#god the indignation she must feel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

undertheopensky · 1 month

Text

Extinction

Whumptober Day 27: I misread Alt Prompt #7 Examination, so I guess this is now a Skies-specific prompt of Extinction. Though if you wanted to get poetic about it, I guess ‘Scars’ would also work.

Characters: Sky, Four, everyone’s kind of there especially in the first part

Trigger warnings: Panic attacks, grief, dehumanisation, it makes sense in context

Read on Ao3!

–––

“No, see, wolves are to wolfos what unicorns are to horses,” Hyrule is explaining to a perplexed Wild. “And rabbits to a pols voice. Y’know, the non-monstery version.”

“Out of curiosity, what the fuck do you think a unicorn is?” Legend asks, visibly fascinated by the whole conversation.

Hyrule thinks for a moment. “I’m pretty sure it’s like a horse with fairy wings? That doesn’t want to kill you.”

“Okay, I think we need to introduce you to more horses than Twilight’s monster.”

“Oi!” Twilight protests, looking up from his leatherwork.

“Last week she stomped and then ate a deku baba,” Legend says flatly.

“So?”

“Oh my god,” Legend mutters. Then, as Time walks up, his patrol apparently finished, “Hey, old man! What’s a unicorn to you?”

“Horse with a horn,” he replies easily.

Wild wrinkles his nose, clearly struggling to imagine it. “What’s the horn for?”

“For stabbing people, obviously.”

“What?! No!” Indignant, Four looks up from his book. “They cleanse water and purify poisons! There are no legends associating them with the battlefield, except for one country that uses them as the heraldry device for medics!”

Time shrugs, clearly unbothered.

“No wings, then?” asks Hyrule, slightly crestfallen.

“Nah, that’s a pegasus,” says Warriors.

“Like the boots?” Legend squints at the wings on his own.

“I think so? It’s a horse with, like, bird wings. One of the noble families back home uses them in their heraldry. There’s a lot of mythical creatures on heraldry, actually.”

“Rabbits ain’t mythical,” says Twilight.

“I’ve never seen one before.”

“Wait, back up – what’s a rabbit?” says Wind.

“A non-monstery pols voice.”

Wind isn’t pleased with Hyrule’s answer. “And what the hell is a pols voice?”

“It’s like…” Hyrule is stumped by the question. “It’s like… a, a blob with whiskers and long ears, except then it opens its mouth and it’s ALL mouth, and all teeth, and –”

“Oh, those! Huh, I never knew what they were called. I only came across ‘em once. And a rabbit is…”

“Smaller and less evil,” says Legend dryly, which which for some reason makes Twilight sputter with choked laughter.

“Oh, yeah - Sky,” Hyrule turns around to address him, “Sky, you’re the earliest -”

“I have never seen a unicorn,” Sky interrupts. “And I’m not sure what a rabbit is, but there’s a lot of flora and fauna on the Surface we’re still struggling to figure out, and I haven’t seen much of it that’s familiar while travelling with you. Things must change a lot through the eras.” He feels his face fall as his heart does. “Like loftwings, I guess.”

“What are loftwings, anyway? You’ve mentioned them before.”

Sky’s brow furrows. “Have I not explained loftwings yet?”

“You got partway through and then we were attacked by those chuchus and got distracted,” Wild offers.

Sky pulls a face. Right, and then cleanup had taken forever, because chuchus. Of all monster species, why were those ones so universal? They were barely even functional! “Okay. Loftwings are… huge birds, I guess is the easiest way to describe them. Each Hylian gets a loftwing partner when we’re young, and we grow up together. It’s - everyone has one. It’s been really weird to me that none of your eras have them. Since we’re on an isolated series of islands - or, well, we were - loftwings are essential to carry us from place to place.”

“They carry you? How big are they?”

“Pretty big.” Sky squints for a moment. “Crimson’s wingspan would stretch between that log and where Twilight’s sitting, easy.”

“Giant birds?” Wind screws up his face. “Like the Helmaroc King? Don’t like that.”

It’s Hyrule’s turn to make a face. “What’s a helmaroc king?”

Wind shrugs. “Massive bird monster. Oh, hey, maybe that’s what happened to Loftwings?”

“Hm?” Sky blinks back from where he’d been imagining Crimson sitting between Twilight and Warriors, sneakily tugging the captain’s scarf whenever he looked away. Goddess, he misses him. “Sorry, what was that?”

“You said it was weird that they don’t exist in any of our eras, right? Maybe it’s because they turned into monsters over time, like wolves and rabbits!”

Sky doesn’t know what noise he makes at that, doesn’t know what his face is doing. He feels cold, and sick, and horrified, because no no no that can’t be what happened please tell him that’s not what happened -

But why did the loftwings disappear? Left behind only in heraldry and insignia, not even their names left to history? How could they have been forgotten so completely?

“No,” he chokes out, “no, that can’t be. Loftwings aren’t monsters.”

“But sometimes animals can become monsters when they’re exposed to lots of dark magic over many years, like with wolfos. It would make sense why we’ve never heard of them, right, if they all became, like, kargarocs or something.”

The voices of the others die away to an indistinct hum. Sky thinks he should be concerned about that, except he’s already occupied with the sudden chill against his skin, the way his heart feels simultaneously too large and too small for the space it occupies, straining and racing, the way his lungs burn when he tries to breathe and ache when he doesn’t.

His head hurts.

His heart hurts.

Slowly, the buzzing fades.

“If we find a unicorn, do you think we can smuggle it back to my Hyrule?” Hyrule is asking.

“The hell do you want one of them for?”

“If they can really purify water, then –”

They’ve moved on from the conversational bomb that had rocked Sky to his foundations. Accepted the explanation without comment or question. To them, it’s just another strange fact about the world, like the way monsters in Wild’s Hyrule will all spring back to life when the moon turns red, or that there’s magic trapped in music. Over time, animals can turn into monsters.

And Sky just – doesn’t know how, doesn’t have the vocabulary to explain to them that loftwings aren’t animals – they’re people.

(He’s never had to explain it before. On Skyloft, everyone knows this, from the smallest child to the most forgetful elder: loftwings are your partner, the other half of your soul. They’re people.

When they can’t even understand that much, how does he even begin to explain how horrifying it is to think of them becoming nothing more than monsters, over the millenia?)

–––

Maybe this time, Sky thinks. Maybe this time the portal will take them home.

To his home, at least. He’s never been away so long before. And his jaunts to the Surface had in no way prepared him for the loneliness of being eras and countries away from his friends and his family and his loftwing. And maybe - maybe with it all close to hand, the feelings at his fingertips - he’ll be able to explain it better to the others. Explain it so they’ll understand.

The saturated colours and faint burr of magic through the earth raise his hopes briefly, but - no. This isn’t Skyloft. Isn’t even the Surface beneath it. It’s - it’s easier to define it by what it isn’t. The Surface has lain untouched by Hylian hands for centuries, ancient and wild. This place - it feels tamer. Steadier. Young, almost, but not in the sense of age - in the sense of, of rawness in its magic. It feels new.

And for all that - he knows the days of Skyloft and her Knights are long behind this place.

“Mine,” announces Four, unknowingly confirming Sky’s thoughts. “We’re not far from Lake Hylia, from the looks of it. Anyone wanna watch Wild go fishing again?”

“Hell yeah!” Wind cheers immediately, over Twilight’s groan of frustration.

“Cub, really -”

Wild brightens. “We should compete! See who can catch the most fish for dinner!”

“Now that’s jus’ not fair, Wild, yer explosions will scare off any fish they don’t kill -”

Always happy to stir the pot, Legend says, “Sounds like a skill issue,” and grins at Twilight’s dark look.

Sitting at the base of a tree - or slumping, more accurately - Sky watches their antics with a quiet gaze and no interest in joining in himself.

He’d known it wasn’t likely. The number of times they’ve gone to a familiar Hyrule are far outnumbered by the times no one can identify, and even then, there’s eight other time periods they could land in. He can’t help the disappointment, is all.

Is this what homesickness feels like?

It kinda sucks. No wonder Wind was so miserable.

He’s drawn from contemplating the pooling unhappiness under his ribcage by Four inching closer, hands tucked behind his back. He looks - nervous. Not like he’s going to try to drag him into the water fight now happening on the lake’s shore, at least. Just uncertain. The smile Sky musters for him is probably not a very good one. “Something up, Four?”

“I, um.” Four rocks on his heels, looking almost uncertain. “I… wanted to show you. Something.”

Sky doesn’t actually want to be left alone with his thoughts, so he nods agreeably and hauls himself to his feet. “Lead the way, then.”

Four takes him far enough into the forest that the shouts and laughter and echoes of Wild’s small explosions fade entirely, before choosing a wide clearing to pause in. “I, um.” Four spins, clasping his hands behind his back again. “I noticed that you - well. When the others were talking about loftwings the other day. You got really upset when they were talking about them becoming monsters, or going extinct.”

Ice shoots through Sky’s heart, freezes over his throat for one critical moment. “Yeah,” he finally rasps. “I don’t - it’s - they don’t -”

Four shakes his head. “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain it. I just wanted to show you -” He fumbles with his pouch, pulls out a child-sized ocarina that’s not quite too small for his hands.

The tune he plays sounds almost like a birdcall.

It’s pleasant, if mournful. Sweet-toned and piping like wind instruments tend to be. Sky wonders why Four had moved them so far away just to play him a short song, and then -

Wingbeats. Loud and unmistakeable.

He startles and looks up as a shadow passes overhead - a shadow too large to be any of the birds of Four’s era - and all he can see is a half-silhouette framed in the sun, but his heart leaps at the familiarity.

And when they land -

A loftwing.

Small, but distinctive: the beak broad and long and golden, the curl of their crest and their tail. Pure white, save the bars of colour across the feathertips - Sky’s never seen one like them and he’s never been so relieved.

“Her name is Zeffa,” Four says, from where he’s half-wrapped around the loftwing’s neck in a hug.

“You never told me you had a loftwing,” Sky breathes, stepping forward to greet them - to greet her, as she reaches out in curious welcome.

Four shrugs, feathers ruffling against his back. “I never knew what they were called. She was always just Zeffa, to me. She came to me when I was eight, in the middle of my first adventure. She saved my life,” he adds, snuggling his face into the side of hers as she ducks down and croons at him.

Sky takes the opportunity to look her over more closely. Definitely smaller than average, but with Four as her rider they’re perfectly proportioned. Her feathers are all clean white, no countershading or freckles or markings except the traditional wing bars, the gold fringed by something he’s never seen before. He’d thought it was a simple deep blue at first but it keeps changing colour as Zeffa shifts and the light hits it in different ways. Green one way, red another; a rainbow trapped in keratin fibre.

Sky can feel the grin creeping across his face; wouldn’t dream of trying to stop. “She suits you.”

Four grins back. He looks so comfortable, standing in the shade of Zeffa’s beak and leaning up against her. “She does, doesn’t she?”

Her mind is different to Crimson’s, all shades of cool water instead of open sky and cloud, but it’s still crystal clear. Greetings, Chosen Hero.

“Been a while since I heard that one.” Been a while since he’d last spoken with a loftwing, for that matter; he hopes he’s not rusty. Hopes she can sense his delight and fondness and gratitude, for the care she shows to Four.

She clacks her beak at him, pleased.

“Do all the loftwings call you that?” Four asks, riveted, and Sky’s heart swells at the knowledge that Four can hear her too.

“Usually just the ones who don’t know me personally, or the ones who are making fun of me.” He steps closer, with her approval.

The top of her head barely clears his own. Taking that into account, Sky thinks her beak is a little smaller, too. She smells of feathers and ozone and rain. She smells like home.

“So loftwings do still exist.”

She regards him with something like sorrow, and his heart drops.

I am the last.

I was born towards the end of your reign; the last true loftwing born to Skyloft. And I knew even then that I would be waiting a long time for my beloved. I was born knowing it.

You grieved that, even then. I was too young to tell you, but I will say now, in hopes you will remember: I do not regret the waiting. They were worth waiting for. She tugs Four’s headband playfully, making him shout in protest when it slips over his eyes.

“How long did you have to wait?” Sky whispers, heart aching. Even if she says - he knows it’s a long, long time between Four’s era and his own.

She shrugs, wings settling back against her sides. Who can say? What is time, and how does it pass? Is it truly waiting, to simply live?

And oh, her personality is shining through - mischief hidden under patience, the glee of being deliberately and annoyingly cryptic. No wonder Four didn’t know what she was. Every attempt to ask was probably met with a riddle until he gave up. Sky finds himself smiling again. Even though it hurts. “You still had to be alone, and for that, I’m sorry.”

There is no fault to claim. All things change. From the kikwi to the zora - as the world changes, all must change with it, or be left behind. She runs her beak through his hair, an attempt at comfort.

Sky buries his face in the side of her neck.

I am the last. But do not grieve us.

Four tugs on his sleeve, breaking the focus of his connection. “C’mon, I wanna - I’ve still got something to show you, Zeffa’s not all of it.”

Sky glances back towards the lake. “Is it far?” They’ve been gone long enough as it is, really, and he doesn’t want the others wasting their time searching for them in a panic.

Four shrugs. “It’s fine. I told Time where we’d be going. C’mon, hop on, it’s not far by air but I wouldn’t wanna walk.” He follows his own advice, clambering up Zeffa’s side with ease and sitting across her shoulders, legs in front of her wings. He doesn’t even seem to notice the lack of saddle.

Why would he? Sky thinks with another pang. Loftwing saddlers haven’t been needed for centuries. Does Four even know they existed? “Are you sure she can carry us both? I’m pretty heavy.”

Four looks offended on Zeffa’s behalf. “She’s not that small! And she’s taken multiple people before!”

I will be fine, your majesty. Zeffa clacks at him, amused.

Sky deliberately does not pay attention to that last part. “If you’re sure I won’t hurt her…”

“You won’t,” says Four, and he’s so confident with him that Sky believes him.

There’s nowhere to jump from so like Four he mounts up on the ground, Four in front and Sky behind. It makes him nervous, riding without a saddle - not because he thinks he’ll fall off, but because what if he hurts her? Crushes her feathers the wrong way, clamps down too tight without leather to buffer the force? And is Four sure she can take off from here, getting airborne is hard enough without carrying so much extra weight -

She turns her head to laugh at him with one large, dark eye.

Her wings spread wide. They’re beautiful in the sunlight, red and green flashing at the edges of her primaries. There’s even some purple in the shadows closest to her body, all four of Four’s tunic colours shining through her wings. Goddess, she fits him so beautifully.

Two steps and a powerful wingbeat and then the air is rushing up around them, catching them like they were already falling, and they’re in the air. It can only have been magic but Sky doesn’t know where it came from; can’t bring himself to care, when the forest is getting smaller and blurrier under their feet and the wind is streaming ice-cold against his face and neck and ears.

Goddess, he’s missed this.

The sky looks so much more beautiful from up here; the clouds like they could be solid enough to walk on (though he knows that’s not true). Laid out beneath them is the kingdom, in lines and squares and patches of colour, abstract and strange. Could he draw a map of this, Sky wonders? Could he figure out where things used to be, if he can find the right landmarks?

Four grins at him over his shoulder, delighted by Sky’s happiness.

True to Four’s word, they’re not in the air long before Zeffa is banking, beginning a descent that for the first time in years makes a pang of disappointment rise in Sky’s gut. Goddess, he wants to go home.

Four lets him jump off when they get close, but doesn’t follow. Sky has a moment of panic before remembering Four definitely has a gliding item, he’s not trapped up there, and then Zeffa’s actually landing with the Hero of the Four Sword still perched on her back. There’s another blast of definitely wind magic as she touches down, cushioning what might otherwise have been a heavy landing. That explains it. Does that happen every time? Is it something Zeffa learned, since there are no sky islands to jump off of here? He’ll have to ask her, later.

“Where are we?” Sky says as Four swings off the loftwing’s back. The ruins they landed in are ancient and unfamiliar, but he thinks - he can almost understand the text carved into stone, if he tilts his head and squints. He doesn’t know this place - it just - echoes, somehow.

“The Fortress of Winds,” Four says. He hasn’t moved from the centre platform, still pressed up against Zeffa as he watches Sky move around. “This is where I first met Zeffa.”

“Uh huh?” Sky’s listening, he swears, but there’s something about the letters on this stone tablet, almost but not-quite the same as his own. If he squints just a little - no, maybe this way -?

Four comes over to tug on his sleeve again. “C’mere, I think you’re moving too much.”

They both sit in the shade thrown by Zeffa, as she spreads her wings to sunbathe.

“Are we waiting for something?”

“Shhhh,” is all Four says in response.

Sky gives up and settles in. With Zeffa’s wing breaking the worst of the wind, and her dusty feather-smell surrounding him, Sky’s the most relaxed he’s been in weeks.

Then he starts to hear something.

High-pitched chitters and whistles, the beating of small wings. Four had said there were no monsters left in the fortress, but that sure sounded like keese to Sky. Slowly, so as not to attract attention, he turns his head to peer around the edge of Zeffa’s wing.

His heart leaps into his throat and stays there.

Birds. Brightly coloured, greens and blues and oranges, perching on the rockwork and hopping around the lichen-covered floor.

Their beaks are short and sharply curved. They’ve lost the long, flexible tails that streamed out behind them in flight, replaced by a fan of feathers that seems impractically small. The feather banding is missing, the white and gold of the goddess and the contrasting partner flashings.

And of course, they’re tiny. Small enough to sit on an outstretched arm; the smallest could sit on his hand.

But the crests are still there, three wispy, curling feathers on the back of the skull that flex and stretch as they chatter amongst themselves. There’s still a flash of intelligence in their small, dark eyes. The nearest hops closer and chirps in greeting, and he feels a press of joy! and welcome! and sneaky, mischievous play? Play! Play with us!

Sky doesn’t realise he’s crying until the tears spill over in hot rivers. Four shoots him a worried look.

“They’re still here,” he chokes out, and smiles.

After everything, the loftwings are still here.

#whumptober 2023 #skies writes #linked universe #lu fic #lu sky #lu four

77 notes · View notes

six-eyed-samurai · 13 days

Text

This took forever and honestly I feel like it's rushed...oh well...

Edogawa Ranpo: the ADA’s finest investigator; solver of crimes galore; consumer of way too many candies that could be considered healthy.

Sure, he couldn’t navigate through a train station if his life depended on it and there really was no point in trying to convincing him to crack a case if he decided it was too boring and he had a really weird hyper fixation on needing to wear his glasses even though his eyesight was fine but hey, surely he could handle showing the new intern at the agency around, right?

“Ranpo-kun! This is our newest member. Atsushi-kun was supposed to show them around but Dazai called him away and Kenji and Naomi are on a mission, so it’s up to you to show them the ropes!” Yosano leaned down with a sigh, swiftly swiping away Ranpo’s bag of potato chips and finally gaining his attention from the sudoku puzzle.

“Hey! Give it back!” Ranpo crossed his arms and pouted childishly.

“I’ll be back in an hour or two, so try not to make to make them feel like an idiot, alright?” Yosano snapped her fingers, tutting, but handed back the bag of chips. Ranpo snatched it eagerly with an indignant scowl. Best to keep him happy lest he crush the new intern’s soul with his usual arrogant teasing if he didn’t like them.

“Fine, fine, I’m the world’s greatest detective! I’m sure I can show them the ropes best!” If Ranpo were a bird he’d puff up his chest. Yosano rolled her eyes and moved aside to reveal the intern previously hiding behind her.

“Treat them nice, Ranpo, or you’ll be my next experiment!” With that she waved goodbye to Ranpo and smiled sadistically, pinching their cheek on their way out. “Don’t worry, he’s not all that bad.”

They stepped forward, a nervous yet cheerful grin bright enough to turn the sunlight seeping through the blinds into shadows. “Hi! So you’re the world’s greatest detective who can show me the ropes best?”

Ranpo gently set away his bag of chips, gaze never once wavering from theirs although his eyes were slowly widening. They waited, smile turning awkward as the rehearsed usual introductions of names and “I’m really glad to be working here, what should I start with?” in their heads began to spiral into “shit, I must have something on my face” and intense panic.

And the world’s greatest detective ran away.

”Yosano-sensei, I found Ranpo-san!”

“GOOD, BECAUSE I’M GOING TO CHOP OFF ALL HIS LIMBS AND HAVE THEM FOR LUNCH WASHED DOWN WITH WINE; DON’T LET HIM GO, ATSUSHI-KUN!!!”

“What - Yosano-san, it’s fine! It’s not that big of a deal!”

“Don’t worry, dear, he’ll be fine.”

“…I hope…Ranpo-san sure is in for it for leaving them to figure everything out themselves…”

“Dazai, stop slacking off. Ranpo won’t take this case so the President needs you on it,” Kunikida snapped, pushing up his glasses and throwing the stack of reports at the lounging suicidal detective. “There is no one else to take it, as much as it pains me to ask you.”

Dazai continued to sing aloud off-tune, rolling over on his side. “Go ask Atsushi-kun, I just finished a case not too long ago!”

“That case was a week ago!” Kunikida bellowed, then took a deep breath and straightened his tie. “The kid is too new. We need someone experienced to take the newbie out on the field.”

“Huh?” Dazai opened his eyes with a sly grin. “The newbie’s coming along? Ah…”

“Yes, and thank god for that. I wouldn’t trust you to handle this case on your own.”

“Kunikida-san! Are you really doubting my skills in negotiation?!”

“You are far too childish to be trusted with anything,” Kunikida grumbled. “And you would take any chance to provoke the Port Mafia. But with nobody else free it all falls to you, at least until Ranpo wakes up from whatever depression he’s wallowing in lately.”

“What depression? His refusal to speak to the newbie at all? His rejections to all cases the newbie is on? His inability to do anything else but sit on his chair and eat sweets?” Dazai’s eyes glinted as he feigned drama. “My, my, Kunikida, you really don’t know human emotions.”

“YOU BANDAGE SQUANDERING FOOL-” Kunikida exploded another pen, eyes twitching and positively vibrating from fury.

“Oh well, only someone as perceptive and expert as me would’ve noticed it anyway!” Dazai cackled, causing Kunikida to suddenly cool down due to surprise and confusion. “Forget it…but if I can convince Ranpo to take this case, will you left me off it? There’s a new suicide method I just read about and I was sooo looking forward to try it.”

“If you even can.”

“Trust me, Kunikida-san, I absolutely will! Now, where’s that newbie?”

Kunikida frowned, bewildered as Dazai leapt off the couch and pranced off to go perform whatever devilry he had cooking up his sleeves. Well, he thought grudgingly, if Dazai can rouse whatever funk Ranpo had been in since last week, he might not be completely useless. He glanced behind him, eyebrows knitting together, wondering whatever crap Dazai was boasting about to the newbie.

Better not be a request for double suicide.

“Hey, Dazai-san! Are you looking for a file or something? I’ve been sorting through these shelves all week that I’m pretty sure I could find anything you name, heh.”

“While that sounds absolutely delightful, I’m actually here about our case!”

“That? Right! I’m pretty nervous about it, so I’m sorry in advance if I mess anything up!”

“Oh, you shouldn’t be sorry to me~ You and Ranpo are going together~”

“Eh, what? I thought he refused the case?”

“Not if you ask!”

Dazai had almost immediately abandoned them both at their destination, quick enough to be suspicious. Very suspicious.

They scuffed at the ground with their shoe, awkwardly sticking their hands into their pockets. This section of Yokohama comprised of mostly warehouses of boxes and objects long forgotten and half-finished roads, dark and dingy with no sign of life anywhere save the occasional cry of the crow. Very Port Mafia like.

Checking their watch, they wondered when the supposed informant, the key to the latest smuggling affair, would be showing up. They were a little early, but it was fast approaching the meeting time and if there was anyone around they must be invisible.

Wait, invisible?

“So, uh, Ranpo-san, didn’t Kunikida say the informant had an invisibility ability?” They pulled out the file, flipping through the pages and began reading out. “Kosuke Kindaichi, captain of the ship that was suspected to be carrying the Port Mafia’s latest illegal cargo. Ability, the Inugami Curse, which allows the user to be invisible in light but not in dark areas - well, that explains why he chose to show up at this time of the afternoon. He’s agreed to give us information on their next smuggling if we help protect - Ranpo-san, are you even listening?”

Ranpo abruptly turned away, intensifying the loudness of his chewing. Those chips must really be spicy for his face to turn so red like that.

“Okay, never mind, you probably know all this already,” they said sheepishly, embarrassed at his lack of response. This was who he’d been treating them the whole time they’d been here…they really must have done something to piss him off. “Um, anyways, how do we know if he’s here?”

“Mmmph.” Ranpo cleared his throat and wiped his mouth, glancing back as if to reply. His expression twitched and he quickly turned away again.

“Okay, you don’t have to talk to me,” they sighed. “We’ll just get this over with. I’ll go look over there, you can take here.” With that they began to walk off.

“Wai-wait!” Ranpo? Speaking to them? The surprise of it all was what made them spin around, really. He inhaled sharply and pulled out his glasses, slipping them onto his face. “He’s there. Beside the green container to the left.”

“Woah, Ranpo-san, you’re right.” They beamed at him excitedly, running off. “You’re really observant! How’d you even see him?”

“I didn’t. Just because he’s invisible though doesn’t mean his shadow isn’t.”

“Genius! Come on, let’s go meet this informant!”

“…I suppose I am?”

From in front of the monitor Dazai was sprawled in front of, his jaw fell open and he adjusted the quality of the sounds being transmitted from the secret bug he had dropped into their pocket during the train. He had suspected something was going on and had taken the opportunity to prove it, even through unscrupulous means.

What a good idea: because when has Ranpo ever sounded unsure about receiving praise?!

“Kunikida-a-a! Come listen to this!”

“No.”

“Tanizaki, get over here!”

“Sorry, Dazai, Naomi’s calling me!”

“Is no one interested in what’s going on between Ranpo and the newbie? Once again I am alone in my perceptive endeavors - Yosano-sensei, over here!”

“What is it this time, Dazai?! Ow, hey, don’t slam your headphones on my head like that!”

“Ouch, you didn’t have to hit me so hard! Just listen!”

Ranpo was about to explode and it wasn’t going to be from sugar rush like Yosano had always said.

No, it was going to be from simply being near them.

They’d never stood so close to him before and it was making him terribly nervous - no, his palms were just sweaty from the summer heat. Same thing for his red ears. He was also digging his nails so hard into his coat because he was…well, something. Definitely not because he was so infatuated with them that it was taking every ounce of self control to not shout it to them and the world and the Port Mafia member waiting for them over there.

He had gotten his wish after all, wanting to show them just how amazingly smart and observant he was, but Ranpo never got a chance to before. Which, he admitted to himself, was mostly due to his complete inability to even exchange more than a few words with them without having to run away or freeze embarrassingly. Now he could show off to them why he was the world’s best detective without having to say much or mess up!

It wasn’t too much to ask that cocoons too would hatch in their stomach and have those pesky butterflies energetically flutter around, right? It was only fair, after all, they made him feel that way all the time!

Ranpo hunched his shoulders. Yeah, probably too much to hope for. They hadn’t said much to him at all when Dazai had dumped them here, and when the other ADA member had been there they had spoken so much, so happily with him! Of course Ranpo delighted in learning a little more about them and they looked so cute with that bright smile that came with talking about their hobbies and friends, but did it really only have to happen with Dazai?

…considering his behavior to them in the past it was a small wonder, honestly. And the odds of them reciprocating after just one display of impressive detective work were really low.

Okay, okay! He’d just have to work harder to impress them!

What had Dazai said about wooing ladies again? For once that suicidal idiot had actually proven himself useful with his blabber. Be her knight in shining armour. Yeah, that’s right.

“I - I -”

“Hmm?” Their head tilted towards him and he nearly died. “You were saying something, Ranpo-san?”

“I’ll go first! Then if anything happens you can watch my back - we don’t know if this is really genuine or a trap,” Ranpo announced with a sudden burst of confidence and a self-satisfied smile. Well, he had done it! Well done him!

“That’s a good idea! I won’t let anyone hurt you, that’s for sure,” they laughed.

Even Kindaichi quirked an eyebrow at Ranpo’s pink face.

“You promise you won’t arrest my crew? None of them know what’s actually going on, that Port Mafia man only entrusted me. I don’t want them getting into trouble because of my stupidity in signing the deal, even though I didn’t know it at that time.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged as long as you cooperate. However we were told that you had information on what the Port Mafia are smuggling, so I don’t understand why you specifically asked for a detective to solve a case…?”

“They’re connected! I’m sure of it. You see, the last shipment was of weapons. Guns and the like -”

“You’re lying. All of this is a hoax to get our attention. You’re a captain like I’m a Port Mafia member! We have to get out of here.”

“I don’t think so.”

Ranpo watched helplessly as they pounded and kicked at the door of the dingy, dark container uselessly. Stupid, he cursed himself. If he hadn’t been so distracted he would’ve smelled a rat long ago, not when they were both caught off guard and defenseless, especially not when they were going to wind up in trouble too.

But what could he do? Ranpo had never wished to be someone else before, but maybe if he were Kunikida he’d figure out a way to disarm that hat-wearing ginger Port Mafia member and his gun. Hell, even Atsushi could’ve kicked it out of his hand with tiger jutsu or something.

He sighed. There would be time to sulk later - now he had to get them out.

Nakahara had triumphantly revealed that the Port Mafia would be holding the both of them hostage in return for the ADA turning a blind eye to their smuggling affairs. The “detective” Kindaichi had requested for could’ve been any ADA member, but based off Nakahara’s complaints he had been hoping to kidnap Dazai.

Alright, they’d just have to be gone before the both of them returned.

He approached the doors and motioned for them to step aside (of course now of all times he’d lose the ability to speak to them, dammit; at least it was too dim for them to see his scarlet face at how close he come to brushing against their hand). Ranpo bent down and examined the slit between the container doors.

“How’d you know it was a trap, by the way?”

They’d need something thin enough to slip into the hole and yet strong enough to push up the bar outside like a lever. He glanced around the container, determinedly not looking at them.

“Ranpo-san?”

Just get them out, just get them out, he chanted to himself. Pretending he didn’t hear the hurt in their voice he went on constructing possible plans for an escape. Once they escaped he’d gain their admiration for his ingenuity for sure!

“…um, okay, this is really quiet…and awkward…I’m sorry if I’ve done something to offend you but I really need to know. Every time I come close to you you run away, you won’t look at me; actually I doubt you’ve ever even said more than fifty words to me the entire time. I feel like you hate me or something. Have I done anything wrong? Or am I not smart enough to be talking to you?”

What? No, no, no, that wasn’t how it was at all!

“You could never do anything wrong! The only thing wrong is that I can’t look at you for more than ten seconds without turning into a tomato because you’re too pretty and I really want to listen to you talk but I can’t because I can’t concentrate and there’s no way I can tell you this-”

Ranpo slapped a hand over his mouth, flustered by his sudden blurt. He really was such a lovesick schoolboy, huh? He even had the cheesy accidental confession going for him.

“Well…I wasn’t expecting - why are you hiding your face?”

Two hands suddenly lifted his own away from his face and Ranpo found himself staring into their surprised but pleased grin, a little confused but relieved.

“I’m happy to know you didn’t hate me all this time and that you think I’m pretty.” Their lips twitched.

He sprang on that like an overeager puppy. “Can we get married and have about ten thousand kids and will you bake for me every day like those cookies you made the other day and I promise I’ll take on all the cases so we’ve got money and I can buy you whatever you want-”

“Woah, woah, slow down there, Ranpo-san.” Mortified, Ranpo’s face burned as they doubled over in awkward laughter. “Maybe a dessert date after we get out of here, yeah?”

“Sure! I already figured out a way!”

This was his territory now - he could finally show off. He pointed at the slit between the doors and explained his thinking. Thankfully the container was littered with bits of metal and junk, abandoned construction tools and similar items. It wouldn’t be hard to find something that could help them, right?

Usually Ranpo was the one who ate up praised but he’d be the first to admit he did go a little overboard with his compliments when all they did was find the somewhat perfect tool to use in order to break themselves out. With a little maneuvering they managed to push half the thick rusted stick under the bar and the both of them began to struggle to push the bar up.

“Hey, Ranpo-san.” He looked up, breathless from the exertion but brightening at the sound of his name flowing from their mouth. “You never did answer my question though. How’d you figure out it was a trap?”

“There were the initials “S.Y.” embroidered on that handkerchief he took out to wipe his forehead with. If his name was Kosuke Kindaichi, it should’ve been “K.K.”. Coincidentally the Port Mafia had recently gotten a new recruit who had made it to the news not too long ago: Seishi Yokomizo, who was the appointed leader of their smuggling ring.”

“You figured everything out just from a handkerchief?” They stopped their work to stare at him in disbelief and - aha! - admiration. “I never would’ve noticed something like that; no wonder you’re the world’s greatest detective, huh?”

“I think the bar is moving,” Ranpo said as casually as he could in a feeble attempt to change the subject. They chuckled but began to heave harder.

“One, two, three!”

The doors flew open with a bang and revealed a stunned Yosano wielding her giant knife and Dazai dragging an unconscious Yokomizo by his feet.

“How did you get here?” The words slipped out simultaneously from theirs and Ranpo’s mouth.

“Dazai here -” Yosano smacked the man in question with the flat of her blade, displeased “-stuck a bug onto one of you to eavesdrop for gods only know why, but it turned out to be a good idea seeing as this was all a sneaky trap. Then again the two of you have already broken out. I’m off to find Nakahara; he ruined my new shoes.”

“That’s Chuuya for you,” Dazia hummed, throwing aside Yokomizo’s feet to lean exaggeratedly too close to them both. “Well? Any tea to spill?”

They snort and shake their head. “I love Yosano-sensei, but she’s very scary sometimes.”

“She’s scariest when you go shopping with her.”

“Or drunk. Drunk Yosano-sensei is quite a bloodthirsty person.”

“Hah-”

“You said we could go on a date once we broke out,” Ranpo interrupted abruptly, then sheepishly turned away. He hadn’t imagined that, had he?

“Eh?” Their eyes widened, then crinkled up into a smile. “Of course! I know a place.”

“WAIT, I MISSED OUT ON THE CONFESSION?!” Dazai screeched.

“To think I was the one who set them up and go through all that effort with the bug and end up missing the best part! Argh!”

“I’m just happy Ranpo is happy now - pininig Ranpo was quite the drag. You, on the other hand…”

“Yosanooooo, can you feel bad for me for even a moment?!”

#ranpo x reader #ranpo edogawa x reader #bsd ranpo x reader #ranpo x y/n #ranpo x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #ranpo x gender neutral reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #Sunny's Works

55 notes · View notes

strangersteddierthings · 10 months

Text

Steve, Gareth and Chrissy are cousins AU (sad edition) [prologue] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Final Part]

"So," Robin says after they clink their molotov cocktails together, "do we also get to talk about the whole cousin situation now?"

Steve looks across the field, where Eddie and Dustin are defending themselves from invisible enemies. Gareth and Lucas are swinging the finished spears at each other while Erica shakes her head at them, working on a third. It looks like Nancy is showing Max the proper way to hold a shotgun, which isn't nearly as bizarre as it probably should be.

"What's there to talk about?"

"Are you doing okay?" Robin asks.

Steve doesn't mean to making a scoffing noise. It just leaves his body involuntarily. "No. But I'm not the only one not doing okay. Now that we know Vecna doesn't have to do the whole weeklong build up to murder town, that he could get any of us, as any time and he's just being a sadistic bastard-"

"Steve. He'll take the bait. If nothing else, we have to believe that."

Steve looks from Max to Gareth, then back to Robin. "Yeah. Right."

Robin is quiet for a moment, before her eyes flick away and back to him again. "Do you want to talk to Gareth? He was... God, Steve, it was awful, hearing him scream for you. While Vecna was... Anyway, I know you two are like avoiding each other for whatever reason, but I think you can let go of whatever it was."

"I just wanted to keep them safe, Robbie," Steve swallows down the sob that wants to break free. "I never wanted them involved in this. I was so scared that I'd somehow infect them with the Upside Down that I just kept them away and it took Chrissy anyway. It-it-"

"It hasn't taken Gareth, though," Robin says softly, cutting Steve's spiral off. "It hasn't taken him. But he needs you. I think you need him, too. You should talk. Before we drop him at the Creel house. Because."

She doesn't finish, but that's fine. Steve knows what she's saying. They could die today. Any one of them. Chrissy died without Steve making it right. He'd started to work on hanging out with Chrissy again, but it was all surface level. He didn't even apologize. With Gareth he could justify, however shitty that was to do, that he was staying away because Gareth asked him to.

Chrissy hadn't asked for Steve to step out of her life. He'd done that himself in '83.

He can't do right by Chrissy anymore, but he can try with Gareth.

He stands and Robin gives his knee two solid pats before he walks away.

"Dustin, you piss off Steve somehow?" Eddie asks.

Gareth, in the middle of facing off with Lucas, pauses to look around, which gains him a light tap to his side by Lucas' spear. Sure enough, Steve is stalking their direction with a grim determination on his face.

"What, why am I the one getting the blame?" Dustin says, offended.

"It is usually you," Lucas adds, which earns him a squawk of indignation from Dustin, who shoots back, "he could be coming to lecture you for making Erica do all the spear making!"

Steve doesn't approach either boy, though.

"Hey, can we talk?" Steve asks once he comes to a stop in front of him.

"Got some end of the world regrets, Harrington?" Gareth says, trying to keep his voice lighter than he feels. He wants to tease Steve, not bully him.

He must succeed because Steve gives a chuckle and says, "I don't think we have time for all the end of the world regrets, so, uhh, just the one for now."

"We're cool, dude," Gareth says, eyes flicking from Steve to Eddie. The kids know, Gareth told them himself, but Eddie doesn't. "I started it."

"Yeah, but I graduated and still pretended you didn't exist. Which isn't what you asked for."

Gareth shrugs, because he doesn't know everything but he knows enough. Learned this isn't anyone else's (besides Eddie and his) first rodeo or whatever. That there have been other times, dating back to the year Will Byers was lost for a week. "Dude. Seriously. We're cool. You've been dealing with... whatever the fuck this is. So, just, like promise to be around more once we all survive this."

Steve looks pained but before he can reply, Eddie cuts in, "I'm sorry. How do you know each other?"

Gareth looks to Steve, who just shrugs as if to say your friend, you responsibility and honestly? Fuck Steve Harrington. Keeps traumatizing secrets and pushes Gareth away and also throws him to the wolves. Except, this is the secret Gareth has been keeping from Eddie. He sighs and turns to Eddie. "Well, uh, Steve's my cousin. We used to be super close before I started high school. Actually, Steve here is the reason I joined Hellfire!"

Eddie seems to go through all 7 stages of grief before settling into a confused. "I'm sorry. Steve talked you into joining Hellfire?"

"That is not what I did!" Steve defends himself.

"God no. He just went into great detail about how loud and obnoxious and attention-grabbing the current president was, as if that would make me want to not meet you for some reason."

"It was a warning!" Steve yelps at the same time Eddie sing-songs, "You think I'm attention-grabbing, Harrington?"

Dustin, Lucas, and Erica are all laughing at Steve has he tries to sputter through what he meant by attention-grabbing ("It's hard to not pay attention when he's shouting from the top of a lunch table!"), and Gareth just watches on, amused.

After they fight an... evil wizard? Vecna or whatever his name is. Once this is over, Gareth is going to sit Steve down and make him tell him everything, but that can wait.

He wants to watch Steve flounder trying to defend himself from the accusations of watching Eddie just a bit too much back in high school.

Later, as they all pack up and load up in the RV, Nancy stops Steve from entering the RV, ushering everyone past until Gareth and Steve are the only ones left outside.

"Are we acknowledging that you're cousins, now?" she asks.

"You knew!?" Steve sounds surprised. Gareth's surprised, too.

Nancy just rolls her eyes. "Steve, I've been to your house." When that just makes Steve look confused, she rolls her eyes and says, "there are family pictures covering almost every inch of your living room."

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?" Robin pipes in, appearing in the doorway with an angry expression.

"It wasn't really my thing to talk about, was it?"

"Yeah, but did you even check in with Steve? If you knew, and knew what happened to Chrissy- you didn't even ask if he wanted to go to the funeral!"

"Robin!" Steve hisses.

Nancy doesn't look upset by whatever accusation Robin seems to be trying to make. "If Steve wanted to go, he could have said something. We aren't his keepers. But, also," her gaze goes from Robin to Steve, "I didn't want to pry or seem pushy. I figured you'd tell us when you were ready."

Robin frowns but doesn't say anything else, disappearing back into the RV. Gareth gestures for Steve and Nancy to go first, and then he's closing and locking the door behind him before heading to sit by Eddie along the back bench seat. A bunch of shit has been piled there, so Gareth shoves it off the seat and to the floor. The pile of things ends up being a hazard and he almost brains himself while turning to sit down; something under his foot slides and Eddie saves him, yanking him to fall onto Eddie. After some fussing and laughter from those around, Gareth gets seated and looks down to see what almost killed him.

It's a phone book.

Eddie leans in close once they're back on the road to town to whisper, "so, you just let me go on all those rants about King Steve and never once thought to tell me you were related?"

Gareth just gives him his best impression of a King Steve smirk and says, "I would have hate to have deterred you from talking about your favorite school subject."

It's worth seeing the scandalized look on Eddie's face, even as the man socks him in the leg for the comment. "I hate you, man."

Gareth rubs his leg and says, "you don't mean that."

There's a long silence from Eddie after that before he says, "you're right. I don't mean that. And. Uh. In case I don't- in case it goes south down there but ends up fine up here, I just-"

"No," Gareth growls. "Fuck you, Eddie. We're going to be fine. All you gotta do is shred on your guitar and get the hell out. You're going to be fine."

"You didn't see the bats."

"Eddie."

"Fine. It's gonna be fine," Eddie agrees and falls silent.

Gareth frowns at that. Eddie must really be worried, to not argue back like he usually does. Gareth's worried, too, but what can he do?

He thinks about his mom. When did he last tell her he loves her? If they don't succeed tonight, will he get a chance to say it again? Will anyone get a chance to say it again?

Gareth looks down at the phone book at his feet.

"Wait, does anyone have change for a payphone?" Gareth asks from somewhere behind him. Steve turns in his seat to look into the back of the RV.

"Uh, yeah," Robin digs into her pockets, but then narrows her eyes at Gareth and asks, "wait. Who are you calling?"

"I have to let my mom know I'm alive. Just... hear my voice," Gareth says. "She needs to know I'm okay. It's already been too long since last we talked and... after Chrissy she was..."

Robin's face drops into the guiltiest look Steve's ever seen on her face and she produces her wallet, dropping the whole thing into Gareth's open hand. "Yeah, no. Sorry. There's still plenty of time for a phone call before the end of the world. You better return my wallet, Cunningham."

"I'm not going to rob you, Buckley," Gareth says before ducking out the RV with Max, Lucas, and Erica.

Steve tries not to let the guilt well up in him as they drive away. Gareth had wanted to come with Team Kill Vecna but Steve had quickly argued against that. He wasn't going to let Gareth anywhere near the Upside Down.

So it was decided. Max, Lucas, Erica, and Gareth at the Creel house, Dustin and Eddie on distraction, and Nancy, Robin, and Steve were going to face down Vecna.

There was still hours to go before they'd try, with a time set for 9:20ish, since that's the time Vecna's been enacting his curse according to Eddie's broken watch. Plenty of time to fortify Eddie's house in the Upside Down, plus the almost 40 minute walk to the Creel house from Forest Hills.

This was going to work. It had to.

Max and Lucas opt for hiding around the back of the house, waiting for time to pass until it's closer to dark, and Erica said she was going to snoop around the abandoned playground, so Gareth decided to head to the payphone a couple of blocks down the street.

He makes it halfway there before Erica scares the shit out of him by saying, "why do you need a phone book?"

Gareth yelps and spins, stupidly trying to hid the book behind his back even though he knows she already saw it. "I- uh, no. No reason."

Erica eyes him and he's suddenly very aware of whatever Eddie saw in her that night at Hellfire, that let her join the club. She's pretty scary for a middle schooler. "Do I look stupid? Who are you calling." It's not a question. It's a demand.

"I'm going to try and get a hold of Eddie's uncle," Gareth answers, trying to sound like an authority figure. "Tell him he'll find Eddie at his home at eight tonight. I know you all are so used to not telling people but this is- we need a real adult and Wayne's an army vet. He'll know how to help. He'll want to help."

She purses her lips, stays quiet for a moment before she nods. "I'm usually surrounded by stupid people, but you're kind of not one. I've got more change if you need it."

Gareth calls the plant and asks to speak to Wayne Munson. It's a bit of back and forth before the secretary agrees, but only if Wayne agrees to speak to a Gareth Cunningham. The plant must be getting calls from angry locals.

"Are ya really Gareth, or are ya just wantin' ta yell at me for helpin' raise the devil incarnate?" Wayne sounds tired and Gareth feels bad for him.

"Eddie would love for you to call him that to his face when you see him again."

"Thank God, son," Wayne sounds relieved. He must recognize Gareth's voice. "Ya okay? No one's harrassin' ya, are they?"

"No. Listen Wayne, I'm going to say something crazy but please just listen and do your best to be casual. I know where Eddie is. Or, where he will be at eight tonight. He's.... not physically hurt but he's going to need you. He might hate me for telling you this but I had to."

There is a pause where all he hears through the phone is a long inhale followed by a slow exhale. "Mmm hmm. I appreciate yer concern and glad ta hear no one's botherin' ya just for knowin' Eddie."

Gareth is only confused for a moment before he realizes Wayne is trying to make this conversation sound routine from his end. "Just. He's going home. But please don't show up until after eight. If you... if you beat him home he might run. Try to keep you out of this, y'know?" Gareth is just lying now, but he's a teenage boy in a garage band that plays in a dingy bar at the edge of town. That is to say, he knows how to lie off the cuff.

"I read ya loud and clear. I'll let ya know as soon as Eddie's been found safe so ya can quit worryin'. I gotta get back to it, but thanks for reachin' out."

Gareth hangs up and looks to Erica. "Well. Let's hope I haven't ruined everything."

"Let's hope that you know Wayne as well as you think you do."

#steve‚ gareth‚ and chrissy are cousins au #my fic #everyone is like “wE cAnT tElL aNyOnE wHaT wE aRe DoInG” and gareth is like “i think u are all stupid and also i havent signed an nda and #i know what my best friend looks like when he needs support and since yall wont let ME go with to kill vecna for revenge for chrissy #(thanks no thanks STEVE) im going to sick eddie's uncle on you" and i think that's very smart of him #gareth has zero issues asking for help when he thinks everyone he loves could DIE

260 notes · View notes

aebeism · 24 days

Text

01. flowers and rings — bada lee

see more about the series.

previous | next

synopsis : after a long day out with her lover, bada and haneul – her girlfriend – stop upon a flower shop that sells haneul's favorite flower, even though the two girls seem to be deeply in love, the wheel of fate has turned.

warning : haneul is an oc (original character) and is not based upon a real person ; lowercase intended.

'it's dark under the lamp' is a saying bada truly believes in, about how people tend to overlook what's right in front of them until it's gone. they acquire a loss, and finally start valuing something or someone they had, which allows regret to settle in their chests for only god knows how long. quite sad, right? it's true that most people will not value what they have until it's gone, and bada has definitely had her share of it.

the regrets from all her past experiences are exactly what keeps bada's attention from drifting too far away from her girlfriend's stories, her mind trying to remain focused on the endless chatting and her high pitched voice as they walk back home from an afternoon at the movies. even when bada's head is erupting with headaches after a full morning of stressful work, she still makes time for the girl she loves. even if she's in pain, for now, she can still softly chuckle at haneul.

"i honestly don't get why he was in the movie" haneul says, sounding indignant. "imagine being on screen for, like, a few miserable seconds, dying in some pointless scene and making everyone mad for no reason!"

"yeah, i definitely wouldn't want to be in his shoes. he's probably hated by many" bada’s voice is warm, even though she briefly squeezes her eyes shut at the pain throbbing in her head. the short action isn't unnoticed by haneul as she senses bada's discomfort, the shorter girl knows that bada has been working late, trying to make sure everything goes smoothly for the wedding that the taller girl is planning. a soft sigh leaves haneul's mouth as she smiles at bada, she couldn't be more appreciative of how her girlfriend is still listening to her, it must have been hard for bada to deal with everything all at once with such a short amount of time.

"you need some rest, hm? today was really . ." haneul's voice slowly trails off, her eyes meeting a small flower shop as she spots the view right behind bada. "oh, hydrangeas! those are so pretty, bada, look!"

bada turns her body slowly, making sure she won't get dizzy and fall from how painful her head is feeling. she closes her eyes, temporarily trying to shut down the headache, though the pain seems to quickly disappear when the flower shop's display of blooms meet her eyes. “oh, they’re actually so nice” bada mumbles, agreeing with her girlfriend's words, her voice soft and tender as she scans the flower arrangements, the blush pink-colored facade . . it's quite colorful, but not in a way that would hurt her eyes, quite the opposite, it's pleasing to the eyes with how the shop owner chose to place a soft color pallette outside for everyone to see. it's quite impressive for a small shop, bada has to admit.

though all those thoughts quickly go away as bada turns to her lover. a smile spreading across her face when she sees the glint in haneul's eyes. placing a hand on top of her lover's head as bada pats her hair tenderly. "hydrangeas. you love them, don't you?" she askd, her voice ever so soft and tender when she looks at the shorter girl. haneul quickly nods at that, and bada gently takes her hand. "i'll get you some, love."

"bada, what? you've already done so much for me today, and that place looks expensive." haneul quickly says, her brows furrowing with dismay as she dismisses bada's words.

"you know these things don't matter to me" the taller girl answers. "i'll pay whatever it takes to see you happy and to be remembered fondly by the girl i love." bada lightly squeezes the hand in hers, bringing it up to her lips as she leaves a soft kiss on top of haneul's hand.

the shorter girl's cheeks blush brightly at bada's action as her chest is filled with warmth. having no other choice than to accept bada's gift, the two quickly cross the empty street, the flickering light stabilizes as they approach the façade; the wooden-framed windows are large, the doors tall, and the classic scent of fresh flowers hits them as soon as bada pushes it open. it's warm inside, and haneul's face is priceless as she sees her favorite flowers up close, looking so carefully arranged, as if they've been well cared for since their sowing. the blue of the petals stands out from all the other flowers as haneul walks faster to look at them.

the lights hurt bada's eyes a bit as she stops in front of the counter, scanning the store and the intricately ornamented ceiling, the well-adorned shelves, all the soft colors matching each other. it takes her a while to look in your direction.

"those look so nice" bada tells her girlfriend, her chin slightly point upward towards the upper shelf. "the bride that i'm working with wants anemones like those ones."

you catch only half of her words, then look up with a beaming smile. "hi, how can i help you? you want anemones for your wedding?"

"oh, no" bada mumbles, her head quickly moves to face your direction as your eyes meet. her face displays a smile even though bada feels like her head is being stabbed with a knife, a sharp pain spreads throughout her head as she answers your question. "no, i'd like to get my girlfriend one of those bouquets. please."

she points behind herself at the display in front of the windows, and your mind takes a little while to process her words. you don't quite understand what has gone over you, but you just stare at her with a blank look — her two-toned hair is quite striking, and she looks like a gentle girlfriend despite her tall and remarkable figure being slightly intimidating to all strangers. you just stand there, dumb-struck as you admire her beauty and tenderness. "a hydrangea bouquet" bada said again, her voice now expressing that she's in hurry as she furrows her brow, a bit dismayed at your slow reaction, or maybe a bit worried about how you're not responding to her words.

you blink your eyes, taking a deep breath as you move your eyes away from her form. "right, sorry. i'll get you one" you say, moving from your position to get what she asked for.

bada sighs, her right hand lifting up to massage the spot in between her eyebrows. her attention shifts back onto her girlfriend as she smiles softly at the shorter girl. the whole action doesn't go unnoticed by you as you look up at the cctv on your laptop.

the shorter girl walks back to her girlfriend's side, noticing that the taller girl is in pain. "are you sure you're good? we really gotta go home . ." she asks in a hushed tone, concern spreads over her face as she stands on her toes to massage bada's head.

"mhm, it's okay, don't worry" bada whispers and pulls haneul closer, placing a kiss on her forehead. you look away quickly, focusing on getting them your best-looking bouquet, and all of a sudden you feel bitterness arise from the bottom of your chest.

life must be cruel, how many more couples will come into your shop and display all this lovey dovey act just to rub it in your face?

“is that all?” you ask the two girls, showing them the arrangement as you wait for their approval. awkwardness arises in the air as you look at the taller girl, her brows furrow, her hands quickly examine the flowers delicately as she studies it with a serious look on her face. you can feel yourself taking a deep breath as you quickly shift your attention to the other girl, prefering to look at her girlfriend instead.

you watch as bada hands the flower bouquet to her girlfriend, the shorter girl takes it into her hands carefully as her face displays a bright smile, and it seems like bada's expression quickly turns into a satisfied one as she smiles tenderly at her girlfriend's reaction.

“yes, thank you. they’re beautiful” the taller girl looks back at you, her face still keeping that soft smile as she nods. when bada finishes paying, she speaks softly to her girlfriend as they exit your shop. the warm weather welcomes them again, and the streets are peaceful even though haneul's yapping is worth about ten people, and even though the day is soon to be over chronologically, that’s officially when life starts moving to get you screwed.

series taglist (OPEN) : please ask to be add / remove.

#— aebeism !#— flowers & rings !#bada lee #bada x reader #bada lee x reader #swf2 x reader #street woman fighter 2 x reader

46 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Note

I love how your anons think of different scenarios about the characters they like. Like how the brain is brain-ing. I enjoy reading your stories, they give me peace even if the self-insert pov is experiencing toxicity. There must be something wrong with me. Anyways,

Darling just running up to Scaramouche, no words and just slams herself into him. She’s mad and she’s giving him a hug (cause she knows the consequences once she does something he doesn’t like), a crushing bear hug (the one that kinda hurts normal people) and he’s just.. flushing hot red like a mad man that he is.

3< this a heart btw.

I LOVE IT TOO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it's like those old internet drawing boards (or maybe they still exist ??) where people would build art off one another's work. but like without any hate symbols. i think it's super cool. and i don't think there's anything wrong with enjoying horror, although that's a subject i've always been interested in... ahem. i'll save that for another time.

running hugs are a god tier trope. never gets old. i'm obsessed.

scara would go from bracing himself to pure confusion. his internal mechanisms are shutting down in real time. his brain becomes goop. all forms of intelligent thought are gone, off into the void, where they'll stay until you're not squeezing him. are hugs supposed to be this tight? he doesn't have much experience in the field (that is to say, none), so he can't make up his mind. he gets the sense that this is an act of violence, but... wow. you're soft. so, so soft. and you smell heavenly, like a home he never thought he'd have. he moves his heavy limbs as if he were a windup doll on its last cycle, securing you against him, where you belong.

he knows he should punish you for any attempted harm on his person, successful or otherwise, yet he can't. this is just too cute. your nose is scrunched up in concentration and he can feel your muscles straining to inflict any level of damage. you're trying so hard. if his pride wasn't such an obstinate obstacle, he'd chuckle freely, maybe twirl you around to hear you yelp.

... that desire isn't ever going to cross into reality, but, nonetheless, he lets you carry out your unsuccessful mission. once the moment has concluded, a little indignation stirs up in him. he'll satisfy it by urging you to "try harder" the next time you want to inflict any damage, because if this was your best attempt, it wasn't very impressive. he rather liked it.

#succession brainrot kicked in when i saw the phrase bear hug. somebody help me #yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche brainrot #answered #Anonymous

273 notes · View notes

muiitoloko · 9 days

Text

The Art of Parenting

Summary: Art dealer Lionel Shahbandar’s comfortable life is disrupted when his past catches up with him in the form of a daughter, leading to an uncomfortable journey into parenthood.

Pairing: Lionel Shahbandar & Daughter! Reader

Warnings: Emotional Distress, Parental Abandonment, Alcohol Use, Child Neglect, Angst.

Author's Notes: I've been working on this for a while, and it feels so good to finally share it with everyone. I hope you all enjoy it!

Also read on Ao3

Lionel Shahbandar, lounging in his opulent mansion adorned with priceless art and luxurious furnishings, was in the final stages of preparing for another day of wheeling and dealing in the art world. The persistent ringing of the doorbell shattered the calm, causing Lionel to sigh irritably. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he tossed aside the newspaper he’d been perusing and sauntered towards the door, his demeanor exuding a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

Opening the grand door with a flourish, Lionel found himself face to face with a stunning blonde woman. Her icy blue eyes glinted with a mix of determination and impatience, her lips set in a firm line. The child by her side, a girl of about five, clung to her hand, her wide eyes darting around the lavish surroundings.

Lionel's lips curled into a slow, appreciative smile, his baritone voice dropping into a purr as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “Well, hello there, pretty thing,” he drawled, his eyes flicking over her with a practiced ease.

The woman’s response was immediate and dismissive. She rolled her eyes with a derisive snort and pushed past him, the child in tow. “Get out of my way, Lionel,” she snapped, striding into the foyer as if she owned the place.

Taken aback by her audacity, Lionel straightened, his expression shifting to one of indignation. “Excuse me, who the hell are you?” he demanded, his gaze narrowing as he followed her into the mansion.

The woman spun around, fixing him with a glare that could cut glass. “Have you already forgotten me?” she retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Typical. I shouldn’t be surprised, given your penchant for one-night stands.”

Lionel’s eyes widened in shock, his mind racing as he scrutinized her more closely. Her face, now framed by high cheekbones and plumped lips, bore the unmistakable signs of plastic surgery. But it was the exaggerated curves, particularly her large, unnatural breasts, that triggered a spark of recognition.

“Oh my God,” Lionel muttered, his voice laced with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “I know who you are.”

The woman crossed her arms over her chest, arching an eyebrow as a smirk played on her lips. “Surprise,” she said dryly, her gaze challenging him to put the pieces together.

Lionel’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a moment, his mind reeling. “Valerie?” he finally managed, his voice a mix of astonishment and incredulity. “What happened to you? And why are you here?”

Valerie’s eyes flashed with a mix of irritation and a hint of satisfaction. “Oh, don’t act so shocked,” she replied, her tone cool and edged with bitterness. “It’s been years, Lionel. You think you can just have your fun and then forget all about the women you leave in your wake?”

Lionel’s brows furrowed as he struggled to process the whirlwind of emotions and memories flooding back. “What do you want, Valerie?” he asked, his voice losing its earlier confidence, replaced by a wary edge.

Valerie’s glare hardened as she reached into her bag, pulling out a smaller, well-worn backpack. She tossed it at Lionel’s feet with a sneer. “Here. Take care of your daughter.”

Lionel’s eyes followed the bag, then snapped up to the child standing beside Valerie. He chuckled derisively, shaking his head as if to clear some fog of misunderstanding. “My daughter? No, no, there must be some mistake. I don’t have children.”

Valerie rolled her eyes, her patience visibly fraying. “Her name is [Your Name],” she said coldly, pointing to the little girl, who looked up at Lionel with wide, innocent eyes. “And she’s our daughter. You didn’t even remember my face, let alone anything about our past.”

Lionel’s confident façade cracked, his features contorting into a mixture of disbelief and irritation. “You’re joking,” he said, a forced laugh escaping him. “This is some kind of sick prank, right? There’s no way—”

Valerie cut him off with a dismissive wave. “Oh, grow up, Lionel! She’s four. You do the math. We had a thing, and then you vanished, as usual.”

Lionel’s brow furrowed deeply, his baritone voice hardening with a defensive edge. “I don’t do children, Valerie. Never wanted them, never will. So whatever game you’re playing, take it somewhere else.”

Valerie’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a cold smile. “Too bad, Lionel. I’ve been taking care of [Your Name] for four years, and now it’s your turn. I need a break, and my new boyfriend and I are traveling for a month. You’re going to step up for once in your life.”

Lionel’s gaze flicked between Valerie and the little girl, his annoyance morphing into outright defiance. “Absolutely not. You can’t just dump her on me like this. Take her with you.”

Valerie’s expression hardened into one of steely resolve. “Watch me.” She leaned down to you, her voice softening slightly but tinged with impatience. “Stay with Daddy, okay? I’ll be back in a month.”

You nodded hesitantly, clutching the blanket in your hand like a lifeline. Valerie just smiled, a cold, almost triumphant look in her eyes as she turned on her heel to leave. Lionel’s expression shifted from disbelief to panic as he reached out, his voice rising in desperation.

“Valerie, wait! You can’t just leave her here!” he called after her, stepping forward to block her path.

Valerie paused, her expression hardening as she met his gaze with a steely resolve. “I’m coming back in a month, Lionel,” she stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ll manage.”

Lionel’s face contorted with frustration. “I don’t know the first thing about taking care of children!” he protested, his baritone voice echoing through the grand foyer.

Valerie rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. “It’s easy,” she replied dismissively. “Feed her, bathe her. It’s like taking care of a dog. Besides, she’s easy to take care of. She doesn’t talk much.”

Lionel’s eyes flicked down to you, standing there quietly, your eyes wide and uncertain. The reality of the situation began to settle in, and he felt a wave of resentment rise within him. “Valerie, this is ridiculous. I can’t—”

But Valerie was already walking away, her heels clicking decisively against the marble floor. “See you in a month, Lionel,” she called over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around. “Good luck.”

The door closed behind her with a resolute thud, leaving Lionel standing there, staring after her in stunned silence. He looked down at you, his face a mask of irritation and confusion. You hugged your blanket tighter, feeling the weight of his gaze.

Lionel sighed heavily, running a hand through his meticulously styled hair. “Well, this is just perfect,” he muttered to himself, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “A child. Just what I needed.”

He turned away, gesturing for you to follow him. “Come on, then. Let’s figure out what to do with you,” he said, his voice lacking any warmth or enthusiasm. You followed him through the opulent mansion, your small footsteps echoing in the vast, marble hallways.

Lionel led you to a large sitting room, filled with priceless art and luxurious furnishings. He motioned for you to sit on one of the plush sofas, watching you with a mixture of annoyance and resignation. “So, what do you need? Food? Bath? What do kids even do at this hour?”

You remained silent, your eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings. Lionel sighed again, a deep, weary sound. “Right. You don’t talk much. Wonderful.”

He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of scotch, pouring himself a generous glass. “Guess we’ll just have to figure this out together, won’t we?” he said, taking a long sip of his drink. He looked at you over the rim of his glass, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You’re not going to cause trouble, are you?”

You shook your head slowly, still clutching your blanket. Lionel seemed to relax slightly, though his irritation was still evident. “Good. Because the last thing I need is a child running around causing chaos.”

He sank into a chair opposite you, his posture exuding a mix of resignation and defiance. “Alright, here’s the deal,” he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “I’m not cut out for this whole parenting thing. But for the next month, you’ll be staying here. I’ll do my best to take care of you, but don’t expect me to be your father. Understood?”

You nodded again, your wide eyes never leaving his face. Lionel downed the rest of his drink, the liquid burning its way down his throat. “Great,” he muttered, setting the glass down with a thud. “This should be interesting.”

The two of you sat in silence, the weight of the situation settling over both of you like a heavy, oppressive cloud. Despite his outward bravado, Lionel couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. Taking care of a child was a responsibility he had never wanted, much less expected to be thrust upon him so abruptly.

Lionel set the glass down with a clink, the sound sharp against the quiet backdrop of his opulent sitting room. He leaned forward, his hooked nose casting a long shadow across his face in the dim light.

“Listen carefully,” he said, his baritone voice carrying a note of cold detachment. “There are going to be some ground rules while you’re here. Rule number one: You don’t call me ‘father.’ I’m not your father, and I don’t want to be. You’re only here for a month, and after that, I don’t want to know you. Got it?”

You nodded slowly, squeezing your blanket tighter against your chest, the softness a small comfort in this unfamiliar, intimidating place. Lionel’s eyes flicked to your hands clutching the blanket, his expression a mix of irritation and something close to disdain.

“Rule number two,” he continued, his tone growing firmer. “Don’t touch my things. This house is filled with valuable items, and I don’t need a child ruining them. Stay out of my way, and don’t go messing with anything you shouldn’t.”

You nodded again, your eyes wide and unblinking. The opulence of the room—the ornate vases, the priceless paintings—felt like a world entirely separate from your own, and the thought of disturbing anything filled you with a deep, abiding dread.

Lionel leaned back in his chair, studying you with a cold, calculating gaze. “And rule number three,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “When you grow up, don’t ever come looking for me. I don’t want children. I don’t want heirs. I’m not your father, and I’ll never be. If you ever try to contact me, I won’t help you. There will be no inheritance, no support. You mean nothing to me. Understood?”

You felt a tight knot forming in your chest, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a physical force. You nodded once more, the movement slow and deliberate, your small frame trembling slightly under the intensity of his gaze.

Lionel’s expression softened slightly, though not with kindness—more a resigned acceptance of the situation. “Good,” he muttered, standing up and straightening his expensive suit jacket. “Now that we’ve got that clear, we can get through this month without any trouble.”

He turned away, leaving you sitting there on the plush sofa, the grandeur of the mansion around you feeling cold and unwelcoming. As he walked towards the door, Lionel paused, glancing back at you with a mixture of annoyance and mild curiosity.

“Do you even talk?” he asked, his voice tinged with irritation.

You shook your head slowly, your eyes still wide with a mix of fear and uncertainty. Lionel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Figures,” he muttered under his breath, before turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

The heavy door closed behind him with a resounding thud, leaving you alone in the vast, opulent sitting room. The silence was almost suffocating, broken only by the faint ticking of a nearby antique clock. You hugged your blanket tighter, your small body curling into the plush cushions of the sofa as you tried to process the harsh reality of your situation.

Lionel’s words echoed in your mind, their cold finality making it clear that you were nothing more than an unwelcome guest in his world. Despite the grandeur and luxury of your surroundings, the house felt more like a gilded cage, the ornate furnishings and priceless art a stark contrast to the cold indifference of the man who owned them.

As the minutes ticked by, you remained seated on the sofa, your wide eyes taking in the room around you, each luxurious detail a reminder of the vast gulf between you and Lionel. The blanket in your hands, worn and familiar, was the only comfort in this strange, unwelcoming place.

Despite the opulence and grandeur of Lionel Shahbandar’s mansion, the weight of his rules hung heavily in the air, casting a shadow over the lavish surroundings. You had a month to endure, a month of navigating the cold detachment of a man who wanted nothing to do with you. And as the reality of your new life settled in, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were completely, utterly alone in a world that seemed designed to keep you at a distance.

Lionel Shahbandar stood in his opulent office, the room a testament to his vast wealth and refined tastes. Antique furniture, priceless artwork, and a grand mahogany desk filled the space, but Lionel’s mind was too occupied to appreciate any of it. He was pacing, his phone pressed to his ear, his expression a mix of irritation and frustration.

“Pick up, Elizabeth,” he muttered under his breath, his baritone voice carrying a note of urgency. As the phone rang for the third time, he finally heard the familiar click of the line connecting.

“Good afternoon, Lionel,” came the voice on the other end, dripping with its usual blend of cheeky confidence. Elizabeth James, his personal assistant, never missed an opportunity to inject a bit of sass into their conversations. “What can I do for you this fine day? Need me to schedule another ‘business meeting’ at the Savoy?”

Lionel rolled his eyes, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Cut the sarcasm, Elizabeth,” he replied, his tone brusque. “I need you to find me a nanny.”

There was a brief pause, followed by a sharp intake of breath and a barely stifled laugh. “A nanny?” Elizabeth repeated, her voice brimming with incredulity. “Don’t tell me this is another one of your bizarre fetishes, Lionel.”

“No, it’s not a fetish!” Lionel snapped, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “I just found out I have a daughter. Her mother—an old fling—dumped her on my doorstep this morning and left, saying she’d be gone for a month. I need someone to look after the child.”

Elizabeth’s laughter faded, replaced by a tone of unsurprised amusement. “Well, well. I always suspected you’d have a few kids scattered around with the number of affairs you’ve had. I’m just shocked one finally showed up on your doorstep. Only took how many years?”

Lionel’s jaw tightened as he stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “I don’t want to discuss my past, Elizabeth. Just find a nanny. I don’t have time to deal with a child’s… nuisances.”

Elizabeth’s tone turned serious, carrying a hint of reproach. “Lionel, that’s your daughter you’re talking about. Show a little decency. It’s not her fault you were too busy bedding half of Europe to notice you had a kid.”

Lionel let out a sigh, his frustration evident. “I know, I know. But I’m not equipped for this. I need someone to take care of her properly. And make it quick.”

There was a rustling on the other end of the line, likely Elizabeth rifling through her files or pulling up her computer. “Finding a good nanny isn’t like ordering a new suit, Lionel,” she said with a touch of exasperation. “It’s going to take some time, especially one you won’t try to seduce the minute she walks through the door.”

Lionel’s scoff was audible, his expression twisting into a mix of defensiveness and reluctant acknowledgment. “Oh, please, Elizabeth. As if I can’t control myself.”

Elizabeth’s laugh was a sharp, knowing sound. “When it comes to women, Lionel, you’re about as restrained as a lion in a butcher shop. Remember the French maid incident?”

Lionel’s cheeks flushed slightly, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his features. “I never laid a hand on her,” he protested, his tone indignant. “Besides, she was—”

“Only because she slapped you before you could try anything,” Elizabeth interrupted, her voice cutting through his excuses. “And let’s not forget, I’ve been your assistant for longer than any other woman who’s worked for you.”

Lionel sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of resigned frustration. “Yes, and I’ve never tried anything with you.”

“Because I never let you,” Elizabeth countered smoothly. “That’s why I’ve lasted this long. Now, I’ll get started on finding a nanny, but it might take a few days. Meanwhile, try not to scare off your daughter. She’s probably terrified enough as it is.”

Lionel’s expression softened slightly, a rare note of vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Thanks, Elizabeth. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” she replied, her tone softening in kind. “Just remember, Lionel, this is your chance to be more than just an art-collecting Casanova. Try to make the most of it.”

As the call ended, Lionel sank into the leather chair behind his desk, the weight of the situation settling over him like a heavy cloak. His eyes drifted to a small photo on his desk—a rare personal touch in his otherwise meticulously curated office. It was a picture of him and his late mother, taken when he was a boy. Her warm, kind eyes looked out from the frame, a stark contrast to the cold indifference he had shown his own daughter just moments ago.

With a heavy sigh, Lionel leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ornate ceiling. He had always prided himself on his ability to navigate the complexities of the art world with ease, but this—this was an entirely different challenge. A challenge that required more than charm and a keen eye for detail. It required a heart he wasn’t sure he had.

For now, all he could do was wait for Elizabeth to find a suitable nanny. And try, in his own awkward, imperfect way, to bridge the chasm that separated him from the small, silent child who had suddenly become a part of his life.

Lionel, already feeling the weight of his newfound responsibility pressing down on him, decided there was no point in delaying the inevitable. After all, the best way to handle an uncomfortable situation was to dive in headfirst. He stood up, brushing invisible lint from his finely tailored suit, and made his way over to where you sat quietly on the plush sofa.

“Alright,” Lionel said, his baritone voice attempting a semblance of authority. He hesitated for a moment before awkwardly bending down to pick you up. You clutched your blanket tighter, your wide eyes staring up at him with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

As he hoisted you into his arms, Lionel couldn’t help but notice how light you were, how small. It was a foreign sensation, having a child in his care, and he navigated the experience with the grace of a bull in a china shop. He carried you out of the sitting room, down the grand hallway adorned with priceless art, and out to the front entrance where his sleek black Mercedes was parked.

With a mixture of impatience and determination, Lionel strapped you into the backseat, fumbling slightly with the seatbelt. “There we go,” he muttered under his breath, stepping back to admire his handiwork with a small, self-satisfied nod. “Safe and sound.”

Lionel climbed into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He pulled out his phone, shooting a quick text to Elizabeth as he started the engine: “Taking the kid to the office. Have a nanny ready.”

The drive to his company was tense, the silence only broken by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional honk from the bustling London streets. Lionel glanced at you through the rearview mirror, your small figure looking even more out of place against the backdrop of his luxurious car.

When they arrived at the company, Lionel parked and quickly made his way around to your side, unbuckling you with a brisk efficiency. “Come on,” he said, grabbing your hand abruptly. You stumbled slightly as he pulled you along, your small feet struggling to keep up with his hurried pace.

As they entered the grand foyer of his company, Lionel’s presence immediately drew attention. Employees exchanged curious glances, whispering behind their hands as they saw their normally composed boss striding in with a child in tow. Lionel ignored the stares, his jaw set with a mix of annoyance and resolve as he marched you to the elevator.

Inside the elevator, the silence was thick, punctuated only by the soft ding of the floors passing by. Lionel glanced down at you, your small hand still clutching the blanket as if it were a lifeline. He sighed, the weight of his decision settling heavily on his shoulders.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the pristine floor of Lionel’s office. Elizabeth James, his ever-efficient personal assistant, was already waiting for them, her clipboard in hand. She greeted Lionel with her usual cheeky grin, but as soon as she saw you, her expression softened, and she quickly moved to your level, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Oh my God!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her tone a mix of delight and disbelief. “How could Lionel have produced something so beautiful?”

Lionel’s brows furrowed as he shot her a puzzled glance. “What’s that supposed to mean, Elizabeth?” he demanded, his voice carrying a note of defensive irritation. “Am I not capable of producing something beautiful?”

Elizabeth didn’t miss a beat. She looked Lionel up and down, her eyes twinkling with playful mischief. “Well, given your track record, Lionel, I’d say it’s a bit surprising,” she quipped. Before Lionel could retort, Elizabeth cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Yes, yes, you’re going to cut my salary. I’ve heard it all before.”

Ignoring Lionel’s growing annoyance, Elizabeth turned her attention back to you, her gaze softening as she knelt down to your level. “Hi there, sweetie,” she said gently, her tone warm and inviting. “Are you hungry?”

You nodded, your small hand clutching your blanket tighter as you stared up at her with wide, innocent eyes. Elizabeth’s smile widened, her heart clearly melting at your shy demeanor. “Let’s get you something to eat, then,” she said, scooping you up into her arms with an ease that contrasted sharply with Lionel’s earlier awkwardness.

As she carried you down the hallway, Elizabeth continued her gentle questioning. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You remained silent, your fingers playing nervously with the edge of your blanket. Lionel, trailing slightly behind, answered for you, his tone laced with a mix of irritation and resignation. “Her name is [Your Name],” he said, his voice carrying a hint of defensiveness. “She doesn’t talk much. Her mother said she doesn’t speak, and I haven’t heard a word from her all morning.”

Elizabeth nodded, her gaze flicking between you and Lionel with a mixture of understanding and concern. “How old are you?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine curiosity and care.

You lifted your hand, showing her four little fingers, your eyes still wide with a mix of fear and uncertainty. Elizabeth’s expression softened even more, her heart clearly going out to you as she carried you towards the office kitchen. “Four years old,” she murmured, her tone a blend of amazement and empathy. “You’re a brave little girl, aren’t you?”

Lionel watched them go, a strange, unfamiliar tightness gripping his chest. For all his bravado and confidence, he felt woefully out of his depth. The reality of caring for a child, of being thrust into a role he had never wanted, was sinking in, and it was a far cry from the world of art deals and luxurious living he was accustomed to.

As he followed Elizabeth and you to the kitchen, Lionel couldn’t shake the feeling that his life had taken a sudden, unexpected turn. And as much as he resisted the idea, he couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, this was the beginning of something he was entirely unprepared for.

Elizabeth sat you down in the company’s cafeteria, placing you gently in a high-backed chair with an upholstered cushion. Lionel, still visibly irritated but more composed, took the seat beside you. As you settled in, clutching your blanket tightly, Elizabeth glanced at Lionel with a teasing smirk.

“Fancy a sandwich too, Lionel?” she asked, her tone light and knowing.

Lionel gave a reluctant nod, his usual confidence momentarily overshadowed by the situation. “Yes, I suppose I could use something to eat,” he muttered, running a hand through his meticulously styled hair.

Elizabeth quickly prepared two sandwiches, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. She handed one to you, her eyes warm with sympathy, and placed the other in front of Lionel, her expression a mixture of amusement and curiosity as she observed you both.

You and Lionel, seemingly unaware of each other’s actions, simultaneously began to peel the crust off your sandwiches. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. She found it fascinating that you, despite having never been raised by Lionel, shared his peculiar mannerisms.

As you nibbled on the crustless sandwich, Elizabeth couldn’t resist commenting. “You know, Lionel, it’s quite amusing watching the two of you. Like father, like daughter,” she said, her voice tinged with gentle irony.

Lionel glanced at you, then back at Elizabeth, a faint frown creasing his forehead. “I don’t see what’s so amusing,” he retorted, though a flicker of curiosity crossed his features. “She’s just eating a sandwich.”

Elizabeth chuckled softly, shaking her head. “It’s more than that, Lionel. You both have the same little quirks. It’s fascinating, really.”

Lionel’s eyes narrowed as he considered Elizabeth’s words, a mixture of annoyance and grudging acknowledgment in his gaze. He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s a coincidence,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “She hasn’t been around me long enough to pick up on my habits.”

Elizabeth leaned against the counter, her expression turning serious as she regarded Lionel. “Speaking of habits,” she said, her tone softening, “have you ever taken care of a child before, Lionel?”

Lionel scoffed, his expression hardening. “Of course not,” he replied with a dismissive wave. “I’ve never had any reason to. I’m not exactly the nurturing type.”

Elizabeth’s gaze sharpened, a hint of reproach in her eyes. “Well, it’s not something you can just order from a menu. It takes patience, understanding, and a bit of humility.”

Lionel’s jaw tightened, his irritation resurfacing. “I don’t need a lecture, Elizabeth,” he snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite. “Just make sure she’s taken care of while I get back to work.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of amusement and challenge. “Oh, so now I’m a nanny too?” she asked, her tone laced with playful sarcasm. “I’ll need a raise for this, you know.”

Lionel rolled his eyes, his irritation evident. “Fine, whatever it takes,” he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. “Just make sure she doesn’t get into trouble.”

Elizabeth’s smile softened, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before she nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on her, Lionel. But remember, she’s not a problem to be managed. She’s a child, and she needs more than just supervision.”

Lionel’s expression flickered, a mixture of frustration and something softer, more uncertain, crossing his features. He stood up, straightening his suit jacket with a sharp tug. “I have work to do,” he said, his tone brusque. “Let me know if anything… comes up.”

As Lionel walked out of the cafeteria, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room, Elizabeth turned her attention back to you, her expression gentle and reassuring. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said softly, her eyes warm with kindness. “We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

You nodded slowly, the unfamiliar surroundings and the daunting presence of Lionel fading slightly in the face of Elizabeth’s comforting smile. For the first time since arriving at the company, you felt a small flicker of hope, a glimmer of understanding that perhaps, amidst the uncertainty and unfamiliarity, there was someone who truly cared about you.

For the rest of the afternoon, Elizabeth kept a watchful eye on you, her mind abuzz with curiosity and concern. You weren’t like other children she’d encountered. You didn’t wander or explore, but instead, stayed precisely where she left you, quietly perched on the sofa in the company’s waiting room. Your eyes, wide and observant, were fixed on the large screen that displayed an overview of Lionel Shahbandar’s company, complete with images of Lionel in various poses of power and confidence.

The waiting room was a blend of modern elegance and understated luxury, designed to impress visitors with its sleek furnishings and high-tech amenities. The soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional murmur of conversations from passing employees provided a subdued background noise, but you seemed entirely absorbed in the screen, your small hands clutching your blanket with a sort of quiet determination.

Elizabeth observed you for a while, noting how you played with your blanket, twisting and smoothing its fabric in a silent, repetitive rhythm. She finally approached you, her footsteps soft against the polished floor, and crouched down to your level. “Sweetie, do you have any toys with you?” she asked gently, her tone warm and inviting.

You looked up at her, your expression one of mild confusion. Slowly, you pointed to your blanket, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Elizabeth couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking her head. “No, not the blanket, darling. Toys. You know, things to play with.”

You blinked at her, your brows furrowing slightly in puzzlement. Elizabeth realized with a pang of sympathy that you might not have any toys at all. “Do you have any toys at home?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

You hesitated for a moment, then pointed to your blanket again, your small face earnest and serious. Elizabeth’s heart ached at the realization that your blanket was likely the only comfort you had known. Determined to remedy the situation, she straightened up and turned to the receptionist sitting at the sleek, modern desk nearby.

“Jessica,” Elizabeth called out, her voice carrying a note of firm authority. “I need you to go to the nearest toy store and pick up a few toys. Get four different ones—something soft, something educational, something for creativity, and something just for fun.”

Jessica, a young woman with neatly styled hair and a crisp uniform, looked up from her computer, her eyes wide with surprise. “But, Ms. James, I—”

Elizabeth cut her off with a sharp snap of her fingers, her gaze steely. “No buts, Jessica. Unless you’re looking to hand in your resignation, I suggest you move quickly. This is a priority.”

Jessica jumped to her feet, her face flushed with a mixture of apprehension and determination. “Yes, ma’am. Right away,” she stammered, hurrying out of the office with a speed that left no doubt about her urgency.

As Jessica disappeared through the glass doors, Elizabeth turned back to you, her expression softening once more. She sat down beside you on the sofa, her eyes kind and reassuring. “We’re going to get you some nice toys, okay?” she said gently. “Something to make you feel more at home.”

You nodded slowly, your eyes flickering with a hint of curiosity. The idea of having toys seemed almost foreign to you, but Elizabeth’s kindness made you feel a little more at ease.

As they waited, Elizabeth kept you company, her presence a comforting contrast to the overwhelming grandeur of Lionel’s office. She asked you simple questions about your favorite colors and animals, and although you responded mostly with nods and shakes of your head, she seemed genuinely interested in understanding you.

When Jessica finally returned, she was carrying several large shopping bags, her face flushed from the quick trip. Elizabeth took the bags from her with a nod of approval. “Good job, Jessica,” she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “You can go back to your desk now.”

Jessica nodded, looking relieved to escape Elizabeth’s intense scrutiny. As she returned to her post, Elizabeth began to unpack the bags, revealing an assortment of toys that ranged from a plush teddy bear to a colorful set of building blocks. She arranged them carefully on the coffee table in front of you, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of pride and anticipation.

“Here we go,” Elizabeth said, her voice warm and encouraging. “Why don’t you take a look and see if there’s something you like?”

You looked at the toys, your expression a mix of wonder and hesitation. Tentatively, you reached out for the little stuffed lion, your small hands grasping its soft fur with a kind of wary curiosity. Elizabeth watched you with a pleased smile, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “A lion,” she murmured softly, more to herself than to you. “Definitely Lionel’s daughter.”

The lion was plush and comforting, its mane a bright yellow tuft that you found strangely soothing. You clutched it to your chest, your fingers tracing its soft seams, and for the first time since arriving in this strange new world, a tiny, hesitant smile flickered across your lips. Elizabeth’s own smile widened at the sight, a warmth spreading through her as she observed your tentative connection with the toy.

Leaving you to explore your new treasure, Elizabeth moved to the reception desk, where Jessica was already tapping away at her keyboard. “Jessica,” Elizabeth called, her voice carrying a note of authority but tempered with kindness. Jessica looked up, a mixture of apprehension and eagerness on her face.

“How much did you spend on the toys?” Elizabeth asked, pulling her wallet from her bag. Jessica quickly retrieved the receipt, her hands trembling slightly as she handed it over. Elizabeth glanced at the total, her expression thoughtful. She pulled out the exact amount in cash, along with a small bonus, and handed it to Jessica. “Good job,” she said, her tone firm but approving. “You did well. This should cover it.”

Jessica’s eyes widened in surprise and gratitude as she took the money. “Thank you, Ms. James,” she stammered, her voice filled with relief. Elizabeth nodded, her attention already drifting back to where you sat, cradling the stuffed lion.

Meanwhile, you continued to stare in wonder at the toy in your arms, your fingers brushing over its soft mane and down its plush back. The lion felt like a small piece of magic in an otherwise bewildering day, a tiny anchor in the overwhelming sea of opulence and unfamiliar faces.

As you clung to your new stuffed friend, the blanket still wrapped around you like a shield, a sense of calm began to settle over you. The toys spread out before you seemed to promise a world of possibilities, a small sanctuary within the grandeur of Lionel’s office. Elizabeth’s kind presence and the simple, comforting lion gave you a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty, a tiny spark of something resembling security in the daunting expanse of your new surroundings.

At the end of the day, Elizabeth carried you out of the building, her arms securely wrapped around you as she walked beside Lionel toward his sleek black Mercedes. Lionel strolled with an air of indifference, his eyes glued to his cell phone, occasionally glancing up to avoid obstacles but otherwise completely absorbed in his digital world.

As they approached the car, Elizabeth’s expression shifted from mild annoyance to stern determination. She cast a sideways glance at Lionel, who was nonchalantly typing away on his phone. “Lionel,” she began, her voice firm, “you need to take good care of her. She’s not just some inconvenience you can ignore. Take her straight home, give her a bath, and make sure she eats something. She’s been through enough for one day.”

Lionel didn’t even look up from his phone, waving his hand dismissively as if to shoo away an annoying fly. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his tone dismissive. “I’ll handle it. No need to worry, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing in frustration. She reached the car and opened the backseat door, her gaze immediately falling on the conspicuous lack of a child seat. Her eyes widened in shock, her breath catching in her throat. “Lionel, are you out of your mind?” she demanded, her voice rising with incredulity. “There’s no car seat! Did you drive her here without one?”

Lionel finally looked up from his phone, his brows furrowing in genuine confusion. “A car seat? She was fine,” he replied, a touch of irritation creeping into his baritone voice. “What’s the big deal?”

Elizabeth’s face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief. “The big deal is that it’s dangerous and irresponsible!” she snapped, her voice laced with barely contained fury. “Do you want her to get hurt? You can’t just put a child in the backseat without proper safety!”

Lionel rolled his eyes, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. “Alright, alright,” he grumbled, pocketing his phone and moving to inspect the backseat himself. “I’ll get one tomorrow. It’s not like I knew she’d show up today.”

Elizabeth shook her head, her frustration evident as she secured you as best she could in the backseat, her hands gentle but firm. She looked up at Lionel, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and concern. “You’re her father now, Lionel, whether you like it or not. You need to start acting like it. Her safety is your responsibility.”

Lionel sighed, rubbing the bridge of his hooked nose as if to stave off a headache. “Fine, I’ll get the damn car seat,” he muttered, a note of reluctant acknowledgment in his voice. “Now, can we just get going?”

Elizabeth’s expression softened slightly, her eyes lingering on you as she closed the car door carefully. “Take care of her, Lionel,” she said quietly, her tone carrying a note of earnest pleading. “She needs you, even if she doesn’t say it.”

Lionel’s lips curled into a wry, almost self-mocking smile as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’ll do my best,” he replied, though his tone suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced of his own words. He started the car, glancing back at you in the rearview mirror. “Ready to go, kid?”

You nodded silently, your eyes wide and somber, clutching your blanket and the plush lion tightly as the car pulled away from the curb. As the opulent office building receded into the distance, Lionel couldn’t help but feel the weight of Elizabeth’s words pressing down on him, mingling with his own reluctance and uncertainty about the daunting responsibility now thrust upon him.

As they drove through the busy London streets, Lionel’s mind churned with thoughts of the day’s events, the realization slowly sinking in that his life had irrevocably changed. The little girl in the backseat, silent and observant, was now a part of his world, whether he was ready for it or not. And for the first time in a long while, Lionel Shahbandar, the confident, womanizing art tycoon, felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—a sense of duty, tinged with a reluctant curiosity about the small, quiet presence that had unexpectedly entered his life.

Lionel Shahbandar stood in the doorway of the lavish bathroom, his hand resting on the ornate gold doorknob as he watched you splash timidly in the enormous claw-footed bathtub. The bathroom, like the rest of his mansion, was a testament to opulence—marble floors, intricate tile work, and a chandelier that glimmered overhead. He had filled the tub with warm water and a bit of lavender-scented soap, the bubbles rising like soft clouds around you.

“Can you manage on your own?” Lionel asked, his voice carrying a note of impatience. You nodded, clutching your blanket, which was now set aside on a chair nearby, and turned your attention to the bubbles, your small fingers poking and swirling them.

“Good,” Lionel muttered, half to himself, and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. He headed to your backpack, left earlier by Valerie, and rummaged through its contents with a scowl. The bag yielded a few well-worn clothes, two pairs of shoes, and a pacifier. Lionel held up the pacifier, his brows knitting together in a mixture of surprise and distaste. “A pacifier?” he grumbled under his breath, tossing it aside with a flick of his wrist. “Surely she doesn’t still use this.”

He picked out a pair of pajamas—simple and a bit too worn for his taste—and set them on the counter. He glanced back towards the bathroom, where you were splashing gently, your silhouette barely visible through the frosted glass door of the tub. With a resigned sigh, Lionel went downstairs to prepare dinner, deciding to throw together a simple meal—something easy and quick.

As he moved through the grand, marble-tiled kitchen, gathering ingredients, his phone buzzed on the counter. Lionel glanced at the screen, recognizing the number of a colleague he had been trying to win over for months. The notification was an invitation to meet at a nearby bar—a chance to finally close a long-awaited business deal. His eyes gleamed with the thrill of opportunity.

Lionel’s lips curled into a sly smile as he quickly typed a response, agreeing to meet. He tossed his phone aside and abandoned his half-prepared meal, the remnants of his culinary effort left scattered on the sleek granite countertop. Without missing a beat, he strode back upstairs, his footsteps echoing through the cavernous halls.

He found you still in the bathroom, now out of the tub and struggling to put on the pajamas he had picked out. Lionel’s initial annoyance softened slightly as he saw you fumbling with the unfamiliar clothing. He knelt beside you, his hands surprisingly gentle as he helped you into the pajamas, his movements swift and efficient. “There you go,” he murmured, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic note of patience. “Let’s get these on properly.”

Once you were dressed, Lionel retrieved the shoes from your backpack. They were scuffed and too small, but he slipped them onto your feet nonetheless. “We’re going out,” he said, his tone brisk and authoritative. “You need to behave.”

You glanced up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of uncertainty and mild confusion. Your small hand pointed to your belly, a silent indication of hunger. Lionel’s brow furrowed briefly, a flicker of guilt passing over his features. He ignored it, standing up and scooping you into his arms. “We’ll eat later,” he said dismissively, carrying you out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

The cool evening air hit you as Lionel carried you out to the sleek black Mercedes. He strapped you into the backseat with an efficiency that belied his inexperience with children, his expression a mix of determination and impatience. “Remember,” he said, glancing back at you with a stern look, “no trouble. I have an important meeting.”

As the car sped through the bustling streets of London, Lionel’s mind was already racing ahead to the night’s events, the prospect of sealing the deal overshadowing the small, silent presence in the backseat. You stared out of the window, clutching your blanket and the plush lion tightly, the city lights flashing by in a blur. For Lionel, the night was another opportunity to secure his empire, but for you, it was just another bewildering chapter in the strange and unfamiliar world you had been thrust into.

The bar was a sleek, modern establishment, its dim lighting and polished décor exuding a sense of understated sophistication. Lionel parked the car and turned to you, his expression a mixture of irritation and reluctant resolve. “Stay close,” he ordered, unbuckling your seatbelt and lifting you out of the car. “And remember what I said about behaving.”

You nodded, clutching your blanket and the plush lion even tighter as he carried you into the bar. The hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses surrounded you, the unfamiliar sounds and sights making you cling to Lionel’s jacket with a mix of fear and uncertainty.

Lionel’s colleague, a slick, well-dressed man with a practiced smile, greeted him with a hearty laugh. “Lionel! Good to see you. And who’s this little one?” he asked, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow.

Lionel’s smile was tight, his grip on you firm as he responded. “Just a family matter,” he said smoothly, waving off the question. “Shall we discuss business?”

The colleague’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he nodded, leading Lionel to a secluded corner table. As they settled in, Lionel set you down beside him, his eyes narrowing in warning as he leaned in close. “Stay quiet,” he whispered, his tone sharp. “This is important.”

You nodded, your eyes wide and somber as you clung to your blanket and lion, your small frame tucked into the shadow of Lionel’s presence. The night wore on, the voices around you blurring into a low hum, and you sat quietly, the weight of Lionel’s expectations pressing down on you like a heavy, invisible cloak.

As the minutes ticked by in the bar, Lionel began to drink more heavily, one glass of scotch turning into two, then three. The business discussion quickly gave way to casual conversation and flirtation. Lionel’s colleague seemed equally relaxed, laughing and joking as the evening wore on. The waitresses, noticing Lionel’s change in demeanor, began to linger at the table, giggling and responding to his flirtatious remarks.

You sat silently beside Lionel, your small hands clutching the plush lion and your blanket. The noise of the music and the hum of conversation felt overwhelming, the unfamiliar sounds pressing in on you from all sides. Your stomach growled painfully, a sharp reminder that you hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your eyes darting between the plates of food being carried by waitresses and the bar counter where bowls of peanuts sat just out of reach.

Desperation gnawed at you, and you looked up at Lionel, your eyes wide and pleading. You poked his arm gently, pointing at your belly to indicate your hunger. Lionel, engrossed in his conversation with a young, attractive waitress, barely glanced your way. “Not now, kid,” he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. His attention quickly returned to the waitress, his baritone voice dropping to a flirtatious purr as he complimented her on her smile.

The pangs of hunger grew more intense, and tears welled up in your eyes as you realized Lionel wasn’t going to help you. The room seemed to grow louder, the clinking of glasses and the laughter around you becoming a cacophony that pressed against your ears. You felt a lump form in your throat, a mixture of fear and frustration bubbling up inside you.

Summoning all the courage you could muster, you slid off the chair, your small feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. You clutched your blanket and the plush lion tightly, the soft fur a small comfort amidst the chaos of the bar. Keeping your head down, you weaved through the crowd, your eyes scanning for any sign of food within reach.

People glanced at you as you passed, their curious gazes making you feel even smaller and more out of place. You ignored them, your focus solely on finding something to eat. The bar counter loomed ahead, the bowls of peanuts perched tantalizingly on top. You approached it, craning your neck to see the salty snacks just out of reach.

Determined, you stretched up on your tiptoes, your fingers straining towards the bowl. It was no use; the counter was too high, and your small frame couldn’t bridge the gap. Tears of frustration pricked at your eyes as you dropped back onto your heels, staring up at the peanuts with a mixture of longing and despair.

As you stood there, a waitress with a kind face noticed your struggle. She crouched down beside you, her eyes soft with understanding. “Are you hungry, sweetie?” she asked gently, her voice a soothing contrast to the noise around you.

You nodded, unable to speak, the ache in your stomach and the overwhelming noise rendering you mute. The waitress gave you a sympathetic smile and reached up, grabbing a handful of peanuts from the bowl. She placed them in a napkin and handed them to you, her eyes warm with kindness. “Here you go,” she said softly. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

You took the napkin with trembling hands, your eyes wide with gratitude. Clutching the peanuts and your blanket tightly, you nodded, managing a small, tearful smile. The waitress patted your head gently before standing up and returning to her work.

You found a quiet corner near the bar and sat down on the floor, your back against the wall. As you nibbled on the peanuts, the noise of the bar faded into the background, the small comfort of food easing the sharp ache in your stomach. You hugged your plush lion and your blanket close, the familiar textures grounding you amidst the overwhelming chaos.

Meanwhile, Lionel continued his flirtatious banter with the waitresses, his laughter echoing through the bar. He didn’t notice your absence, too absorbed in his own amusement and the thrill of the chase. His colleague occasionally glanced over, raising an eyebrow at Lionel’s antics but saying nothing. The night wore on, and Lionel’s attention remained firmly fixed on the women around him, his responsibilities forgotten in favor of fleeting pleasures.

You sat quietly in your corner, the peanuts a small solace in the overwhelming noise and confusion of the bar. The minutes stretched into hours, the night growing darker outside the bar’s windows. As you huddled there, alone and unnoticed, the weight of your situation settled heavily on your small shoulders, a stark reminder of the uncertain world you now found yourself in.

As the night wore on, you became increasingly sleepy. The chaos and noise of the bar had overwhelmed you, and the peanuts, while a small comfort, weren’t enough to stave off your exhaustion. With the plush lion clutched tightly in your arms, you laid your blanket on the floor and curled up on it, using it as an improvised pillow. You fell asleep quickly, your small body seeking solace amidst the confusion and noise, the softness of your blanket and lion the only anchors in this unfamiliar world.

Meanwhile, Lionel was fully absorbed in his flirtation. A waitress had made her way onto his lap, her laughter mingling with his own as they exchanged playful banter. His focus on her was intense, his usual sharp wit now softened by the haze of alcohol. His colleague, watching the spectacle with a bemused expression, eventually stood up and adjusted his tie, preparing to leave.

"I think I'm heading out, Lionel," the colleague announced, his voice cutting through the din of the bar. Lionel, his eyes still fixed on the waitress, waved him off with a dismissive gesture.

"Go on, then," Lionel replied, his baritone voice slurring slightly, "I’ll manage."

The colleague paused, his gaze shifting around the bar. "Didn't you come here with a child?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in concern.

Lionel froze, the realization hitting him like a splash of cold water. "Damn it," he muttered, his expression shifting from smug amusement to panicked frustration. He pushed the waitress off his lap unceremoniously, his movements clumsy and disoriented. "Where the hell is she?"

He stumbled to his feet, his eyes darting around the bar, the room spinning slightly as the effects of the alcohol clouded his vision. "Hey! Kid!" he called out, his voice loud and urgent, drawing a few curious glances from nearby patrons. "Where are you?"

Lionel staggered through the bar, his vision blurred as he scanned the crowded room. His heart pounded with a mixture of panic and annoyance, the realization that he had lost track of you adding to his frustration. He cursed under his breath, his eyes finally settling on your small figure curled up on the floor in a quiet corner, fast asleep on your makeshift pillow.

"Of all the places," Lionel grumbled, rolling his eyes as he stumbled toward you. "Didn’t I tell you to stay close?" His voice was a mixture of irritation and reluctant relief as he bent down, shaking your shoulder to wake you. "Hey, wake up. We’re leaving."

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open to the sight of Lionel’s scowling face. The noise and lights of the bar were disorienting, and you felt a wave of confusion and fear as he grabbed your hand roughly, dragging you to your feet. You clutched your blanket and lion tightly, your wide eyes blinking against the harsh lights.

Lionel pulled you toward the exit, his steps unsteady as he navigated the crowded bar. Just as you reached the door, a sudden barrage of flashing lights greeted you. Paparazzi, alerted to Lionel’s presence, had gathered outside, their cameras snapping furiously. The barrage of questions and flashing lights was overwhelming, the reporters shouting over one another in their eagerness to capture the scene.

"Lionel! Who’s the child?"

"Is she your daughter?"

"Care to explain, Mr. Shahbandar?"

The rapid-fire questions and bright flashes were disorienting, and you began to cry, the intensity of the moment too much for your young mind to process. The lights and noise were overwhelming, and you buried your face in your blanket, the plush lion clutched tightly in your arms as you sobbed.

Lionel swore loudly, his patience fraying under the scrutiny of the paparazzi. "Back off!" he snapped, his baritone voice laced with frustration. He scooped you up into his arms, his grip tight as he tried to shield you from the flashing cameras. "This is none of your damn business!"

The reporters pressed closer, their cameras clicking furiously as they tried to get a better shot. Lionel pushed through the throng, his irritation mounting with each step. He turned his back to the cameras, trying to shield you from the worst of the flashes, but it was clear that the situation was spiraling out of control.

"Get out of my way!" Lionel shouted, his voice rising in a rare display of anger. He elbowed his way through the crowd, his movements clumsy and erratic. You clung to him tightly, your small body trembling with fear as the bright lights and loud voices swirled around you.

Finally, Lionel managed to reach the car, fumbling with the keys as he struggled to unlock the door. He practically shoved you into the backseat, his own frustration boiling over as he climbed into the driver’s seat. The paparazzi continued to snap photos, their cameras pressing against the windows as Lionel started the engine with a snarl of irritation.

"Enough already!" he roared, slamming the car into gear and pulling away from the curb with a screech of tires. The flashes of the cameras faded into the distance as the car sped through the dark streets, the noise and chaos of the bar finally left behind.

Inside the car, you huddled in the backseat, your sobs quieting to soft hiccups as the city lights blurred past the windows. Lionel’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw set with a mixture of anger and exasperation. The night’s events had spiraled far beyond his control, and the weight of the responsibility now thrust upon him was a burden he had never anticipated.

As the car sped through the night, Lionel glanced at you in the rearview mirror, your small form curled up in the backseat, clutching your blanket and lion. His expression softened slightly, a flicker of something resembling regret crossing his features. For all his bravado and confidence, the reality of his situation was beginning to sink in, and it was clear that his life, and yours, had been irrevocably changed.

Lionel woke up with a groan the next morning, the sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains of his opulent bedroom. His head pounded with the aftereffects of a night spent drinking, and he rubbed his temples, trying to fend off the pain. Just as he began to drift back into a fitful sleep, a sharp slap on his back jolted him awake.

“What the—” Lionel grumbled, turning to see Elizabeth standing over him, her eyes blazing with fury. She held a rolled-up magazine in her hand, her knuckles white with the intensity of her grip.

“Get up, you idiot!” Elizabeth snapped, landing another swat with the magazine on Lionel’s shoulder. “What the hell were you thinking, taking your daughter to a bar?”

Lionel winced, flinching away from the blows. “Ow, stop it!” he protested, trying to shield himself with the covers. “What’s your problem, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she continued to brandish the magazine. “My problem?” she echoed, her voice dripping with incredulity. “My problem is you, Lionel! You’re in every gossip rag in the country, and everyone’s speculating about who that little girl is!”

Lionel blinked, his hangover-clouded mind struggling to keep up. “How do you know about this?” he demanded, a note of genuine curiosity in his voice.

With a snarl of frustration, Elizabeth unfurled the magazine she had been hitting him with, thrusting it in his face. “Look!” she barked, her voice rising. “It’s everywhere! You, leaving the bar with [Your Name]. You’ve made a spectacle of yourself and her!”

Lionel squinted at the glossy pages, his eyes slowly focusing on the grainy photos of him stumbling out of the bar, carrying you in his arms. The paparazzi had captured the chaos in all its sordid detail: Lionel’s disheveled appearance, his slurred attempts to shield you from the cameras, your tear-streaked face buried in your blanket.

Elizabeth continued her tirade, her voice climbing higher with each accusation. “You’re in the tabloids, the morning news, every damn gossip show! People are speculating who she is, if she’s yours, and how on earth you thought it was a good idea to take a child to a bar!”

Lionel rolled his eyes, his annoyance eclipsing his guilt as he settled back against the pillows. “So what?” he muttered, waving a dismissive hand. “What’s one scandal on top of several? I’m already the bad boy of the art world. What’s another headline?”

Elizabeth’s face turned an alarming shade of red, her eyes flashing with barely contained rage. “You don’t get it, do you?” she hissed, grabbing his ear and twisting it sharply. Lionel yelped, trying to pull away from her iron grip.

“Alright, alright! Let go!” Lionel protested, his voice tinged with pain. “What do you want me to do?”

Elizabeth released his ear with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest as she fixed him with a steely glare. “You’re going to apologize, publicly,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “You’ll hold a press conference, admit you made a mistake, and apologize for taking your daughter to a bar. You need to set things right.”

Lionel’s hand rubbed his throbbing ear as he shot her a petulant look. “You must be joking,” he scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not apologizing to anyone. They’ll just have to deal with it.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and she leaned in, her face inches from his. “If you don’t fix this, Lionel, you’ll be dealing with a lot more than just gossip. This isn’t about you anymore. It’s about that little girl you’ve dragged into your mess.”

Lionel’s defiant gaze wavered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. He opened his mouth to retort, but Elizabeth cut him off with a sharp gesture, pointing a finger at his chest. “You will apologize,” she repeated, her voice a low, fierce whisper. “Or so help me, I’ll quit, and you can deal with this disaster on your own.”

Lionel’s face twisted into a scowl, his usual bravado faltering under Elizabeth’s unwavering glare. “Fine,” he grumbled, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll do your stupid press conference. Happy now?”

Elizabeth’s expression softened slightly, though her eyes still blazed with determination. “Not until you actually follow through,” she replied, her voice firm but less harsh. “You need to start acting like a father, Lionel. [Your Name] deserves better.”

Lionel grumbled under his breath as he slid out of bed, his movements slow and reluctant. “Cutting your salary for this,” he muttered, a petulant note in his baritone voice as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Elizabeth’s lips curled into a wry smile as she watched him. “You can try,” she shot back, her tone laced with dry humor. “But we both know you need me more than I need you.”

Lionel glared at her, but the sharp retort died on his lips as he realized the truth of her words. With a heavy sigh, he shuffled towards the bathroom, the weight of the day’s responsibilities pressing down on his shoulders.

As he splashed cold water on his face, Lionel stared at his reflection in the mirror, the sharp angles of his features softened by the morning light. The man who gazed back at him was a far cry from the confident, womanizing tycoon he prided himself on being. For the first time in a long while, Lionel felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—an uneasy blend of guilt, responsibility, and a reluctant resolve to set things right.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #lionel shabandar x reader #lionel shabandar #gambit 2012

40 notes · View notes

swann-song · 3 months

Text

daydreaming - part two

summary: you start spiralling thinking about pierre. unbeknownst to you, he’s just the same

eavesdropping is a sin. so doing so in a church must be a double sin but you couldn’t help yourself. since pierre had come to your work, you’d become sensitive to any mention of him. your ears physically perked up and it took a lot of effort to appear casual, uninterested even. however, when you hear ms. chavanges talking to her friends about pierre, god would understand. before sunday sermon, you heard his mother asking which girls her friends thought suitable. you heard them throw around twelve or so names, with a comment on said girls profession, her dating history, families and some of the girls that had even asked about pierre themselves. you felt indignant that your name wasn’t brought up by the time the sermon started.

you weren’t paying any attention, your mind was spiralling. you’d been single a couple years now, and was generally well liked, the age gap between yourself and pierre was big but really your old enough now that it hasn’t mattered for a while. your thoughts circled and circled, you became angry at no one in particular. your mother kept dragging you up and poking your thighs to get you to pay attention but everything unrelated to pierre was in one ear, out the other.

when the congregation got up to leave, you tried to fidget around so you could hear a bit more of ms. chavanges plans but your mother pulled you out impatiently. "you weren’t listening at all were you" your mother scolded you as you walked to the car. "we have to hurry i have to make the cake before dinner". you stared out the window, quite puzzled, why wouldn’t ms. chavanges mention you, you knew she liked you, why was she only mentioning blondes, does pierre prefer blondes?. "what are you thinking about, your so quite" your mother was driving like a lunatic, but you’ve become completely desensitised to it.

you hadn’t mentioned pierre to anyone, not that there was anything to say. your mother knew you had a crush on him in your teens but she had rolled her eyes at it, it was a phase after all. you haven’t been pining for him for a decade, you’d liked others and dated even. you’d liked him at 16 and even now at 26, she’d just say your nostalgic.

that night you could barely sleep, it felt like you were regressing in some way, having an immature crush on someone so completely unavailable wasn’t a good sign. it had been harmless enough when he didn’t even know you, when you’d be on the same aisle at the supermarket and he wouldn’t notice, or when queuing at the post office together, it was mainly boredom than anything…

now that he knows your name though and the image of his smile as he waved at you is etched into your mind it isn’t fun anymore. although you are within each others orbit, pierre isn’t someone you have any connection to, you don’t have his number, you have no mutual friends or frequent the same places. you resent your mother for not being friends with his. for the next few weeks you become impatient and irritated, short with your friends, ditzy at work and very self hating.

you go to sleep daydreaming being close to pierre, reminiscing the deep hum in his voice, imagining his lips close to your cheek, speaking to you sweetly. as you get restless and the night goes on, the imaginings become less innocent. your hands roam your body imaging it’s pierre’s, his rough hands and strong arms. you feel a tinge of guilt and shame after your release, the fatigue sets in and you can finally sleep. it doesn’t feel great to be getting off to the thought of a guy you’ve had one conversation with.

pierre had built a fixation on you. he always had a lot of time to think and since he met you, he’d only thought of you. he always had a million and one chores, having the same conversations with his parents and friends. he thought of you constantly and had begun to zone out, everyone snaps their fingers in front of him to get his attention. he wanted to see you again, having already finished the russian epic, he knew he had an excuse to go back to your work. he had been putting it off, going through every scenario, trying to anticipate your reactions.

he found you on instagram, he scrolled through your profile every night. it didn’t have much, mostly group pictures from events, your amateur photography and book reviews. his fingers went back to the handful of pictures with your face. he was puzzled, how had you always been there and he hadn’t seen, was he really that blind and detached. your beautiful, unbelievably so. he thought of your lips again, the soft plum bottom lips, he imagined biting them. your voice was ringing in his ears, the way it twinkled, the mocking tone when you corrected him. he remembered your hair in a mess, the rings curling at your neck, some resting on your décolletage. he had wanted to run his hands through it, following it down your back, wanted to rest his hands around your waist.

"angelique bought you a new tart to try, isn’t that sweet of her" pierre’s mother didn’t even let him fully enter the kitchen, he hummed noncommittally and took a chair at the table. his father moved the plate of tart towards him. taking a fork, he had a bite and nodded to his parents, he was hardly qualified to judge but hoped it would get them off his back. the lunch had a tension from his mother he recognised, she was waiting to drop a bomb on him, while his father casually flipped through his paper, no ally to his son. this atmosphere wasn’t good for his digestion, that’s for sure.

his mother cleared her throat, pierre braced himself, that’s lunch done. "don’t you think angelique's a nice girl… quite pretty too" just what pierre needed, a set up. "the baker? of course, i suppose" that usually did the trick, his mother wasn’t the best matchmaker and it’s not like she knew he was obsessed with you, can’t blame her for trying. another pause. "i’ve invited her over for dinner tomorrow night, she’s bringing dessert" pierre's eyes narrowed at his mother. it’s one thing to talk about these girls but to invite them over was ridiculous. "isn’t that nice" he drawled, his mother noticed his insincerity and began to speak, pierre was already across the house and going to his office. angelique may be having dinner here tomorrow, but he won’t

so it’s decided, pierre grabbed his book determined to see you today.

daydreaming masterlist

#sorry if the slow burn is too slow #i should shut up lol #swann arlaud #petit paysan #bloody milk #pierre chavanges #fanfic #y/n

39 notes · View notes

turtlesunshineheart · 23 days

Text

Pairing:HumanAlastor x Fem.Reader

Warnings:none

| Masterlist |

C.2

Dance Between Two Strangers

-14 February 1924-

The night had not treated her well, having stayed at her house in the company of her cat while reading and drinking coffee was a better idea, but as always she let herself be convinced by Amelia.

Her mother was right when she said she was pathetic for not being able to say no to others, she had moved away from her to prove that she was wrong but she was clearly right.

Per that's why everyone around him took advantage of his 'good heart' or rather his naivety.

She always suppressed her feelings, always put others ahead of her no matter if that hurt her.

But he was still human and as all his patience had a limit and this night that limit had come too far.

How did she get to this point?

Oh, of course.

The cause of her life being even more miserable and making her look even more pathetic.

NOAH

────・:✧∙✦∙✧:・────

22:30pm

She had drunk enough though she still thought clearly, Amelia tried to talk to her about what happened but didn't go well.

Maybe they both said hurtful things, so she went somewhere else and left you alone.

Maybe she deserved it.

Amelia was not to blame for anything.

It was her fault.

She went out to the garden behind the living room to take some fresh air or soon vomit.

She sat on a bench and buried his face in his hands.

"I'm so stupid"

She murmured in a low voice.

"I don't think so, ma'am."

She took a little leap from the panic and felt the effect of alcohol diminishing.

"Jesus!"

She put a hand on her chest trying to calm herself and looked at the man beside her who was laughing at her.

"I'm afraid I'm not Jesus, baby"

"You almost scares me sir, and still mockes me."

The man stopped laughing but kept his smile.

"My apologies, ma'am, it was not my intention to scare you, but I must admit that your reaction was adorable."

Her cheeks turned red, and the effect of alcohol diminished by the shame she felt; she looked at the man with indignation, and crossed her arms.

"It annoys you, I was having a moment here alone"

He looked at her with a raised eyelid and his smile grew bigger.

"Good sweetness I was here before you arrive with your depressing aura"

She looked at him with indignation and decided to ignore him.

"I had a tough night and I won't let you mock me"

The man let go of a scratch making her cheeks redder, she couldn't see well in the dark but was attractive even though she could not see her face because of the "Deer" mask that she wore.

"I am sorry to have bothered you, it was not my intention to mock you, I offer you my most sincere apologies"

"Don't worry I was a little rough too"

There was a moment of silence until the man spoke again.

"But where my modals are, my name is Alastor, ma'am..."

" _____,this is my name"

He took her hand to lay down a small kiss.

Her cheeks became even more red, and she moved her hand away quickly.

For God's sake she was so nervous and it seems he noticed it and was having fun.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss _____"

"The same I say, Mr. Alastor"

They talked for a few minutes about the dance and the people inside the lounge.

And they laughed at some of the costumes of people who wanted all the attention; he even forgot what had happened a while ago.

"And sweetheart, you'll tell me why you looked so depressed."

Her smile diminished and he seemed to notice it.

"I'm sorry dear, I didn't want to bother you"

She denied with her head and smiled slightly.

"Don't worry, I just don't want to bother you with my problems"

"Oh sweetness, it's no hassle, for something I asked."

She smiled and told him everything that had happened,she didn't know why she told him if they barely knew each other but there was something in it that made her feel quiet.

"And well so I ended up here sitting on the bench of a garden talking to a stranger to whom I tell my love problems"

Alastor laughed slightly and looked at her with that smile that seemed not to leave her face.

"Well, dear, in my humble opinion you should not be here depressed, you should have fun and dance, that's why you came to this dance or am I wrong?"

She waved and waved.

"Are you ready to go back in?,I can be your companion the rest of the night."

"I don't know,I'm not trying to bother you.I mean, we barely know each other."

"Calm down sweetness is not a hassle why I suggested the idea of accompanying you"

They went back into the living room and stayed behind the people, from there I couldn't see Noah or Amelia.

Although she was honestly busy watching her companion, with the illumination of the living room she could now see him better; he had very well haired brown hair, brown skin that seemed to shine and his brown eyes were the most striking,he wore a very elegant red suit.

She came out of his thoughts when a man went up to the small stage where the musicians were and began to speak.

"Very well, good nights to all, I hope you are having a good time at this dance in which every year we put a lot of effort and dedication for you"

All the crowd applauded except for Alastor.

"The moment has come that everyone is waiting for, the moment when everyone can take off the mask and conquer their date, we invite you to approach the dance course with your partner and continue to enjoy this beautiful evening"

Most people took off their masks and started dancing.

And finally she saw it.

NOAH

He had removed his mask and was dancing with that woman.

She felt her heart squeezing, wanting to scream, cry, or hit somebody.

The latter was more effective.

She felt a hand laying on her shoulder, looked back, and saw Alastor looking at her with a smile; he, unlike her, had already removed his mask, and could now see his face in more detail.

Definitely a very elegant man in all respects.

She came out of her thoughts and noticed that she was the only one in the whole room who was still wearing her mask.

If she took off the mask Noah would see that she was at the dance and that she had seen him.

The least she wanted now was to set up a drama in front of everyone.

"Would you like to dance with me,dear?"

She looked at her companion for a moment, forgotten of him,Alastor stretched out his hand to her,hoping that she would take his hand.

She felt her heart beating fast in her chest, smiled slightly and took his hand.

"It would be a pleasure"

Alastor guided her to the dance court; she put her hand on her back while with the other she took her hand, while _____ she placed her hand upon Alastore's shoulder.

They began to move at the rhythm of the music and to dance in a synchronized way;_____ tried not to make eye contact.

"Dear"

Alastor caught her attention and she finally looked him in the face, thankfully because she had not yet removed the mask he did not notice her slight snoring.

Alastor caught her attention and she finally looked him in the face,thankfully because she had not yet removed the mask he did not notice the slight rubbish on her cheeks.

"May I?"

She knew what he meant,and she was frightened,but why not?.No matter how important it was if Noah saw her, he had been with another woman all night.

She gave a slight approval and allowed him to remove her mask.

Alastor remove the mask from her face carefully so as not to hurt her.

He looked at her carefully, I noticed her nervousness and smiled.

He restored his dance position and they continued dancing.

As they danced, the people around them began to clear the dance court and surrounded them, leaving only the two of them in the middle of the lounge.

______ she noticed this and her nervousness increased, she look at her companion although Alastor seemed not to care to be the center of attention.

She tried to separate, but he didn't leave her.

"Calm down sweetness,don't look at them, keep your eyes on me"

She sighed and did as he said; she looked attentively at his beautiful brown eyes as she let herself be guided by him.

And so for a few minutes while they danced, the people around them murmured as they watched them dance, they were curious to know who the pretty woman was who accompanied the most famous radio host in New Orleans.

_____ she completely ignored the people around her at this time only worried not to step on her companion, she was so concentrated that she had forgotten what mainly worried her.

At one point she stumbled upon her own steps provoking a laugh on her companion, her cheeks turned red by shame.

They little dance had attracted the attention of all the people in the lounge but there was someone in particular who looked closely at the couple.

A young man whose attention turned to the center of the salon when he noticed that a couple was the centre of attention of all the people who had left the dance court free for that couple, and that seeing the lady's familiar face left without words.

She looked so beautiful and stunning with her red dress and her hair elegantly picked up, besides the beautiful smile that adorned her face when she laughed occasionally; Noah could swear that she was seeing a beautiful angel sent from heaven.

Although, why was she dancing with another man?

That smile that he so loved was provoked by someone else.

He shrugged his fists as he saw them dance.

Alastor had noticed that Noah's gaze had settled on her beautiful _____, he knew very well that noah was the reason why he had found his beloved _____ in the garden alone and discouraged; had it not been because Noah was a great bastard he could never have had the opportunity to dance with her.

Alastor only gave him a mocking smile and turned his attention to his beautiful companion who was laughing at the things he told her.

Noah, who was now more annoyed and jealous of the mocking of that guy, felt more irritated when he noticed that _____ she seemed to be delighted with that guy.

_____________________________________________________________________

It's a miracle from God that I updated.

It may take longer than usual but I honestly didn't feel well emotionally and I have had to deal with other situations.

Given my emotional state I couldn't finish the chapter, any idea I had immediately replaced it.This chapter was rewritten ten times and honestly I didn't like the final result but I finished it and here it is.

On the other hand, thanks to my emotional problems, I am given many ideas and I am already writing more chapters and another story.

So I hope you like my humble work and give support so that I continue writing.

#until the stars stop shining fanfic #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you #human alastor x reader #human alastor

25 notes · View notes

krikeymate · 10 months

Note

Please except this as my random fic title “For the love of God… Put. It. Down!”

Sam was having... the worst time. She honestly thought this night couldn't have gotten any worse... and then Tara took out the knife.

She thinks she must be losing her mind.

She's not crazy, right? This was not how the board game was supposed to go, right? There were rules... right?

Not according to anyone else, apparently.

Sam had been wary when Mindy barged into the apartment with a Monopoly box earlier in the day. She'd thought she was going to have to spend all evening joining them in an extremely boring and unfun game.

It turns out that her kids don't know the meaning of boring and unfun, and had their own methods to... liven it up a bit.

They forgot to warn Sam about how they play, however.

She'd spent the game so far irritated and horrified as she watched Chad - the banker - continuously miscount the cash in a way that she's now getting the suspicion may have been deliberate.

Her sister had proven herself to be the world's worst decision maker, which... tracks actually.

She can never repeat that.

The twins had been taking advantage of her sister the entire time, convincing her with silver tongues to make subpar trades or purchases. Sam had thought about intervening, but she's been trying to coddle Tara less, and besides, it's just a game.

It's. Just. A. Game.

Or, it was, up until Tara whips the kitchen knife out of nowhere - prepared and ready to be used - and holds it to Chad's throat.

"This is a robbery," she says, smirking.

Chad, to his credit, looks surprised, but not scared. He slowly raises his hands, plastic money slipping from his fingers and fluttering down.

"Please," he whispers, "I have a family. Take what you want, take it all, just don't hurt me. I'll do anything!"

Sam doesn't have time to digest the weird display or Chad's suddenly southern accent - and not a good one - before Mindy is groaning beside her.

"EUGH. Please keep your weird roleplaying to the bedroom!"

Sam snaps her head between Mindy and Tara, the implication making the room feel stuffy and her chest feel tight.

"ALRIGHT," she says - louder than intended - as she climbs to her feet. "I think that's enough for tonight." She needs to bleach her brain, maybe read a rule book.

"Aww what, but I was finally making money," Tara whines, knife held sloppily in one hand, the other bursting with fake cash.

"Yeah!" Chad agrees, despite being the one with a fucking knife to his throat.

Sam cannot be the only adult in this room right now. She looks down at Mindy and gestures to the scene, a silent beg for her to do something.

She does not.

"Nah," Mindy says, leaning back on her hands, "I want to see where this goes."

"No! No you don't- I don't- This is... the game is done," Sam stutters.

"But who won?" her sister asks, blinking up at her as if that's what's important right now.

Sam stares back at her for a moment, trying to determine if she's fucking serious. She is. Of course she is.

"Nobody won, you're all going to jail. Robbery, embezzlement, insider trading. You're all going down for it," she says dryly, wishing she could get the last four hours of her life back.

Mindy sniggers and Sam only has a second to be filled with regret before she says "Yeah, horny ja-"

Sam cuts her off with a box lid to the face.

With a heavy sigh, she turns back to the other two. "For the love of God... Put! It! Down!" she demands, gesturing at the knife.

Tara gets a look on her face, the one that says Sam's being unreasonable again.

She watches her roll her eyes and slowly put the knife on the floor with so much attitude that Sam feels the overwhelming urge to tell her that she's grounded.

Sam's too young to be a parent, look what they've reduced her to.

Bending down to snatch the knife from the carpet, she holds it up to her sister.

"Your knifework is sloppy and you could have easily been disarmed in a real combat situation, I'm disappointed in you."

The indignation on Tara's face kind of makes it worth it.

#/mp #ask box #samcscreams #Scream #Sam Carpenter #Tara Carpenter #Chad Meeks-Martin #Mindy Meeks-Martin #-core 4 #my writing tag #I hope you don't mind but I merged these two together because it worked so well #-tara/chad

109 notes · View notes

katy-l1988 · 5 months

Text

Chapter Two: The First Deal

Over the years, humanity multiplied immeasurably, resulting in an exponential increase in the number of souls ascending to both heaven and hell. However, in the Silver City, the understanding of the workings of the underworld was limited, and most inhabitants were only familiar with what they called the Ring of Pride. In this realm, Lucifer reigned over sinners and fallen angels, seemingly free to receive the supposed punishment they deserved. Lilith, with her indomitable spirit and musical talent, emerged as a source of hope for the forsaken of the underworld. Using her voice and music as weapons, she rallied the oppressed against those who had assigned them such a desolate fate.

Amidst the growing turmoil in the underworld, Sera, concerned with maintaining celestial balance, sought solutions to control what seemed to be an imminent uprising. She summoned a total of two angels, Carmilla and Adam, the latter of whom, despite being relatively new to that realm, already held an important position.

"My idea is simple and effective," Adam declared firmly. "Let's kill them all! We'll eliminate the threat, and when they reappear, we repeat the cycle."

Upon hearing this suggestion, Carmilla couldn't contain her indignation.

"But that's…That's inhumane!" she exclaimed vehemently. "How can you propose such atrocity, Adam? How can the progenitor of humanity wish to be so cruel to his own descendants?"

"It seems someone here has their emotions in a frenzy," Adam replied with a petulant tone and a mocking smile that disregarded Carmilla's indignation. "But what did you expect from a woman like you, dear Carmilla? Always so melodramatic and sensitive. It's no surprise you don't understand the logic behind my proposal. After all, feelings are for the weak, aren't they?"

"There are other ways, like dialogue," Carmilla insisted.

"Since when does the angel of war refuse to fight?" Adam retorted.

"The use of force is the last resort, and I will not order a massacre if I can avoid it," Carmilla replied firmly.

"But what other options are there? If they're down there, it's because they deserve it, plain and simple, they're beasts," Adam argued disdainfully.

"They're human souls, not beasts," Carmilla contradicted with determination.

"Look, sweetheart. I am the father of humanity. The first man created by God," Adam continued, seeking to provoke Carmilla. "I think I have the right to decide what happens to them, don't I?"

"You're despicable. You're not…!" Before Carmilla could finish, Sera raised her hand to silence her. "You can't take him seriously, dad..."

"Dad left me in charge, and it's me who must make the decision," Adam declared, showing not a hint of empathy towards his younger sister. "Adam, you'll take 100 angels with you to initiate the Extermination. Carmilla, you'll go with him to supervise."

Adam celebrated childishly, causing Carmilla to leave annoyed, slamming the door loudly before heading to her room.

"That lady sure knows how to kill the mood. She'll ruin everything," commented Adam.

"I know, and that's why you're going to fix it," Sera replied coldly.

After retreating, Carmilla needed a break, a moment to escape the tension and injustice she had witnessed in the celestial meeting. She decided to seek solace in the art she loved most: ballet. In a private space, away from prying eyes, Carmilla surrendered to the grace and beauty of dance. Her fluid and elegant movements filled the room as she danced with an expression of liberation on her face.

However, her peace was suddenly interrupted when Adam appeared in the doorway, without his usual mask. Surprise and confusion reflected in Carmilla's eyes as she abruptly stopped her dance.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, frowning at Adam.

He whistled, admiring the spectacle he had just interrupted, as if it were something worthy of his attention.

Adam's reaction sparked a flash of indignation in Carmilla. She hadn't noticed his presence before, but now, seeing him without his mask and watching her with disdain, she felt a surge of anger and contempt.

"What do you find so amusing?" she inquired, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, nothing in particular. I just thought it would be interesting to see a seraphim dance so…sensually," Adam replied with a smirk. "Why don't you take off some clothes? I'd like to see one of God's finest creations naked."

Adam's words were even more provocative than Carmilla expected, and his disdain for her as a seraphim became even more apparent.

"You insolent pervert," Carmilla exclaimed, her voice resonating with contained fury. "You should show me a little more respect."

Adam, far from showing remorse, only widened his smirk, as if he enjoyed Carmilla's indignation.

"Oh, come on, Carmilla. Don't be so narrow-minded," he responded, with a lascivious look in his eyes as he stroked her silver hair. "Don't you know pleasure?

"Pleasure? All I feel when I see you is disgust," Carmilla replied incredulously, sharply pulling away Adam's hand from her hair. "You're unworthy of heaven, and I fear Sera is too indulgent in allowing you to be here."

Before she could articulate a protest, a sensation of numbness enveloped her, as if a thousand ice needles ran through her body, paralyzing her completely. Her senses slowly faded as what she believed could be poison took its nefarious effect. The last image she managed to grasp before plunging into darkness was Adam's sinister smile.

When she regained consciousness, she found herself enveloped in the unsettling darkness of the underworld, disoriented and stunned by the poison still coursing through her veins. She tried to move, but an overwhelming pressure on her back kept her immobilized. Then, a firm hand grabbed her hair and pulled her neck, causing a stabbing pain that made her gasp in anguish. A sense of helplessness and despair engulfed her as she struggled to understand how she had ended up there and what fate awaited her in the depths of hell.

"What do you think you're doing?" Carmilla asked with a heavy tongue, struggling to maintain clarity amidst the pain.

"I'm just following my boss's orders," he replied coldly, firmly grabbing one of her wings and exerting pressure that made her writhe in pain.

"Agh!" Carmilla let out a cry of agony as she felt her skin seem to peel away from her bones. "Please, stop!"

"It's too late to beg, bitch. By refusing to cooperate with the cause, you become our enemy," he said disdainfully, gripping the wing bone even tighter. "Your sister told me you loved your wings; let's see how you fare without them."

"No, please, don't…" Carmilla pleaded, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

With each tug, each tear, Carmilla felt as if her entire being was being ripped apart, fragmented into pieces. Agonizing screams escaped her lips as tears streamed from her eyes, soaking her face bruised from previous blows. Adam's mocking laughter, full of malice, echoed in her ears like a drum. Amidst her thoughts, the memory of the moment she ended Miguel's life, her mentor, surfaced. Now, as she suffered the loss of the most beautiful gift her father had given her, she convinced herself that this was punishment for her sin. The physical pain created a perfect storm threatening to consume her entirely. Amidst her screams and sobs, Carmilla clung to the hope that someday, somehow, she would find the strength to rise again. But in that moment, in the overwhelming darkness of hell, all she could feel was rage.

When Adam finally tore off the last wing from her back, he dropped it to the ground disdainfully, as if it were little more than a pile of refuse. Carmilla, weak and bleeding, writhed on the ground, feeling life slipping away with each beat of her heart. With her vision blurred by tears and pain, she turned upward only to see Adam and the exorcists walking away, leaving her behind to die in the darkness of hell. Fury flooded her as she watched helplessly as her tormentors walked away; did her Father truly care so little? With what little breath she had left, she crawled to lean against the wall of a building, vowing that someday, somehow, she would confront those who dared to humiliate her.

As she lay bleeding in the abyss, Carmilla felt her eyelids growing heavy again, enveloped in the growing darkness threatening to consume her entirely. In her state of weakness, amidst the shadows dancing in her blurred vision, she glimpsed a tall figure slowly approaching her. Carmilla's heart pounded as the figure drew near, her mind struggling to stay awake, but just before she could react, she fell into a deep unconsciousness from the pain.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a luxurious armchair in an elegant room, with a wide window letting in a reddish light. An imposing desk occupied the center of the room, delicately carved with peculiar symbols. She brought a hand to her forehead, trying to remember how she had ended up there, though the ache prevented her from thinking. As she moved, she felt the pressure of an improvised tourniquet around her chest, abruptly bringing her back to reality as she felt her wings missing. Cautiously, she sat up, feeling a slight stabbing pain with each movement.

"It's better if you stay still, dear," a deep voice spoke. She turned her head to her right, seeing the same silhouette that had picked her up. "It's me, Carmilla."

"Zestial?" She looked at him closely, still able to distinguish his green eyes amidst his darkened skin. "You saved me? Why?"

"Why wouldn't I?" His response was unexpected. "We're in the same boat after all."

Before she could ask another question, a familiar voice resonated from the desk, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Hello, sis…" From the shadows of the chair, a pair of red eyes revealed themselves. "We have much to talk about."

"L-Lucifer," she barely managed to pronounce, fearing that Sera's stories about the corruption of souls were true. "Why did you bring me here? What do you want from me?"

For a moment, fear invaded Carmilla's heart, fearing the worst as she found herself face to face with Lucifer. However, instead of violence or reproach, Lucifer stood up and encircled Carmilla with his arms.

"How did you end up here? You should be in heaven, you should be safe." When she looked into his eyes, she could see the changes that darkness had wrought upon him.

"Sera ordered Adam to bring me here. They were displeased with me for not supporting their absurd extermination plan." She sat carefully, putting her sore feet on the carpet. "How are things down here? I see… you have been some changes."

She couldn't take her eyes off Zestial, who among the two angels, was almost unrecognizable. He had once been such a beautiful being; his skin seemed as sweet as chocolate, and his scent was just as exquisite. His eyes were two green valleys, full of life and peace. And his voice, as deep as the sound of a cello, yet so warm. Now, although his appearance had changed, his essence remained intact.

Zestial had been a safe haven for Carmilla. His embraces were the sanctuary where she could find peace and comfort, an oasis amidst the disaster. In contrast, Miguel, with his fierce temper and relentless focus on war, often left Carmilla feeling exhausted. Her encounters with Miguel were like facing a violent storm, while being with Zestial was like watching a swan glide on the calm waters of a serene lake.

"Things are complicated," Lucifer replied, breaking the silence that had settled in the room. "We're stuck down here as you can see, and everything is governed by the law of the jungle. Lilith took control for a while, but we can see now that her work didn't yield the fruits she expected."

"Wait, are you saying she's the one who caused all this mess? I thought you were the ruler of hell, why didn't you set her straight?"

"Oh, Carmilla. That woman scares me more than I do."

"I hope you're not talking about me," Lilith entered then.

Carmilla observed Lilith cautiously as she entered the room, feeling a twinge of tension in the air. Their gazes met, and in that moment, the world seemed to stop, as if time itself had frozen around them. In Lilith's eyes, Carmilla could see a flash of defiance, a spark of power that reminded her why she was the ruler of hell. On the other hand, in Carmilla's eyes, Lilith detected a mixture of determination and distrust, a silent warning that intimidating her wouldn't be easy.

For a moment, neither woman looked away, each assessing the other with an intensity that could be felt in the air. It was as if they were in the midst of a silent duel, each seeking weaknesses in the other as they prepared for the inevitable confrontation that would surely come.

"Do you remember my sister?"

"Of course, she's the one who saved my beloved husband," Lilith said as she caressed Lucifer's head. "And tell me, did you misbehave again, little angel? Who did you kill to finally be sent to this hole?"

Carmilla kept her gaze steady, resisting the urge to stand up and confront her.

"I haven't killed anyone without reason," Carmilla replied firmly, meeting Lilith's penetrating gaze. "My actions are justified."

Lilith smiled with a mix of sarcasm and superiority, as if she were enjoying the power play between them.

"That's what they all say, isn't it? But words are cheap, dear. Everyone who comes here carries their sins."

Carmilla clenched her fists, feeling the rage bubbling beneath the surface. She wouldn't let Lilith make her lose control.

"It's worth it if I can protect the ones I love," she said with determination, her voice resonating with

a strength that surprised even herself.

"I would be disappointed if it weren't so," the blonde woman approached Carmilla cautiously, knowing that even weakened, she could fight. "Come, we need to fix you up a bit. A face as sweet as yours won't be well-received on the streets."

Carmilla nodded, aware that she didn't have many options at that moment. Although she distrusted Lilith, she knew she needed her support. She got up from the armchair carefully, feeling the sharp pain with each movement. Lilith offered her a supporting arm, and together they left the main room towards a long hallway filled with portraits. Silence reigned between them as they walked, each step echoing in the corridor's emptiness until they reached an imposing door adorned with golden details. Lilith opened it with a fluid movement, revealing a luxurious room decorated in dark and opulent tones. Black velvet furniture and red silk curtains created a theatrical atmosphere, while an imposing mirror occupied one wall, reflecting Carmilla's battered image with ruthless clarity.

Without saying a word, Lilith led Carmilla to the bathroom, where water ran in a black marble bathtub. With gentle but sure movements, she helped Carmilla undress, feeling her skin shudder as she touched the bruised and wounded areas.

"Ow, ow, ow…" Carmilla moaned as Lilith helped her into the shower, feeling the hot water hitting her battered skin. "It's… boiling."

"Stop complaining, girl. You need to clean those wounds," Lilith responded impatiently, adjusting the water temperature until it was more bearable.

"Don't talk to me like that. I'm older than you."

"For a day."

Carmilla gritted her teeth as the hot water began to soothe her tense muscles, but she couldn't help but sigh with relief when the pain began to ease a bit. It was then that Lilith took some shampoo, and Carmilla felt a shiver as she felt Lilith's cold fingers on her head. Instinctively, she recoiled, fearful of any unexpected contact after all she had been through. However, Lilith stopped her movement and looked at Carmilla with a compassionate expression in her eyes.

"I shouldn't have done that," Lilith said softly. "Let me wash your hair, blood is hard to remove. Besides, those wounds need to be disinfected and bandaged before the flesh becomes contaminated."

Carmilla hesitated for a moment, struggling against the feeling of vulnerability that invaded her. Finally, she relented, realizing she needed to set aside her pride at that moment.

"Okay," Carmilla whispered, nodding her head and allowing Lilith to continue with her task.

With delicate movements, Lilith began to massage the shampoo into Carmilla's hair, working carefully to clean each strand and remove any trace of blood and dirt. Despite her initial caution, Carmilla began to relax under Lilith's gentle touches, feeling the tension slowly dissipating.

Once Carmilla was clean and dry, Lilith set about finding a suitable dress among the garments she had in the wardrobe. As she searched through the elegant fabrics, she mentioned casually:

"These dresses are a bit long for you; we'll have to go see Rosie once you're ready." Carmilla raised an eyebrow.

"Rosie? Who's Rosie?"

Lilith smiled knowingly as she selected a short skirt dress.

"She's the best seamstress in hell. If you need anything tailored, she's the one to go to. You'll love meeting her."

Carmilla tried on the dress Lilith had chosen for her: a daring design with a plunging neckline, short skirt, and striking red color. She looked at herself in the mirror and couldn't help but frown, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of wearing something so different from what she was used to. This was paired with a black velvet shawl and white boots.

Lilith watched her with a smile, leading Carmilla in front of the mirror, skillfully taking her hair to create two locks that simulated horns. When Lilith finished, she took some makeup, and the angel began to transform into something darker. The lashes that once stood out with a bright blue now looked dull and lifeless, while her lips, once full of vitality, now appeared pale and expressionless. The gaze returned by the mirror no longer reflected the spark of determination and goodness that used to illuminate her eyes, but rather a shadow of uncertainty and resignation.

Then, the Queen of Hell handed her a black mask, ensuring that no sign of her true nature would be visible to the sinners. Carmilla watched this with doubts, her hands trembling at the mere idea of giving up everything she was. What would her father think if he saw her like this? How would he feel if he saw her renounce her identity?

"I know it will be hard for you to get used to at first, but in hell, you must learn to hide your weaknesses if you want to survive."

When the angel looked up to see Lilith's reflection, she could notice a malicious gleam in her eyes.

"And speaking of hiding things." She turned, ready to fight if necessary. "Tell me once and for all what you want from me. I know your games, one favor for another."

"Nothing escapes you, does it?" She took a seat on her bed. "I want to propose a little deal."

"What kind?" Carmilla frowned, feeling she was entering dangerous territory from which she didn't know if she could emerge unscathed.

"Manufacturing and selling weapons, dear." Lilith's response was direct, without hesitation. "Your expertise as the Angel of War makes you the only one capable of carrying out this project."

"And how would you benefit from that? I doubt you'd put me in charge of a company without asking for something in return."

"Oh, Carmilla, always so astute." Lilith smiled enigmatically, not revealing her true intentions. "Let's just say the benefits would be long-term."

After weighing the pros and cons, Carmilla decided that Lilith's deal was convenient. Although she distrusted the hidden motivations of the Queen of Hell, she recognized that this partnership could offer her a unique opportunity to establish herself in her new and forced home. Plus, she didn't want to depend entirely on Lucifer for her sustenance; she preferred to take control of her destiny and forge her own path in the underworld.

"All right, I accept the deal," she said. "But consider that my soul will always be mine, and I will never answer to your family's commands."

Lilith nodded with a satisfied smile, apparently pleased with Carmilla's response.

"Of course, the last thing I want is your soul. You will always have your own will."

Carmilla extended her hand to Lilith, who took it firmly in a handshake; the deal had been sealed.

#carmilla carmine #carmilla hazbin hotel #lilith hazbin hotel #lucifer headcanons #hazbin hotel #rosie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfic #hellaverse #hazbin hotel 2024 #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin art #fanart #fanfic

31 notes · View notes