel tried being a vegetarian and i choose to believe this istrue and also that it is the point where things go from worst to worster.eventually even she has to admit she’s never gonna manage it and resorts tolike. deep-frying entire zucchinis or something

tobias: uknow what?? im gonna say Not Terrible?? tobias is pretty creative and lbr idoubt his neglectful ass relatives were gonna cook for him. he probably pickedup some stuff from recipe books bc he liked reading through them (listen i cantcook for shit but even i get a kick out of lookin at food books bc goddamn??the aesthetic?? plus tobias was a book kid in general so) also if we’re runningwith the autistic tobias concept (its Canon, folks) i like the idea that as ahuman tobias couldve been hypersensitive esp. to tastes, so he was pretty goodat noticing when two flavours clashed and figuring out what stuff to puttogether to avoid that. (obviously he cant do this as a hawk but sometimes hewatches ax’s food choices and the twist of primal horror he experiences is acomforting reminder that some vestiges of his humanity remain). HOWEVER by thesame token he also doesnt strike me as the sort of Organised Efficient personwho’d be a really productive cooker. i might be self-projecting here but like,,have u ever tried to string together a series of practical tasks into an organisedsequence while in the kitchen,,, theres like 80 bowls and justt too manyutensils and timers goin off and u forgot to put the herbs in and u ran out ofbench space so u gotta try start washign up at the same time but meanwhile ugotta Coordinate all the cooking stuff really fast so u dont poison urself orstart a fire and then u lose focus zonin out thinkin about smth else u alreadymessed up the order of actions sso do u start again or just eat the garbage or??? look cooking is hard and i feel like tobias gets that. he’s ok at it intheory but his application is shit. also hes a bird

cassie: idsay she’s not a natural culinary prodigy but with lots of patient practiceshe’s become pretty decent. im not sure if its canon but for some reason imconvinced her dad is a really good cook?? meanwhile her mum is approachingberenson-level bad and DESPISES it. hooooo boy. (she and rachel bond overthis). this means her dad enlists cassie as Head Kitchen Assistant and teachesher the ropes, and she really quite enjoys it? preparing a meal is simple andpractical and instantly-gratifying in a way thats really calming, and she likesbeing able to spend time with her dad. also not to be sappy but one time theyhave rachel over for dinner and cassie and her dad are helping each other stirthe pot on the stove while her mum and rachel viciously chop vegetables andtoss carrot tops at them from across the kitchen as a protest against beingrelegated to washing-up duty, and afterwards cassie tries to make brownies but burnsthem atrociously and they gotta pick through the charred remains to find ediblebits and rachel says “HA who’s top of the Poisons Authority Watchlist now??…dont answer that” and thats. a really good night. cassie holds on to that. ALSOafter the war cassie pretends she’s a way worse cook than she actually is soshe has an excuse to invite marco over to “”help her”” and get him doingsomething different. he never admits that it helps but she knows fromexperience it does

ax: HOOO BOY HERE COMES THE WILDCARD. i was torn betweensaying “theres an intergalactic petition to establish a restraining orderbetween ax and Every Kitchen” and “he is a culinary TREASURE” but u knowwhat?? porque no los dos. ax around food is an unrestrained force of nature. this is a canonical fact. he gathers his flavours from the world around him (literally from the entire world around him, and from under him, and sometimes from the gutter to his left) AND im gonna say that despite his unconventional pantry choices hes actually,, not too bad at making flavours Work. unfortunately since he never has to occupy a human body for longer than 2 hours he has never had to work around the concept of “”food poisoning”” and his talents would have gone to tragic waste,, had marco not stepped in to save the day. with the help of marco’s PRACTICALITY and his handy snippets of earth advice like “the alfoil is aUTENSIL not an INGREDIENT what the FUCK AX how are u even CHEWING THAT” ax’s raw talent is skilfully tamed. together they areunstoppable. They take out several team cooking shows on network tv,once because ax famously used the kitchen’s set props as a garnish. Ax probablybriefly invests in a popup restaurant for the fun of it and meets with roaringcritical success before it is gently shut down by the well-meaning andhighly-entertained food safety authorities, on account of his questionableingredient choices. Notable exchanges in the restaurant’s brief andspectacular history include the food connoisseur who located ax personally toimplore “what is this…. subtle twist of flavour? the acidic flare that tinglesin the throat and warms the belly to its deepest crevice? please aximili, umust reveal what mystery ingredient is responsible for this luxuriant gustatorysensation” “its helicopter fuel”