#i’m just happy the servers are back up RIP i wanted to play so bad yesterday

[melonseed11]

Honestly I’m scared of blue mage XD

Happy Blue Mage-ing, everyone

[queen-haq]

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 17

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 17

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and smut.

Words: ~3300 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost…

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15  Part 16

Part 17

Billy couldn’t stop gawking at you, wondering how it was possible you grew more beautiful each time he saw you. The red wrap dress you were wearing accentuated all your curves, and it took every bit of willpower he had not to rip it off of you and fuck you senseless right then and there. Unfortunately, he had to behave himself. Caravan was a pretty bouji place that had recently been labelled as one of the hottest restaurants in Manhattan and he had to pull a few strings to get a last-minute reservation for tonight. But seeing the smile on your face when you realized this was where you were dining had been completely worth all the hassle.

As the hostess guided the two of you to your table, he noticed a few assholes at the bar admiring you from afar. Immediately he snaked his arm around your waist to draw you in closer. You were his. If he could he’d pluck out every one of those fuckers’ eyes so they never made the mistake of looking at you again. Better yet, he’d keep you locked behind closed doors. Of course you wouldn’t agree to anything like that because you were too goddamn independent for your own good.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, taking a seat at your designated table.

Billy’s attention returned to your face as he followed suit, his gaze inhaling you in. “You look too hot. Too many assholes staring at you,” he grumbled.

The worried look on your face was replaced with a beaming smile, one that made his cock twitch.

“You’re being ridiculous” you remarked, scanning the menu.

His eyes drifted down to your chest, the swell of your soft, supple breasts just begging to be kissed and licked by him.

“Stop staring at my boobs, Billy,” you chastised even as a small smile graced your lips. “This is a proper first date. You can’t just ogle me like that. You have to behave like a gentleman.”

He quirked his eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I’ve never been that.”

“Well, try,” you ordered.

The waitress came by with the bottle of red wine you’d requested and poured some in both of your glasses. He noticed the redhead giving him a friendly smile, her green eyes lingering on him for a second too long. Fine, yeah, she may have been hot but she wasn’t you. No one was. So while he would have happily slipped her his number in the past, now the idea of being with someone who wasn’t you no longer excited him.

Once she left, he took the opportunity to move a few inches closer to you. What he really wanted was to get on his knees and bury his head between your legs, but something told him eating you out in in the crowded restaurant wouldn’t go over very well with you.

“I think she likes you.”

Hand propped on the back of your chair, he started playing with your hair. “Who?”

“Our waitress. She didn’t look at me once, her eyes were on you the entire time.”

He leaned in, ecstatic at the thought of you acting possessive. Even though you’d confessed to having feelings for him, Billy still worried you were ready to bolt at any moment. To see you jealous meant you genuinely cared and he didn’t have to worry about you leaving him. “She’s not my type. I have my eyes on someone else.”

You made a show of looking around the restaurant. “Oh, is Madani here too?”

“Funny,” he retorted, taking your hand in his.

“Your ginger’s lucky. I’m dressed way too nice or I’d take my knife and stab her with it.”

He smirked. “You’re vicious when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I just don’t like bad service.”

“Bullshit.”

“Billy, you’re hot. You know that. All the women here are checking you out. If I freaked out every time someone did that, I’d have a breakdown.”

He wanted to destroy the fucking world at the thought of someone even looking at you but apparently you were simply ambivalent about him. “So it’s that easy for you? Your brain tells you to turn off a feeling and your heart just does it?” Even to his own ears he sounded bitter. “Guess you’re not all that invested in me.”

Your eyebrow quirked up, apparently surprised by his edgy tone. “Do you want me to go nuts?”

“Just want you to give a damn.”

“You think I don’t?” you snapped. “Every time she looks at you I want to tear her hair out. Even though the rational part of me knows she’s probably just flirting with you because it’s part of her job or she’s hoping for big tips. Or maybe she really does want to fuck you. Either way, I want to punch her across the face. Happy?” You gulped down your wine.

Grinning, he squeezed your hand. “Then why not just tell me that? Why act like you don’t care?”

The agitated expression on your face was replaced with tenderness, your eyes soft. “Just because I don’t have a jealous fit doesn’t mean I don’t care. I just…” You exhaled a sigh, and he sensed this was difficult for you. “I express my emotions differently than you.”

“I noticed. You put on an act while holding everything in.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“But I want you, the real you, not the version everyone else sees.”

“It’s not that easy, Billy.”

He brought your palm to his lips. “I’d never told anyone about my mother.”

“You didn’t tell me either,” you pointed out.

“You found out anyway, and I’m so fucking glad you did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have realized I could be real with you.” He placed a tender kiss on your skin. “I don’t want to hide anything from you, Y/N.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Then tell me about William Rawlins.”

Your request gave him pause, his eyes roaming over your face. He’d taken painstaking measures to keep his partnership with Rawlins a secret yet you’d discovered it. “What do you want to know?”

“He gave you a lot of money.”

“I earned that money,” he said in a defensive tone. “He and I were partners for a while. Then he died.”

“You went to a lot of trouble to hide your connection to him.”

“You found out about it though.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Yeah, too good,” he muttered. He released your hand, watching you intently. “So what do you want to know?”

You leaned in closer, your voice barely above a whisper. He was momentarily distracted by the sensation of your tits pressed against him but he forced himself to concentrate.

“What happened to Rawlins, did you have anything to do with it?”

Billy took a swig of his wine. “Why do you think that?”

You quirked your eyebrow at him. “Knifed by someone in the parking lot. They never found the guy who did it.”

“He had a lot of enemies,” he pointed out.

“Okay, so maybe I was wrong.”

He studied you for several seconds, trying to decide if he should take the leap or not. “You’re not wrong.”

Realization dawned on your face as the truth set in. “Why did you do it?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

So he told you, about Operation Cerberus, his role in it and the money he earned, how he’d eliminated Rawlins a year ago when the prick plotted to take out Frank and his family. To this day Frank didn’t know about Billy’s partnership with Rawlins or how close he came to dying and he intended to keep it that way.

Throughout his confession his eyes were glued to your face, gauging your reactions. The part of him determined to do anything to be a success, the one who didn’t let society’s morals get in the way of his ambitions, would never be accepted by his closest friends. Despite the myriad of reasons to have kept that side of himself hidden, he didn’t want to do that with you. Because as risky as it was to be so open with you, it was also exhilarating. There was no one in this world he’d ever been this honest with and that kind of intense connection with you was addictive. He wanted you to know everything about him, all of the dark and vicious thoughts that ran through his head, the burning ambition that kept pushing him forward. He wanted you to know him inside and out and he wanted the same from you.

Before he could prod you to speak your mind the server came by with your dishes, setting your meals on the table. The redhead took her time, all the whilst your gaze was focused on the table, avoiding his. Billy’s heart started to pound in his chest, he was suddenly filled with doubt. Had he made a mistake in telling you the truth? Did he just completely fuck this up? Every second the goddamn redhead lingered at the table felt like an eternity when all he wanted was to shake you out of your stupor.

The second the server left, he moved in on you. “Are you gonna say something?”

You finally looked at him, your forehead burrowed. “We need to do a better job of hiding your history with Rawlins. I found it, that means someone else can too.”

“You gonna help me with that?”

You shook your head ‘yes’. “Yeah, I have to. You need me.”

“What I did doesn’t bother you?”

You exhaled a heavy sigh. “Of course it does, but there’s nothing I can do about it. You’ve seen me at my worst and you didn’t judge me. I won’t do that to you either. Besides, when the universe deals you a shitty hand you’ve got to find other ways to even out your odds.”

A strange feeling of warmth flooded over him, compelling him to angle forward and kiss you on the lips.

You pulled away a second later, smiling at him as you rubbed the corner of his mouth. “This lipstick isn’t kiss-proof.”

“I don’t care.” Wicked visions of you flashed through his mind. Your bold red lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him off the way he liked it. His cum spread over your tits, your neck, your lips. The taste of your sweet, delicious cunt on his tongue as he fucked you with his mouth. The heat of your tongue against his as he rammed into you over and over-

“Stop looking at me like that,” you warned.

“Then stop looking so hot,” he snarked.

You smiled, biting down on your bottom lip.

It blew his mind how sweet and shy you were when he paid you compliments, like you didn’t expect that from him. Obviously he needed to fix that, because you deserved to know how insanely beautiful you were all the time.

“Has Anvil been okay without Rawlins?” you asked, taking a bite out of your butternut squash ravioli.

Swallowing his steak, he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It was tough for a while but we’ve been doing pretty well the last few months.”

“You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished, Billy. You took a big risk going into business for yourself and you made it work. That’s amazing. I could never do that.”

Billy’s insides radiated with happiness. Other than Curtis and Frank he never really had people who genuinely believed in him so to have you cheering him on was exalting. Especially considering you were great at what you did and he had so much respect for you.

He poured himself and you more wine before reaching for your hand again. “I think you could. You’d make a shitload of money if you freelanced.”

You shook your head ‘no’. “No way, I’m too much of a coward to take a risk like that.” You took a sip of your wine. “Plus I get to go to Paris for work.”

“Or you could go to Paris on vacation and not work.”

“Then I’d have to pay for it,” you pointed out, grinning. “When you grow up the way I did, you learn to appreciate free things.”

Your enthusiasm was infectious, he couldn’t hep but smile back. A part of him was hoping this would be the perfect opening for you to talk more about your childhood, about everything you went through, because he desperately wanted you to trust him as much as he trusted you with his secrets.

“I’ll be there for two weeks,” you continued, oblivious to his disappointment. “We’re going to scout out locations for the new branch and-”

“We?” Billy interjected.

You cast him a quick glance. “Roger’s coming with me on the trip.”

The jealousy that struck him felt like a swift kick to his gut. Images of you and that goddamn bastard traipsing around and enjoying romantic date nights in Paris assaulted his mind. Agitated, he pulled his hand from yours. “I bet that fucker can’t wait to be alone with you.”

“Billy, come on. You can’t be serious.”

“How would you feel if I took off with someone who wanted to fuck me?”

“First of all, he doesn’t want me.”

His jaw clenched with frustration as he glared at you. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s thought about fucking you.”

“Even if he does, I don’t want him.” You reached out to cup his face, your voice so soft and tender in your attempts to placate him that he momentarily forgot how upset he was. “You really think I’d jeopardize what we have for a fling with Roger? I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then don’t go. Turn him down.”

Irritation flickered over your face, he could tell you were done coddling him. “Billy, you have no right to ask me that. I’d never interfere with your work.”

Underneath all that jealousy he knew you were right. As much as he despised the idea of you going away to Paris with another guy, he couldn’t demand that you not go on work trips. If you did that to him, it would annoy the fuck out of him. Yet despite his rational side recognizing he was asking for too much, he couldn’t help but feel bitter. “That asshole’s gonna make a move on you, I know it.”

“What if he does? What do you think is gonna happen?”

Hs eyes met yours, urgently seeking some kind of validation from you. “You tell me.”

“Do you think I’m going to sleep with him?”

He flinched. “Don’t talk about fucking another guy, please. You’re gonna make me lose my appetite.”

You took his hand and placed it over your left breast, probably to distract him from all the disgusting images that were running through his brain. “I wanted you so badly and even then it took me like a month to fuck you. Trust me, I’m not going to sleep with him when I’m not even attracted to him.”

Spotting the earnestness in your eyes, the knot in his stomach finally loosened. Roger may have had a hard-on for you but Billy knew you felt nothing for the fucker. He’d noticed that even at the night of the gala. So that meant he had to trust you, there was no reason not to. “Call me every night when you’re there,” he grumbled.

“Every night? You’re probably going to start blocking my calls,” you laughed.

He booped your nose. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

You beamed. “Fine.” A wicked glint flashed in your eyes, a seductive smile on your lips as you slowly moved his hand lower, his fingers now on your nipple. “Hey, just ‘cause you’re not there with me doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.”

He stroked your nipple over the fabric of your dress, enjoying how the nub hardened under his touch, the way your breath hitched in your throat when he continued his ministrations. With his other hand he tucked your hair behind your ear, whispering to you. “Phone sex is alright, but nothing beats this.” His tongue curved along the shell of your ear, and you trembled against him. “Right?”

The waitress seemed to come out of nowhere this time to ask how your meals were, and you jumped back. Disappointed, he sighed.

“Food was great. Thank you,” you replied, smiling stiffly at the redhead.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Privacy would be great,” Billy muttered.                                                            

You kicked him under the table. “Dessert menu?”

“Sure. I’ll bring it right over,” the waitress said, taking your plates away.  

“I’ll give you all the sugar you want once we get outta here,” he murmured seductively, caressing your thigh.

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “That’s a terrible line!” You took his hand and removed it from your thigh. “Billy, I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

“Why not?”                                                      

“Because it’s our first date and I don’t put out on the first date.”

“Now that’s a terrible line,” he fired back, mimicking your earlier tone.

“Also, we already had sex this morning.”

“So? I’m greedy. I can’t get enough of you.” There was that shy smile of yours again, and he reached out to give you a sweet peck on the cheek. “You blush every time I tease you.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, it’s adorable.”

Your cheeks grew even more red. “I’m not used to it from you. A part of me still thinks you’re bullshitting me.”

Billy stiffened. “Really?”

“I know you’re not playing me,” you reassured. “It’s on me, not you. I just have a hard time accepting when good things happen.”

The waitress came by with the dessert menu. He briefly glanced at it before ordering a slice of pecan pie while you ordered a piece of chocolate cake.

As soon as the redhead left, he broached the topic with you again. “I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. You have to believe that.”

You didn’t look at him, your eyes fixed somewhere on his chest. “I do. You were so pissed off at me last night. I honestly expected you to hit me because you were so angry. But you didn’t.”

It made him sick to his stomach that you actually thought him capable of hitting you. It hadn’t even occurred to him that you would worry about that, but of course you would. With your childhood it made perfect sense, he was just a fucking idiot who hadn’t realized how much it still impacted you. “I’m never gonna lay a hand on you. I swear.” His eyes locked with yours, hoping you can sense how much he meant those words.

“I believe you.”

His voice was insistent, his gaze boring into you. “Why did you think I would?”

Your eyes wavered from his eyes to his lips for a long time, the atmosphere thick with tension. Your facial expressions ran the gamut of painful emotions, from uncertainty to fear to sheer panic.

It finally sank in that maybe the reason you were keeping the truth from him had noting to do with if you trusted him or not. Maybe you didn’t want to be assaulted by memories from the past that caused you so much pain. The last thing he wanted was for you to experience that hell again. Regretting his demanding tone, his hands caressed down the length of your arms. “You don’t have to tell me, It’s okay.”

Your eyes brimmed with aching vulnerability as you looked up at him. “I want to… I just… give me some time, okay?” You pressed your lips against his, giving him the softest, sweetest kiss. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight for so long, I don’t want to ruin it, you know?”

His heart felt full, his mind reeling with wonderment at the thought of you truly reciprocating his feelings. His arms wrapped around you as you sank into him, burying your face in his chest. His fingers stroked the back of your hair, murmuring soft, soothing words to you. Somewhere in the distance he heard the server’s voice trying to interject, but he didn’t give a damn.  He was yours and you were his and nothing was going to ruin that. Nothing.

Part 18

A/N - I realize not much happened in this chapter but I just reallly wanted to write a dialogue heavy part where they simply get to know and enjoy each other. I think they’ve earned some fluff. LOL.

As always, thank you for your kind words of encouragement. Please let me know your thoughts.

Tumblr tag list:

@yourfavoritefruitybitch @voyevoda-thejoy @adreamemporium @queenmalhinewahine @gubleryum @galaxyjane @xceafh@maralisa124@tomhollandisabae @daybleedsintonightfa11 @lil-baby-nor @all-art-is-quite-useless @tanyaherondale @nashibirne @dour-trash @thetallassgirl @athenamikaelson @agent-jbarnes @primadonnasdream @aleksanderwh0r3 @elisemockingbird @nihilismworld @archisur@nemesis729 @lysawayne@kaqua @ladyblablabla @lemasonda@advictedtohim @24-martie @tarkanelima-blog @shinebrightlikeafanbase @krystal-clear1 @damalseer@dontjinx-it@darkishx @wanderlusting-about-life @thatguppienamedbae @happypepperdog @bat-revival @sassygirl25 @consulting–heroes @the-celestial-kitsune @mackaywhore @ablxssm @competitive-dust @red-head011 @exo-1204 @sunsetenigma @millieb-3199 @chatnain @licensedcheek @tinkertailor1212 @vertesalope @safetyhtom @acourtofglassandroses @eliwinchester-barnes @finnismyoriginalsin @weallhaveadestiny @beananacake @beauty-and-the-beast97 @smurfelle @fire-treasure-iii @charly-0 @kestrafagnor @pigwidgeonxo @damagelove @allegra-writes @pensandthings @jad3djay @batshitbarnes @kashimayuki @secretsthathauntus @odetostep @awesome-eccia @mackaywhore @stories-you-wont-hear @vvsdiamond28 @supernaturalcat7 @arieltwvdtohamflash @iknownoqueenbutthequeeninme​​    @devs-stufff @ticosas @moodacheeks @myakai13 @carlywhomever @fvckthisbxtchup @its-evita-here @papapapadumb @talesfrommycell @bat-luna-cat @fific7 @elluvians @dailydoseofchoices @everythinghappens-love @papapapadumb @mylife-love-and-other-things @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @ancientbeing10 @natty2245 @stuckysavedmylive @kasslucilfer @simp-for-ben-barners @originaldeputycalzoneegg @bdffkierenwalker @kimoranelson03 @sadbi-hours @haushinka27  @haushinka27    @caylaxwrites   @extraneousred​   @agentmstark​   @crazywitchkitty​   @its-an-idea-not-a-blog  @partypoison00    @fictional-hooman​   @hoglady   @helnicks    @luckyfreakfishpeach   @chiquitita18   @rachlovesactors  @icecream50055    @doloreschanal​   @lupinsfavslytherin​    @swthxrry    @wanderlusting-about-life   @dreamer7black  @leahnicole1219 @superawesomegeek @weallhaveadestiny   @toxicenough @tiiffanym  @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @cap-just-said-language  @edithsvoice   @natashasilverfox

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

If you have any idea, any existing ideas whatsoever that you want an excuse to write to continue the Tango glitch fic storyline, PLEASE -

(however if the horror of a forever uncertain fate is what you were aiming for in the first place I VIBE WITH THAT SO HARD feel no pressure to continue if the story is done)

thanks Shade for the idea! i saw your other ask and i like the general idea of it :)

(also as much as i like uncertain endings the anxiety in me needs arcs like this to have a proper ending. how happy that ending is is up to my creativity :3)

first part

second part

…

Tango steps through the doorway.

And vanishes.

Impulse lets out a choked sob and buries his face in his hands. Brody numbly puts his arm around his friend’s shoulder. Alone on the other side of the door, Etho slowly sinks to his knees.

Tango is gone. Forever.

“No!” Impulse wails into his hands. “Nooooo!”

Even Brody can’t hold the tears back.

All three of them blame themselves. Maybe if Impulse hadn’t killed him during the game… Maybe if Brody had done better with the doorway… Maybe if Etho had tried harder to dissuade him from going first…

...maybe Tango would still be here.

This doesn’t feel real. How can Tango, a friend they’ve had for years, more years than they can count, just be GONE? So quickly? So abruptly? So… So FINALLY? He was here just seconds ago, talking and moving, eyes full of life and emotion. And now…

Gone.

Etho stares through the doorway with hollow eyes. Not only is his close friend gone but now… now it’s proven that he’s stuck in here. Alone. Forever. He can’t follow Tango without meeting the same fate.

“What do we do now…?” asks Brody quietly.

It takes Etho a moment to realise that Brody is looking to him for guidance.

“I… I don’t… know…” Etho forces himself to breathe. “I-I guess I can’t come through the door. But I can’t stay here forever either. I guess it’s a case of picking death or a fate worse than death.”

His eyes flicker to Impulse, who is still crying into his hands. He has to blink back tears of his own as his heart aches, not just for his lost friend but for Impulse, who has lost his BEST friend. Can he in good conscience force his own death on Impulse as well? To lose one close friend in one day is bad, but two could break him.

But is a fate worse than death really preferable?

“Impulse,” Etho says softly. “Look at me.”

After a moment, Impulse raises his head and looks at him with red, puffy eyes. “Please don’t leave me,” he croaks. “I can’t… I can’t lose you too.”

Etho reaches out with his hand, palm towards Impulse, almost but not quite touching the doorway. Impulse mimics the movement with his own hand. It’s almost like they’re simply on either side of a window: able to see each other but not to touch.

Fresh tears spring to Impulse’s eyes.

They both know this is goodbye, one way or another.

“Am I closing the doorway, Etho?” Brody asks quietly.

He’s asking Etho what he wants to do.

“Yes."

“Are you sure? You know that once it’s closed, I might never be able to open it again?”

“Yes,” Etho says again. “I know it’ll be hard, but I-.”

“WAIT! STOP!”

Impulse jerks sharply and spins around at the familiar yell.

There’s no way it’s him, there’s no way he’s here, there’s no way it’s him, there’s no way he’s alive, there’s no way-

“Tango!” Brody gasps.

In the doorway to the lobby stands Tango, with someone Brody has never met before behind him: Xisumavoid.

Mouth open and tears still dripping uncontrollably from his eyes, Impulse scrambles to his feet and tackles Tango in a tight hug, unable to believe Tango is here.

“You’re okay…!” he cries. “I can’t believe you’re okay…!”

“I’m sorry,” Tango whispers back. “I’m so sorry for doing that to you. But I’m okay.”

“H-How…?”

“Later,” says Xisuma firmly, approaching the door. “Etho, come through the door.”

Etho’s eyes widen. “What?!”

“Trust me, it’s safe. It’ll take you back to Hermitcraft.”

“A-Are you sure?”

“That’s what happened to me,” says Tango, still hugging Impulse. “It sent me straight back to my last respawn point on Hermitcraft. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. But it should do the same to you.”

It’s the ultimate trust test. Does Etho trust the word of his friends?

Yes, he decides. He does.

Seeing the look in Etho’s eyes change, Xisuma nods. “See you back on Hermitcraft.”

Etho nods back and, after taking a deep breath, steps through the doorway.

He vanishes, just like Tango did.

“Everyone back to Hermitcraft,” Xisuma orders.

Tango releases Impulse and is immediately enveloped in a hug from Brody. “Don’t you dare make me grieve for you ever again, you asshole,” he mutters.

“Wasn’t my intention, trust me.” Tango can feel Brody trembling slightly. “But I won’t.”

After saying goodbye to Brody, the three Hermits head back to their server. Impulse’s head is spinning and his legs feel weak. He may faint at any moment.

“Are you okay?” Tango asks him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I never imagined I’d be sent straight back here. I thought I was either gonna just walk straight through or immediately get my face obliterated. I-.”

He breaks off as Impulse again pulls him into a hug. “Impy? Buddy?”

“I never wanna lose you again,” Impulse whispers. “Ever.”

Tango wordlessly hugs him back.

After a few minutes of the two just holding each other and recovering from the fact that they were almost separated forever, someone else joins the hug, wrapping their arms around both of them.

“Etho!” Tango beams and pulls him in. “You got back! Are you okay?”

Etho nods. “I’m okay, I’m okay. A little mentally scarred, but I’ll live.”

“Me too.”

“I’m so glad you guys are okay,” Impulse breathes. “For a horrible, horrible moment back there, I thought I’d lost both of you forever. That was so, so scary. Why did the doorway do that?”

“The game likely freaked out at having a dead player try to cross into the lobby without going through the normal resurrection protocols,” Etho responds, “and ejected us completely back to our normal world.”

“Thank god it did,” says Tango, shivering.

Impulse nods and holds his friends tighter to him, almost afraid that they would be ripped away from him at any moment.

“Yeah, thank god.”

…

“-then Etho turned up and everything was okay,” Tango finishes. “Well, KINDA okay.”

“What do you mean?” asks Zedaph, munching on the cookie Tango gave him.

“We’re physically fine, but I’m pretty sure at the very least, Impulse and I are scarred for life. I don’t even wanna think about what that might’ve done to Brody and Etho too. It’s got to the point where every time I even think about Among Us, I get a chill down my spine.”

Zedaph gives him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. That sounds horrible.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I still LOVE the game. It’s a lot of fun. I just… I don’t know if I can go back there after what happened. I don’t know if I can trust it anymore.”

After a moment, Zedaph says, “What if I went with you?”

Tango glances at him in surprise. “Really? I thought you said you never wanted to play.”

“I said I had no interest in playing but that was a while ago. Honestly, I’ve kinda wanted to play with you guys for a while and this is just the excuse I need.” Zedaph squeezes his best friend’s hand. “I know how much you love that game, Tango. If I can do anything to help you feel comfortable with it again, I’ll do it.”

“Oh, Zed…” Tango smiles gratefully and hugs his best friend. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Zedaph continues to hold his best friend, his mind already on the game he’s avoided playing for so long.

He likes glitches. They make life fun. Unpredictable. But not this time, not for his best friends. There may be some more glitches when Zedaph joins the Among Us crew, but he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure these glitches are only for fun.

He won’t let the game hurt Tango or Impulse ever again.

[novelconcepts]

Jamie & Dani short prompt- Online Dating au meeting online and being from bad past relationship. Thank u

This is probably a bad idea. It is, isn’t it? Almost certainly.

Why is she here?

Dani Clayton has been playing this particular set of thoughts--bad idea, terrible idea, why would you do this?--on repeat for three days. Ever since setting up that dating profile. Ever since realizing there isn’t much use in setting up a dating profile if you’re not going to use it. 

Oh, it’s all fun and games, building the thing. Find a photo that accentuates all the best parts of your face--Dani, after an hour of careful consideration, wound up going with one that accentuated her hair, more than anything, but she suspects the same idea counts. Then, the profile. What do you like? Teaching, long walks, new experiences, bad coffee. What don’t you like? 

Men, she’d thought, and snorted aloud into her wine before settling on: Deep water, accordion music, expectations, being called Danielle. 

A little more flourish, tipsy keystrokes, a casually-framed short-version of her life. Perfect. And then...well, then you hit the publish button, don’t you? You decide, for better or worse, to jump off this diving board and see just how far you can stand to swim before the energy gives out on you.

The faces appearing before her hadn’t been bad, certainly. Pretty, most of them. Interesting, a few. Still, she hadn’t swiped right on any--once or twice, because she’d forgotten which way meant yes please, but mostly because no one seemed quite...right. Which, she’d thought, was silly. The whole point of an app like this is to cast as many nets as possible and see what comes up. The whole point is to have fun. 

But every time she’d hovered over a promising image, a woman who likes dogs, or plays the violin, or goes rock-climbing in her spare time, she’d thought of him. Eddie. Who had taken one yes to a single date, and tried to make a whole life with her out of it. 

Eddie, who had taken her two decades to pull away from. 

What if the women here were the same? Not Eddie, exactly, but--presumptive. What if they believed a swipe-right was as good as a marriage proposal? What if she got bound up in conversation, and then a date, and then a relationship with someone else who just didn’t fit right?

Left. Left. Left. 

And then: the mistake.

She hadn’t meant to swipe right. Exactly. She hadn’t planned, maybe is the better way of putting it, on swiping right. She’d only wanted to look at the woman’s profile a little longer. Only wanted to inspect the facets this woman had put out on display with almost resigned simplicity. 

Some people, Dani had by now realized, wrote poetry and paragraphs to describe themselves. 

Jamie Taylor had bullet points.

“Gardener. English. Likes: Plants. Stories. Tea. Dislikes: Bullshit.”

The end. That had been quite literally the sum of it. Gardener. English. No bullshit.

But the picture, somehow, Dani hadn’t been able to look away from. Not because of carefully-arranged lighting, not because of a curated model-clean image--but because the woman appeared to have posted the photo almost under duress. It came in profile, as though someone else had done the job, her head turned toward the camera as if interrupted. Her hands were buried in a flower pot. Her clothes were simple--a tank top, a silver chain resting against the jut of collarbones, a pair of worn-looking jeans with holes in the knees. Her eyes--some fascinating color Dani couldn’t quite place--looked somewhere between amused and irritated. 

She looked real. 

Stupid, Dani thinks now--because that was probably the idea, wasn’t it? This woman, Jamie, had planned to look exactly this way. Real. Vexed at the idea of putting herself out there. Reluctantly available. 

It was a ploy, certainly--but one that seems to be working, because not only did Dani accidentally-not-accidentally swipe right, she found herself texting the woman. For hours. She’d expected much less, had figured this Jamie person would be as brief in text as she had been in bio, but...

Jamie had talked to her. Willingly. Teasingly, with more humor than truth, maybe, but with no sign at all that she was sick of Dani’s questions, bad jokes, nervous assessment that I really don’t do this, I honestly don’t get it. 

I don’t, either, Jamie had replied, and that had felt like enough of a reason to keep testing the waters. Enough of a reason to keep the conversation going back and forth, back and forth, until nearly two in the morning.

Shit, she’d said. I need to be at work in four hours. 

Shame, Jamie had replied, her tone already searingly familiar over text. Own your own business, make your own hours. Far wiser approach. 

I’ll make a note of it for when I found an elementary school, Dani had replied, laughing. She hadn’t said she’d already been in bed for an hour, the phone resting on the pillow beside her head so she wouldn’t miss the buzz of a new message. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, with wine-warmed blood and the happy haze of good conversation. Jamie made her laugh. Jamie put her at ease. Jamie might not have been real, but she felt real, and that was good. 

Better than anything she’d felt in years, if she was honest with herself. 

Still, when the next day had come and gone with no message, she’d thought, Fair enough. Jamie had been good virtual company for one night. It was more than she’d expected to get out of this app.

Far more than she’d expected, particularly when Thursday night rolled around and her phone buzzed.

Teacher, yeah? No school on Saturday?

Correct, Dani had replied, as amused by the out-of-left-field text as she was irritated with how her stomach had flipped over upon receiving it. You have figured out the complexity of the American school system. 

I am a genius, Jamie sent back, followed quickly by: Drinks tomorrow night? 

Drinks. A thing that people do. A thing that adult people do for date reasons. 

She isn’t real, she’d thought, even as her thumb was punching back: How’s 8? Miller’s?

A mistake. Definitely a mistake. Because the app had been a lark, and the conversation had been too easy, and the fact that she can’t quite pick out the colors in Jamie’s eyes from a single photo is making her crazier than she’d like to admit. 

A mistake, saying yes. A mistake, suggesting the local pub-like establishment around the corner, whose beer-and-burger specials had kept her fed on too many evenings spent working late. A mistake, because once this goes south--as it’s absolutely bound to, as everything Eddie-shaped always has--she’s going to lose her favorite hangout in the deal, too.

And yet: here she is. Standing at the door, wondering if the outfit chosen for the evening festivities--tight jeans, pink blouse, hoop earrings--is too much or not nearly enough. 

What am I doing here?

Maybe, she thinks with mingled alarm and hope, she won’t even have showed up. Maybe it’s all part of the ruse: look approachable, look human and normal, look a little too beautiful in the most grounded way possible--then, cheerfully, invite a woman to drinks and just don’t show. A fun story for whoever comes next. Can you believe she thought I’d want to meet her after one night of texting?

“Dani?” 

English, Dani thinks with a sudden rush of heat. Right. Somehow, she hadn’t quite been prepared for the accent, which--coming out of this woman, draped with languid ease at a table--is truly a little more than Dani thinks she can handle just now. The accent, combined with the mess of curls dragged back from her face, and a dress sense that manages to be both casual and deeply attractive at the same time, is...

“Jamie,” she says, her voice a little lower, a little more hoarse, than is truly necessary. The woman pushes up from her seat, a small-framed figure in a black button-down, suspenders, ripped jeans. She’s pressing a hand toward Dani, offering a firm shake as though they are business partners, not an off-the-cuff bad idea of a date. “You look--”

“Never been here before,” Jamie says, almost apologetically. She gestures for Dani to sit before dropping back down in a sprawl that implies exactly the opposite of what her mouth is insisting. “Wasn’t sure about the, ah, dress code.”

“You--you did fine,” Dani tells her, wishing suddenly she’d gone for a dress. Or a  different human body altogether. She feels too tightly-strung, too anxious for the easy smile on Jamie’s lips. “Um. You’re very. In person.”

“Very,” Jamie repeats, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is very American for wish I’d gone left, after all?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That.” Bit too forceful, she suspects, judging by the smile spreading into a grin. “No, it’s just--your picture didn’t--tell me you’d be so...”

“Clean?” Jamie suggests innocently. She raises her hands, wiggling her fingers in a small wave. “Scrub up fine, when I need to. Seemed to call for it.”

“And you...sure did answer,” Dani says stupidly. “The. Call, I mean. I’m sorry, I really don’t do this often.”

Something seems to soften in Jamie, her smile less teasing as she leans across the table. “Hey, no worries here. Same person you were talking to the other night.”

Dani nods, embarrassed, and flags down a server. Drinks ordered, she draws in a deep breath.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in years. Or. Ever, I guess.”

“A first date?” Jamie asks. When Dani doesn’t answer, she adds in a knowing tone, “A date with a woman?”

“Both,” Dani says honestly. “My last relationship was--well, I mean, we were engaged--”

Jamie whistles under her breath, reaching up to scratch her head. “Blimey. What happened?”

“He’s...him.” It’s too much to go into on a first date, too much to explain, even though talking to Jamie over text had been so dangerously easy. “My best friend growing up, but that was...growing up.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, tilting her chin in thanks when the server deposits two full pint glasses and a basket of fries on the table. “Rough time, sounds like. I can relate. My last relationship also did not go well.”

“Was he also a man who thought you’d be all too happy to quit your job and take care of a bunch of babies?” Dani asks, perhaps a little too bitterly for the occasion. Jamie flashes another grin, sipping her drink.

“She was a woman who thought I’d be all too happy to take the fall when she got busted for possession.”

Dani gapes. “Oh. Oh--I didn’t know--I’m so--”

Jamie shrugs. “She wasn’t wrong. I was nineteen, and deeply stupid. Live and learn, as the poets say.”

“Which poets?” Dani asks, smiling a little. Jamie’s brow furrows.

“John...Lennon, possibly? Hard to say. Anyway, relationships are a chore and a half, but the greatest people in the world tell me thirty is too old to play musical bedframes, so. Here we are.”

No bullshit, thinks Dani approvingly. For what little she’d put into her profile, Jamie evidently hadn’t been lying about that.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were nineteen?”

“In my mind, I was still in the relationship at twenty-four, when they let me out. She didn’t agree. Found out she’d been married two years, by then.” Something darkens in Jamie’s eyes for a moment. She sighs. “Like I said. Not my finest. But I am, as they say, a shining beacon of reform these days.”

“Now, when you say they,” Dani teases, grinning. Jamie nods decisively. 

“John Lennon. Definitively.”

There it is, thinks Dani, watching Jamie pop a fry into her mouth. There, the easy roll of conversation from the other night. As though they’ve known each other forever. As though two people who have thus far failed irrevocably at relationships make a perfect match.

Easy, she thinks. Don’t go wild, now. 

“So,” she says, when the comfortable silence between them has grown a bit too comfortable for the setting, “who are the greatest people in the world? The ones who tell you thirty is too old for...did you say musical bedframes?”

Jamie laughs. The ring of it curls gently around Dani’s head like a soft hand, a sound she’ll find herself replaying later with a skipping heart. 

“Not many willing to put up with a grump of my caliber, but Hannah and Owen fight the good fight. So long as I at least pretend to try.”

“Let me guess. They set up the account for you?”

Jamie makes a sort of gesture in the air with the hand not holding her glass. “Threatened to bury me in puns and children, respectively, if I kept putting it off. Owen’s still grumpy about the photo choice.”

“I liked it,” Dani says without thinking. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you did swipe as much. Mind if I ask why?”

Walked into this one. Still, she doesn’t mind as much as she probably should, not with the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. “You looked--don’t laugh.”

“No promises,” Jamie says, but with the gentle tone of one who knows exactly how much to tease before it’ll hurt. The idea warms Dani in a way she’s not quite ready to look at yet.

“You looked real,” Dani says. “Like you weren’t going to play games, or waste anyone’s time. Like you just wanted to be happy in peace.”

“That is,” Jamie says, holding out a fry for Dani to take, “sort of the idea, yeah.”

There’s an almost puzzled cast to her smile, like she didn’t entirely expect this answer, and is pleased by it at the same time. That same sense from the photo sweeps over Dani now--that this woman is authentic, even if she’s not always shiny, that she’s kind even if not entirely clean. That she doesn’t have any interest in muddled expectation or living a comfortable lie.

“And me?” Dani asks. She doesn’t entirely mean to--but she’s sure, in asking, that Jamie will answer. Jamie is unlike anyone else she’s ever met, the first person she’s ever known to meet each question head-on. 

“Honestly?”

Dani nods. Jamie seems to consider it, turning it over in her head as she twists a fry between her fingers like a cigarette. 

“All of it.”

“That’s,” Dani begins to laugh, “that’s not--”

“No,” Jamie says, and she isn’t smiling, exactly. Her eyes have a sort of shine Dani likes very much, but there is no hint of teasing in them now. “Really. All of it. You’re...very pretty, and that’s--but the way you described yourself. Like you didn’t care to be anyone in particular. You like new experiences, and bad coffee. You hate being called Danielle. I...I wanted to know why.”

“It’s not my name,” Dani says simply. Jamie gives a brief laugh, her hand moving across the table to lightly brush Dani’s fingertips. 

“I wanted to know why all of it. Why do you like bad coffee--”

“It’s the only kind I know how to make,” Dani says automatically. “Just sort of leaned into it.”

“--and teaching--”

“I want to make a difference,” Dani says. 

“--and where you most like to go on those long walks--”

“Anywhere I can breathe,” Dani says. Her fingers are hesitant, tracing the tips of Jamie’s. There’s something electric about this, about barely touching, about barely knowing someone and still wanting to give them neatly-packaged secrets shaped like the mundane. 

Jamie is smiling. “See, that. I like that. All of it.”

It’s nothing, Dani thinks reflexively. A collection of details. A sparse approximation of a life. Eddie knows all of this, and then some, and never matched up to knowing her.

But this woman, leaning across the table with one hand outstretched, looks so different. Watches her with steady interest. Is listening to every word Dani says, though the bar is growing crowded around them, and soon, conversation will become a task instead of a gift.

“Would you,” Dani says, feeling certain that some mistakes are not as bad as they seem, “like to take one of those walks?”

“Tonight?” 

“Yeah. Tonight.” Emboldened by the smile, by the curl falling into Jamie’s eyes, by the knowledge that she still can’t quite make out what color those eyes are, Dani takes her hand. It’s so easy, she thinks she could do it even without looking. “Right now.”

No bullshit, she thinks. No expectations. Just Jamie looking at her like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Dani can’t blame her. This isn’t at all what she’d thought she was getting, walking in tonight. 

But there’s something about it--something about the feeling that she’s been here before, or should be here forever, or will always find her way back to a woman who looks at her just like this--that almost makes her feel brave. Almost makes her feel wonderful. She rises from the table, laying cash beneath her half-empty glass, and feels a pleasant jolt in her chest when Jamie follows without another word.

If this a mistake, she thinks as they step out into the brisk evening air, it’s one she’s hungry to make. 

[lemon-patches]

Handon Pre-Legacies Headcanons

(So I was rewatching some the originals clips and these just popped into my head)

-It's already been established that Landon worked at the Mystic Grill and that's probably where he met Hope for the first time

-Now don't get mad at me but I'm gonna be honest, I don't think Landon stood out to Hope all that much...at first

-Keep in mind that at the time she did have a crush on Roman and we've all seen how committed she can be when it comes to romance

-But on the other hand Landon's trying to get his heart to start functioning properly again because who is that???

-And why does she have such a weird milkshake order???

-So anyways time goes on and whenever Hope's not locked in her room on campus she's at the Mystic Grill

-Thanks to her reclusive nature she doesn't really interact with anyone sans her server and kinda just sits there quietly enjoying her food and the scenery

-Meanwhile Landon's just in the background drooling and pining silently

-And don't get him wrong, he wants to talk to her but he always chickens out halfway through and just writes down his feelings and thoughts onto a napkin or something

-lowkey the reason why he's always writing her letters. because he got used to expressing himself best that way

-So even more time passes and Hope vaguely notices that Landon's the only waiter that's memorized her orders for the most part

-Hope being Hope, she calls him out on it. Politely of course but Landon still panics and nearly has a heart attack while he stutters and sputters out a defense that he's not a creeper

-okay so maybe he's kinda cute or whatever

-Hope thinks it's sweet and tells him so. Leaves him pretty good tips too (which sends Landon into a spiral because she's nice and she tips well?!?)

-True interaction doesn't really take off until she notices Landon being harassed by some Mystic High goonies and sees him forcing himself to bite his tongue

-But just because he has to hold back doesn't mean she has to and she's ready to rip these little shits a new one until they lock eyes and Landon shakes his head at her

-cue the start of hope wanting to hit shit and landon presenting another option...not to mention protective!hope

-Hope respects his wishes but still feels bad that he has to deal with it. Since she can't be reactive maybe she can be proactive

-She's seen him bobbing his head or singing under his breath to the music that plays on the speakers. So one day, during a moment of particularly vicious heckling she asks him who his favorite musicians are as a means of distraction

-And ladies and gentlemen they are off. Shy as he may be, if you want Landon to open up to you almost immediately ASK HIM ABOUT MUSIC OR SCI-FI SHIT

-They go back and forth talking about which artists they like and why and constantly go off on tangents. Almost like they can talk to this person about anything and they'd get it (how strange...)

-It's on one of those tangents that Landon finds out that Hope is from New Orleans which just sets off another 20 minute conversation

-They talk for so long that not only did the bullies get bored and leave but Landon gets scolded by his manager for abandoning the other customers

-worth it

-Before they know it, an odd little friendship has formed in a place that seemed to exist suspended in time, away from both of their worlds

-Hope spends more and more time at the Mystic Grill since she didn't really have friends at school (leave me alone, it's canon)

-At some point Landon just starts spending all his breaks with her and when he's working Hope is still content to watch Landon scurry around while she doodles or does her homework

-Discounted milkshakes anyone?

-They don't really talk about deep shit but their presence becomes a comfort to one another

-And Hope has to regularly remind Landon to get back to his job before he gets yelled at again

-They talk about and do so much random shit

-Ranking the menu items? Check

-Scoring all the contestants on karaoke night? Check (those two are utterly ruthless btw)

-Playing darts or pool over free leftover fries? Check

-Silently judging rude customers? CHECK

-And yes, Landon's crush just grows steadily day by day because he can tell even without knowledge of the supernatural that Hope Mikaelson is quite special

-And Hope is just so damn happy to have a genuine friend who doesn't judge her or want her for family's past or her powers

-Hope only comes over like 2 or 3 times a week but it's almost like a refuge for both of them to look forward to during a tough week

-That is until Hope gives Henry her blood, she gets suspended from school, and life proceeds to go to utter hell

-Hope's life is chaos and Landon's wondering where his lunchtime buddy went

-First it's just a couple days and then Hope's gone for weeks

-(the napkin notes just pile up)

-During that time separated Landon decides that he can't just rely on her being at the Mystic Grill to hangout with her. He's been extremely lucky so far and now's the time to buck up and finally ask her out

-Especially when he gets the news that his latest foster parents don't want to keep him and he's probably gonna be leaving soon

-Eventually he does see her again but doesn't comment on how much more...subdued she looks

-He figures it's none of his business unless she tells him and remembers the promise he made himself

-Sure, he wasn't expecting an audience (hi uncle Elijah) but it's now or never

-He gets shot down. Politely. But shot down nonetheless

-But hearing about his #1 tormentor's car blowing up did cheer him up quite a bit

-He's literally packing all his meager belongings when he decides to go out into the town while he still can

-AND GUESS WHO HE RUNS INTO?!?!?!!!?!?!

-Sure, they only really spent twenty minutes with each other but they danced. They danced.

-Landon's smiling like a goddamn idiot for the rest of the night. And sure enough, the following morning, there's a social worker waiting for him ready to relocate him

-He's sad, not so much because he'll miss the town or school or even his job but because he'll miss her

-But at least he can remember how they danced together

-About a month later, when Hope can think of human interaction and not automatically curl up inside or want to bare her new fangs Hope actually finds herself at the Mystic Grill

-Yes, she wants a milkshake, and maybe a burger but she mostly wants to see Landon

-She's actually there about half the day until she figures he's not coming in today (and to think she thought she had his schedule mostly memorized)

-It takes about a week of not seeing him before she finally asks another worker about Landon only to find out that he doesn't work there anymore because he moved

-”...oh.”

-After that Hope kinda just goes back to school and stays there

-She still goes to the Mystic Grill but only once or twice a month if she's nearby (no one gets her orders quite right anymore. especially the milkshakes)

-Now if Hope's not in class or training, she's in her room by herself, locked away from the world (no one else can leave her if she's always alone)

-Life goes on

-But every now and then she'll wonder how her friend is doing

-Little does she know that he's wondering the same thing

(flipping hell. look at them. disgustingly adorable. i love it)

[bowieandqueen11]

Hello, and Goodbye / Klaus Hargreeves Imagine

Request: How good was season 2 of umbrella academy! Can I request a Klaus x reader where he meets a young woman in the 60s and they fall in love. Only to have a heartfelt goodbye when Klaus has to travel back to 2019? 

Noooo @billhaderstrashbag​ I’m so EMOTIONAL RN <3

Warning, some strong language!

Comments and reblogs are really really appreciated!

Klaus always forgot how uncomfortable the ground was, until he was being shoved down onto it.

In his mind, when he rushed out of that muddy, dirty alleyway and straight into 1960s Dallas, everything would like a clean slate. The diner he had randomly chosen to run into, where no one knew who he was, and no one knew he had helped bring about the end of the world, he thought, would be vibrant, buzzing with young people so familiar and yet so different from him, and rock n roll would be playing on some crappy jukebox in the back. The servers would be in bright uniforms, likely on roller skates. Everything would be classic, refurbished and perfect. If only, he ended up thinking when he landed on the pavement, he had paid more attention during Reginald’s history lessons.

On bursting through the double doors his smile faded. The place was dingy, cluttered and smelt of old frying oil, the seat covers in the bays were faded red and ripped, and the servers had sneered at him almost immediately when he had slid into one of the booths.

‘You smell, and you’re chasing away all my customers pretty boy, so stay out!’

Landing in a dirty puddle, Klaus blows drops of water off his lips and watch them angrily fall back to the floor with a contemptuous shake of his head. He hated being wet, and he hated, more than anything, being left to fend for himself again.

‘Fine!’, he shouts resigned to the floor. He ignores Ben’s shaking head as he grimaces, rubbing his elbow as he pulls himself up to a sitting position. ‘Your food smells shit anyway, you couldn’t pay me to eat it!’

‘We’ve been here, what, twenty minutes and you’ve already pissed someone off. Nice going, dumbass.’

‘Oh shut your pie hole Ben, I’ve already been abandoned by enough family members today.’

‘Well hello there, stranger. You’re looking awfully crumpled down there. Need a hand?’

Klaus glanced up from where he was sitting on the floor, noticing first not the hand that had fallen down, outstretched to him in the first kind gesture he had received in, well, months, but the jewel on your finger instead. In the golden Dallas sunlight, it glittered like the sun-kissed ocean lapping the sands, and so he grabbed onto your hand, gently pulling it off your finger and snapping it shut in his palm as you graciously pulled him up.

The second thing, Klaus Hargreeves noticed, was how beautiful you were. He felt almost bad for stealing your jewellery, but as you smiled at him, all worries melted from his head and instead he found himself giving you a dopey, love sick grin in return. Ben, already seeing where this was going, only rolled his eyes and turned to walk off down the street.’

‘What would your name be, young man?’

‘Uh...Klaus! I’m Klaus, and I am delighted to meet you. Enchante.’ He wiggles his eyebrows as he kisses the back of your hand.

‘Hello there Klaus. It’s very wonderful, if a little odd, to meet you.’

~

The morning had broken like the sweet melody of a blackbird, full of promise, freshness and newness to come when you had woken up in Klaus’ arms this morning. Now it sat like a cold cup of coffee waiting to be drained away.

As soon as you stepped back into your home, and dropped the groceries off by the front table in the hallway, you knew something was wrong.

None of the lights were on, was the first clue, despite how late in the afternoon it was. Klaus had told you long ago about the number of times he was left to fend for himself in the darkness of his dad Mausoleum, and from then on at least one light was always left on in the mansion. 

Yet there he was, standing in the half-light of the living room, almost looking like the shadows he’d spent his whole life trying to avoid. Hunched over, you could already see his shoulders were trembling underneath his black trench coat, and you already knew, although you tried to shake the thought out of your mind as you stepped towards him, that your time was up. 

Pausing by the doorway for a moment, you let your eyes roam over him before he noticed you were there. You’d have to go in eventually, you know you did, but at least this way, before you placed your hand against his shoulder and broke him out of his nightmare, you had a few moments to prepare.

He shattered underneath your touch like fragments of stardust, lips quivering as he turns to you. Trying to put on airs, he fails to smile at you, his lips only slightly twitching in his usual half smirk. You can see it in his eyes, the ones that bore so desperately into your own, as he turns to grab onto your fingers, that he’s thinking of pleading, of begging, of getting down onto his knees and asking the universe why it won’t allow him to keep one good thing, anybody in his life that he loves more than himself.

Instead, you speak first, not allowing him the chance to crumble.

‘You have to go, don’t you.’

He doesn’t say anything, can’t find any of the right words to say to someone he loves this much. Instead he just allows his heart to ache in that familiar way it had since he was a child, that intimate knowledge and feeling of loneliness and heartbreak as he keeps scanning your face, trying to find anyway out of it this time. He wanted nothing from his life, nothing, no fame, no drugs, hell he would even take the ghosts, if he could just spend one more day in your company.

Eventually he lets go of your hands, biting his lower lip as he reaches into the back pocket of his black bell bottom jeans, pulling something easily out.

‘I was going to ask you to marry me, but I’m not sure we have time for that riggght now.’

His tone is a false cheery you can see right through, but what he couldn’t stop were the shaking of his hands as he holds the diamond out in front of you. The same one, you realise with a gasp, he had stolen from you the first day you had met. You had always thought, as you were pulled along in the tidal wave of this troubled young man, unknowable but all encompassing, that he had pawned it in order to find a better life for himself, for the two of you. The truth, in fact, hurt more.

Trying to collect your thoughts, you only cup his hand, letting the ring fall back into his palm, before gently cupping his fingers closed and just allowing him to tremble in your touch.

‘I would have loved to marry you. Keep it, but do me a favour? Don’t let me know when you’re going. This is the last memory I want to have of us - a happy one.’

‘But I don’t want to leave.’

His bright green eyes locked onto yours, and you could see then all the torment he had faced in his life, as if some ravaging storm had been encased within his soul. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, but only blubbered, trying to fight back his tears. Eventually, so uncharacteristically for him, he quietly managed to whisper, ‘please don’t leave me.’

Then the storm was let loose - the ocean started to leak, little water droplets streaming down Klaus’ rosy cheeks, burning so hotly against his skin in a way they hadn’t since he was ten years old, during Reginald’s first experiment.

‘Please don’t leave me alone again. I don’t want to go.’

‘Well I’m telling you that you have to. You trust me, right? Well I’m telling you, Klaus, my love, that I am not more important than the end of the world.’

Klaus bit his lip, eyes roaming over every piece of furniture in the living room to make sure they don’t connect with yours again. His body squirms against your touch as you pull his hands towards you and encase him in a hug, melting into your arms. His hand desperately clings onto your shoulder, the other pulling away to cup your cheek.

‘...What if you are to me.’

Slowly, and inevitably, you stand up onto your tippy toes and press your lips against Klaus’. It’s soft, and gentle, and familiar, but it’s filled with so much warmth, so much knowledge that you two were always meant to find each other, no matter when or where you were, that you belonged together, if only for a short while. It filled him with warmth, and calmness, tenderness spilling from his heart and rushing to every corner of his body, each inch of him saturated with a love that, yes, he may lose, but he was so glad he had even managed to find in the first place.

Eventually, you pull away and press your forehead against his for a moment, before pushing against his chest and letting him out of your grasp.

‘Goodbye, Klaus.’

[melodyalanaroster]

To answer some Fanfic Questions...

So, this is my response to @broxklynn‘s post... I decided to make this its own post... So that It can be properly answered.

1. How and why did you start to write? Is there some kind of story behind it?

I started writing in general when I was in elementary school... Back when I just had a Platform 9 3/4 journal, not many friends, recess, and a desire to immerse myself in the world of Harry Potter. I enjoyed writing, and even joined the Writer’s Club in High School (but I eventually left to join Anime Club and Divergent Thinking Society). As for writing MCL fanfiction, I began writing Sam’s and Alana’s stories as early as when I first got into the fandom, back in 2013. Alana’s story started out as “A Fresh Start”, had a one shot called “When I Wake”, then turned into “Let The Dawn Be Broken”, and is now “The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster”. The final product barely has any hints of the first 3... In fact, Sam’s story, “Fighting Darkness”, has been completely debunked due to what I’ve decided to canonize in “The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster”. Writing MCL fanfiction has been a major help in distracting me from the depression that was caused by family issues, severe abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, my mom’s disease and her death, as well as working at several shitty jobs. Writing has helped me escape reality and keep myself sane enough to not be a black hole of hate, anger, and sadness to my friends and boyfriend.

2. What do you struggle the most with your writing?

There are 2 major things I struggle with... 1 is Timing. I often set deadlines for myself that I never meet and it makes me so frustrated that I miss them... There are currently things in my drafts that were meant to be “Holiday Specials” for Valentine’s Day and Halloween 2020 that are still unfinished... It makes me feel like I’m letting my readers down, when its more of me letting myself down... The other thing is Inspiration. Because I hate my job, I often think about Alana’s story in an effort to not be completely consumed by the fact that I do hate my work... Due to that, I often come up with ideas for my story that I think are FANTASTIC for my story... But, by the time I get home, I’m either in too much pain or too tired to write, or I’ve forgotten the ideas...

3. What is your favorite genre to write?

I love writing Romance with a bit of Slice of Life and a hint of Action/Adventure... 

4. Slowburn or “Flame”/PWP?

Slow burn any day.

5. How do you overcome writer’s block?

If I absolutely can’t write... I work on other stuff I need to do... Typically, something around the house, or something online I need to do... I also look for cool stuff to add to wish lists... I’ll occasionally play videogames or read comic books... In an effort to subvert writer’s block, I like having multiple chapters in my drafts at once. If I’m not in the mood to work on one chapter, I can work on a different one.

6. What kind of thing you dislike the most, when reading a fanfiction? (for example: particular plot, grammar mistakes)

One thing that makes me upset (and it makes me madder when I do this) is misspelling... Especially when it looks like its almost blatant... You have autocorrect, USE IT! Or when a fanfic is so awful, yet the author acts like their work is a gift from god... I don’t mind a “bad” fanfiction... Hell, the concept of “My Immortal” is so bad that its hilarious... But Fifty Shades did a lot of damage and E.L. James acts like she’s bigger than Jesus... Seriously, she wrote Twilight fanfiction, changed some minor details and names, people who have no knowledge of BDSM ate it up, and she acts like she’s a “Sex and Relationship Guru”...

7. What’s the biggest issue for you, when writing a Beemoov fanfiction?

The biggest issue for me is finding out when to allow for Beemoov’s writing and placement to take place in my story. I don’t like a lot of the events of UL and LL, so I’m often finding myself in a position where I have to watch video playthroughs and go “Okay, how can I omit this character, but keep this scene?”. I’ve had to do that A LOT with Alexy and Rosalaya.... Although, to a certain extent, I’ll often cut their scenes out altogether. I really hate what Beemoov did to them. They were great characters in HSL, but became utter shit in UL and stayed shit in LL. To make up for Beemoov’s writing style, I’ve created my own characters, added in old characters (like Kentin and Armin), added in bits from the manga (like Viktor, Severina and their fathers), and gone off on my own storyline. The Melancholy Of Melody Alana Roster is close to MCL at times, but often veers off onto its own road.

8. Have you ever created a character based on person in real life? (celebrity, someone that you know, etc)

YES!!! A LOT of characters in my story are based on real people! Alana’s step-father, Nate Films, is closely based on Nathan Fillion. A lot of her family members are based on members of my own family, just changed a bit to fit the story. Lynne Roster, Alana’s mom, is what I had always dreamed my own mom would be... Hell, Alana’s cat, Sylvester, is based on my own childhood cat, Luna.

9. How do you feel about your own characters? Do you think of them as your babies or have rather love-hate relationship with them? (And, do you have favorite one?)

I love most of my characters. I do hate 3 in particular... But, you’re supposed to hate, or at least not respect, them... That’s why I poured my hatred into them... Those 3 are Carol, Kai and Azrael. Carol has aspects of my abuser in her. You’ll see more of her when I finally post the HSL related chapters... And understand what I mean... Kai is based on one of my real life cousins that I’ve not been happy with for years (the one who my bf has deemed “the family failure”). You mainly see him in the Cousin Mels chapters, and in the Christmas Special... Azrael is the one who is seen the most in the UL chapters, and she is a main adversary for Alana. She is the one who broke her the most, the one who ended Alana’s relationship with Nathaniel, the one who truly traumatized her. As for ones I love... The one I love the most is Alana... I know, she’s a reflection of me, so that’s kind of vain... But, she’s a part of me. When I do finish her story and am at the point where I need to say “Goodbye”, it will hurt....

10. Enemies-to-lovers or friends/bestfriends-to lovers?

Definitely friends/best friends to lovers. I also like toying with what happens when best friends turn to lovers, but circumstance parts them and one moves on...

11. Is it easy for you to get inside your character’s head? Can you empathize with them? Is there’s some similarities between you and your main character?

It is VERY easy for me to get into Alana’s head... Like I said in #9, she is a reflection of me. She looks and acts like how I’d like to in a lot of situations... Her life is more interesting, traumatized, and more well off than mine... But, she is still me in major ways...

12. Who has been the biggest supporter of your writing?

Definitely my boyfriend. He doesn’t really understand the game itself... But, he likes how happy it makes me and he respects how much of my heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears that I’ve poured into writing my story. He loves listening to me read passages from it to him while I’m working. He gives me advice and his opinion is highly valued... My family knows I’m writing a large story, and have seen some of the images that I’ve gotten commissioned, but they don’t really know or care about the game. They do respect the fact that I am writing. They love the fact that I’m slightly following in my mom’s footsteps in that regard (she wrote 3 books and several poems). My online friends have been very supportive as well! I’m constantly updating them on what I’ve worked on each day in my Discord Server and the words of encouragement always help.

13. How do you handle criticism?

Not well. Due to the abuse and family issues mentioned in #1, for a good amount of my life, I’ve gotten nothing but harsh criticism... So, now that I’m away from all that, at 26 years old, I’m just now getting to a point where I’m starting to take it better... But, I’ve got a long way to go.

14. Do you like giving your characters trauma? Why/why not?

I hate sounding like a sadist... But, I’m going to anyway, so fuck it... Yes. I have done awful things to Alana over the years. In A Fresh Start, she got sexually assaulted and ostracized. In When I Wake, she gets into a car crash, put into a coma, and in her dream state murdered by Francis in front of Nathaniel. In Let The Dawn Be Broken, the plan was for her to end a war. In “The Melancholy of Melody Alana Roster”, her childhood cat dies, her mom gets sick, she gets abused by Carol, her best friends get ripped away from her for a bit, she gets sent to a country halfway around the world alone, she gets assaulted and ultimately turned into a weapon of mass destruction.... I’ve even thought of killing her mom off at one point... But decided against it...

Now, granted, A Fresh Start and Let The Dawn Be Broken never saw completion, but happy endings were planned for them...

I do this, all while giving Alana happy endings in each story because “If Alana can go through utter hell and make it through, then so can I.”... I know, I’m “god” in that regard and I can control how Alana’s life is.... But, the fact that in my writing, she ends up standing tall, happy, with everything she wants, after everything she goes through does make me feel better.... 

15. Are you proud of yourself? When you look at first piece you wrote and compare it to the latest one?

Yes. If you look at A Fresh Start, you can tell it was written by someone fresh out of High School. There’s no real depth to it. Let The Dawn Be Broken isn’t much better... But, The Melancholy of Melody Alana Roster has become my magnum opus. It is the largest piece I have EVER written, and will probably remain the largest piece I write. I am very proud of what I have created... And when its last word is written, and I am ready to get it made for it’s place on my shelf, I will feel very bittersweet about it... That being said, my original plan for a sequel involving Nathaniel’s and Alana’s daughter, Aurora, has been discarded. I don’t believe Aurora could ever have as much of my heart that her parents do...

And there you have it! Some insight into my world, writing, and history!

[t-o-m-hollands]

Warnings: smoking, drinking and sex. Please don’t read if you are underage.

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

Paris, 1953 – artists loft.  

“Anything I should know about?” he asks, almost absentmindedly as he sets up the canvas and chooses his tubes of paint from wooden boxes filled with tube after tube of vibrant colours. Now, this would be the point where the model tells the painter that they don’t do nudes, or that they’ll need a 15-minute break between long poses, or that they’ll smoke.

“Don’t paint me in yellow”  

“You don’t want me to use yellow?”  

“That’s right, or gold.”  

He looks at you then, straight at you. Not a glance or a quick scan to see if you’ll do as the model for the day, but instead the kind of stare you imagine doctors gives a patient who shows vague symptoms when they suspect something malignant underneath. He sits down on his stool and picks up a cigarette case. With effortless grace he picks one for himself and offers another to you. Then, in true gentlemanly manners he lights you up before lighting his own.  

“Sit down” he orders, hand gesturing vaguely in the direction of the worn leather sofa. You do as you’re told and to avoid his eyes you take in the room. There’s parquet floor in oak and floor to ceiling windows standing ajar to let the fresh air in. Still, a faint smell of turpentine, oil paint and, of course, cigarette smoke lingers. Rays of the midday sun are making its way through the Parisienne rooftops outside and lights up the room. In the rays of sunlight, you can see little pieces of dust falling swiftly through the air.  

“You’d look good in yellow.”  

“I’d look good in any colour.” You puff out smoke.

A smile tugs the corner of his lips, “Yeah, I dare say you would." Then, "I thought I had met all the models of the agency, are you new in town?”.  

You nod, take another deep drag and keep avoiding his eyes, there’s an intensity in them that you can't cope with. Countless paintings are leaning against the walls, perhaps waiting to be redone, or put up, or sold. On one of them is a naked woman lounged on a divan, eyes looking directly at you. There’s an intensity to her stare, and although she is the one naked you feel strangely bare just looking at her. He’s a got talent, this painter. That much is for sure.  

“And why did you come to Paris?”  

“I didn’t know modelling involved this many questions.” You stump out your cigarette on the ashtray on the floor. “Now, how do you want me?” When he doesn’t answer, but keeps looking at you like you’re a puzzle he’d like to solve you nearly grow angry.  

“Naked? Clothed? On the sofa or standing? How do you want me Mr. Chalamet?”  

He gives you another long look before getting up and walking across the room. He pulls out a rug from a cupboard and drags it across the floor until it’s in front of you. “Get up” he orders, offering a hand to help you do so. Leading you to the middle of the carpet he then tells you to kneel. Spending some time adjusting your pose, making sure everything is just right before setting up the canvas behind you.  

“Now look at me” he directs. You obey, looking at him over your shoulder. “Yes, just like that” he confirms. “I’ll just get the shape of you, and I'll start on the face today. Next time you’ll get a robe to wear.” You nod, not knowing what to say.  

“Oh, and don’t worry” he says as he moves across the floor to the record player, “it’ll be a blue one” he adds as the first notes of ‘Stormy blues’ by Billie Holiday starts playing.    

***  

On your second session he makes you laugh. He hands you a whiskey and soda and you get undressed to change into a Cobalt blue robe. This time Sam Cooke is playing on the record player and a golden afternoon light fills the room. He paints you until the sun sets then he takes you out for dinner at the brasserie across the street. You discuss Hemingway at length, argue a little over your preference of Monet over Picasso, thought you both agree that Picasso is better than Matisse.  

It’s too early in the season to sit outdoors this late, so you’ve squeezed yourself into a corner table at the back of the brasserie. The room is buzzing, every table occupied and hurried servers are balancing trays of food and wine through the cigarette smoke filled room. Most guests are talking and laughing. Some are singing, loudly, cheerfully and out of tune.  

“You should listen more to classical music” you tell him in a mock stern voice as you sip your wine.

“Oh, should I now?” he leans back in his chair, looking as effortlessly careless and happy as you spent most your life pretending to be.  

“Yes, all this old jazz and then the modern music you’ve got going on, it’s like you’ve never even heard of Chopin”.  

He scrunches his nose in mock-disgust “Chopin?”  

You hold up a warning finger. “Not a bad word about Chopin, or you’ll finish this painting with another model. Chopin is off limits, Chopin is holy” You’re just playing with him and he knows it, he laughs and holds up his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright, I mean I guess he’s better than Liszt, but he’s no Mendelssohn.” 

“Oh, you cannot be serious, god damn Mendelssohn?”  

“What do you have against Mendelssohn?”  

“His music”  

He laughs. You laugh too. Somewhere in the city church bells are ringing.

***  

So, let’s take a second to examine the circumstances.  

Your great aunt Marguerite is, and according to your mother has always been, a true grande dame. The kind of women who has a string of lovers and admirers still at the respectable age of 85. Admirers who sends her flowers, gifts and love letters on a regular basis. Admirers who has dedicated books, paintings and even statues in her honour. She has a regular seat at the opera, only wears exquisite handmade clothing, drinks Champagne for lunch and has a bichon frisé called Coton. Her closest confidante is a perfumer who years ago created her a signature scent that only she has, which along with her bright red lipstick, she always wears. She can sing opera, speaks seven languages, danced ballet in her youth and referrers to everyone as ‘dahling”. She has been married four times. After her last husband died, (‘dahling Humphrey’) she settled down in a magnificent apartment at rue de châteaudun, Paris.

When your parents sent you to Paris, they sent you straight to aunt Marguerite, in hope that she could teach you a thing or two. Aunt Marguerite took you in with open arms and gave you a promise that Paris would teach you all there’s to know about love.  

“So, dahling” your aunt begins, throwing down her morning paper on the breakfast table. Coton is in her lap and she’s absentmindedly stroking him with one hand while the other picks up a coffee cup in the finest china from its saucer. On the table there’s steaming coffee, fresh fruit, brie cheese and just baked break from the boulangerie across the street. Everything presented on the finest of porcelain.  

“Yes, aunt?” Once when you were nine years old you had called her great-aunt and you had promptly been informed that if you ever were to call her that again you’d be stricken out of her will before you could say 'but’.  

“So, tell me about him.”

You stiffen. “What, about William?”

“No, no, no” she swats her hand in front of herself as if to get rid of a persistent fly. “Not that boy”. The amount of venom she manages to fit into a single word is truly impressive and you’re guessing it’s an ability that’s taken decades to master. Your shoulders relax, “but who then?”  

She leans over the table, a serious look in her old, sparkling eyes. “Dahling, don’t play coy, not with me”. But you still don’t understand so you just blink back at her. She sighs and leans back into her chair again. “You’ve had a flush in your cheek these last few days. You look – ” she goes quiet. “Dahling, when William left I -” but you stiffen again, decisively not wanting to talk about this. She leans closer again but this time she grasps your hand and looks at you with gentle eyes. “Dahling, I'm just saying, I had never seen you so hurt before. But I know, I know what it’s like to be burned by love and have everything you believed in ripped out of you, I know. I’ve been there too and it is a painful place to be.” She squeezes your hand gently in hers “All I'm saying is, if there’s someone out there who can put that blush back into your cheeks then I’m happy for you, cherie”.  

***

On the third session he finishes his first portrait of you. So far, you’ve not been allowed to take a single look at it. You have no idea of what to expect. He covers your eyes with his hand as he leads you to the painting.  

"Ready?"  

"No, please, I like to stand here in darkness for hours in suspension and wait." He pinches your cheek, "cheeky girl".

Then he removes his hand from your eyes and lets it settle on your shoulder instead.  

At first all you see is blue, your body covered by the Cobalt blue dressing gown against a marine background. Your skin vibrant against the abundance of the colour, eyes looking wild and fearful and full of mistrust. It looks as if you're drowning in all the blue around you, yet somehow holding yourself afloat. It's frightening, but mostly in the way he's managed to capture something inside you, something you thought you'd kept locked in, and put it on canvas for anyone to see. The only visible skin is your face and some of your shoulder, yet you've never felt more exposed.

He doesn't ask you if you like it, you don't tell him that you do, but as you both stand there and look at his creation his hand doesn't leave your shoulder.

***

A few days later he calls the agency and asks for you. He needs to paint another portrait and you’re just the model he has in mind. So, on a Wednesday afternoon with rain pouring down you rush to his apartment. In the elevator ride up to his floor you catch a glimpse of yourself in the dirty mirror on the wall. You look like a drowned cat, hair hanging in wet stripes against your face and you wonder if rushing over in such a hurry only make you look desperate.

"Oh, is it raining outside?" he asks as he opens the door to let you in, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  

"Yes, it is" you confirm, unaffected "and unless you'd like me to die of pneumonia, I suggest you lend me something to wear, or warm myself with." He looks as if he's about to say something cheeky, but instead he hurries inside to look for a towel.  

Later, you're lay on the leather worn coach, wearing only his white button-down shirt. You've dried up now, and the studio is warm and the whiskey he offered you is burning nicely in your throat. You can still hear the storm outside, but he’s put on Chopin. That warms you too.

“Oh, so the great artist does listen to Chopin after all.” You try to keep the smugness out of your voice. You fail.  

“Yeah, well, found a record for cheap.” He’s sitting on the floor, right by the sofa, sketchpad and pencil in hand. He’s sketching your face, in great detail. He says it’s for a portrait study. “It’s been growing on me”. He admits.  

“I told you” you say, looking down at him. Outside it’s dark but the entire loft is lit up by candles, casting a golden glow over you both. “Chopin is holy.”

He smiles, but keep his gaze on the sketchpad, brows knitted in concentration. You sit there, listening to the rain crashing against the window and the tones of Chopin. He starts sketching your eyes and looks up at you with an intensity in his gaze that warms you more than the whiskey.  

“Why haven’t you’ve tried to fuck me? Isn’t that what great artists do with their muses?” Maybe it’s the whiskey giving you the courage to speak, or maybe the whiskey’s just an excuse.

“Oh, so you’re my muse now, are you?” It sounds like he’s buying himself time.  

“Yes, I’m your muse now.” You laugh, “I’m your Picassos blue period”.  

He stays silent but lay down his sketchpad and pencil and drags a hand through his hair.

"I know you want to touch me. I just don't know why you're holding back".

So, he doesn't.  

***  

“Why not yellow?” it’s a tender question, asked at last. He understands the weight of this.  

You’re in his bed and you can feel his heart beat under your hand.  

“Before I came to Paris I was engaged. Announced in the papers, letters of invitation sent out to family and friends' and all.”  You stop, humiliation rising like bile in your stomach. “You know, I was always a blue girl. Some people, they shine like the sun. They are golden, sun-soaked, care-free creatures. Happy and grateful just to be alive. The life of the party. They lift up everyone around them simply by being near, their happiness is so contagious. They are yellow and golden like sunshine. Others, like me, well...” You trail of and his hand start stroking your cheek. He’s looking at you with a serious gleam, but he doesn’t push you to continue. He’s letting you take the time to tell your story.

“I’ve never been carefree. Things feel heavy for me, everything feels heavy for me” You paus again, because here comes the heaviest part.

“He met someone else. Two weeks before the wedding he came over my place, told me that he’d married her. I had been a spur of the moment sort of thing. They’d known each other as children, you see. First loves and all that. He felt happy with her, not weighted down. Who was I to stand in the way of that?”

“He said you weighted him down?”  

“Like fucking anchor, apparently.” You sigh, and you swear you can feel the sea water in your lungs. "That's why I don't want you to paint me yellow.  I'm not one of those happy, carefree girls and I’ll never will be."

You remember it vividly. How William had come over, looking handsome as ever and you had excitedly thought he’d come to discuss details about the honeymoon. He had sat you down and in ever such a gentle tone of voice calmly explained that last week he had run into a girl from his past, and in an explosion of old feelings they had decided to wed, leaving you in the ruins of the aftermath while they sailed off to America to start a new life in New York. It's a strange thing to feel hope die in your chest. To have that flicker of light somewhere between your lungs distinguished. But that’s what it had felt like. Like breathing in water. Now here you were with ocean lungs and not a flicker of hope. The humiliation had been excruciating. Everyone knew what had happened, had to know when the wedding was cancelled and a picture of William and his blushing new bride appeared in the morning paper. Your mother had been devastated, wailing all over the house that your reputation was in ruins, because who would want you now that you’d been rejected in such a public way?

Timothée doesn’t say anything, but kisses you and kisses you and kisses you until the first rays of sun light up the small, cluttered bedroom. Kisses you so softly and so sweetly it feels like artificial breathing, like maybe he’s what's keeping you alive.

***

“The rain, the whiskey, the long nights. Chopin, aunt Marguerite. The opera, Monet, Casablanca lilies.”  

Timothée looks up from his canvas. “What?”

“Nothing” you respond, careful not to move from your intricate pose on the floor. Last time you’d move a little Timothée had thrown a small fit and told you that this was the most essential part, that he had to get your composition just right, that you were perfect right now and he couldn’t miss it, and the last rays of sunrays that were painting your body were rapidly passing outside.

“No, not nothing, what was that?”  

“Aunt Marguerite says that when I'm feeling uncomfortable, or sad, or bored or angry I should count to ten things I'm grateful for. She says this is a thing to practice at red traffic lights or queues. She says this will stop me from becoming ungrateful.”

Timothée’s quiet for a beat, then, “And what are you right now? Uncomfortable, sad, bored or angry?”

“Uncomfortable”.

“Because of the pose?”

“Yes, but I know it’s important, and it’s only a few more minutes left. It's what you sign up for as a life model after all. Last week, there was this artist who positioned me with my arms up in the air, that was not fun after 15 minutes”.  

“Oh” is all he says at first, but then, as in a rush to get all the words out “I didn’t know you were seeing other artists”.

“Well” you begin “it is my profession while I'm here”. Home in London you hadn’t work. It wasn’t necessary for you to do so, and you had never felt the need for it. Here in Paris however, it was just an opportune way of meeting new people.  

“Yeah, yeah I know.” He keeps painting, and maybe it’s all our imagination, but there seems to be a new velocity to his technique.

“Timothée?”

He hums a reply, brows furrowed and eyes on the canvas.

“I’m not, you know” you trail of, “well, I'm not their muse, or anything, you know? I just sit for them. They don’t even play me Chopin” you finish in a lame attempt at a joke.  

He breathes out, seems to relax his posture a little. “Yeah, well that’s good to know”.

“Do you have?" You look at him questiongly.

“Have what”  

“You know, do you have other muses?”

“No” he says, firmly. “Well, there’s other people I paint, that’s my profession after all. But no. No one like you”.  He lays down his brush and walks over to you, offering you a hand. “Finished for today, you can relax now.” You take his hand and he help you up. He leads you to his bedroom and lay you down on the soft mattress. “Better?” He asks. “Much” you all but moan and he smile, laying down next to you.  

“Tell me a story” you request, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“A story?”

“Yes, a bedtime story”.

“Alright, once upon a time - ” You interrupt him with your laughter and he tries not to smile when he sternly says “do you want a story or not?”

He begins again, “once upon a time there was a princess and a penniless painter”.

***  

Your soft feet are moving across the ground. Penché and développé and bourrée and arabesque and pirouette. Backward and forward you move, smiling and laughing along, your pink silk dress soft against your skin. You move in and out of the sunlight chasing something no one else can see.  

And then there's him. Eyes moving between your dancing body and the canvas in front of him, a brush in one hand and a palette in the other, brows knitted close in concentration. Painting you is a serious affair. He wants to capture your beauty on the canvas, the loveliness of your movements and the softness of your pink dress but he's not even sure he can take it all in, the breathtaking loveliness of you, never mind getting it down in the brutal finality of an unmoving picture. He wishes he could paint your laughter and the way your eyes gleam with happiness. In the end a painting is just colour on a canvas, that only make sense to us, only resemble familiar things, because of how you use those colours. Light and shadow. Lovely shades of blush and orchid pink, of lavender, and ballet slipper pink are all the tools he has to capture your likeness with. But you are much more than just colours. More than your dancing movements and gleaming eyes and he doesn’t know how to mimic any of it. Still, he tries.  

Specks of colour doesn’t just adorn his palette and canvas though, but dots of paint have made its way across his fingernails. It adorns his hands and his white shirt, and a fleck of vibrant crimson even embellish the tip of his nose where he must have absentmindedly scratched himself while deep in concentration.  

“Mind playing something else than Chopin, eh?” he requests, eyes not diverting from the canvas.  

“No” you laugh. “Chopin is holy”. And even with a frown on his face he can’t help his mouth from twitching, revealing his amusement.    

“Come here, little dancer” he calls for you some moments later.  

You laugh, “tiny dancer?”  

“Sure” he laughs too “come and watch what I made of you”.  

So, you stand before his canvas and the air gets caught in your lungs and it takes you a few heartbeats to calm yourself. Pictured on the canvas is a woman. You think she’s prettier than you, loose and unbound. Yet you see yourself in the way she holds her neck and in the pretty silk dress and particularly in the eyes. For even though the overall impression of the dancing girl is a much prettier than you are, or at least much prettier than you see yourself, you recognize your eyes in the portrait. The colours are lovely and bright. It is you as he sees you.  

“So?” and you swear you can hear the tension in the short syllable. This is the first time he has asked your opinion on his craft.  

“I love it”  

***  

“Tell me that story again”.  

“What story?”  

“You know which one, the one with the painter and the princess”.  

It’s sometime later but the record player still plays Chopin. You are straddled over his lap as he lounges back in his chair. You’re sharing a glass of whiskey and ginger ale. Well, he poured one for himself and you take in from his hands to take a sip, so you’re basically sharing.  

“Again?” He asks, but he’s smiling. “Alright then, once upon a time there was a penniless painter.”  

“A very handsome penniless painter” you interrupt, taking a sip from your – his – drink. He continues, “one day he was summoned by the mighty king.” Again, you interrupt him, “and what did the king want?”  

“Quiet, my little dancer, or I won’t tell you my story” he mock-scolds, hand cupping your face, thumb stroking your cheek, staring at you in adoration. You smile even wider though you keep quiet this time.  

“The king and queen were organizing a tournament in the princess, their only child's, honour. Knights and noblemen from all of Europe were to travel long and far for even a glimpse of the princess, for they had heard of her beauty. The grand price of the tournament was the princess hand in marriage. But no one asked what the princess wanted. What she wanted was to laugh and dance and drink and to love someone and hold them close to her chest like a secret love letter. The penniless painter was supposed to capture the princess beauty, but he himself had never seen her. You see, she had been kept far from the common folk and locked in her ivory tower. She had no one, not really”.

He stops then, perhaps distracted by your hands playing with the buttons off his shirt. Perhaps distracted by your eyes and how every time you blink it reminds him of the fluttering wings of a butterfly.  

“And then what happened?”    

“And then the princess met the painter.”  

***

Next morning as you come in to the breakfast table aunt Marguerite hands you a letter and a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll be on the balcony if you need me, dahling”.

It’s addressed from home. Your parents' home. With shaky fingers and a sense of dread in your stomach you rip it open.

Dearest,

I was glad to hear from aunt Marguerite about your progress in Paris. She says your French has become quite perfect and that you are making great improvements overall. Time has flown by so quickly and February is, as I'm sure you know, just around the corner. It is, as you surely must understand, vital that you are back in London in time for the Cheltenham festival, and preferably some time before that so we can have some new frocks fitted for you. It is of utmost importance that you make a good match this year, as I'm sure you’re aware.

Your loving mother

P.S. Your father ran into Earl of Abingdon last week when he was with his son Freddie. Young Freddie asked about you. Let this be an encouragement, all hope is not yet lost.  

Let’s now examine the season.

The social season, or season, refers to the traditional annual period when it is customary for members of a social elite of society to hold balls, dinner parties and charity events. The most active part of the season is the period between Easter and when parliament adjourned for the summer, in July or August

It is a long string of gatherings which are deemed the opportune occasions to meet one's future husband or wife. It is common knowledge that if one has not made a romantic match during the season, ones hope of finding a spouse are at best none existing, and one will just have to wait until the following year. During that wait, one should work on improving oneself so that next year one will seem a good catch.  

The season is upon you.  

***

You lay in bed, wearing only the sunlight on your skin as its beaming through the open window. Outside you hear the birds. Outside you hear the traffic. Outside you hear Paris in all its roaring glory. Beneath your fingertips you can feel the stable hum of his heartbeat, and when you put your head against his chest you can hear its steady beat. A reassuring sound. A holy sound, holier than Chopin even.  

“What are you listening for?” he asks, voice amused but somnolent.  

“I was wondering, if I put your heart against my ear, could I hear the ocean?”  

“You want the ocean?” he asks, hand playing with strands of your hair, slowly combing his fingers through the tangled mess he’d created earlier.  

‘Yes’ you think to yourself. ‘Yes, I want the ocean. I want to live by the ocean with you and play Chopin every day and I want your paint-covered hands all over me repeatedly, and endlessly. I want to live like this forever, you and I, in a small loft with no musts, no trains to catch or letters burning holes in your pocket. I never want to hear a ticking clock reminding me of time wasted ever again. I just want to hear the waves crashing against the shoreline and Chopin on the record player and your voice and the things you whisper to me in the dark. I want the smell of the sea, of rum and of you. I want to live on nothing but wine and bread and fresh fruit. But most of all I want you to paint me as I am, not as you see me, I don’t care if it’s impossible’.

“I want the ocean” you confirm.

“Then I’ll give you the ocean”. He looks at you, eyes heavy with sleep and perhaps a fair share of adoration.  

You want to ask him ‘Do you see me as I really am, or have you made me up?’ You don’t. Instead you say, “Actually, I was listening to your heartbeat and thought what a blessing it is that you’re real”.

He looks at you and you can see that he doesn’t understand.  

Then he says, “I know your scared that you’ll weight me down, but if you do, it’ll be in the way a siren makes her claim on a sailor lost at sea. I don’t care, don’t you understand that? Drown me with your love, I'm lost at sea”.

When he’s asleep you untangle yourself from him, carefully so not to wake him, and make your way across the room. You take another look at him. The bed is too small really for the both of you and when he’s alone in it he can spread out, and so he does. Torso twisted so he’s laying partly on his side and partly on his stomach, arm spread out, as if he’s holding onto someone who isn’t there anymore. You close the door behind yourself when you leave.  

‘He should have painted me blue instead’ you think, exanimating the canvas. The vivid colours forming your shape are lovely, but they belong on someone else. A lively, carefree creature who don’t have ocean lungs heaving for air and a heavy heart. ‘Or better yet, he should love someone that isn’t blue’. And with all your heart you wish that person was you.  

You pick up your dress from where it lays discarded on the floor and you put it on. His cream-coloured knitted sweater lay on the floor too and you remember desperately removing it from him in order to get to the naked skin underneath. You put it on as well. It feels strangely like wearing armor. Then you put on your boots and you leave.

In the taxi the scent of Timothée surrounds you, oil paint, tobacco, rum and cashmere. The taxi stops at a traffic light and you begin counting things of which you are grateful.

Taxi drivers, Billie Holiday, warm cashmere sweaters. Cigarettes and rum. Timothée, Timothée, Timothée, Timothée, Timothée.

***

“This is the part where you tell me, isn’t it?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you’re leaving.”

You don’t say anything. Taken aback. “You are, aren’t you?” He doesn’t sound angry, doesn’t sound sad, though it’s like you can feel the weariness coming off of him in waves.

“I have to be home for the season” you explain, but it seems ridiculously inadequate and he’s just standing there, painting and not looking at you. “My parents insist, I have to make a good match, find a good husband”.  

“A rich husband, you mean”. He says it without judgment, but with a fair share of bitterness in his voice and you don’t know how to reply him because yes, that is what you mean.  

“My parents, I'm their only child. It’s on me to, to - ” but you falter.  

He sighs then, so deeply your lungs begin to ache for air as well, as if you both been under water for far too long. “I know” he says, then in another sigh “I know”.

“So, do they have anyone in mind?”

You swallow, feeling a sudden need to shuffle your feet, but you hold your pose. “Well, the earl of Abington's son, Freddie, has been mentioned as a suitable fit. We’ve known each other for years, and I know he’s always had a thing but there was always William.”

He drags a hand through his hair and sights again. Then all is quiet for a long while.

Then, as your body has begun to ache from standing in the same position for too long, he suddenly says.

“It’s just-” and he waves his hands in front of himself, as if he thinks he can catch the words that will explain how he feels from the air around him. “I just wish I didn’t know what it feels like to love you., you know? Right now, it feels like I'll carry the weight of loving you around with me for a long time to come. For a very long time to come.”  

Silence. The record comes to an end and everything goes quiet, even the birds outside has stopped singing, the traffic has gone quiet. The whole of Paris has come to a stop. Only your shallow, panic-stricken breaths and the scrape of his paint-covered brush against the canvas can be heard.

One last sigh and then,  

“and what a heavy love it is”.  

(‘He said you weighted him down?’

‘Like a fucking anchor, apparently’)

That night he fucks you with a kind a fever. He fucks you fast and hard and after you’ve cum with a half-strangled scream, one fist in his hair, he fucks you deep and slow. Both your hands are gentler with each other this time, but his eyes just as intense. Later, he kisses every part of you. Like he’s trying to memorize each inch of your body. Like he thinks you’ll disappear in front of his eyes, like sand slipping through fingers.

As you’re about to drift off to sleep, safely in his arms, you hear him whisper words into your hair, so softly you’re almost certain you’re not supposed to hear them,

“Oil paint, cigarettes and rum. Paris, Picasso, jazz. Chopin. Blue. The ocean”  

Then, in a voice so soft it might as well have been a sight,  

“you”.

***  

“I have a suggestion” he begins a couple of days later. “If you don’t like it, just tell me”.

“What?”

“I’d like to paint a portrait of you nude.”

You smile and start to unwrap your dress, “alright, where do you want me?”  

He clears his throat and looks away, shy all of a sudden “on the divan, just, you know, lie how you’d normally would lie. Normally”.

You do, trying not to smile at his uncharacteristically unsmooth self. “Like this?” you ask after you’ve positioned yourself. He looks up, bites his bottom lip and walks over to you. He rearranges you slightly, placing your hand in front of your cunt, as to cover you up. “How modest” you tease and look up at him. His cheeks are blushed but he says nothing, just sets up his canvas and paints and goes to work. Before he starts painting, he puts on the old, familiar Chopin record.

He paints in silence for a while, in deep concentration and you study him as he does. You want to remember him like this, paint splattered and in concentration, and with a hunger in his eyes every time he looks at you.

"Do you have any buyers for them?"  

"For what?"

"The portraits? Well, the ones of me"

He doesn't answer, just keep on mixing paint to get that precise shade of red he's had on his mind all day to paint your lips. You wonder if he doesn't want to answer, or if his mind is just occupied on the task at hand. Or perhaps it's rude to ask an artist about money, like asking the pope about evolution. But in the end, he does answer. Hours later while you lay on the carpet together, your head resting on his chest and his hand in your hair, his heartbeat under your hand.

"They're gonna go up for an exhibition later this month. I'm selling all of them" his thumb strokes your cheek "Well, except this one, I'll be keeping that".  

You want to ask him if he keeps portraits of all his models, if he's keeping it because he’s proud of the painting or as a reminder of the sitter. But your courage fails you and his thumb keeps stroking your cheek as you lay there in silence. There’re specks of red paint all over his hands and you find yourself wishing they’d stain you too.  

***

“I’m leaving tomorrow” you whisper out into the dark. He’s above you and you can still feel him inside you. The words have been on the tip of your tongue all evening and now they’re finally free. He doesn’t say anything but you can feel his hand gripping your hand tighter. And maybe there isn’t anything left to say. He rolls off of you and lay beside you instead, still holding your hand tightly in his, as if you were a balloon that would otherwise drift away. As if you were a lifeline out at sea.

***

In the early hours of the morning he walks you home. It’s Sunday, and the whole of Paris seem to be asleep apart from you. You are wearing his cream coloured knitted sweater and he has a painting tied up in brown paper and string under his arm. His hand is holding yours. When you’re just around the corner to aunt Marguerite’s home you panic, not wanting this to end so in a rush you request,  

“tell me that story again”  

He smiles, but its strained and his eyes are sad. “Again?”  

You nod. “Yes, give it a happy ending”.  

“Painters aren’t good with words. That’s why we paint, to express what we can’t find the words to say”. He hands you your portrait, leans in to gently kiss your cheek and whispers in your ear “keep it somewhere special, won’t you?”. Then he’s gone.

Later you unwrap the painting and place it on your bed. It’s a portrait you haven’t seen before. Shades of lemon yellow, amber, cream, topaz, bronze, sunflower yellow and gold make up your face. Around your head is something that looks alarmingly alike a halo made of yellow tulips.

When aunt Marguerite sees it, she sighs. “Yellow tulips, I see.”

“Yes” you say, suddenly feeling defensive “a cheerful colour, is it not?”

She gives you a long look. Almost apprehensively she says “perhaps so, dahling. But in the olden days it used to represent jealousy, and unrequited love.”  

You don’t know what to say, perhaps she doesn’t either, for she pats you gently on the shoulder and leaves.

It’s only later, much later, when you’re on the train back to London that you examine the back of the painting. In the corner he has written something in his signature scrappy handwriting. It takes a moment before you can make out what it says. When you do you swear the whole train can hear your heart break.

“I’ll think of you at every red light and I'll be grateful – T. C.”.  

***  

[askservais]

Hi this mun here.

🔫

Y'all are gonna listen to me go off about Dadvais or else you get the water gun because I have an exam tommorow but brain is going brrr Dadvais and this fandom does not give me enough dadvais content.

Like everything else I have to do it my goddam self 🔫

Why am I weirdly aggressive about this?

*aggressive shrugging*

Anyway Dadvais.

(Warning. Intense rambling. Very intense rambling. I have thoughts and this is Dadvais propoganda. Also like. Brief implication of abuse near the end.)

(Also its like 1am aaa)

Anyway Gamers.

Right we commonly accepted that Servais is cat dad.

Which is good. Good content.

I am also just saying, Servais is the kinda of person who adopts 50 kids and denies they're his kids. He's tsundere dad.

But he's also really fucking soft. He really likes kids. They adore his magic tricks and the man loves magic, absolutely try me the best way to instantly bond with Servais is talk magic.

This is not to say he is a competent dad. He's more of 'I'm trying oh god I left Tracy at the market' dad.

Y'all have seen his diary this man has one braincell for magic only. Also professor of literature. Servais. Servais my beloved. Why did you think this was a good idea. Servais.

He adopts like. *does the math* most of the survivors.

And his favourite is Emma. Probably.

Look the whole reason Dadvais exists is because of me developing 'Forever in the manor' (forever in the concept phase would be better name. Do plan to do the first 'canon' fic after Winters last snow-) and plot stuff happens.

In which Emma has two hands so she can have two hands. If you have a problem with this. I will fight you in the tesco's parking lot/j

I am just saying early manor days when it's just the free characters and Servais the two bond.

And maybe they garden together.

And bake a cake.

Yes I am referencing my fic 'A cake's respite' that fic is early days dad Servais. Servais stayed in that Kitchen when he wanted to drink because he wants to make Emma happy.

Also what intensified dadvais was a discord rp where I, the official magician of the server, had no braincells and just instinctively made him go dad mode.

Also minor tangent i know the fandom characterises Servais most of the time as grumpy old man, which like. He is to an extent but can I please have more chaotic Servais. Like. Y'all have seen his tome accessory right. He's a little bit of a goofball and I would love to see more of it.

Sometimes y'all kinda make him a little too mean. Which I know stems from most people disliking him but even ones who do like him just... yeah.

Then again I'm no Servais expert. I'm trying to get his personality as accurate as possible so if I'm wrong feel free to correct me. I've messed up on character before and its my policy of keeping characters as Canon accurate as possible even if I don't like them because other people do.

Speaking of Canon, time to go the opposite direction and talk about the dadvais au. Yes I have a goddam dadvais au the self indulgency never fucking stops.

It is also a work in progress because god has cursed me for my hubris but I will spit in his face and steal his wallet.

To summarise the Dadvais au.

William and Orpheus are street kids who investigate Servais for the death of his mentor John but end up adopted by him instead, beginning the start of Servais's child army.

This au gives me much serotonin aside from the Dadvais serotonin because canonically in this au Servais has no violence rights but Robbie, a toddler in this au, does.

I feel like this is an appropriate moment to inform everyone that unfortunately your mun is a chaotic goblin. I am so sorry.

Anyway, I am going to focus on one section of the dadvais au because I need to not make this a ten page essay.

So we're going to focus upon the point Servais decides to adopt Murro. Also canon ages do not apply in this au because by the time I had discovered Kevin's canon age I had an idea and got too attached so *yeets canon ages out window*.

So Au. Murro is 15-16. Servais is in his 20's. Orpheus and William are around..12. Still working on ages. At this point Naib has been adopted and is around 14. I think. I need to do thing called 'keep track of my characters ages.'

Anyway!

So onto what happens. I feel it is very important to establish the fact that Naib steals Murro from the Circus (its explained why in au) with a little help from Mike (~10) and Joker (16-17).

Unfortunately Sergi tries to stop them and Naib and him fight. Which Naib totally would have won but he didn't. Rip. So he gets caught by Sergi who takes him to Bernard.

Murro heads to Servais' place on Naib's advice and sneaks in with Orpheus' and William's help. The two try to hide him and his boar but fail miserably.

Servais quickly discovers him, recognises him from the circus and questions why he's here, and where is Naib.

And ever quickly discovers what Naib had done.

Which very much terrifies our Magician dad because well, Naib is in some very hot water that Servais is doing his best to keep him safe despite it. So him being trapped at Hullabaloo is.... extra bad.

In a panic he almost tries to force Murro to come with him back to the circus, before he realised he can't.

He can't let Murro go back.

On one level its on the basic moral level. Bernard is a dick and no child deserves to be in a cage and treated like that.

On another. Its because of John. His mentor.

Servais has a guilty conscience.

His actions put blood on his hands.

He can't do it again.

Naib returns, having managed to escape with the secret help of Natalie. He may or may not threaten Servais to keep Murro, which is unnecessary, as Servais has already decided.

He tells the kids to stay home or else. Then leaves.

Going straight to talk to Bernard.

Bernard is pissed, and Servais apologises for Naib's actions, then makes an offer.

He will buy Murro from Bernard.

Murro was just an act to Bernard after all. And he puts down a very generous sum. Reminding Bernard Murro's act was losing popularity. Better to cash in now then lose cash on a dying act.

Bernard is hesitant.

Servais raises his price.

Bernard wants that price. But that price for Murro only. The boar has to be paid separately.

Servais clenches his jaw.

Fine.

He leaves the tent at the dead of night. He exchanges a glance with a Mike hiding amongst the equipment.

He leaves and heads home.

Where the kids are anxiously waiting. Murro unsure of whats going to happen to him. Naib prepared to fight Servais to keep Murro. William prepared to play back up with Orpheus trying to reason with them and find a different solution.

When Servais comes home the kids are waiting for him. They wait for him to speak. Or try to. Before Servais can say anything everyone except Murro immediately start yelling/pleading for Servais to keep Murro.

Which Servais tells them to stop. Reassuring them Murro won't have to leave.

He's sorted everything out. Murro doesn't have to go back.

He rubs his temples and sighs. Telling Naib, Orpheus and William to set up the guest bed for Murro.

They'll sort this all out in the morning.

Servais waits from them to leave before leaning against the wall. He covers his eyes with his hand.

He needs a drink.

[faulty-writes]

Hello! I love your blog aaaaa,,, all fics are. so. good. I was wondering, can I request an scenario of Tokoyami and Amajiki (separately) with a crush who has a quirk that hurts her when she uses it and it leaves scars, especially in her back? And the bois (?) hurt her in a spar, but she says its ok, that it doesnt hurt that much because shes used to the pain? I know this is such a weird request, sorry askdj

[Rquests: OPEN.]

[I’m going to go ahead and say this I LOVE MY BOY TAMAKI <3 I always role play as him whenever I get the chance, thank God I have my own role play server. But he’s my cute little anxiety boy and I adore Tokoyami as well <3 That being said. I hope you enjoy!] 

Everything under the cut! 

Tokoyami Fumikage

Tokoyami was someone who took everything seriously, there was no room to fool around when it came to being a hero and he dedicated most of his time to just that, his hero work. Of course, he was no stranger to asking for help as well as helping others. Which is why when you asked him to spar with you, he agreed. Both to help you and to be able to spend time with you which he found himself desperately wanting. 

Though much like him, you had a quirk that leaned more towards the dark side. But unlike most, you often experienced physical pain when you used your quirk. At first, you assumed it was due to the dark nature of it, but then you began to notice it left behind scars that pulsed with pain. Over the years you had gotten used to it however and it was rare that any form of pain bothered you. 

Which was part of the reason you tended to do good when it came to close combat and Tokoyami was more than a worthy opponent. You had managed to land a few hits on him but he eventually got the upper hands thanks to Dark Shadow and you ended up flying across the training field. Involatraily crying out when you hit the ground and your body bounced against it before rolling to a stop. 

You were covered in dirt and bleeding cuts and scrapes. Your clothes had rips in them and the shoulder that took the brunt of the impact coursed with pain. One of your legs was shaking as you stood back on your feet, reaching up to brush a piece of your hair out of your face. “Y/n!” Tokoyami called as he ran up to you, a fearful expression on his face as well as Dark Shadow’s. “Are you okay!? I didn’t mean to hit you that hard!” Shadow spoke before Tokoyami nodded. 

“Yes, please forgive me. I stepped out of line, are you okay?” he asked and you shrugged in response. Despite your condition, “I’m used to pain, so it doesn’t hurt. You don’t have to worry about me that much.” you replied and watched as Tokoyami narrowed his eyes and Dark Shadow looked at you with concern. “What do you mean used to pain?! That doesn’t sound good.” Tokoyami nodded in agreement with his quirk. 

“I agree and I’m afraid I can’t help but be concerned,” he said as he approached you and laid his hand on your shoulder. “You are a dear friend and I ...very much like you. I want you to be okay and well,” he said before you shrugged his hand away. “I said I’m used to it, it’s fine.” Tokoyami shook his head. “I disagree, I have noticed the number of scars you have, tell me. Is it because of your quirk?” he knew he was overstepping his boundaries but he needed to ask regardless. 

You froze up and looked away, damn it. He noticed. You sighed. “Yeah, it hurts when I use my quirk,” you confessed in a whisper “and it leaves behind scars.” it was then that Tokoyami did something you would have never expected, he stepped close and pulled you in for a hug. Despite how much it made his heart race to be able to be so close to you, “I understand,” he said and Dark Shadow nodded. “Yeah! You can’t hide much from us! I’m too observant!” he said pointing at himself but Tokoyami gave him a warning glare. 

“Perhaps I can help you learn how to use your quirk in a way that does not hurt you.” he suggested before dropping his arms, “For now, I only request one thing.” he began, looking at you with a serious expression. “Please, whenever you use your quirk. Whenever you are injured come to me, I am no stranger to scars and I promise I will not judge. I only wish to patch you up, help you.” he said, after all, he had feelings for you and his only wish was for you to be happy. 

Despite feeling a little embarrassed knowing that he cared that much about you, somehow you found yourself nodding in agreement. “Okay.” you said, “Thank you Tokoyami, I ...I would appreciate that” you added and he nodded. “You’re quite welcome, perhaps we should switch to physical combat as opposed to using our quirks.” you looked surprised at his suggestion but once more agreed with him. 

“Just be gentle with me.” you teased and he nodded, despite feeling terrified and guilty for what he had done. For how he had unintentionally hurt the one he cared about the most. He would find a way to help you use your quirk and he would capture your heart in the process. At least that’s what he promised himself. 

Tamaki Amajiki 

Tamaki Amajiki was a shy man, anxiety issues were his life and he didn’t tend to venture outside his own circle of friends. That was until he noticed his feelings for you and he couldn’t even describe the number of butterflies he felt whenever you were around him, just praying that you would talk to him. He had gotten his exact wish when you asked him if he would be willing to train with you. 

Originally you were supposed to train with your friend, but their plans changed last minute and they had to cancel on you. That’s when someone suggested you ask a member of the Big Three and Tamaki stood out in your mind. Though it took him forever to answer your question as his cheeks were bright red and his eyes were focused more on the floor than you. But eventually, he did respond with an “O-Okay ...I-I’d love t-to.” and that led to you two out on the training grounds. 

At first, he was going easy on you, both because you were a girl and you happened to be the person he had a crush on. You quickly caught onto this and told him not to be afraid, to use his quirk and defend himself like he normally would against anyone. But you found he might have taken your advice too seriously and you were quickly reminded just how powerful he was. Those tentacles of his were hard to dodge, but it was his vines that eventually got you. 

You felt the way they stung as they hit your back and ripped your shirt up leaving you to stumble forward and land face-first into the dirt. You groaned and pushed yourself up, Tamaki’s gasp filled the air. “Y/n?” he said hesitantly and though you didn’t see it, he was visibly shaking as he approached you. His eyes full of concern as he held his hand out, immediately feeling guilt as he looked at your back. He took notice of those scars that were embedded in your skin and he trembled. 

“D-Did I do t-that?!” he asked in a panic and you looked confused a moment before turning around to face him. “Do what?” you questioned, though Tamaki just bowed his head. Hands covering his face. “I-I’m so s-sorry! Y/n! I d-didn’t mean to h-hurt you that b-bad!” how could he do that to someone he liked? He got too carried away, damn. What was he thinking? God, he knew this was a bad idea. 

“Tamaki …” you said as you reached over to grab his hands, but he tried to keep them pressed to his face. “You didn’t do anything …” he shook his head, finally dropping his hands and looked at you. His eyes had tears in them, “Y-Yes I did! I ...t-those s-scars you h-have ...d-did I d-do that? E-Even if I d-didn’t um, I s-still hurt you. A-Are you o-okay?” your eyes widened for a moment before you glanced to the side, so he had noticed your scars. 

You bit your lip a moment as you tried to think of how to respond, “I ...I’m fine Tamaki, r-really. I ...I’m used to pain, it’s a normal occurrence with my quirk.” you explained and though you couldn’t tell, Tamaki's heart sank in his chest. “W-Wait ...d-do you mean t-those scars are from …” he hesitated and you finished his sentence, “My quirk, yes,” you said and he sniffled. 

“Y/n, I ...I-I’m sorry I didn’t k-know! P-Please, don’t u-use your quirk if it h-hurts you! I d-don’t like s-seeing you hurt.” he hated seeing anyone he cared about in pain but especially you. “Tamaki ...I said I’m used to it. You didn’t do anything wrong.” you tried to reason with him again and he shook his head.

“C-Can I ...c-can I ...at l-least hug you?” he questioned shyly, his cheeks were bright red and he was trembling but even so, his question was a surprise. “Y-You want to hug me?” you repeated and he shyly nodded. “P-Please, e-even though you s-say you a-are okay, I d-don’t like t-the idea of you b-being used to p-pain ...I um, t-thought maybe a h-hug would help,” he said, his arms still outstretched and you hesitantly leaned forward. 

You felt safe as soon as his arms wrapped around you and you leaned your head against his shoulder. “I-I’m sorry your q-quirk hurts you a-and that I h-hurt you. B-But now I ...I d-don’t want to s-stop hugging y-you until y-you’re better.” he said, hoping you didn’t feel how fast his heart was racing. “Tamaki, you really don’t have to do that,” you replied, your head still pressing against his shoulder. 

“I w-want to, i-if I can h-help in a-any way I w-will. I c-consider you m-my most special p-person, the o-one that I ...I ...w-well I ...r-really like y-you y/n and um ...w-well I p-promise I’ll m-make all t-that pain g-go away.” your eyes widened at his confession and you felt a blush of your own come to your cheeks. “I ...I don’t know what to say Tamaki.” you felt his arms tighten around you. 

“You d-don’t have to s-say anything, j-just let me h-hold you,” he whispered, and though you didn’t know how long he planned to hold you. Somehow you found yourself relaxing against him, a sort of warmth coming to you knowing that he cared so much about your pain. 

[adhdvane]

Talking about GW/U&F Under the Cut because it’s gunna be a long ramble

S here’s my rankings (I want to save these and post them in this entry for myself, I want to better keep track of how much I do so I can keep a log of how much stupid effort I end up putting into this godda.mn event each time to see how my progress goes) Individual:

i’m like both proud and dead (ignore dark team, this was fire favored but final rally zeus is light, so kill him with dark team). i could solo nm 100 just fine, like much better than pervious events, including the last wind gw in June 2020 (which does tell me hey, you’ve improved a lot on your fire team in the past year), it’s just soloing nm 100 took like ~10 minutes and required me paying attention. by day 3 burn out was real (despite there being no 24 hours interlude this year because of server issues delaying prelims, lol let me tell you when i went to check the prelims on my break to find out oops sorry we’re delaying prelims a day bc ppl had issues last night when we started at 3 am your time, rip). nm 95, you see, that i could make a full auto team for and just summon the devil and skill cast a couple of the skills click attack and then full auto, and ignore the game for like 4 to 4:40 minutes. so while i did do some nm 100 runs, i mostly defaulted to nm 95 (on another note i could 1 turn nm 90 with my break/od team bandit tycoon/5* tien/summer bea/5* zeta and so during prelims and round 1 that felt really good). on the one hand it hurts that i ignore my main fire set ups for favor a full auto team (rb/sieg/heles/izmir) but like how else do i survive doing that many godda.mn raids without total burn out (and i mean the only difference is playing relic buster instead of lumberjack so no using my prized ullikummi and swapping tien out for heles bc tien is less full auto friendly bc you don’t want her buff skill activating before her damage. also i mean it was nice to let heles get exp so i got her to lv 100 during the event bc i’d leveled her to 95 prior. she has some good damage nukes, and her additional atk/def down stackable meant coverage when sieg or izmir’s didn’t land properly). besides i still got to use my main fire set up and ullikummi when i did the nm 100 runs (look i love my fire ullikummi + lumberjack i will never shut up about how good it is and how happy i was i went through with it originally for a harp memeing only to discover WOW ITS JUST REALLY GOOD FOR MAINHAND PERIOD EVEN WITHOUT HARP MEMEING GRID). sure running nm 95 was. technically not optimal in terms of time/meat/tokens/honors but it was fckin optimal for my SANITY.

crew (day 4 at top - day 1 at bottom):

first of all slkdfsjk can’t believe i actually stayed above top 30,000. WOW THAT IS DEFINITELY A FIRST. third slkdjgsldf 3 of 4 won, one day i’ll get 4 of 4. tbh surprised i managed to win the last one (THE ONE AT THE TOP) (i was... i was raiding from 3 pm - 4:40 am it was bad... i wanted to hit the 400mil individual mark for the reward bc i was close and like it would suck if i was only a little bit away)... it did feel good to actually win some though, i haven’t had victories in a while because despite the fact every gw i was definitely getting more honors than i had the previous one it was getting harder to solo shit when i’m against crews with multiple ppl participating. (HELL LAST GW, THE WATER BOSSES, WAS THE FIRST TIME I ACTUALLY MANAGED TO GET BACK INTO FCKING MAKING THE SOLO C TIER AFTER SEVERAL GW WHERE IT DIDN’T HAPPEN BECAUSE THERE WAS A BIG LEAP IN HOW MANY HONORS THAT 36,000 CREW HAD AT THE BOTTOM. also like lol at work so i can’t really start doing prelims until i get home bc i decided i wanted sleep in the morning)

other:

:) oh boy a single sunlightstone shard that’s going to sit there forever and never do anything bc how the fck am i ever going to do this 10 times. draw box fcking 50 is what i’m on. it takes 10k to empty. i would need 8k more tokens. i would get 100 tokens per extra zeus run.... im not doing 80 more zeus runs... i’ll .... just have to hit “toke draw 100 times” 21 times to use the rest of the tokens which is annoying. i guess. AND NOW WE COME TO THE REASON WHY I PUT SO MUCH GODDAMN EFFORT INTO THIS GW. gbf is a bastard man that wants me to 5* the rest of the eternals (5 of them) before i can transcend shisu to 140 ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` ) i hate it. so in order to get enough rev weapons to work on my next 5* i needed to 36 box for fif (i have 1 fully uncapped copy of her rev from when i was initially going to have to recruit her normally but then seeds of redemption happened in 2020 and i got her free + 50 five-star fragments, since i already had a fully uncapped copy i thought fine she’ll go next bc less weapons needed and also i have one of every other element 5* so i wanted to do her or song either way. plus maybe if i can 5* her i can actually go do that gilbert quest lol). i WOULD HAVE LOVED TO BOXED NW QUARTZ. I WOULD HAVE LOVED TO HAVE BOXED NW QUARTZ AFTER I 36 BOXED HER. BUT I KNEW IF I DID THAT, I WAS PROBABLY GOING TO INEVITABLE HIT BOX 46 BC OF THE RATE I WAS GOING AND IT WOULD FORCE ME BACK TO REV STAFFS AND I’D END UP WITH EXTRA COPIES WHEN I COULD HAVE BEEN STARTING THE NEXT SET I NEED. so instead of boxing the quartz i wanted after i switch to harps and IT sUCK. also depending on if i get the harp draw from the 2000 token i have left... i might continue zeus farm until i get it bc then at least i’ll have an even uncap on my harps (4 fully uncapped, bc i actually had a 1* harp in stash already.... bc those were FROM RANDOM DROPS I’D GOTTEN FROM GW IN THE PAST)

uhg anyways... this was like one of the first times in like a very long time that i didn’t fully burn out by day 3/4. i pushed through to the end like a godda.mn maniac. even in my early days i often just went lol im done on day 4... last gw i thought i was insane bc i got like ~158mil total honors (and EARTH IS LIKE ARGUABLY MY LEAST DEVELOPED). and this time i got over 400mil :) next one is going to be hell because my wind has be improved to 100% double tia crit and i have a my developed full auto team. oh fcking boy. 

[siren07tucker]

Incorrect time DOOM/Hermit Craft

Part 19 tomb of the void

Nothing too bad just really sad!

The mood quickly switch It was no longer happy and light now it was somber and A bit tense. The doom slayer had a moment of panic, what happened.

Xisuma Took A shaky breath as he put his mug down.”I’m sorry dad... Void is gone” DG dropping his mug of tea, he felt numb he don’t know whether he wanted to scream and rip something apart or curl up and sob.

The Doom Slayer has lost many people that was close to him, but this just hit different. It was void his son, his bunny, his baby, his blood one of the people he promised to protect with his life he promised his son, he always protect him and he failed.

DG Didn’t even notice that he was signing “Vega is this why you didn’t show me void’s pictures” Vega nodded his head “no, I just don’t have that album. X has it” DG Looked at Xisuma “could I at least see the album“ x stood up “come with me, I have it in a secret place, on the way I will explain what happened to void”

The doom slayer walked Side by side with his son he was curious and scared about what happened to void. “well I already know what Vega told you… I just want to tell you now that I hate Who I was back then and I changed a lot. It all started during the minor invasion me and Void located the new hell Priest, we overheard him bragging about how his army killed the doom slayer. But of course we had no time To figure out our emotions, I had some serious anger issues…”

DG listen to X, he couldn’t judge his son he had his own anger issues. “... so after that I invited him to hermit craft. Not a lot of people like him but of by then void was sick. It took a while for things to get worse but when they did I covered it all up from everybody even what was left of void. But eventually it blew up in my face literally.”

The father and son made it to adore, Xisuma opened it inside the room with a garden with many bees. DG’s eyes wandered to a statue in the middle of garden. The statue depicted The doom slayer with void, They were sitting down void was making flower crowns And The slayer was playing with the rabbit, The statue was detailed to The facial expressions all the way to the Small Nick’s in the doom slayer’s armor.

On the small pedestal that the statue was on there was two plaques The first one read in memory of the doom slayer. The savior of humanity, The bogeyman of demons and a loving father. He was taken away too soon may he rest in peace. The second one read in loving memory of void slayer. Defender of humanity, Keeper of hope, A loving son and brother. He never deserved anything that happened to him may void rest in peace among the stars. The whole room was a memorial to the family Xisuma lost.

Xisuma walked over to a bench DG doing the same. X grab the book from the side table it was a light pink with yellow stars, a red V was painted on the cover. Xisuma Open the book and flipped through a few pages. “here’s a good one” The picture showed void snuggled up underneath of DG’s Reading chair.

X and DG flipped through more pages. Xisuma pointed out one Picture of void measuring his horns, Next to that one was a picture that was flipped around, DG noticed the dried blood on the edges. Xisuma gently grabbed the picture turning it around to reveal a little birthday party image DG smiled It was a cute photo.

“That was the day where everything went horribly wrong” Xisumas Voice sounded weak, The slayer tilted his head questioning “on our 18th birthday I decided to leave and join hermit craft. back then I was so tired of being compared to you, I couldn’t beat you. And void I know now he was only trying to help, but he acted like you could just come home that was when it was hard to say you were alive. I tried to keep my cool but I blacked out and I said some things and I hurt void and then I left him”

X looked up at the statue of void is green eyes filled with regret. “The next time I saw him he was already infected. at the time I didn’t question anything. And because Of me he got worse And void I remembered died. And what was left I had to in prison for the safety of my server” Xisuma was wrapped in a hug (A few minutes later)

It suddenly hit the slayer Xisuma said band not killed.

[gelo-p]

Blooming in ZERO: Memories

I’ve decided to T100 the Re:ZERO collaboration! Let’s review how it went. XD

WARNING! A rather image-heavy post

Step 1: Roll for Rinko! (She’ll make my team stronger) Strictly speaking, I didn’t need her (means more work though), but I thought maybe I’ll get lucky? ^o^

I only had enough stars for 3 10-pulls though, and I have to say, this paid gacha was really tempting... (my Twitter friends all got Rinko WTF)

I’m broke though ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

We would quickly learn that we were overloading the servers, LOL. The game was very unplayable during the first two hours. During my first roll, the connection actually timed out D:

When I logged back in, I saw my stars got deducted, but thankfully I had new members in the waiting room. ^^

I actually got the limited Ako during that very first roll!

And so I tried again.

Fuck my luck. I’ve done 3 10-pulls, and all of them sucked.

Time to start playing I guess...

Oh right. The connection was bad.

Really bad. >_<

It’s been a while since I met coldgaze (P3), a fellow T10 from the Cycling Seasons event! That guy rarely shows up in the public rooms, LOL.

Also, we got a login campaign for 2500 stars! Which means another 10-pull! ^o^

...Why did I even think my luck would improve. >_>

Know what?

I SUMMON THEE! BLACK FRIDAY SALES!!!

MWAHAHAHAHAHA RIP wallet-kun, RIP being an F2P player 2020-2020

I swear to Babanbo-sama, if I don’t get Rinko using the paid gacha-

OMG D:

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-

YESSSSSSSSSS

I am now a believer in the Babanbo religion.

WHAT? Had I known I would be rolling both Rinko and Ako in this single paid gacha I would have started with this and avoided wasting 10k stars!!!

>_<

(Of course, I couldn’t have known. Although in hindsight, I definitely should have tried rolling the paid gacha first... but then we only got the Black Friday sale news after I already spent 10k free stars, so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Fuck yes, Rinrin. Fuck yes.

I already had a good 4* Yukina, so I didn’t really need to roll for her anymore. Not to say I didn’t want her ^^

Anyway let the tiering continue!

First checkpoint: Almost at T100!

Let’s talk about Unite! A to Z for a bit.

I’ve been tiering since forever and one of the many gripes casual players like me (yes. I’m casual) is that a lot of the more serious players go into the public rooms and just spam the hell out of this song. I understand why they do it (tl;dr - short length, high score, aka “meta song”), and I can’t really stop them from doing it.

There are other meta songs, like Jumpin’, that give a little less score for a little longer duration, but players really, and I mean really, like to spam A to Z. I could argue that you can’t really get the full benefit of A to Z 100% of the time (players take time picking songs and difficulty anyway, and you’re not always going to be consistent with your score), so in the long run, there’s no significant harm in picking other meta songs (maybe I should do the math..?), but no.

For those players, 100% AtoZ.

And it’s gotten really annoying, to the point that players like the one in the screenshot just straight-up disconnects when AtoZ is picked.

Anyway, back to the story. ^o^

WTF? Why is Gigguk (the #77 guy) tiering? XD Is that really Gigguk?

Who knows? XD

99 ILLUSION IS MY LIFE

I feel bad for P4, LOL. Surrounded by Yukina cards. XD

WE ARE UNSTOPPABLE

Progress report: T35!

I took this screenshot just as I finished a game of AtoZ...

...and the game disconnects WTF GIVE ME MY FLAMES AND EFFORT BACK

(the score’s a bit higher since it wasn’t completely tallied yet when I took the 1st screenshot)

I’ve seen Bad Wifi Pam a couple of times during my entire Bandori career and when I saw this, all I could think was-

“Is it finally gonna happen?? IS IT!?”

“YESSSS!” XD

I’m sorry Bad Wifi Pam, but that moment really felt like I saw the DVD logo diving into the corner XD

I hope they didn’t lose too many flames though.

I told you, people just hate AtoZ XD

We didn’t sign up for a rhythm that only has one song, come on!

My connection got bad a couple of times and I was punished for it. >_<

There are 2 impostors among us.

P3, when has that ever stopped them LOL

UGH tell me about it, P4.

FINALLY A RANDOM ROO-

WHAT-

WHY, P1 WHY!?

I changed my name to encourage Random songs ^^

..not that it would work, but whatever.

We more than managed to...

Stay Alive. ;D

I’ll see myself out.

WTF is this, a Mexican Standoff???

More AtoZ haters (also known as Etuze, well, coz that’s how Aya pronounces it... We love you Aya! :”> )

Finally ran out of drinks.

It was time to burn stars for flames.

:|

:|

:|

:|

(That Orion guy ended up as T9, BTW. There’s more incentive to AtoZ spam when going for T10, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying for me.)

MY PC DIED WTF

It got fixed after a restart though, so thank fuck.

Now that I think about it, I need to really get down to the bottom of my GPU issues.

LOL, one time I picked Happy Synthesizer for the lulz, and one of the AtoZ spammers disconnected :)))

TBF, nobody likes to see Happy Synthesizer in Multi.

I’ve decided to be an asshole and just delay AtoZ. Oh? What’s that? AtoZ again? here, let me take 30 seconds to pick a difficulty.

Please note that this is an asshole move, since the other players are gonna get dragged into it. But I was really sick of it.

Hey! A friend that also hates AtoZ!

Anybody wants Miracle Crystals? -_-

Someone actually copied my name WTF XD

Woke up on the 2nd-to-the-last morning to see myself almost out of T100 contention.

Check out my challenge points tho. 8-)

It was time to burn them!

STOP THE COUNT! STOP THE COU-

Yeah nah fuck you. Count them all.

Aaaaaand we’re done! I parked at... this score, and I was fairly confident I’d still be in T100. ^^

...Unfortunately, I woke up the following morning to see that Bestdori projected the cutoff to be at 10.6M. That is waaay too close to 11M for comfort. So I panicked and played some more, even got to Level 230 in the process XD

Eventually the cutoff never really reached 11M, so I guess I didn’t have to? :3

I’d rather regret the extra effort though, than potentially lose T100 standing.

Now we’re done. 8-)

Just waiting for the event to end!

AAAND EVENT OVER! *victory fanfare*

LOL one of the T10′s got banned. Don’t cheat, kids.

IT’S HEEEEREEEEE

YukiRan SayoLisa YukiRan SayoLisa YukiRan SayoLisa YukiRan SayoLisa-

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Consumption: A Critical Role Fanfic

Okay so for day 7 of @essek-week...it’s a Vampire AU but I feel like I should tell you guys the story behind this fic because it’s honestly pretty funny. I’m part of the Essek Theylss Fanclub Server and it’s an amazing place full of amazing people and we have a rule about being inclusive. Which is like hella awesome, and one of the rules is no nsfw content to make sure everyone is comfortable. Which is like, a great rule and I’m 100% for it. But I’m writing this fic...a vampire AU...and I go...wow this is sexy (because vampires are sexy)...I think it’s too sexy to go with my other fics...uh....I’m probably not going to be able to post this in the ETFC...well you know what I may just go all the way then.  

So that’s how we got this fic. Enjoy! 

Trigger warnings:  NSFW, Vampire related content (biting, blood drinking, hypnotism), corruption kink, master and servant play, voyeurism 

Read on AO3

You would think facing an eternity of endless darkness would be depressing, but Essek often found that the key was to remain busy. If you remained busy, interesting things tended to happen. One couldn't be busy all the time though, and even the undead couldn't stay awake forever without suspicion, so when that happened Essek commissioned a nice coffin for a handsome rich socialite who oh so tragically found their life cut short in whatever way it was fashionable to go in the time period. And then he played dead for a few years before picking up again wherever he left off. 

This time, it was consumption. There was a small closed casket funeral because an open casket was so gouache, what was the point of everyone looking at you when you couldn't enjoy their attention? And then Essek buckled down for a nice long nap in a marble mausoleum that was in a graveyard in a property by a mansion that of course was in his name and tied up in so much legal nonsense that no one but the person who had the deed would ever be able to claim it. 

So Essek slept, and slept for a good long while. Sleep for a vampire was different than for a mortal, for all intents and purposes it was much like death had been...even if death had been a temporary state for Essek when he had first been turned.  There were no dreams or consciousness of any sort, just darkness. It wasn’t comforting or distressing, it just was and there was nothing else to it. Essek, when he was awake, often wondered at the simple pleasure of it. When he was mortal he had tranced, dreamt seldom, but now he couldn’t even remember what that had been like. It seemed too messy for his tastes. 

And then one night, Essek woke up. 

Essek knew immediately that something was different than usual because he definitely was not ready to emerge from sleep. Usually he would awaken when his body at least ran out of its stores of energy, but this was not the case this time. It was the sense that someone else was there that sent him on alert. There was someone else’s presence ripping him from his darkness and back into consciousness. He was thirsty (ravenous he supposed) and outside of his coffin Essek could hear the sound of a heartbeat thick in his ears, of something metallic being settled down. A vampire hunter? No, there was no garlic and there was no sense of danger.  He couldn’t yet smell, because the coffin was sealed, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt...would it? After all, whoever had awoken him had clearly been rude. 

Essek remained still as the lid of his coffin was slid off heavily. Once the coffin was cracked open the scent of a human was perfumed in the air, there was silver but not enough and far enough away that Essek knew he was not dealing with a hunter. But he waited, and waited--

There was an intake of breath, and then-bizarrely Essek felt a finger trace his cheek. 

Essek grabbed the offending hand, causing whoever it was to yelp in surprise. Essek’s eyes did not need any time to adjust to the darkness as he lunged out of his coffin and pinned the attacker to the floor. There was a man underneath him, frozen in fear. Essek’s other hand found an anchor, fingers were settled on his throat--hard enough to threaten but not hard enough to kill. The man underneath him was scruffy and underfed, his heart moved and at a jackrabbit rhythm in his chest. There was candlelight--the fool underneath him had a lantern. In the flickering light there was a blue shine to his eyes and it was the only color he seemed to possess. Everything else about him was sallow and starved and a layer of dust and grime clung to him and soot stained his fingertips and caked his nails. 

“I think we both know that you have done something wrong,” Essek admonished him sweetly, like a nanny scolding a misbehaving child. “It is very rude to wake up someone who is sleeping. I shall have you know that. Now, what you are planning on doing to make it up to me is the question.” 

“You-you-!” the man stuttered before cutting off in a desperate sound as Essek’s fingers slid up his neck, raising his chin so he could see exactly what treasure he had in front of him. At the sight of the pale freckled skin rooted with thrumming blue-green veins, Essek felt his canines ache and elongate. What an utterly delectable prize this human was in possession of, it would really be a shame not to open it up. Essek could smell the fear rolling off the man in waves, ruining his revelry.   

“Now, now. No time for that. Speak convincingly and quickly,” Essek told him, licking his teeth. “I am very hungry and you are extremely distracting. But if you convince me, I may not leave your corpse for the crows to peck at.” 

“I did not...mean to disturb you,” the man croaked, struggling beyond his panic. Essek felt him attempt to take a steadying breath. Good, he could take orders. That was a pleasing sign. “I was simply looking for spell components. Tombs and graveyards are full of things that can be used. That was a mistake on my part, one I understand was grievous.”

“So you fancy yourself a tomb robber,” Essek chuckled in spite of himself. He liked this human’s voice, his accent and the soft deep tones of it. “Stealing off the backs and from the coffins of poor dead grandfathers and grandmothers.” 

“I am a wizard,” the man corrected guiltily before closing his eyes, the violet hollows underneath stark and beautiful despite what they meant. When he turned his head Essek could see the lantern-light caught in his curls. And below the grime, Essek could tell his hair was a rare red. “A poor one. I ask only for your mercy, that you should leave me alive once you are done feeding from me...not that I deserve it.” 

“Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t,” Essek sighed, giving the man’s wrist a teasing squeeze. He released his fingers from the man’s throat and caught his other wrist before he could move. “Now, relax. This feels so much better when you are at ease.” 

Normally Essek would have charmed his victim, but he wanted this one to have the full effect of a feeding. After all, he hadn’t made up his mind yet about whether what he had done was a killable offense. The punishment did have to suit the crime, after all. With little hesitation, Essek savored the sensation of his fangs sheathing into skin. The taste of his blood was utterly exquisite, hot and sweet with the dying embers of his magic. It soothed the ache of his parched throat, instilled new strength into his limbs. The man made a broken noise, caught between a cry and a moan, but then went quiet and still except for the occasional whimper as Essek drank long and deep from him.

He had talent, was easy on the eyes, and had a delicious flavor to boot. It would be a shame to not ruin him, when there were so many more interesting things they could do together. 

“Good boy,” Essek purred as he pulled away, careful to press the punctures and blooming green-blue bruises with pressure to stop the bleeding. Though he had been pale before, his intruder was now almost translucent. “See, that was not so bad was it? I have been told that the feeding is as pleasurable for you as it is for me, and you certainly are delicious.” 

“More,” slurred his guest, head lolling to the side in an adorable attempt to seduce him back to his neck, where two trails of blood traced the hollow of his throat from the place Essek pressed. “Please...please, more.”  

“You are quite talented at begging when you put your mind to it,” Essek soothed, using his free hand to trace his lips, they opened under his touch like a spring flower in the sun. “I will be happy to indulge you again soon, but only once your marrow has seen fit to fill your veins completely. Now tell me, what is your name?” 

The man’s blue eyes fluttered open. His expression was utterly guileless and dazed, it made something in Essek shiver in desire. But it would have to wait...good things came to those who waited.  

“Caleb...Caleb Widogast,” the man said before frowning, and Essek could see the effort he was putting in trying to think beyond the poisoned haze. As much as Essek would have liked to praise him for it, he also knew the benefit of restraint. After all, why give praise away easily when you could make the beneficiary work for it? The best things always came to those who waited. 

“Well Caleb Widogast,” Essek said, testing the name...tasting it, and finding it satisfactory. Caleb was a lovely name, he had always had a penchant for strays. “Tonight seems to be your lucky night. It appears that I have an opening available for a student, and you are in need of a teacher with the funds to support your endeavor. I see no reason why we cannot come to a simple agreement that will benefit us both.”  

____________

Caleb settled in nicely to Essek’s estate. He had already proved himself smart, and as sharp with numbers as a knife on top of being a talented wizard once he had the funds. The property itself found its way back into Essek’s hands easily as usual, and Essek found teaching to be a happy way to spend his days and a good excuse to stay inside and away from the light.

 Soon enough the whole estate was up and running once more, awoken from its dormancy like a hibernating beast. All the proper signatures and dotted i’s and crossed t’s that usually took Essek some significant effort were dealt with in a manner that was orderly...and honestly impressive. Servants were acquired from the surrounding village with relative ease...which provided Essek with a steady source of sustenance. He had always had a good amount of self-control. Though others in his coven had often accused Essek of being cutthroat, Essek found it to be so much better to keep your meals alive. After all, why feed deeply once and arouse suspicion when instead you could feed lightly and conservatively and stay alive. There was a reason that Essek had outlived a good many of his brethren.  

But speaking of aroused…

“My lord…” the maid gasped, her whole body trembling as Essek ran his tongue over her wrist...where she still bled. She was a pretty youthful looking half-elf, not that feminine beauty did much for him outside of just aesthetics. This wasn’t really for him though, and considering the response he was getting from the shadowed alcove by the door the act was appreciated. The dulled effect of the charm kept her compliant...while the poison did its work. However, as he saw when looked off to the side, this was all having its desired effects. 

“Now, now, no need to fuss,” Essek bid her as he extricated himself from her wrist, taking his handkerchief from his jacket and tying it to her wrist to stem the flow of her blood. She leaned forward, love-drunk to kiss him but he chuckled as he dodged it, and gave her hand a pat. “That was quite careless of you...holding that knife in such a way. But it is alright now. You may feel a bit lightheaded but that’s normal.”

“Yes...the knife…” the maid repeated, the story seeping into her ears sweetly.  

“You know I eat lightly, I’ll have the cook package some food up for you...to make up for the trouble and to keep you strong. Go home to your husband and be sure to get some rest...he’ll tend to your needs well.” 

“Thank you...thank you I’ll just…” she said, before swaying and stumbling off. Caleb caught her as she approached the door, making sure she was steady on her feet before letting her go.

 Essek took the moment to appreciate him. Even with just a few weeks of good food and Essek's meticulous care he had already filled out nicely. Essek certainly had to pat himself on the back for that. Gone was the diamond in the rough, and there stood a man who looked naturally fit to stand between marble statues and crystal chandeliers. Part of that was the work of Essek's newly acquired tailor, outfitting Caleb in high collars and waistcoats that brought out the blue in his eyes and the red in his tied back curls. Truly on that night Caleb looked the part of the nervous bachelor arriving at the matchmaker. He was a present for Essek to unwrap. 

“Make sure that’s done, Caleb,” Essek said as he tossed the napkin on the table before offering Caleb his own pristine plate and motioning towards the filled dining room table. “And please, as always feel free to help yourself as well. I have heard from the other servants that the cook’s beans are to die for.” 

“You are doing this on purpose,” Caleb accused softly. “You have been for weeks.” 

“Oh? Are you not hungry?” Essek asked innocently as he placed the plate down and pushed out his chair to angle towards Caleb. “Well, I suppose I am doing it on purpose. You were nearly skin and bones when we first met and having a mansion with no cook is suspicious-”

“That is not what I meant and you know it,” Caleb said, blue eyes dark with longing as he crossed the space between them and stood before him. “Night after night...you make me watch this. Why?” 

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Caleb?” Essek asked, crossing his legs. “You should be grateful you aren’t my meal...that I’ve given you a warm bed and books and spell components and a job. A little blood is enough to make you regret it? Why...now I am feeling a little unappreciated, Caleb. I suppose I can excuse you from this...all you have to do is ask.”   

Caleb’s breath caught, loud and ragged. His face was flushed deliciously, rounded ears warmed through with color. Essek could hear his heartbeat from here and his grin felt victorious.  

“So it is not the watching then, you naughty thing? You like that part, I know you do...watching me ravish a poor maid or stablehand. Though I must admit the maidens are more for your benefit then mine.. they don't get my blood going if you'll excuse the tawdy joke. Perhaps it is something else, Caleb? Go ahead, tell me.” 

“Essek...I…” Caleb swallowed heavily, fists clenching and unclenching. His voice cracked and frayed with barely contained desire, as plain as the very attractive nose on his very attractive face. “Why is it them? Why not...why is it not…?” 

“Ah...I see,” Essek said, a victorious smile spreading across his face. “Am I making you jealous? All of these things I’ve given you...a home...food in your belly and coin in your pocket...my hands bathing you...and yet you feel covetous over this? You know I charm them...they only feel a dull watered down sensation to the pleasure you felt, and yet you are fantasizing about me opening your skin...sinking my fangs into you and filling your veins with poison. How greedy of you, but that’s what you want isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Caleb admitted raggedly, sinking to his knees, taking Essek’s foot in his hand, kissing the top of his shoe. “Yes, please.” 

“Ask and you shall receive,” Essek said leaning on his hand as he smiled sharply. “Don’t fret, my love, I’ll give you an even greater pleasure than any of them could ever dream to achieve tonight. I will always give you what you deserve so long as you ask nicely.”  

“Thank you,” Caleb gasped, fingers sliding up his pants...hot on his calf and running his tongue along his shin. Essek had known vampires who scoffed at the common pleasure of sex...after all nothing ever would compare to the ecstasy of a feed. The sensation of hot blood filling the mouth and wetting the throat was truly a pleasure most profound. But sex was not just a physical act, and with the right person of a similar mind? Well, that too could be something profound. Essek certainly found something interesting and worthwhile with this beautiful man on his knees before him. 

 “Patience, Caleb. Patience is indeed a virtue,” Essek promised him. “Go ahead, I’m watching you now Caleb. You have my attention, tell me...what would you like?” 

“Anything,” Caleb begged, eyes dilated. Kneeling on the ground he made quite a pretty picture, flushed and wanting already with his legs spread so Essek could see and smell how affected he was. “Anything you want.” 

“And if I just want to watch you debase yourself?” Essek asked him, pressing his heel into Caleb's shoulder. “Maybe I’ll deny you instead, you should know by now how entertaining I find that...to see you so tightly wound. Perhaps you don’t even want me? You just want something to fuck into like an animal in heat. I'll find a pretty maiden or handsome gentleman for you to have your wicked way with.”

“No...it’s you, it’s only you,” Caleb promised desperately. “I’ll give you anything you want, I’ll make it good, I’ll-”  

“Now, now,” Essek soothed, cradling the back of his head and bringing him to lean against his knees. At the sensation of Essek carting his fingers through his hair, Caleb shuddered. “I’m just teasing. I am sorry if I ever made you feel as if I don’t appreciate you. Tonight I’ll have my fill of you, and you shall have your fill of me. Sometimes it’s the wait that makes it worth it.” 

“It’ll never be enough,” Caleb said astutely standing, catching his hand to kiss it. Caleb looked up at him, with eyes half-lidded and tender. They certainly were a pair the two of them, that meeting had been serendipitous in more than one way. After all, a vampire was a creature who only knew how to take...one needed someone to give as well. 

“No, I doubt it will be,” Essek observed with a smile just for Caleb. 

[mysmedrabbles]

Another Place [Yoosung Kim]

from the Fourth Wall breaking series

quote contributors: 2 anons and @thedujifuji (submissions bolded, will not be posting the actual asks)

a/n: welcome back to hell i’ll be your tour guide,, finally posting these after only 19 years!! Hope you guys enjoy!

warnings: big sad

-7th wall mod alex

`

`

`

       It was the late night chats that were always the loneliest. Staring up into the bleak cracked ceiling, you traced the shadows cast by the moon outside with your eyes, the empty feeling filling you yet again... a void that demanded to be felt no matter the cost. It was times like these, under the cover of darkness where you were left alone with your thoughts, a yearning so deep you could swear you would unravel, leaving nothing but the shell of the person you once was.

       Man this game was fucking you up.

       Rolling on your side, you checked you phone, the bright light assaulting your eyes. Able to distinguish the time, you made your way to the Mystic Messenger app. Two minutes to 2 am. Ten minutes until you could sleep.

`

       With the cheery tune of the opening screen, a smile couldn't help but find its way to your face, an almost giddy sensation filling the previous void you’d longed to be filled, an otherworldly feel as you surveyed the winnings of the latest Honey Buddha Chip package on your screen. Not much, but enough for a call perhaps? A call to a certain golden haired boy? 

       One more minute until the chatroom opened.

` 

       Your eyes surveyed the screen yet again, looking for something to do to pass the ever stretching seconds, when the familiar ring of a phone call echoed through your room. A call. From Yoosung. A glitch? Weren’t calls supposed to happen after chatrooms? 

       Without thinking you pressed answer, the smiling face the blonde avatar bore fading away as the call subtitles took its place. 

`

      “Hello?” his voice was higher than usual, almost panicked, and yet you could feel your heart flip in your chest as his voice struck you, a small bit of reality you had left. “Hello?” came Yoosungs voice again, voice cracking near the end. “Damn it, damn it.” you heard him mutter from the other end. 

       You expected a chatbox to pop up, to respond, but nothing came, nothing but silence as the incoherent muttering came from far away on the other end. You listened intently... would anything happen? What kind of glitch was this? 

       “Hel-damn it, Seven said this would work- Hello?”

       Cheritz? Answer box please?? 

`

       You heard a deep breath on the other end, and you could almost imagine Yoosung closing his eyes as he calmed himself, one hand gripping the table to keep himself steady as the other held his phone to his ear. 

      “Hello? I- MC... that’s... thats not your real name is it. I dont know... if you can hear me, I’m praying Seven could do that for me.. I-Mc-” his voice wavered dangerously, trying his best to collect himself before he continued, his voice weaker than before, “If you can hear me... please.. say something-i- let me know you’re there.”

       Were you supposed to... answer? It felt silly, replying to the emptiness, saying something that would immediately be swallowed by the dark, but it also felt wrong to sit there doing nothing, waiting vainly for a chat box to appear. Maybe it was a new update.

       “...Hello?”

Silence.

       Just as you moved to end call, Yoosung spoke again, his voice drawn to a hush, as if he were afraid to break the fine glass line separating the two of your worlds. “You're..you’re real,” he breathed, defenses down as he himself clutched his phone desperately with both hands, pressing the device as close to his ear as he could before continuing, “I thought- that you were just a character on a screen I never- there’s so much I need to tell you, so much that-”

       “Yoosung?” was all you could muster, your mind blank at the reality you were facing, until the only thing that could be heard was your heartbeat pounding in your ears, distorting the silence of your room.

       “-And I don’t know how much time we- yes?”

There was so much you wanted to say to him...

       “Thank you,” you started. Whether this was real or not, you weren’t going to pass up an opportunity to talk to him. The idea that this might have just been another simulation broke your heart, but these were quickly rushed away when you looked down at the continuing phone call, remembering Yoosung on the other end.

       His rambling was cut by your thanks, confusing him, it was he who should be thanking you, not the other way around, he started to respond, but you beat him to it, “Yoosung I- in- in you I saw so much of myself; I was,” you took a deep breath before continuing, “so lost, wanting to move forward but so afraid to let go of the past. You showed me,” a crack in your voice as tears threatened to swallow you whole, emotions you hadn’t known you even had rising rapidly to the surface, “You showed me that it's possible to move forward even after you've lost your way. You have helped me and shown me far more kindness than anyone else ever did when I was at my lowest point and because of you I want to be a better per..son with ... every passing day.”

       You finished with a flustered breath, heat suddenly rushing to your cheeks as you realized your declaration, completely our of character from your usual stoic self. This was a game. You declared your love to... someone who wasn’t even real. The shame of idiocy spread through your chest the longer he stayed silent, only his own heavy breathing heard on the other end. 

`

       Taking a second to bring himself back together, Yoosung tried to ignore the warmth spreading through his body, heart and gut synchronized in a flustered dance, both struggling to keep up with the racing of his mind. It didn’t seem real, that the person he’d inevitably loved- continued to fall in love with day after day, was real, not just a character made up by Seven, a virus in the app.

`

       You heard a small giggle from Yoosung, making your heart soar. You could almost imagine his face, violet eyes shining with the threat of tears, blush adorning a smiling expression as he vainly tried to hide his face in his hands, too embarrassed by the way your words stripped him of rationality, touched him in a way where he’d lost all functionality, enraptured by your voice, by you. 

       A smile made its way onto your face as you continued, set to get everything you’d wanted to say out in the open, “You’re amazing and I just, I love you so much and I wish, I wish more guys were like you in this world. You’re so, soft, amazing, artistic, and an excellent cook? The omurice will never stop looking delicious.”

       To this he finally had a response, “It was! It was delicious! If I send you the recipe will you promise to make it?”

       “Of course.”

       “I’ll see if I can text it to you! You won't Believe the things I went through to get to this point, good thing it was worth it in the end! Being with you is always worth it..” 

       He was rambling, and the initial tenseness of the first meet shaken off as his infectious laughter filled the receiver, voice bright with excitement as he went on about the other recipes he tried in his spare time, the ones he’d always wanted to make one day for you... the ones he never could.

`

       His voice started to crack, static becoming more and more prominent as his voice was broken by what? Bad cell service? The fact that you were talking across dimensions? 

       Yoosung could be heard getting sad, his tone dropping, a melancholic need for you filling his head, suffocating him with thoughts of you. He paused his words, starting anew. “MC I... I’m sorry I think... we’re running out of time but before I go I just... I need to tell you... gah why is this so hard.”

A pause.

       “I love you... truly. You showed me kindness when there was no one who believed in me, and it’s because of your love that I’m still alive.. that I have something worth living for. Every time you play my route...” the static got worse, ripping a few words from his sentence, actively trying to separate the two of you as he went on, “...I wish I could protect you forever, make you as happy as you make me.. I wish we had more t- I wish we had more time. There’s so much I want to ask you, so much I’m sure you want to ask. Please, no matter what.. stay happy for me.”

Well...actually.. I do have one serious question for you... Yoosung Kim: does Yoosung Kim is bi?” you chuckled cautiously, a weight lifted as you heard his broken up giggle in response, and for a second you could almost believe that everything would be okay.

The static got louder, cutting in between Yoosung’s words, only fragments of a, “well - lov- ou so,- h-pe s-,” were able to be made, connection weakening, Yoosung’s presence fading away.

`

`

Tapping on the phone, where you were praying for some sort of relief, you were only met with a blank screen, his voice gone, leaving a gaping hole where he’d buried himself into your heart.

`

`

Gone.

`

`

               Notice On Server Error Compensation

We have added 50 hourglasses to your account for the glitch caused by server issues. We apologize for the inconvenience. 

                                [   Confirm   ]

        ☑️ Dont Show Again

[hungryflowers]

Let Me Fall In Love With You

RadioHusk Week Prompt Day 6: Why Are you Like This

Chapter 6: Not There, But Getting There

He moved on. Alastor bitterly mouthed to himself. Despair bit at his heart like a feral beast with icy fangs. He could feel the maw rip a hole through his chest, plunging the knives into the blackening meat over and over again. There were tiers to despair, he found out. The first one was the smoldering, unquenched fire stirring up in his bones; any movements he made, sounds he heard, voices that spoke stoked the flames until the reached into the second tier. The scorching was when the fires came out. Rage unfamiliar, intense, violent rushed out of him. It was fuel from his smoldering, the fires warring out of control, heat slithering into his mind as it ruled his every thought. It became a parasite that made him act upon irrationality. In this fit he would scream, mostly at himself, throw things, rip up and down his home upheaving many things along the way. After it was over the final tier came; snuffing. 

It came when he was tired, apathetic, emotionless to the damage he had caused. To everything; from his home to the frailty of the relationship he wanted to have. He’d lay in his bed, on the floor, he’d sit by the fireplace for an hour or so just to leer at the flames until his eyes hurt. He would go hours without the sustenance of a meal one minute, then go and binge to feel something the next. It was like this for him now; the feelings of fullness in his belly but not in his empty shell he excused for a beating heart. He wondered why his heart even kept up beating if he wasn’t well, and in truth, very dead.

His eyes sprang with droplets of what tasted like salt from his eyes on every other occasion. He’d grown accustomed to their taste and feel, so he let them fall from his eyes in silent weeps. The frontal sadness making his shake like the brittle leaves in a winter wind. The things barely clinging to life on the tree. 

When he was done feeling sorry... for anything, he’d go out on the town to his Parlor. The lively jazz and swinging atmosphere could do the trick in helping out his mood. He’d be out there all night, listening to the music, watching the girls sing and dance past him, spare a glance to a gentleman or two who wanted to hear him sing again. The radio demon became more a spectator than an owner at his club. There were no new talents he went to introduce, no drink specials, no fun dance and song numbers tonight. The liveliness sailed clean out of him. He let the club pass him by every single night. For a month straight. He did do something when he went however. He forgets his resentment toward himself on how he treated Husk. 

The feeling was to remain temporary. Each time he went home, the despair coiled inside of him again. This cycle was never going to end. 

Alastor decided to shake up his usual pity party by going further into the city. The places where he felt like he needed to spend his time were going to be much different than what he’d prefer. Not to say he had never been to some of these places before, he didn’t frequent them like the grander majority of the others. Huge grin plastered on his face, posture highly exaggerated, a simple tune playing on his lips, Alastor went inside to a cleanly looking chateaux building known merely as Champagne. The flashing white neons brought in a luxurious, risqué feel to the place. One would most likely mistake it for a brothel on the outside. 

Clear to form on the inside, the establishment was more like an extravagant lounge area with unnecessarily long lounging couches, purplish pink tile floors and tactful decorations by the walls. Every inch of the lounge was aesthetic and pleasing to the eyes, as well as varying other senses. Alastor didn’t much care for women who’s eyes were on him the second he entered the double doors. They greeted him with a superficial retail smile and a little coy giggle, a few of them tried at getting handsy yet never touched him. Other females kept their distance, but never stopped scoping out the chance to get near him.

With a flick of his wrist Alastor gestured to one of the many girls at the bar. Heels clacked on the tiles as she bent over suggestively to take his order. She was a bit tall, though the heels could keep up the illusion. Siren like yellow eyes shimmered in the neons of the lounge, her skin appeared a slight grey, or an off white and she was covered in sleek, silkened fur. Well trimmed nails tapped on an electric device before she gestured to listen, short ears swiveling to Alastor’s attention. 

Alastor kept it simple with his drink, just an Ol’ Fashioned and she was sent on her way to fetch it. Though not before grazing her nails along his down facing palm. 

The joint didn’t look too busy tonight, in spite of it being in a high traffic part of the city. Intriguing thought to not have that many sinners out tonight. This side was a prowler’s paradise. He paid for his drink, tipping his hat to the server then headed out for the night, nothing sparking his interest in the club.

Alastor went for a walk. He didn’t have a clear destination in mind for sometime. The streets appeared a bit desolate on this night, giving a visual light of how he was feeling on the inside. Save a few smaller imps causing mischiefs wherever they went nothing struck to him. His mind mumbled on how he would never get the opportunity to see Husk again, nor find out if there was anything he could do to fix the wrong. There wasn’t a use on lamenting on it now. Husk found no love in him. There was no love to be found in this beast, Alastor scoffed bitterly. His ears drooped more, perforated smile wobbling, seeming to wilt at the corners. Those same salty drops stung at the corner of his eyes. 

That cycle of misery began anew as he went as far away to make sure no others were able to see him like this. 

The park gate was open as he went through to find a more quiet area. The skies bled deeper shades of red as he went further into the woods. The shades merged with Alastor’s jacket as the shadows twisted off in the distance. His eyes went to the shadowy shaded shelter of a mighty oak; leaves not yet shed, splotches of red and oranges decorated the trunks and branches. A soft gust pulled some of the leaves causing them to rustle in a whisper. The roots appeared to be coming out of the ground, some intertwining with each other, the more few peeking out to look like a sleeping place. 

In its shadow, Alastor looked so small. Helpless, even defenseless. The salty drops rained down his cheeks before Alastor collapsed on the trunk, ears falling back totally, eyes squeezed shut in the phantom throngs on pain. His face began to hurt as he sniveled and snarled. He had never done this before. Since his eternity in Hell, nothing has ever brought him to this pain. He was invincible. A telling of power and strength. He comes from an era that projects his strength; the force and will of a man. He never saw any men around him have this feeling before. Not even his own father told him about this kind of dread, shame and misery. There’s nothing he can make of this ultimate sadness. 

He lets his feelings flow. Unchecked and unfiltered, and now it starts to make him feel different. It isn’t a bad feeling, but it doesn’t make him feel good. More tears fall, a sigh comes unevenly. The breeze caresses his stinging cheeks- no... not a breeze. He withdraws immediately to feel the feathery tell of a tail brushing against his face. He opens his eyes to peer at the flickering red plumage at the end of the sooty tail. 

“So the Radio Demon cries?” The weathered tone sounds too familiar. It’s exactly who he expects. 

Alastor looks up to see Husk, perched quietly on the top of one of the branches close to Alastor. He seems to smile at him, marigold eyes closing slow and soft as his tail swipes along the deer demon’s face, wiping away the stray tears. 

“H-Husk...,” He sounds so exhausted, in pain even, “How... H-How did you... I-I thought I was-”

“Alone?” Husk inquired, ears tilting to the sniffling of the young man. His pupils widened when Alastor nodded before slumping against the tree. Both accumulated silence, the quiet giving Alastor time to right himself while he thought of the next thing to say. Husk managed to sit up to stretch, the angle of his body creaking and crackling in discomfort. A minor shake later and Husk was climbing downwards to sit next to the deer demon. 

“So this is what a month without me reduced you to?”, Husk says pitifully, “Jesus you look like shit.” The male laughed when Alastor turned to look at him. 

“I...I normally am not like this.” He whispers, static coming and going.

“What? Sobbing like an orphan? Yeah, crying’s really hard to do around here.” Husk’s paw went to Alastor’s face, scrubbing some trails. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I never would have done that if I knew it was bound to make things worse. I can’t wrong you for hating me, for fearing me. For... despising me. I’m an overlord. I’m one of powers of occult magics and elite status, I’m just not used to being told ‘no’, or having to force myself to get a hard look at...well, myself,” The radio demon brushed back his hair, gloves a bit damp from drying his tears, “I realize now that everything I was trying just wasn’t making you happy. And if that’s something you want more of, I’ll step aside. This won’t continue, I’ll move on, if it’s just for your sanity.” 

Husk kept quiet the whole of Alastor’s apology. He felt like he shouldn’t accept it, but something about him just made his heart give. Who knew a month of stewing in your own failure did the trick in making him realize he’d been in the wrong. Husk wanted to keep brushing the tears from Alastor’s eyes, he wanted to shove himself into him and give the biggest hug that would do the best in calming him down. He wanted a lot of things, but this was just fine for him. 

Alastor. The infamous Radio Demon let his walls down, apologized openly to him. Between them now was not a barrier of mistrust and disguised discomfort. At this moment, Husk could, was feeling sorry for him. 

“I-I-I just want to make this, us better. If you’ll allow me.” The deer demon lifted his left hand, holding it close enough for Husk to keep his eye on, but never to touch. 

The old male looked at Alastor’s hand and then his face. His smile was warbled and trembling. His frame looked as if it were to fall apart, crumble if a single gust of wind were to blow. He was a mess, way too vulnerable for any other Sinner to see him like this. Husk’s full moon wide eyes rippled in the night; the only light that looked natural in all of the bloody red. 

Husk’s own claw extended. Alastor watched it, unsure. He probably felt that he was going to knock it away and storm away. He had it in his head that he was beyond forgiveness at this point. This his words were just theatre and there was nothing genuine in the tangent to be shown. The thoughts vanished the moment Husk’s supple paw closes over Alastor’s willow-like fingers. 

“I’m glad that you don’t want to keep things the way they used to be. The thought being body-slammed every time I tell ya to fuck off is grating. Al, I don’t want you to go anywhere feeling how you feel now. So that just means you’re stuck with me until you get your shit together.” The cat chuckled as he pulled him in for a wide hug. His wings opened, leaning down to caress over the other man’s body.

“Wait...what?” Alastor’s response was watery and shaky at best. His body shook as fresh tears streamed down his cheeks. 

“You heard me,” Husk could feel the free fall of his own tears as he pulled Alastor in more, “We’re in this for the long haul, so you better get used to it.” He laughed as his cheek fur brushed into Alastor’s cheekbones. There was a little rumble coming from Alastor as the deer demon chuckled with him. 

“Should I ever be so lucky? Why are you like this?” The tears died down as the young man leant in further, body going lax in Husk’s assured grip.

“Like what? Funny and blunt as fuck? Years of turning my nose up at everyone and failing to care makes it that much easier.” He pulled back a slight, cheek still nestled into Alastor’s. 

“I want to start over. I owe you all of that.” Alastor pulled back to look Husk in the face.

“Don’t want that. No reason to go back to where we were. Let’s just take off from where we are.” Husk softened a touch as he pressed his forehead to Alastor’s. He sighed in contentment, his paw still holding Alastor’s as he pressed to his chest. 

“I...love you.” Alastor stated shyly. 

“Not... quite there in terms of affirmations yet. Let’s just be like this for a while longer.” Husk pulled away, eyes lulling dreamily as he nuzzled Alastor again. 

“Okay...”, The younger gent sighed softly, “Do you want to come back home with me? I’ll make you a fresh meal. With just my hands. I promise I won’t do anything.” He pulled his knees out from underneath as he tried to stand. His smile brightened when Husk nodded, his posture welcoming to the idea.

“I can eat. I’d like that a lot.” It was a simple response with a special feeling tied deep within. The gesture, the words. They had all been fine for Alastor during this time. Now he felt as if he didn’t want to move too fast in the hopes of keeping this safe. And keeping Husk happy. He’d have to relearn this type of love. Now’s a better than ever and Husk looked to be patient. 

After all, anything worth having is definitely worth fighting for. And Alastor was willing to go to war to protect it. If that’s what it all meant.