#it doesn’t fit but by god i’m gonna make it work somehow

[retroaria]

hiiii >.< i saw ur event and RAN to make a request... could i request the dialogue “I do love you, you know…even if i’m shit at showing it.” with rinnie (i wouldve chosen him even if u didnt ask for it because it fits him SO well and i love him dearly) with a fem reader?? i hope i understood everything right and thank u in advance!!!!! take care (⁠ ⁠/⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠)⁠/⁠♪⁠♪

yaaaay rin brainrot!!! thank you sm for requesting!! :)

⋆.˚⟡ Rin Itoshi x fem!reader ⋆.˚⟡

a/n: so many people requested this one! this is very soft and fluffy, i hope you all enjoy :)

˗ˏˋ written for aria’s 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗

“Do I remind him? I feel like I shouldn’t have to but I also feel like he just isn’t the type to care about superficial things so maybe I should just-” you were cut off by a rather striking groan on the other end of the line.

“For the love of god, just tell him! He probably doesn’t even know it’s something you’d get so worked up about.” your best friend protested to you over the phone. “What’s the worst that’ll happen? If he feels bad then good, he should be a better boyfriend. And if he gets mad then RUN!”

“Oh my god you’re so dramatic, neither of those will happen. We’re both off today so I’m not gonna say anything, I just want to enjoy my day with him and not make it a big deal.” you sighed out, trying to be content despite the subtle stab to your heart. “I’ll text you later ok? Byeee!”

As soon as you hung up the phone you found yourself prancing out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, your eyes falling on the subtly slouched figure of your boyfriend standing over the kitchen counter. He was making a smoothie as he does every morning - strawberry, banana, protein powder - average boring Rin activities, unfortunately not appropriate for today’s occasion.

You’ve skillfully avoided much interaction with him since you both got out of bed, and at this moment you realized you aren’t sure if you could enter a normal conversation with him in your frantic state. Instead of blurting out the first thing that came to your mind which was, “TODAY IS KIND OF OUR ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY AND YOU TOTALLY HAVEN’T SAID ANYTHING ABOUT IT SO I FEEL LIKE MAYBE YOU HATE ME!”, you decided to go with something casual, so you say, “Mmm, protein powder”

“What…?” Rin turns around to face you and raises his eyebrow at you, looking more concerned than confused. It quickly dawned upon you that you were in fact not looking or sounding cool, calm and collected right now.

“It uh…looks like a yummy smoothie!” you hoped deep down that your girlish charms could save you from deepening the awkwardness of an awkward situation with the most awkward guy you know. You twirl around on your feet a bit with your hands behind your back, flashing him a warm smile.

“Are you having a stroke?” Rin asks, and he’s being fully serious by the way. Was everything impossible with this guy? You begin to ask yourself how you’ve managed to survive a full year of his cluelessness, but then you remember you should probably respond before he actually thinks you’re having a stroke.

“No Rin I’m not having a stroke I'm just trying to start a conversation, jeez.” you snap at him with an attitude that must’ve come from the punch of him not falling for your attempt at cute girlie gestures. Rin sighs and turns his attention back to the blender. Great, now you’re sitting in the kitchen with him in silence except the blender is obnoxiously loud which somehow makes it all the more awkward. Finally it stops and he pours the smoothie out into two cups, setting one down on the table in front of you as he leans back against the counter with his in hand.

Two cups? He never does that. Is this his way of showing he remembered? Is this one of many sweet little gestures he’ll deliver to you throughout the day before the big anniversary surprise? Your wishful thinking is practically bulldozed as Rin opens his mouth.

“There’s something wrong and you aren’t telling me.” he states, his deadpan expression felt like it was slicing you up into little pieces. Rin knew you well enough to know that you were holding out on him, and he was having a silent little panic attack of his own at the moment.

“Nope! Nothing, what could possibly be wrong?” you said nervously. A part of you knew that you could hide your feelings better than this, but the thought that he might pickup on your feelings and somehow read your mind kept you on your toes.

“Was I supposed to take you somewhere today?” he asks, tilting his head at you slightly.

“Like I said, it’s nothing!” you chuckle, it’s a weird chuckle though, definitely not soothing Rin’s worries at all.

He flashes you an odd look, his eyes are narrowed and he’s pouting slightly, almost like he literally is trying to read your mind. He chugs the rest of his smoothie and makes his way over to you. His expression turns back to his usual plain face and he lifts your chin slightly before placing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m going to the gym ok? I’ll be back in a few hours and then we can hang out, I promise.” he coos at you before grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.

He left before giving you anymore time to embarrass yourself with your incomprehensible ramblings - he’s a smart boy. That sweet moment coupled with the promise of quality time together was almost enough to make you forget whatever grudge you were holding against him. However, it wasn’t enough to fight off how shitty it feels to not have your boyfriend there on your anniversary.

You spent the next two hours frantically preparing yourself for Rin’s return. Rin spent the next two hours not going to the gym and driving around aimlessly because he totally lied about that as an excuse to think of a way to make it up to you. While he was blending his smoothie before, he let his eyes wander to the calendar you had hanging on your fridge door - today’s date was highlighted with little green heart. The pieces clicked in his head rather quickly, and instead of speaking up and saving you from your nervous ramblings, he took the opportunity to think up a surprise.

Rin is awful at surprises, not to mention he also isn’t the most creative guy. He ultimately decided it was pointless for him to think so hard about it when he could just go home and apologize. He swallowed his pride and stopped at a flower shop before making his way back, after all, who better to help him decide how the day should be spent than his partner in crime - you!

By the time you heard the front door of your apartment open you were barely half dressed and still losing your mind a bit. Somehow Rin’s two hour gym session turned into forty five minutes and your anxiety was at an all time high. You threw on the closest pieces of clothing you could find and walked out of your bedroom to see him standing in the hallway with a bouquet of flowers and a rather pouty look on his face.

“Hey…so uh, I saw the calendar before…I know I kind of forgot about our anniversary…and uh…I'm really sorry.” he said as he held the bouquet out towards you. His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze. You took the flowers from his hands and let out a sigh of relief.

“I was so worried all morning you wouldn’t remember.” you said as you smelled the flowers with a content smile on your face.

“I was so worried you were going to kill me for forgetting.” Rin looked down at you, his pout still lingering as he relaxed a bit, seeing you weren’t so upset with him. “This is just the first year you know, I’ll have like fifty more chances to remember after this.” he chuckled.

“You think we’ll be together for that long?” your eyes widened and you beamed up at him.

“probably.” he said slyly, taking the bouquet from your hands and setting it on the table. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him, his hands moving up to cup your face softly. “I do love you, you know…even if I'm shit at showing it.”

“I know, I love you too.” you cooed at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tender kiss.

dividers by: @toastray

[fruitsoxs]

this is long so i'm putting some under read more

BUT- Thinking about Astarion with a generally good tav/reader. I’m thinking it’s sort of an enemies to lovers type deal, where the two of you start off the adventure by bickering constantly over what to do. You always want to do the right thing, and it absolutely infuriates Astarion. He pushes back whenever he can, because your little rag tag group has other matters that are much more important than saving children, or rescuing girls from some hag. But of course, he’s always outvoted. You are easily annoyed by his constant complaining whenever you want to do something good, and so of course the two of you are almost always at each other's throats.

“Oh I’m sorry that I actually have a heart.” “You should be- we have other matters to attend to. Like, well I don't know, the thing inside our heads!”

However, there are moments where Astarion comes to learn that he genuinely likes your kind heart. When you easily forgive him for…hiding what he truly is. Or how you lie when a hunter is out and about. There are moments where you tend to his wounds in complete silence, gently wrapping a bandage around his arm. And when he says a quiet thank you, you simply nod and move on. 

He’d never say this out loud, and of course continues to act as if you are nothing but a nuisance, but he starts to appreciate you little by little. You are not just some naïve adventurer who will drop dead if someone were to ask. You are the strongest person he knows, someone he could depend on if needed. He watches you fuss over the group, solving everyone’s problems. He sees how much work you put into making everyone comfortable, and how little you ask for in return. And while he thinks you’re a little stupid for it, he also recognizes that most of his disdain comes from the fact that he wishes he had someone like you to save him when he was at his lowest. If good people like you exist, then why did nobody come to his aid? 

So maybe he gets less snippy. He doesn’t roll his eyes every time you put the mission on hold to do favors for others. Maybe he starts to fall for you little by little.

And maybe it all becomes clear to him when you get hurt.

It was supposed to be an easy little mission. A peaceful meeting that you were sure you could talk your way out of (it always surprised him how easily you could lie your way out of fights). And of course, Astarion and you just had to get in a little spat beforehand, so he stays at the campsite while you’re off bringing peace to the world. He doesn’t expect to see the others come rushing into camp, dragging your weak body along. He doesn’t expect to see you so pale, fighting for your very life-

He rushes to your side, demanding to know what happened. Something went wrong, and somehow you ended up stabbed with a poisoned dagger in the midst of a fight. He feels his insides churn when they lay you down on a bed roll, and he watches as you give him a weak smile.

“Hey fangs.” you manage to get out, entering a coughing fit shortly after. Your smile almost fades when you notice how scared Astarion looks. It isn’t like him to be so worried. You don’t like seeing him like that so you whisper. “It’s gonna be okay-” And gods does it infuriate Astarion that you’re still trying to help others, help him, when you’re basically dying by his side. So he snaps a bit.

“And how do you know that?” He bites at you, pain and anger in his voice. You flinch a bit, letting a silence take over for a second. You slowly reach out to grab his shaking hand, your grip so weak. “Just trust me.”

He sits by your side, barking orders at everyone else- demanding someone heal you. He’s a bit of a prick as Shadowheart kneels down to tend to your wounds. He seems so angry, but everyone can see the way he’s clinging to your hand. Everyone knows what’s going on. And after you’re healed, and left to recover, he stays by your side. 

When the rest of the camp is asleep, he gently pushes your hair out of your face while looking you over. He’s just now realized how hard he’s fallen. While you’re protecting everyone else someone has to protect you. He may as well be that person.

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 1610! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Based off of Conan Gray’s song, Heather.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Unrequited love, one shot

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Unrequited Love, Really rushed, It’s like twelve here damn, short one shot, Reader is a hopeless romantic idk anymore, not proofread, it’s mostly just poetic shit idk

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ ill design it tomorrow goddamn it i just wanted to write, might wake up and rewrite idfk

“𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫,”

Suddenly, all of what was left of November passed, with the dead, scarlet leaves the only homage remaining of the autumn that’s escaped your grasps. Autumn left as quick as it came, you couldn’t even bid a proper adieu.

When you think of December, you think of this icy wonderland— a winter that’d leave you huddling in the comfort of thick coats and hot chocolate, while patiently waiting on the nearing holiday that was prancing around the corner. Instead, what poured was not the icy flare of snow, but rain heavy enough to send you and Miles bolting off for cover.

In the thick downpour, your giggles emanated throughout the dim alleyways as the two of you sought sanctuary beneath a bus stop, somehow able to shield yourselves from the pitter-patters that raged on in a sideway fall.

“Oh my God, your hair.” You pointed at his drenched curls, a low laugh following along. Miles shook his head, running his fingers through the fluff of his waves when it poofs up again after a few turns. “It’s got magic, don’t worry.”

You brush your hands over the drenched skirt of your uniform, cursing to yourself. “Kinda need that magic for my clothes too.”

“That’s ‘cause you ain’t a magical being like me,” He huffs while wiping his hoodie. “You’s a mere mortal.”

“Okay, extraterrestrial being, control the damn weather then.”

“Hell yeah I will,” He snaps his fingers up to the skies. “Rain harder f’me, clouds!”

And the rain oh-so-gracious heeds his command. After a short while of cursing him out, you and Miles sat by the bench with your laughs easing down— replacing the excitement with a shared sort of exhaustion. With your heads pressed against the graffiti-covered glass wall behind you, you take a moment to subtly angle your head and look at Miles. He doesn’t notice it at first, but when he catches on, he turns and exchanges the stare with his own, a subtle “What?” escaping his lips.

From the chill of your spine, you mumbled.

“Nothing.”

You sheepishly looked away. “I’m just.. So exhausted, God. I need to work on my cardio.” A small fit of coughs exit your lips, covered up by the block of your wet sleeve. “I don’t understand how you get to run so quick— I couldn’t even see anything.”

“You still caught up pretty quick,” He beams. “Gotta admit, you’re a quick runner.”

“Thanks, I practice by running away from my problems.” A heft chuckle followed. “M’just kidding.”

Miles takes notice of your quivering hand— a frail shiver emanating ‘til the tips of your fingers. For a moment, the short idea of wrapping his hand over yours crosses his mind, but he shoots it down as soon as it came. It inches only a tad bit closer, but the image of someone else flashes in his mind when he looks at you like this.

“What a mood.”

“Running away from problems?”

“Yeah.”

You raised a brow. “You? You run away from your problems?”

He lazily shrugged with a hum. “Everybody runs away from their problems every now and then. It’s aight.”

“In a way, I guess,” You lean a little closer, but your shoulders never touching. “But in the end, no matter how much we run away, it’s all gonna end up catching up to us.”

Miles shoots you an amused look. “You been paying attention to philosophy class lately?”

“Prof Martha and I are besties, y’know.” A tint of sarcasm colored your words, redefining your connection to the strict teacher. “She likes me so much, she calls my name first during every fucking recitation.”

“It’s cause you’s always on that damn phone.”

“With or without my damn phone, nothing can make me sit still throughout her lecture.” A gruff huff escaped your mouth.

“Damn, not even me?”

You looked at him, wondering if he was flirting with you or if it was just your delusional brain whispering sweet theories into your ear. But even then, you admit.

“Ionno, maybe.”

You couldn’t even look him in the hazel of his pretty eyes.

“Maybe?”

He sounded half-disappointed, but you didn’t want to plant a presumptive seed inside your overly creative brain. That word alone’s enough to craft you a million what-ifs later on when you’re fading into the world of your dreams.

A chill runs down your spine.

“… I think I’m definitely gonna get sick tomorrow.”

“Oh, shit,” He sits up. “We definitely can’t have that happening.” Immediately after, he starts taking off his sweater. You flush, rambling on with the same question; “What the fuck are you doing!?”

“Our presentation’s tomorrow, and if anybody’s gonna be presenting the damn thing, it ain’t me— so you,” He tosses it over to you. “You wear this for now.”

You hesitate for a moment, dragging your hands towards the red polyester with a raised brow.

“How about you?”

Miles shrugged. “I can make do. My system’s made out of steel.”

“Made out of steel but you can’t perform for shit?” You pull the sweater over your head, the fluffy thing engulfing you into warmth. It was still somewhat damp from the rain, but it was better than earlier.

“Huh,” Miles sat back as you looked up to meet his gaze. “.. Would you look at that. It looks better on you than it does on me.”

Your eyes glanced down at the crimson, your hands smoothing out the creases of the cloth. “Really? I don’t usually wear this shade.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m more of a.. Less saturated kinda gal.”

“.. I mean, you can have it if you want.”

You shot him a look of disbelief. “.. Does this sweater have a hole because if you’re giving this away I—“

“It doesn’t have a hole, [Y/n].”

And your name rolled off his tongue so gently, it caught you off guard.

“I just think it looks better on you.”

Upon that murmur, he crossed his arms over his chest and sunk deep into the comfort of his seat. You’re stuck contemplating with an open palm, straightening the creases of his sweater. “Are you really giving this to me? ‘Cause I can give it back to you after laundry day.”

He shook his head. “Just.. Think of it as an early Christmas gift.”

“.. Thank you, then.” A smile crossed your lips. “I’ll keep it forever.”

When you see the way he looks at you— like a sort of guilt laced in hesitation, but a certain sort of awe. At that moment, a sense of hope lingered inside you like a dream. You think, maybe, just maybe, that helpless look in his eyes— that sort of gut wrenching longing— was crafted entirely and solely, exclusively for you.

But you knew that gaze of his wasn’t for you.

And you knew exactly who he was pretending you to be.

Oh, if only I was her.

Feelings, your feelings— erratic, volatile, and erupting out of you like a bird unwilling to be caged. You wanted to speak, say it— just say it.

But your hair wasn’t as golden as hers, your cheeks weren’t as rosy as hers. You wanted her effortless pixie hair cut, her ballerina grace. She reminded you of those flowers fleeting in the wind, like the purple heaths they called ‘Heathers’. You wanted to smell like her sweet perfume, do everything the way she does, just so Miles could look at you the way you imagined he’d look at her.

His doe-eyed sweetness. You wished you could own it, you wished he’d spare at least a part of it for you.

Rather, you wanted all of him for yourself.

You wanted a glimpse of this girl beyond the confines of Miles’ dabbles in watercolor and markers. You’d much rather prefer the object of your jealousy walk across your sights, smile with the bunny teeth he likes so much, and make your stomach churn rather than have you dwell over a 2D image you couldn’t help but gauntly skim past.

What is it about you that I can’t make Miles look at me?

Maybe if you’d meet her beyond his sketchpad and recollections, then maybe you’d understand why he can’t get her out of his mind.

At that moment, she was just someone you wished to be.

The bright red of this polyester which you deemed unfitting of your skin. You wondered if Miles truly meant it when he said it suits you— or if what he truly meant was that the shade would’ve looked great on her.

As the sweater was yours, but Miles was hers.

Your arms meet with a tiny press, and you feel his shiver. It was only so subtle, but at the ease of his shoulders, you couldn’t help but think as he looked onto the empty space with a blank stare.

Wish I were Heather.

[deansapplepie]

Too Sweet for the Job (Drabble)

Summary: You’re a Statesman Agent and Champagne just think it’s a great idea to put you to work with the co-worker you hate the most.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Agent Port Wine! Reader

Warnings: Whiskey himself, violence, mentions to naked people, bad writing maybe, just that I guess. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+

A/N: First not Daryl Dixon story in a long time, so I’m feel sorry if it’s shitty. Also, Pedro Pascal is my new Roman Empire.

When you got a call from old Champ you imagined it was a new mission, but you had no idea what was on store for you. You arrived to Statesman Agency greeting other agents along the way, among them Ginger Ale and Tequila.

You stopped on your tracks at Champ’s door when you saw him, Jack Daniels, better known as Agent Whiskey. “What’s he doing here, Champ?”

“Nice to see ya too, Sugar.” Whiskey replied from the other side of the table.

“He’s gonna be your partner in this mission.” Champagne, your boss replied patiently, the old man was already tired about this rivalry between both of you it was a shame he couldn’t make his best agents work well together.

“Do I get to say no? I think I’m getting sick in some minutes and I won’t be able to colaborate in this mission.” You knew there was no way out.

“Nice try, sweetheart, but no. Both of you need to work together. I can only trust you on this.” You looked at the old man’s face, he gave a fatherly feeling which made it difficult to say no.

“Ok.” You entered the room and sat oposite to Jack Daniels.

“I ain’t bouncing in joy, Agent Port Wine. The faster we deal with it the faster we can get away from each other.” He said which wasn’t a complete lie, you annoyed him, but not because he somehow despised you, but more because of the lack of attention you always gave him.

After listening to Champ, you left the room ready to officially start the mission. You bubbled in annoyance at Whiskey and the fact you had to follow him and his orders since he was more experienced and ‘the best statesman agent’.

“Relax this pretty face, sugar. This serious face doesn’t match the sweetness of a Port Wine.” He observed while you walked down the corridor.

“This kind of comment also doesn’t match the elegance of a Whiskey, but you still do it, don’t you?” You replied as soon as you stopped in front of the elevator door.

“Being honest, a Port Wine doesn’t fit this kind of business… too sweet for the job.” He said nonchalantly while you waited for the elevator.

“Port Wine can be sweet, but it’ll knock you down faster than a bull if you’re not careful.” As you replied you moved twisting his arm back and having him face pressed against a wall.

He smirked, what a sweet thing you were, thinking you could really knock him down. For God’s sake, he was one of the people who trained you. In a blink of an eye he got you pinned against a wall, your arms being held above your head. “Sweet, jus’ like Port Wine, but I can get us both naked faster than ya can knock me down, Sugar.”

Wanna be added to my tag list? Let me know. (To new people I usually write for Daryl Dixon, for old followers do you guys like Pedro?)

[ziploc849]

My final TMA post of season 2. I think in the future I might try and keep these posts a lot shorter, limit my word count or sentence amount or something like that. But in the meantime, enjoy my thoughts on Episode 79 and 80!! I’ll be making a separate posts about some of my thoughts specifically regarding some shit we learned in episode 80. This is a long one so buckle in yall. I hope my ramblings are at least semi coherent

Ep 79: So many fucking thoughts. Jon doesn’t remember what Sasha looked like. Martin and Tim saw Not-Sasha even if they don’t understand it. Martin and Tim ending up in Michael’s. Domain? That feels like a fitting word at this point, even the way Michael talks, the way he has to remember the word for “sport”, makes me think that he’s not even something that’s good at pretending to be human. Not-Them is so fucking scary, the idea of them “wearing” the people they kill not like wearing their skin, but like wearing their essence, taking their place in the world but not their likeness. Fucking terrifying. Not-Sasha saying the institute “has the biggest eyes you ever did see”. Saying that if they took Jon’s place and became the Archivist he’d “miss the Unknowing” whatever that means. She talks about “robbing the eye of its pupil”. Archivist is capitalized in the transcripts when she says it, like it’s a title or a name. So much weird eye imagery in this fucking show. Strange mystery man appearing from the shadows and. Killing Not-Sasha? I’m not entirely sure what that was. God this episode was a lot from like 20-100 so fast

Ep 80: one of the YouTube comments on this episode is from that one TikTok “day 23 in the chamber, they ain’t found me yet but when they do they gonna be surprised” and that gave me a good laugh after this HELL of a fucking episode. You’re telling me we meet JURGEN LEITNER and then witness his DEATH in the same fucking episode???? What the shit??!?? All of my answers and ideas from the last episode were immediately answered here lmao

The Not-Them is trapped, not dead, likely never able to die according to Leitner. The real Sasha is dead forever, and it’s not surprising but there is a deep injustice in that. She didn’t have an inkling of what was going on.

There’s a book that works on Smirke’s architecture and is related to the phobia of claustrophobia, another hint I think.

The amusement in Jon’s voice with “That’ll be our Gerard” makes me wonder if I’ve missed something about his character related to the others, or if it’s just Jon happy to recognize something familiar in all of this.

The evolution through the episode of “what do you mean you thought they were just books, they are right?” to “oh god. They are so much more than books.” Leitner says some of them must like the flame, that things would take a different form if the book was burned. Is that what some of the creatures are? The ones that aren’t even pretending to be something strange and terrifying? Beings released from books and allowed to be more overtly dangerous? Like unbinding Not-Sasha from the table?

The description of what happened when the house was attacked is chilling and brings back many, many memories. Stabbed through the throat by something with too many teeth and limbs like knives sounds like the bajillions of people-to-the-left we’ve seen. Similar to Not-Them I think? Or maybe there’s a different example I can’t remember. Pulled into a maw that opened up from the floor, which sounds identical to the hole in The Butchers Window. Ran into a door that didn’t exist, Michael obviously. A hand through the roof simply grabbing someone is reminiscent of the way the sky ate, or somehow took the man in Freefall. An assistant whose name isn’t memorable anymore (though all the others’ are) being pulled into a pile of meat, the former sounds similar to what we saw in Lost and Found, but the meat mentioned sounds more reminiscent to things we saw in The Man Upstairs. Rooms taken by darkness or fire, things we have already seen the power of overtly and know very well.

Gertrude had 3 assistants, all 3 “meeting an unpleasant end”. I do not like the foreshadowing that offers for Tim and Martin, with Sasha already gone.

And of course. The entities. The humans to us, the ants. I find the analogy Leitner uses to be particularly interesting, even if I don’t know if he meant it in this way. Fingernails digging, changing the world in a fraction of a second, changing reality in a way ants could never fully understand. Like a creature taking the entire idea of a person and warping it to meet their needs. Changing memories and photographs and nearly everything in its path. The sky moving, in ways it shouldn’t because it just doesn’t, to pluck a man from reality. Eyes watching, knowing and seeing and observing, filing information away in a horrifying and terribly understanding kind of way. Always there, it’s people of interest never far from view even as they’re driven mad. Shadows vast and unfathomable, darkness that seems to spread the way light does. Endless expanses entirely impossible and yet very, very real to the people who see it. Themes we’ve seen before all over this series.

Leitner says Michael is “The Distortion”, “The Spiral”. Illusions and hallucinations and insanity. I think some things are falling into place, and I might have to make a seperate post on it cause this one is already way too long, but I think my phobias theory wasn’t too far off.

Elias killed Gertrude. Gertrude and Leitner were going to destroy the archives. Elias took files, files on “The Stranger”. Another mention of the Unknowing. Another entity? An event to come?

[Brutal Pipe Murder] made me laugh far harder than it should’ve. Sorry Leitner. What is the dripping (I don’t want to know). I don’t know how long Tim and Martin were gone, but gods they came on an awful scene. And they think Jon did it. God season 3 is gonna be Fucked.

[minato-division03]

ARB Birthday Special: Reiaki Suzubayashi

~ June 14th ~

“Rock bottom will teach you lessons that mountain tops never will.”

Login Lines

“YAAAAAAAAHOO! Hell yeah, it’s my birthday yet again! I’m a whole ‘nother year older and I’m still somehow not dead yet! BOO YEAH!”

“Sometimes a day to kick back and chill is nice… but gotta admit! A day to be productive and get a whole lot of work done is the way to go! Now that’s a real self-pamper on my own birthday!”

Voice Lines

“Okay! So I think for the day, it looks like I’ve gotta head out to one of the luxury resorts out here! I, uh… I needa double check which hotel it is, my squirrel brain just doesn’t remember, ha! Her Majesty’s filming today so I gotta get her all dressed up for TV! Today’s a good day to be celebrating with other employees, some of my favorite people in the city! I had a video edited and all ready to go on this epic day, so it’s gonna be an ultra productive day today!”

“I just loved, loved, loved reading through all my fans’ sweetest birthday messages! It felt like I was just being showered with nonstop love! I did receive some early presents in my P.O. Box, and I don’t think that’s gonna be the end of it… oh well! I’ll never say ‘no’ to presents! Lots of fan letters, little spoopy plushies, and lots more!”

“Gah!! Holy shit, Your Majesty, you scared the dark soul outta me! I know! Can you believe it?! Pffft! The hell’re you talking about, Your Majesty? You on something? Fuck, nothing gets past you, huh? What does it matter, anyway… you probably can read what’s on my mind anyway… hah! I… it happened again. Truthfully… I received a letter from… him yesterday… Reminds me to wonder what the hell whatever afterlife entity is out there must be thinking— since they let me of all people live… like, why me? What’s even worse… I feel like I’m going to kill someone very important to me one of these days… Because I can’t control myself…! Hah! I’m pathetic, aren’t I… Sorry, I didn’t wanna dump all this on you… But I guess I do feel a bit better yapping on and on like that! Sniff!”

“‘Hold out my hands,’ you say… I don’t know if I trust you all that much when you’re like this… ugh, okay fine, I’m closing my eyes… The hell is this? A frame with a clown hand…is this Pennywise from the movie ‘It’? You made this?! Ohhhh my god, how do you find the time to make stuff like this all the time? I mean, I guess… Hehe… I think my roommates love it already…! And I definitely think it’s cute, too! Thank you, Your Majesty… Man, I wouldn’t trade being with you and Miku for anything in the world…”

“Oh, Miku-chan! It… it’s nothing! Sniff! Anyway, did you need something? Awwww, thanks! You got me something, too? Ooooo lemme see lemme see!”

“Oh, that’s cute! It 100% fits in with my room! I’ll bring these into my room and then we can all set out for today’s activities! Dang, you’re not usually this expressive! Thanks a bunch Miku-chan, you really made my day! Thank you… Can I hug you? Awww!!! Really, thank you so much… I don’t know what I’d do without you or Her Majesty… Thank you for still putting up with me…”

Queen Card Lines

“Dear me, is it your second birthday as an esteemed member of R.I.P Märchen already? Heavens, how time has passed. Though it would seem you are not exactly in a celebratory mood. Talk to me, my dear, what’s the matter? Reiaki-chan… That may be so… however, you will surely feel relieved to release what is on your mind. I see, tell me more. Did something happen to warrant this most recent case? So it bothers you to this extent… It would seem that before we embark on the drive to the hotel, I have matters of my own to take care of, my dear…”

“I may have the thing to lift your spirits. Hold out your hands, my dear. Tis but a simple frame crafted with my own two hands. Just the same way you craft all of your prosthesis yourself rather than going out to buy pre-made ones. Hang this up in your room along with the thousands of other ornamentations you possess. And I to you, you are a valuable asset to this team, no… all of Tokyo. Thank you for being you.”

Miku Lines:

“Hey, Reiaki… Happy birth— Your eyes are red and puffy… are you okay…? O-okay, then… just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, that’s all…”

“You’ve been collecting the candles I’ve been making for you, but they’re just… there. So here’s something you can use to hold them. And since you’re a big fan of all things cooky and grim, I think this fits your room just fine. And it’s made out of jesmonite, so it’s totally sustainable. Aish… you’re welcome… Happy Birthday… Ugh… just this one time…”

The colors that surround you… they’re tainted. Dull… grey… that vividness I see on you all the time isn’t there now. You haven’t been this tainted since…

Is it because of that person? How fucking dare he… This is the one day Reiaki should be full of life and surrounded by the most beautiful of colors… I hope he’s proud of himself for this… I’ll kill him one of these days…

[notwantedonthemoon]

I gave Lucy and Ham a design update! Originally I only wanted to do Ham but Lucy barged into the room and no one can make her leave.

Design notes:

• I really was not satisfied with their original colour schemes. I know that Lucy was described as wearing a rose-coloured gown but she’s so purple in my head. • And Ham should be more red. He’s associated with red in the novel (and his brothers with yellow and blue- they’re the primary colour brothers) and that image of Misa Amane in the top left corner was my original reference for him, but he simply doesn’t look right to me unless he looks like a walking Valentine’s Day card. Misa Amane’s picture got to stay because a). I love her and b). I’m gonna talk about her later. • His hair also had to change- I’m probably going to redo Hannah at some point. I was thinking of saving Ham’s original reddish brown colour for Hannah instead, and I don’t want them to look too similar. So now his hair looks like a fox- which is fitting for his character and also very funny because his wife is terrified of foxes. • Don’t ask how the darker ends work without hair dye, we’re going off cartoon logic here. • I am now certain that Lucy’s height exists solely to torment me whenever I want to draw her next to someone else. I was in tears drawing this, wondering why Findley couldn’t have been happy with a six foot tall angel. • Lucy is seven foot five. I have no idea if I drew her tall enough or if I ever will.

The part where Misa Amane is relevant

• Ham’s character felt like he was being set up for a much more important role than he actually got, and I was waiting for a twist or a character arc or something, but it never happened. This guy is determined to stay irrelevant forever. I saw a source somewhere describe Ham as less of a character and more of an excuse to introduce Lucy. It cracked me up so I had to include it in here. • Just to be clear: I do like Ham as is. He’s an entertaining and also very heartfelt character- one of his defining traits is just, ‘Loves Things A Lot’ (kinda reminds me of Pat of Silver Bush- everyone go read Pat of Silver Bush that book is fantastic). • But also: he could have been better. His character got 10 times more likeable to me when I realized that he kind of resembles Misa Amane from Death Note, so by that logic he’d be a better character if you just make him more like Misa Amane from Death Note. • Also: I only ever watched the Death Note musical and I know next to nothing about the anime. But I heard that Misa is pretty annoying in the anime? Shame. • The parallels are already there. Both characters have complicated relationships with death- Ham’s first action in the book is being forced to kill a lamb, Misa’s entire family got murdered- and then cheating death somehow; Ham spent his childhood nearly dying of like, plague or whatever, and a death god sacrificed his life to extend Misa’s time on Earth. They’re both characterized as being incredibly loving, with Ham defined by his “love of life so great that he could not bear to kill” and Misa being defined by her love for her family that drove her to pledge her loyalty and give away half her life to their unknowing avenger.

• If I were writing Ham I’d establish him as a character who is deeply loyal- to his family and to his values. He thought that that loyalty had to extend to his father be default- they’re family, despite their very very tense relationship. The sacrifice at the start of book one made him do an immediate 180 on that, and it was why he was so willing to throw his oar in completely with Lucy. • That 180 turn was motivated by an unbelievable amount of pent up rage and spite. In terms of general ideals I’d say Ham is pretty traditional and goes along with whatever’s popular because it causes less problems for him- the only principles he sticks firmly to are his scientific ones. He’s not like Lucy, who knows what she believes in and fights for it- him opposing Doctor Noyes is an emotional, reactionary decision, not based off of any deeper principles (other than the no-killing one) or self-reflection about his existing worldviews. • A lot of his development will be directly tied to Lucy, since she’s the more significant character out of the two. And being with Lucy would make him much more willing to make impulsive decisions; which actually isn’t very far from canon, Ham is pretty impulsive. When I first got to the two-day-engagement part of the book I was convinced that a love potion had to be involved somewhere, because I couldn’t wrap my head around the designated ‘logical scientist character’ making such a reckless decision. But then I got further into the book and Ham… runs into a burning building. Keeps on fumbling conversations by blurting out his opinion and immediately regretting it. So… he’s kind of just like that. That lines up. • For a scientist character he’s very emotional- which I like a lot! It’s a nice change of pace. Being a scientist doesn’t automatically make you more rational and reasonable than anyone else. Sometimes you can be a really good scientist and still have the emotional intelligence of a sea sponge. Ham strikes me as someone who doesn’t really ‘get’ emotions because he can’t logic his way through them like with most of the stuff he studies, so he ignores them until they explode ‘completely out of nowhere’. My conclusion here is that someone should hand him a book on mindfulness. • (The real question is why Lucy was down for the two-day-engagement; it’s not to survive the flood. She and Ham were engaged before Yaweh came up with the flood plan.)

• All this is setting Ham up as Lucy’s eventual closest ally and the most fiercely loyal friend she could ever ask for. He thinks the world of her and would do just about anything for her… but he wouldn’t kill for her. That’s a line he crossed once and wouldn’t ever again.

• And Lucy loves him. Of course she does. But sometimes she wonders if her friend’s loyalty is anything like her brother’s blind devotion to Yaweh. She doesn’t like that thought.

• In the novel their relationship is largely just. Very lacklustre, with no development or indication that they really care about each other. But since they’re such a blank slate I can do whatever I want with them, and what I want is Lucy the revolutionary and her aggressively supportive science bestie. • I like to think that Ham and Lucy’s relationship would be best described as a queerplatonic relationship- though they wouldn’t have the vocabulary to describe that exactly. I know that they’re married but… they really don’t have any romantic chemistry. I’m sorry to anyone who thinks that they make a good couple (if you exist. At all) but I simply do not see it.

• (If someone does have an interpretation of their relationship that is romantic I would absolutely love to see it. If someone has anything to say at all about this book I would love to see it.)

[etherati]

Taproot - (2/25)

So, change of plans. If I only post once a week, it will take half a year to post the entire 25 chapters. So gonna post twice a week - on Wednesdays and on Sat/Sun.

Chapter content warnings: lonely boys, missing their wizard GF. Trevor gets a nice gift and is incapable of accepting it politely. Implied chicken death.

🎵 Music pairing: Undertow - REM

< -- Back | Next -- >

Go to part: one | two | three | four | five | six

It has been a cold goddamned winter in the Carpathian foothills of eastern Wallachia, and it’s barely gotten started.

Trevor kicks the wet, clumpy snow from his boots. It’s starting to come down again, gathering in the fur at the collar of his cloak—not as thick or impressively fluffy as his old one, but the wool’s not worn through in a dozen places and he doesn’t exactly sleep under trees these days, so it’s fine—and the sky is doing something foreboding and miserable out here, clouds roiling and grey and apocalyptic.

Shitbutt bounces at his heels, swallowed up by the snow every time he lands and not seeming to mind at all, and okay, that’s kind of hilarious. One bright spot.

Trevor grins, eases the service door open with his hip, maneuvering the pile of cordwood in his arms around the tall, spiny bushes that nearly obscure it from view. It isn’t that heavy, but it’s awkward as hell, and all that axe-work in the frigid air has left him achy. Between that and the weather and the fact that they already have enough fucking firewood, for God’s sake, it’s time to call it a day.

“C’mon, boy,” he mumbles, jerking his head toward the door; the little beast trots obediently inside, trailing mud and snow and making a mess Adrian will probably pitch a fit over later.

In the little anteroom, heat radiates from more of those copper pipes, filling the space. It seeps in through his clothes, settles against his skin, chasing out the chill; Trevor stands there for a moment, just breathing it in and letting his lungs thaw out—giving the ward over the inner door a chance to recognize him. Boots toed off, then onward: through the labyrinthine passageways that he somehow has learned by heart and that have even stopped somersaulting on him, as if the castle has finally accepted that a little maze solving isn’t going to scare him away.

In the sitting room, there’s already a fire going. Adrian is lounging in one of the soft chairs that he’s pulled right up next to it, one steaming mug in his hand, another on the table next to him.

“You look comfortable,” Trevor says, only halfway meaning the dig, because that’s about all he ever manages these days. A lot of the time, he doesn’t mean it at all. He crosses the room, starts stacking the wood with the rest of it.

“Mm. I am, yes.”

“Must be nice to duck out of chores early.”

That earns him a raised eyebrow and an indulgent grin, Adrian turning his head to regard him. “I cut just as much wood as you did. It’s not my fault I’m faster at it than you are.”

Nope, that would be Dracula’s fault. Trevor grins to himself, shakes his head, doesn’t say it.

“Anyway,” Adrian continues, “someone had to actually start the fire and heat up the wine, else you’d never thaw out.” He picks up the second mug by the rim, holds it out in offering, and it smells incredible—mulled and spicy and sharp, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling.

But there’s no third mug, and as always, that dampens his enthusiasm a bit. Trevor sighs, takes it by the handle, takes a careful sip to gauge the heat. It’s perfect, it’s always perfect, but.

“You look stiff,” Adrian says, dodging the obvious.

Another sip, and this one goes down better, cloves lingering in his nose. “It’s just the cold,” Trevor says, because it is. He can remember waking up feeling this way every single winter morning for years, even with the thicker cloak—like he’d turned to ice overnight and his body was just gradually relearning how to be made of flesh. Wages of the wanderer. “Makes everything sort of seize up. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Or twenty or thirty, if left to your own devices.” Adrian takes a long pull from his own mug and sets it aside, points to the floor in front of his chair. “Sit.”

“Really?” Trevor smirks, doesn’t budge. “What am I, the damn dog?”

“No, the dog doesn’t argue half so much.” Adrian sits up straighter in the chair, beckons with a waving hand. “I’ve been in front of the fire long enough that my hands aren’t even cold. Stop being difficult.”

Stop being difficult; he may as well be asking Trevor to stop breathing air. But he’s trying, lately—and there’s also the thought of getting those hands on him without having to do any work for it—aside from all the wood-chopping—and that’s undeniably appealing.

“Fine,” he says, sweeping the cloak off and hanging it on one of the pegs near the fire to dry out. He unhooks the Morning Star from his belt, settles to the floor in front of Adrian’s chair, the weapon coiled up within easy reach. These are tricky times, and knowing he’s prepared for outside threats lets him relax more fully, falling into a lax, messy slump, sockfeet trailing out toward the fire.

Strong, delicate hands alight on his shoulders first, start working their way downward from there, and as usual, Trevor is all at once overwhelmed: the heat from the fire, from the wine, from Adrian’s touch. It’s too soft, too much—too much comfort, too much warmth, too much safety. It’s strange how he never felt this way back when the weather was mild; only now that it’s miserable out there and he’s experiencing these bursts of cold and discomfort again is his body reminding him that that is, in fact, what it’s accustomed to.

Whatever. It can fucking well get accustomed to this. He leans back into the touch, groaning as those fingers dig in under his shoulder blades with impossible precision, loosening the corded stiffness there, letting the tension drain away.

“Enjoying yourself?” Adrian teases, the voice right next to his ear.

“Fuck you, of course I am,” Trevor laughs, as Adrian drags his hands lower, thumbs sliding down along his spine and working the long bands of muscle that run the length of it. “That feels incredi—agh, Christ,” he cuts off, as Adrian finds a knotted up little locus of ache; the sharpness of the pain when he really digs in is enough to take Trevor’s breath away. “Right there, yeah.”

Adrian obliges him, focusing his attentions. “This isn’t just from the cold.”

“No, that’s from using the axe in the same hand all day,” Trevor mutters, wincing around the discomfort; this doesn’t feel good, but it needs doing. “Should have changed it up. Stupid.”

A momentary pause from behind him, hands stilling; then they resume again, and Adrian says nothing.

“What,” Trevor says, “no commentary on that? You’re losing your touch.”

A spike of pain as Adrian twists a finger into the knot, with just a measured touch of sharpness; then the ache fades, as Trevor feels the muscle release its torturous, twisted-up grip on itself. That is—that is basically magic, holy shit.

“You aren’t stupid,” Adrian mutters, distracted, soothing over the spot. “And you don’t need me to tell you that. If anything, you’re a little short on common sense, which—well, neither of us are very good about that, on our own.”

On their own. The two of them. So very much not the way this was meant to be, even if it is just temporary, even if it is so, so much better than actually being alone.

“I’d trade away common sense for what I do know any day,” Trevor grumbles. “Common sense stuff isn’t anywhere near as likely to kill you when you fuck it up.”

“In your case, I’d give it even odds,” Adrian says, the familiar, infuriating sass bleeding into his tone even as his hands keep up their work, gently easing the ache from his muscles. “I’ve seen you nearly killed preparing breakfast.”

Oh, for God’s sake. “That was one time.”

He can almost feel Adrian frown. “One time feels like once too many, given how many actual, serious threats we have to deal with,” he says, and there it is, there’s the real issue—the actual thing that’s causing both of them so much tension. The spectre that’s been hanging over them for days.

“Fine,” Trevor says, trying to keep the sudden swell of despair out of his voice. “I get it; I’m not stupid, I’m just a walking disaster.”

Adrian’s hands still—then he brings them up to the back of Trevor’s neck, thumbs digging into the base of his skull, forcing him to cant his head forward as the tension unravels. Fingers slide forward to card through his hair. “Trevor. What’s really wrong?”

“What, besides the threat of impending attack, the fact that we don’t have any real allies to speak of, and the cornerstone of our defense plans not even fucking being here?” The words imply irritation, but Trevor can’t find the actual emotion in his voice. He just sounds tired, at least to himself. He takes an awkward sip of the wine, finds he’s nearly at the bottom of the mug. Quietly: “God, Adrian. I really miss her. I’m not—I’m not used to missing anyone.”

Another long pause, this one contemplative; then Adrian slips down from the chair, lithe form folding itself effortlessly beside him. He leans into Trevor’s space, deliberate. “Am I not enough for you?” he asks, and it’s so obviously a joke, so blatantly an attempt to distract him, and that makes something warm flutter in Trevor’s chest.

“Nope,” he replies, not looking up; he can feel a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, my wounded feelings,” Adrian sighs, dramatic. “However shall I survive?”

“You’ll make it.”

“I think—I think I’m going to swoon.”

“Oh my God,” Trevor mumbles, because this is so utterly ridiculous, but he makes no move to put a stop to it when Adrian sprawls across his lap in a theatrical faint, his back bowing in such a way as to pull his shirt taut against all the—frankly gorgeous—musculature of his torso, and he is so doing this on purpose, the utter bastard.

Which means he deserves whatever comes next.

Trevor puts his mug aside, sets his hand on the flat, tight expanse of Adrian’s belly. Lets it sit there a moment, heavy and warm. Gives the other man time to consider where the hand might decide to go next.

Then he crooks his fingers in tight against Adrian’s side, spider-walking them across his ribs—and Adrian lets out the breath he’d been holding explosively, curls his body around Trevor’s hand in a spasm of hysterics. He rolls out of Trevor’s lap and onto the floor, mindless with laughter.

Here’s a truth that Trevor had been delighted to learn, about a month ago: Adrian Țepeș, the cold, unflappable bastard, the stoic dhampir that can take a knee to the dick without flinching, is ticklish.

Another truth: he only tolerates exploitation of this fact for so long before retaliating with force he can’t necessarily control. Trevor ended up with a wall-shaped bruise down his side and a very apologetic Adrian on his hands the first time he pushed this too far, so he has learned to extract a little laughter from him and then stop.

And stop he does, and teases him about it like he always does, and lets Adrian use his lap as a pillow as repayment, and it’s nice—another day, other circumstances, and Trevor could fall asleep like this, sprawled before the fire, a warm hand tucked into his own, the weight of Adrian’s presence soothing against all the worries and tensions.

But they’ve heard wolves in the night, recently.

And something’s missing.

They’ve commandeered another of these generic parlors as a study-slash-strategy room; books sit in stacks on the floor, relocated here from both libraries, everything they could find on the history of vampire activity in this area, on the history of the town—even on linguistics, Sypha hoping to pin the archaic variant of French they’d found on the tree down to a specific region and time-frame. All she’s been able to figure out so far is that it’s probably been out of use since the 1200s, which neither makes any sense nor helps them in any way.

They’d made a charcoal rubbing of the carving, and it’s pinned to the wall here, in among Adrian’s rough house designs and floor plans, rough drafts of bestia—compendium entries and mockups of illustrations.

It was joined, four days ago, by a new rubbing—this one of a carving they found very near the first one, in the heartwood of a tree much more freshly flayed:

The longest night is coming. Be ready.

...or something like that. Again, his French is rusty, and this is the same stupid dialect again, so he’s relying on Adrian’s translation. It doesn’t really matter—the gist is clear enough, and it’s nothing but bad news, even if it’s more unequivocally a warning rather than a threat.

To make things worse, it had appeared only after Sypha had left, to visit her family—to delve into some of the deeper magics of her people. To visit her people for the solstice. Which means she won’t be here for whatever’s coming—and a tiny part of Trevor is grateful for that, but it shrinks in fear before the reality that they kind of need her, and also that she will be incredibly pissed off if she gets back in a month and finds them dead and the castle overrun by vampires. Possibly pissed enough to take up necromancy just so she can give them a piece of her mind.

It’s a shitty situation. Trevor, frankly, has no idea what to do about it.

They still have the mirror, at least—the one up in Dracula’s old study, the one that matter, and people, can pass through. Worst to worst, they can probably find her and bring her back that way. It’s something they’ve been loath to do too soon, given how useful this new bag of tricks will be if she actually pulls it off.

This is why all the firewood, though—stacks and stacks of it, more than they should need for the entire winter, in case of a prolonged siege. Trevor cleaned out the dry goods vendor in the Acasă market two days ago, and the stall selling preserves, and while he got some strange looks for it, he hadn’t been sure if it was on account of him being a Belmont or on account of him being a crazy hoarder that needed thirty-seven jars of pickled vegetables. Adrian’s been laying in bandages and medicines, and the hares Trevor’s managed to hunt up in the deep snow are drying into jerky in a cellar somewhere in the guts of the castle.

Trevor’s also gone through the hold, meticulously sorting every weapon he could lay hands on into ‘consecrated’ or ‘useless’. He’s stashed as many of the former as he can into hidey holes all around the castle; finding out that Adrian could actually use the damn things had been a bit of a game changer.

They’ve fortified every entrance, and some of the larger windows. Secured some of the internal doors too, to section off the castle into safe and compromised regions if necessary. He even managed to get his hands on a pretty large supply of holy water, though he hasn’t figured out what to do with it, yet.

It’s not bad, for four days’ preparation.

It has also been a monstrous amount of work. No, he doesn’t only hurt from the cold. But it all has to be done, if they want to get through this.

And Trevor’s still not afraid of dying, not by a long shot—but he does have a preference in the matter, these days.

“Ah, shit.”

He’d just been planning to board over this window. The wood and nails and hammer are right there on the chest of drawers. It'd  only been by some strange impulse that Trevor had decided to take a look out onto the grounds first—and there they are, eyes gleaming in the moonlight, creeping up the main path like the creepy vampire fucks that they are. Six of them. Tightly clumped, easy to take out all at once if he can get the drop on them.

It’s not the solstice yet. And this group is nowhere near big enough to be something worth leaving them cryptic warnings about. He still bolts down the stairs at speed to where he’s pretty sure he left Adrian working on one of the inner doors. “Adrian—!”

“I see them,” the dhampir says, damnably calm, appearing from around a turn in the staircase—forcing Trevor to pull to a stumbling halt. He’s got something made of cloth folded over his arm, burgundy and gold, and he holds it out. “Put this on.”

Trevor blinks, thrown off. He’s already got the Morning Star in hand, is gearing up in his head, thinking through attack strategies—and Adrian wants him to play fucking dress-up?

“It will earn you more respect,” Adrian says, response to his unspoken skepticism. “Which could prevent this escalating into a fight. If it does come to bloodshed, this will protect you more than anything you’re wearing now.”

Right. That whole bit, where Adrian’s trying to remedy their ‘no allies’ problem—and the closely related ‘all the other vampires think he’s a weird hermit with a human fetish like his dad’ problem—by reaching out to nearby clans and covens, offering protection and, maybe more importantly, a voice to those who would prefer coexistence to mindless slaughter.

It’s too low a bar for morality, as far as Trevor’s concerned. And the whole thing reeks of terrible, suicidally stupid idea. But he hadn’t had a better one, so here they are, about to go talk to a bunch of fucking vampires when all the chainwhip at his side wants to do is rip through them like a scythe through wheat.

“What the hell is this?” he asks, taking the garment with one hand, tucking the Morning Star back onto his belt with the other. Shaking it out as they take the stairs two at a time, he can see that it’s some kind of—it’s a coat, trimmed in gold like    Adrian’s poncey thing. Shorter though, and the same deep red as the tapestries down in the hold, with the Belmont crest emblazoned over the left breast in the same gold—

Crowned by the abstract silhouette of a dragon’s head, wings spread.

Oh, fuck no.

“There’s an inner silk layer,” Adrian babbles, “to protect against piercing weapons. The linen should be sufficient to—”

Oh, oh fuck no. Trevor grabs Adrian by the upper arm; he doesn’t have enough strength to actually stop him should he not want to be stopped, but Adrian comes to a halt anyway, spinning on Trevor with impatience flooding his features.

Trevor jabs a finger at the dragon like he could spear it right off the fabric. “That’s fucking Dracula’s.”

“No,” Adrian says, softening, sighing in frustration. “It isn’t.”

“I’ve seen—”

“You’ve seen a red dragon, facing the other direction. I understand your own family seal doesn’t use much in the way of traditional heraldic symbols, but please trust me when I say that those changes matter.”

“You didn’t tell us you were—”

“Trevor. This is very, very much not the time for this conversation.”

And damn him, he’s right. Fine. Fine, okay. He pulls the damn thing on; it fits surprisingly well, nestling across his shoulders like it was made specifically for him, and of course, it had been. No restriction of movement that he can pick up on. Nothing flappy to get twisted up or caught on an enemy’s weapon.

Okay. He can work with this.

“You do whatever you have to,” he says, as they reach the main hall. “I’m going to be ready to take their heads off when diplomacy breaks down.”

“Such little faith in my ability.”

“It’s not what you’re going to do that I’m worried about.”

The last time this had happened, which had also been the first time it’d happened, they’d been caught completely flatfooted. They’d been walking home from the night market, in good spirits, that damn chicken Trevor had been so insistent on sitting idiotically in its wicker cage, swinging from Adrian’s grip. They’d all been armed, but otherwise dressed for a trip to town—nothing fancy, just warm and comfortable clothes that wouldn’t draw attention. Sypha had been carrying some cabbage. Trevor’d been gesturing with a loaf of bread like it was a sword. They had been, in retrospect, completely ridiculous—and then they’d just about stumbled over a group of vampires, waiting on their front lawn.

Not attacking. Not making ready to attack. Tense and agitated, sure, but standing around like they'd wanted to talk. And that had, in fact, been what they’d wanted.

It’d taken some quick thinking on Adrian’s part—drop his hair into his face before they could get a look at him, pretend to just be another servant, promise to head up and get the master of the castle for them—but they’d gotten past the interlopers and inside, and Adrian had changed and held an impressively competent audience with them for having no time at all to prepare. They’d wanted nothing more than to promise the fealty of their small group; they’d stayed out of the war, had no particular love for humans but saw no need for killing them without reason, and of all of those vying for power in a world after Dracula’s fall, they saw Alucard of Wallachia as the most likely to pretty much just leave them alone.

It had gone middling-well. They hadn’t been eager to swear off killing for food—though they saw the logistical sense in keeping their donors alive when possible—and they had ignored Trevor and Sypha as if they were court pets, but compared to the throat-ripping murder-happy lunatics Trevor’s faced down in his day, it had been a start.

They’d left satisfied. Adrian had felt confident he’d pulled off his little deception.

Then Sypha had reached up and pulled a stray chicken feather from his hair.

The group had never come back, never called him out on it. Maybe they had been spectacularly unobservant. Maybe they’d had a good laugh about it, later. Maybe they just hadn’t given a fuck, as long as they were left alone.

Trevor’s chicken stew, full of rich, doughy dumplings and parsnips and carrots, and mushrooms from the woods nearby, and lots of Sypha’s herbs and just two little cloves of garlic—well within Adrian’s tolerance threshold—had been spectacular, for as long as they’d had to wait for it.

So now he’s following Adrian out to the main entry hall at a tight clip, grip on his weapon unfaltering. It’s a more inviting space than it used to be: more lighting, and the carpets all replaced, the new ones a detailed pattern in gold and black, less gloomy and more expansively regal than their predecessors. By the time they’re halfway down the top flight of stairs, the castle’s doors have started to creak open ponderously; Adrian halts them on the landing before the second flight.

Below, the group from the yard wanders nervously inside. They look like they expect the floor to suddenly turn to lava, or to open up and drop them into a pit of holy water.

Actually, that’s not a terrible idea. He’ll have to talk to Sypha about that when she gets back.

But: the vampires. They climb the stairs, when they could just float. They show proper respect. And in the end, their nervousness makes sense.

“We are a small order, but we’re growing,” the female vampire in the lead says, and even Trevor can hear the uncertainty underlying the veneer of confidence. “We choose to value the presence of humanity on the earth—not simply for food, but for their own contributions to the collective culture of sentience.” Her eyes drift away from Adrian, land on Trevor for a moment, then shift back. “We have heard that the heir to this court holds similar beliefs, and we’ve travelled far to reach you.”

Trevor has to admit: this is gutsy. They’re putting themselves out there, in a show of ‘weakness’ that any other vampire lord wouldn’t hesitate to punish with exile or death. On the basis of a rumor, with the only confirmation being the fact that the infamous Alucard’s got a human standing alongside him, neither enthralled nor bound. Armed. Wearing his seal.

“As long as that remains your practice,” Adrian says; the skepticism doesn’t make it into his voice, but Trevor can see it in the cant of his face, in his eyes, “then you will be welcome here. We will provide protection and representation when the need arises, in exchange for your allegiance to our causes.”

And that’s some serious bullshit—vague promises and requests for help with causes unspecified—but apparently that’s how these things are done, because the leader of the group seems unperturbed. “Of course, my Lord. My people are yours.”

So: suddenly, they seem to have allies. Maybe. If they can be trusted.

Maybe Adrian had been right about the stupid jacket after all. Appearances do, sometimes, matter.

The vampires leave a few hours before sunup, their destination unclear. Trevor boards up more windows. They catalogue supplies, weapons, defenses. Adrian helps him rig up some nonsense with the holy water and the system of pipes that are already feeding most of the castle; it’ll be diluted, but maybe it’ll still help in a pinch.

They crawl into bed together at the end of the day, exhausted and weary. Trevor knows he’s going to sleep poorly; has done so for the past week or so, ever since Sypha left.

Ugh, no. She went on a trip. She didn’t leave.

“So. That was new,” he mumbles into Adrian’s hair, after about ten minutes of trying, and failing, to drift off.

“Mm?”

“Those vampires,” he clarifies, tucking himself closer; it’s not an easy thing. It seems like they’re all angles and edges some nights, pieces that don’t quite come together, without—

“Ah,” Adrian says, understanding. His own posture softens, opens up, allows Trevor to find their fit. “They were a strange group, yes. I can’t say I expected any of my people to be quite that adamant about not killing.”

“They’re not really your people,” Trevor says, yawning. Maybe that’s rude, but it’s late and he’s exhausted.

Adrian is, apparently, too tired to take offense. “I know. Easier than spelling out the details every time; indulge me.”

“Fiiine.”

“You’re right, though.” Adrian’s voice sounds odd, distant. “I’m not completely sure whether to trust them. Perhaps it’s my own biases; all the vampires I’ve known have been kowtowing to my father’s court. But it isn’t an attitude I thought existed.”

Trevor sighs, pulling the blanket tighter around his chin. Vampires that don’t want to kill. No, more than that: that want to not kill. Truly unprecedented?

For a moment, he’s fourteen again, hungry and tired and injured and bleeding, the whip in his hands barely obeying him, desperate to prove himself and the honor of his name and how else to do that, except by killing vampires?

Through the window glass, the starlight makes no dent in the darkness, barely illuminates the snow. He closes his eyes.

Back off, kid, the beast taunts in his mind, and thirteen years past, his temper flares, indignant rage. Neither of us wants me to kill you.

He tightens his grip on Adrian, feels a reciprocal squeeze around his shoulders. In his mind’s eye: just another dead monster, blood slicking the end of the whip. Just another hunt. Just doing the work he’d been born for.

“They’re out there,” he murmurs, the truth of it sticking in his heart like a knife.

< -- Back | Next -- >

Go to part: one | two | three | four | five | six

[hockeynoses]

Calling In

Another Ste/ddie snz fic! 😅

Summary: Steve is sick and hopes that he won’t have to call off of work tomorrow. Eddie thinks he’s delusional. 1k.

Warnings: Some coughing. Not too much mess (nothing like what I sometimes write, anyway).

Notes: I wrote a rough draft of this for myself a month or two ago. I came across it today and decided to clean it up and post it. At this point, I’m a one-trick pony, but the “heart” wants what it wants. 💖

~*~

Steve had been forced to stay home today, having been taken down by a terrible head cold. Eddie came home from work to find him bundled up on the couch, looking like he’d just woken up from a nap. It pulled at something in his chest, seeing Steve so vulnerable like this.

After having dinner and catching each other up on their day (not that Steve has much to report), they’re snuggled back on the couch, watching TV.

“Baybe I’ll be well enough to go to work toborrow…” Steve muses hopefully.

Eddie shoots him an incredulous look. “You think you’re going to be better enough to work tomorrow?” His eyes flick to the pile of tissues currently surrounding Steve. The man can barely make it through a sentence without sniffling, sneezing, or coughing. He’s constantly holding a bundle of tissues up to his face because his nose is totally out of control and lord knows what might come out.

“Idt could happedn!” Steve says indignantly, into the aforementioned wad of kleenex. He gives a productive blow while glaring at Eddie, eyes tired and red-rimmed.

“Okay, we’ll see how you feel tomorrow morning,” Eddie relents. It isn’t worth it, and he doesn’t want to start an argument that would stress Steve out when he should be taking it easy. Steve nods like the matter is settled. Then he tilts his head back, eyes closing, inhaling a shaky breath before – “haaah…hah’ESSSHH’oo!” With the soaked mass of tissues still pressed to his face, he sheepishly looks at Eddie and asks, “Cand you bmake be some tea?”

Eddie chuckles, giving him a soft look. “Sure, sweetheart.” He pushes back the hair that had fallen into Steve’s face before heading into the kitchen.

[…]

The next morning, Steve wakes up feeling just as bad as yesterday – if not worse.  Blearily, he comes to, his nose somehow both crusted over and still running. It’s even on his pillow and he feels disgusting. He draws in a breath, throat dry from a night of mouth-breathing and no water, and immediately breaks into a crackling, chesty cough that makes him curl into himself. He tries his best to cover with his hand, which is now a mess, having just used it to wipe his nose.

As he’s catching his breath, the fit mostly over with, Eddie steps into the room, still in his pajamas and holding two cups of coffee.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Concern shines in his big eyes. “You sound awful.” He sits on the edge of the bed next to Steve, setting both mugs on the nightstand and grabbing several tissues from the box there, handing them over. “Here.”

Steve takes them gratefully and presses them to his poor nose. “Tha-ahhh- hih’KISSSHHH’uu! Ugh. Thaggs.” He blows his nose, which tickles his throat and causes him to cough up more gunk from his lungs. When it’s over, he turns to lay on his back again, groaning. “Oh god…”

Eddie pats his hip through the covers. “Still feel like going to work today?” he asks, trying and failing to keep a hint of smugness from his voice.

Steve groans again, this time in frustration, as he rolls over and buries his face into the pillow, hiding from Eddie. “You’re so bmean.” His words are muffled into the plush fabric.

Eddie laughs. “Hey, I’m not mean!  I brought you coffee.”

Steve peeks an eye open, reminded of the mug on the nightstand next to him. He can barely smell, but what he can, smells good.

“And I have the day off, so I can stay with you all day.” Eddie gives him a little poke through the thick comforter.

“Are you gonna be nice?”

“Baby, I’ll be so nice it’ll blow your socks off. I’ll get you anything you want.” Eddie pauses, carding a hand through Steve’s messy hair. “Should I get the phone so you can call in?”

“Ha-knxxgt! SNF. Yeah.” Steve pouts a little in defeat. Eddie’s vindication over being right is dulled a bit by how pathetic Steve looks.

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Sit tight.”

Steve sits up and tries to clear the grittiness from his voice so he’ll sound somewhat human. It only makes him cough more. Grabbing his coffee off the nightstand, he takes a few sips, the warm liquid helping to soothe his throat.

Eddie comes back and hands him the cordless phone, picking up his own mug and settling into the other side of the bed. Steve dials the number.

“SNF. Hey, Robidn.” His voice is a rough croak. “I thigk I’b godda have to stay hombe agaidn. I’b still-hah…. still- ihhh-hih’ERSSSH’IUE! Ugh. Really sick.” He moans and rubs his nose. Eddie presses a tissue into his hand, which he gratefully accepts. “Yeah. I’b – hih….heh’AESSSHOO!  I’b sorry.” He buries his face into the tissue and gives a couple of soft blows. Robin’s voice filters through the line, tinny.

“I dod’t wand to get adyone else sigk,” Steve responds. “And besides, Eddie would probably kill me if I tried to combe idn today.” He glances at Eddie with a tired smile. Eddie nods his head in silent agreement and sips his coffee.

“Okay. Hih’ISSHHH’ah! I will. Thaggs.” He ends the call and sets the phone down on the side table. “Well, that’s done.” He has just enough time to snap the ruined bundle of tissues back up to his face before – “ih’KISSH! Hah’TISSHSH!” He gives an exhausted blow before clearing his throat. “I thigk I bmight go back to sleeb.”

“Can you stay awake long enough for some breakfast? You should probably eat.”

“Just – hih’AEESSH’UE! Just wake be up agaidn whedn it’s ready.” He lays down again, curling onto his side.

“Alright, baby, I can do that.” Eddie rubs his back. “You have any requests?”

“Hmm… pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” Eddie says dramatically. “It’s a high ask, but your wish is my command.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s shoulder before getting up to make breakfast.

[yellowkitkieran]

Accents (Kieran Tierney)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: You clue Kieran in on the simple things he does that drive you wild.

"You know what drives me mad?"

"What's that sweetheart?"

"Your accent." You say it matter of factly, which brings Kieran to a halt at the stove. The dish bubbling in the pot is immediately forgotten, abandoned in favor of this conversation. 

"My accent?" He questions, an amused smile on his dumb, kissable lips when he faces you. "Just me speaking, love? I cannae imagine that's true, there's no way. My accent drives you mad, you're sure? No' my smile or my arms?" 

Kieran is a smart man. He knows how to push your buttons, what sort of phrases and sweet names to use to have you chomping at the bit for him. Mentioning his smile and his muscled, toned, fit, perfect arms is simply him capitalizing on a few of your weaknesses. It's not fair, but you allow it because you've got a plan for tonight, and it involves takeout ordered at midnight instead of a home cooked meal. 

You whine, stomping your foot like a frustrated child. "Yes! Your accent Kieran- god can you tone it down? Why couldn't you be British or something-"

"Aw sweetheart you wouldn't want that." You cringe at Kieran's terrible attempt at a London accent. His point is immediately proven; it doesn't sound smooth if he's not speaking in his natural voice. 

Fine, maybe he was right. You fell in love with Kieran's voice first after all, having heard him laugh from across the bar and being enchanted from the first word he spoke to you. It's fitting that it makes you so feral, seeing as it's unique and doesn't sound like the accent of anyone else you interact with regularly. 

"Okayyyyy maybe I wouldn't. But honestly Kieran, how do you expect me to live in these conditions? Like that interview you filmed today and forced me to come watch. Mad! Sickening! The lighting was too good, your voice was so smooth- I nearly had to jump you right in that chair!"

Kieran laughs quietly, interrupting your train of thought when he places his hands on your waist and drawls in that beautiful accent, "Darling, I don't think that's-"

"And then!" You continue, wagging your finger in his face as you get your thoughts in a row. "And then, you get to talking about when you moved to Arsenal and how hard it was to settle in. What makes you think it's alright to be so sensitive huh? Who gave you the right to make my heart explode like that?" 

"And then the bit about me playing through injury because I always give a hundred and ten percent," he adds, his deep brown eyes sparkling. He's enjoying the praise as much as you're enjoying heaping it on. 

"Exactly! God Kieran honestly, it's so inconsiderate of you. And then you come home and it doesn't even end. You, standing at the stove, shirtless while you make dinner and sing along to your playlist? It's like you're trying to kill me!"

"Just trying to show my princess how much I love her. Gotta put some effort in." Kieran's teeth sink into his lower lip and he leans away a touch to survey your body. "And you know," he says huskily, his eyes darkening as his fingers tighten, "that I always give my best effort."

You throw your hands up, frustrated and needy at this point. "Fuck you Kieran! Honestly, how the hell am I supposed to live like this? You leave for international break next week, and I'm gonna have to sit here and watch you give interview after interview in that stupid, annoying accent of yours, and you won't even be coming home to me after!"

When Kieran pulls your hips flush to his, you can feel him painfully hard against your stomach. Your plan is working. For as much as this is an act, you really are frustrated- your boyfriend is simply too hot for his own good. The urge to ghost your fingers over his tanned chest is nearly too strong to ignore. He's somehow gotten fitter in the past few months. You suppose the extra hours he's put in at the gym are to thank for that. 

"Gonna be hard for you when I'm gone, isn't it my love? So rude of me to leave you here all alone…" Kieran dips his head to the crook of your neck, planting kisses like dewdrops on your skin. "What a terrible boyfriend I would be if I left you here without satisfying you first." You tip your head to give him more room to work, allowing your hands to slide up over his shoulders to thread in his hair. 

"Terribly inconsiderate… and then your hair? How many times have I told you to cut it when it gets this long? You look too damn edible when it's this length, perfect for pulling-" Kieran groans when you tug sharply on the fistful of hair in your grasp. "Andddd that sound is exactly why you need to cut it before you go. I can't be thinking of those noises when I'm trying to concentrate on you playing football!"

"I'm no' cutting it," Kieran says firmly, his accent thicker than you've heard it in ages. The consonants are nearly nonexistent, which is indication of how turned on he is right now. Kieran thrives on your slightly aggressive praise, though you normally save it for nights when he looks exceptionally good- like today. 

"You're cutting your hair before you leave and that's final," you half moan, your argument less than convincing as Kieran leaves a dark hickey on the side of your neck. There'll be no hiding that one, but you know that's exactly what Kieran wants. He loves laying claim to you before away games and even more so before longer breaks like the one he has coming up. 

And now it's Kieran's turn to tangle his fingers in your hair and pull, forcing you to meet his gaze. "No, I'm not. Because I know if I leave it long, I'll have you sitting on the sofa crossing your legs at the mere sight of me, counting down the seconds until I'm home."

"I'll be doing that anyway-"

A sharp pull has you falling quiet. Kieran's eyebrows lift, waiting for you to defy his silent command, but he grins when you obey. "There's a good lass. Now why don't you continue being good and let me prove how much sweeter my accent sounds between your legs?"

[mochiwrites]

ive just finished catching up on night life and wow! oh gosh!! theres so much to process and so many questions!!! what happened with the last human mumbo was close to? whos the murderer? what exactly is scar being hired to do? whats scars past? wtf is up with scott? did scar set up that illusion with the house fire in the most recent chapter or scott? both?? why????

even if scar does all this to protect tub, wheres the guarantee that scott doesnt just pop in and take him anyways? i doubt theres so much as a drop of honor in that creepy, creepy man. what if scar gets found out and mumbo and grian are betrayed so they stop talking, then scott gets taken by tubs so scar's left alone, and goes to mumbo and grian for help which they ultimately give because how could they deny a friend in need?? WHAT ABOUT PEARL???

oh my gosh PEARL!! im so concerned for her. im so scared for her. if something happens to her ill kill everyone in the fic and then myself /ref

also taurtis?? id assumed he'd died, then grian had some self thinking about taurtis might be dead and now im convinced hes gonna come back somehow?? but how? or am i overthinking this and he IS dead? god poor dude

GRIAN. LORDY LORD how on earth so much guilt can fit in such a tiny man baffles me. at the same time something about him being human and objectively weaker in all this really resonates with me. his desire to be useful and of equal standing. ouch. doesnt hit any weak spots for me there no not at all.

im also very unhealthily in love with this version of mumbo. id die for him a million times over.

the worldbuilding is incredible!! it's a lot but i feel like its being incorporated in a way that isnt overwhelming so we're able to follow along with everything pretty well! plus, the fact that a lot of it is from grian's (very confused) perspective makes him work really well as a sort of source of information for readers! its great!!

i am just. overall very. wow. looking forward to future updates. very much looking forward to that. keep up the incredible work!!

ehehe henlo!! :D

many questions to be had !!! I want to answer all of them SO bad oh man. but I am being so brave and not spoiling *vigorous nodding* some of these answers Are coming soon though!!

scar’s motivations, in a broad and general sense, are really intriguing to consider in this au. he’s someone who’s never been human operating on fae morals while mingling with humans. so there’s this really interesting clash of ideals and goals going on. but if he’s not careful, the fallout could be… messy. extremely messy.

:)

PEARL AND TAURTIS OUGH… taurtis was put on a VERY interesting character path, and let me tell you it was. A major struggle trying to figure out how much of his story to put in the limelight. because taurtis is technically living in a different town while going through stuff and the path that leads him to the arachne is all going on in the background fbfbfbfg but 👀 in regards to his status… who knows! and PEARL… I cradle her So gently in my hands, I care her so much. I am so sorry

and ACK I’ve talked about grian and his humanity and the connection it has to everyone and the story drives me MADE. because realistically speaking, he Is the weakest. he Is the most vulnerable. the most fragile. it would Not take much to kill him. yet that doesn’t stop him from wanting to help. from wanting to be useful. there’s so much drive and perseverance and just… hope. he has so much hope and stubbornness and he is so painfully human. it reminds the non human characters of what they lost. of what they want to protect (mumbo).

and objectively, it’s because of grian’s humanity that he’s able to see the humanity in those around him (mumbo and scar).

songbird!mumbo is SO beloved. little sad and anxious vampire guy… I’m so sorry

but uwahhh thank you !!! the world building is something that I have a lot of fun with in this au. because it’s a fantasy au there’s So much world at my fingertips, which is why it’s so important to find the balance when introducing concepts and stuff. I try not to overwhelm with information <3

and using grian as the reader’s in to the supernatural world is Very purposeful :D when you begin the series, you and grian have the same amount of knowledge. you’re entering the supernatural world together, and learning the same information. so the readers are Literally seeing the world through grian’s eyes.

it’s a very helpful writers tool for world building >:D

and !!!!! 🥹💕 I’m glad you enjoyed it so far !! chapter 5 is already outlined and planned hehe. I’m very excited about this next chapter, and I’m hoping the wait won’t be too long!!

( also, since you mentioned the solar eclipse playlist, this au has a playlist as well! :D in case you’re interested uwu )

[get-your-fuckin-star-bitch]

So at the office, while he was away, Michael was basically considered to be a Threat™️ because everyone had wound up seeing or hearing about what had happened to Leitner. Elias being like “oh he just needs some time to work himself out” but in a weirdly sinister way does not help his case.

Jon eventually gets into his own bit of trouble because of the possibility that he could have been an accomplice, has to run away like he did in the original series.

Actually, Michael’s not fully considered a threat by anyone… not anyone who actually knows him, at least.

Melanie’s opinion? Yeah, he was a little weird when she gave her statement to him. Probably evil.

Tim? He’s not responding to anyone’s questions at the moment, and you can kindly fuck off. (Michael saved Sasha’s life with the worms, but he’s not gonna tell the police that he thinks Jon maybe did it instead with some weird mind controlling powers or something. They’ll think that it’s bullshit.)

Sasha’s… conflicted. He has been acting weird recently, but she’s not sure he’s actually evil, she’s actually pretty sure he’s just… stressed. People can change, though, so… she doesn’t really know what to think.

Jon’s. Um. Not there, but he’s SUPER sure the guy’s gone crazy and is killing people for sport.

Martin………………………………………………………….

“It’s… complicated? Probably.”

[CONTINUED BELOW oh you BET there’s more ehehehe]

Nikola, though… oh boy.

Two potential candidates. One of them’s rumored to not really know much of anything, and the other knows plenty. But while both have gotten strong, one of them’s going to be stronger.

Kicker’s that the potentially-stronger one probably won’t actually fit properly because he’s too tall. And he’s all twisted, so that won’t do at all.

So instead, she’s been talking to Jon about the gorilla skin, like in the original series.

Being a super creepy motherfucker and all that.

Y’know.

Anyway, Michael did not get anywhere near death, so Oliver didn’t have to go in and help out or anything, but… Elias has realized that michael keeps getting himself into situations where he nearly gets killed, and does not seem to handle them too well, so he’s experimenting and seeing if he can have Jon be a “backup archivist”, which i’m sure Nikola’s absolutely delighted by…

Still… Michael does get visited by some of the stranger’s gang eventually.

Just “checking in on our dear old archivist!”

(Michael does not feel comforted.)

(He is also not particularly thrilled.)

(Especially when she casually mentions not being able to use his skin in particular, because it “just wouldn’t fit right………….! You understand… don’t you, archivist?”)

He tries to burn her with the spiderweb lighter.

No wonder Jude Perry liked him a lot- (he’s actually now tried to set two things on fire because they were bothering him- but I haven’t posted the part where he yeets a lighter at the other thing yet lol-you’ll see)

Obviously, it’s ineffective… but it lights up her face for a moment before miraculously snapping shut upon hitting the floor.

Or… where her face should be.

Michael screams, his friend finally gets the lights working, and Nikola is gone.

…Fun!

OH HEY WAIT WHAT

OKAY SO

If Michael gets this tape! (Which he definitely would, cause he would have completely missed everything.)

Obviously with a few edits!! But!!!!!!! That shit would just.

Like a goddamn jagged-edged sword getting shoved STRAIGHT through his torso, GOD that stupid bit of commentary would hurt so BAD-

Jesus, Elias, stop trying to make your archivist feel like a disposable paper bag that somehow managed to make it out of the landfill, the hell are you doing, man????

Michael’d probably just try and mirror-jump to Jude Perry or something and be like “hey, my boss is a sick bastard and I hate him, want to help?”

Not sure if I’m /j or /srs, but Martin might be on board lol

Michael’s having more and more trouble with the whole… mirror-hallway trap thing. Although, like with canon, he probably ends up figuring out a way to drag out the whole process of victims slowly kinda going nuts so that he doesn’t actually have to kill anyone, he can just… “bother someone” in order to keep things going.

Which actually winds up working better than the “drive em mad and then whoop there they go” method.

He doesn’t like how it feels, cause it’s basically making a bunch of people go through what Ryan went through, but he tries diffusing the messing-with across more than one victim in order to make it not be as horrible for each of them.

Oh, and on top of that, he still has to get statements.

Does Jon send him the statements he gets (and his own notes on them) after he’s done with them, so that they’re both on the same page with things? (And does it work..?)

And if so, does he get to hear the “dust to dust” one, finally?

*Sound of Michael nearly popping a stress ball open with one hand*

(>:(((( Bruh Gertrude what the fuck)

AND HEARING HIS OWN VOICE ON THE TAPE…

Just rewinding and playing it over and over again. Just to hear it.

It hurts to know that his voice doesn’t quite sound the same.

He’s lost the stutter that he hated so much. He almost misses it.

Might actually mumble the words a little, in a half-hopeful attempt at getting his voice to sound like it did back then again. It works, for a moment or two, and in that little sliver of time, he feels like… himself again. Like Michael.

But he can’t hold it for long.

Still… it was there.

He was… there, somewhere. He wasn’t completely gone… so maybe there was still hope.

(HhhgfhhHhhHHHHHH I wanna hug him so badddddddddddddd aaaaaaaaaa 🫠)

Anyway, so Jon gets taken by Orsinov-

And the only reason Michael doesn’t pick up every time Elias tries to call him to tell him to get Jon is cause he’s got Elias’s number registered in his phone as “old sod” and just sits there pressing “decline” every time the phone starts ringing with that name.

It’s very fun to do.

However, eventually Martin’s the one who calls him, sounding a little bit panicked, and explains what’s going on, and Michael feels like an asshole, rushes out the door- (“hello good morning I’ve got to go get Jonathan out of situations he keeps getting in don’t kill me don’t get killed please don’t leave things on voicemail if they’re important, lesson learned, ohgosh bye-”)

So the Michael appears! No doom threat, just Michael apologizing for being “so incredibly late” and being like “oh good lord these are creepy oh sh- you’ve got a gag on- I’m very sorry-”

And he notices that Jon’s…. Looking at him, like… he wants to ask something, but doesn’t know if he should.

Michael… forces a smile, getting the feeling — based on the last tape he’d gotten from jon — that he knows what he wants to ask about. “Can we… t…t-“ oh, of course- and just at the moment he’d rather it not be an issue, here it was, again, in the way of him getting his words across. “It- I- We don’t- there isn’t much… much time to share… stories.”

“She won’t be back for-“

“I just don’t want to.”

He didn’t mean it to come out sounding so snappy, and winced a little at his own voice. “She…she’s just… a bit of a hard subject, as of right now…”

Jon looks a little bit… desperate, though, and it occurs to him that he most likely hasn’t been able to get any new statements in days.

If he were to go through the mirrors… he might not be able to keep himself together in there. Or he might get lost, or…

“Ask me.”

Jon blinks, looking a bit confused. “Didn’t you say you-“

“Yes, I know. It doesn’t feel good, but if you don’t-“ he takes a deep breath, and sighs heavily. “Please. Just… this once. And it’s all… good.”

…”What was she like?”

Oh, that question hurts.

A string of expressions pass across his face as he tries to think of the words for the things Jon wants to pull out of him. Needs him to let out.

“…different… she- she told me a lie.

I thought I knew… why she was who she was. Why I was… her… assistant.

I- but i didn’t. Really. She was cold… and… I just fell for it.

He takes another deep breath and sighs, but… no, it… isn’t done, is it.

It all spills out, like blood gushing from a deep, arterial wound.

He tries to twist it, to lessen the tearing sensation that the eye gives as it drags the information out of him, but it just… happens. The words aren’t quite his to control.

The Sannikov trip is the most painful to feel.

Once, it might have been a tale told in horror, of the near-death experience of his mentor, the old woman who fell over the side of a ship in the middle of a storm. About how he almost went insane, but that could have been a dream, and she had been saved, and then they had gone home again.

He told Jon all of this story, the statement riddled with sarcasm and frustration, and hurt.

And then he told… a different story.

The one he’d had in that vision, or dream, or nightmare- whatever it had been.

He told the eye what it already knew, and — in a way — begged it to answer him, instead. Tell him if he had just been… a pebble to be kicked into a trap so that it could be made safe to pass through.

He explained his fear that Gertrude had, in fact, killed one of her old assistants, a woman named Emma Harvey. She’d burned her alive.

And then he recounted his terror upon waking up in the office that one horrible night, when the doors had not been the right doors, and had nearly taken him and swallowed him and taken him apart.

How the fire had roared around him.

The rest of the story, Jon already knew, and so his talking should have ended there.

But he mentioned something he didn’t want to.

About how much Jon had reminded him of her, when they’d first met.

And with this revelation, the story ended.

At once, Michael slid to the floor, his whole body drained of energy, fighting to keep itself together.

It was not a moment too soon.

A door had opened behind him. A horribly familiar one, and as it loomed over Jon’s bound form and Michael’s barely stable one, a voice floated through the room, coming from the figure standing at its threshold.

“That was a very, very stupid thing to do, archivist.”

[floriianthefool]

like the soft beating of a heart in a still chest (fit into me like a missing rib)

mer Bruce Wayne x Reader

Chapter Fourteen

-

When they bring out the padded sling, Bruce is immediately tense, pushing Dick with him towards the centre of the pool. He snarls when they grow closer, fins rising in an impressive showing, black sails unfurling, a warning.

He paces in the water, predatory eyes locked on the humans, Dick behind him. Dick pulls at one of Bruces arms, trying to slip past, yet Bruce maintains his stance, firm.

One of your co-workers holding the sling glances at you, uncertain. “He’s not going to come here. How are we going to get him into the sling?”

Before you can even answer, someone says, “Just lower the nets, it’ll push him into the shallows.”

Frowning, you open your mouth to say-

“He’s too dangerous to approach, ha, I should know. He nearly tore my arm off last month. Just give him a sedative, it’s what we used last time.”

“No,” you finally say, voice firm, “There will be no sedative.” The two of them look over at you, almost looming over you. One of the men crosses his arms, head tilted.

“And what do you suggest,” says the one with crossed arms. “I’ve worked with the beast before and ‘ve got the scars to prove it. Don’t know about you, princess, but I’m pretty sure Doctor Crane doesn’t want any casualties while we try to get Brucie to his checkup.”

“And there will be none,” you say, crossing your arms to match him. The other one is watching the two of you like it’s a particularly entertaining ping pong match, as well as some of your other co-workers as well, milling around the two of you. You can’t see Bruce, he isn’t in your line of sight, but you know he’s watching, know he’s taking in everything with those cutting eyes. “Doctor Crane put me in charge, and I know what I’m doing. This can all be done without any casualties, net, or sedative-“

“And how do you propose we do that?”

You steel yourself. You honestly can’t believe this conversation is still going on. Not only would the old you have not expressed her opinion, even if she had, she would have quailed by now before all the questioning and the pressure. God, old you really was a wimp. But you’re not anymore (at least you hope you’re not). You’re a new person. A braver, better, kinder person. A new you.

“The sling is stressing him out. It’s either very foreign, or he doesn’t have good experiences with it. Neither of them have good experiences with the sling. He- they both need to know they’re safe, that nothing is going to happen to them. The nets, the sedative, that’ll only freak them out, and make any future experiences even more stressful, as well as just worse in general.”

Everyone is really listening to you, really actually listening to what you have to say. Even Crossed Arms guy. It feels really nice.

“What we should do is not go into the water immediately with the sling, rather, someone needs to go into the water and, somehow, reassure them. Calm them down. We’re not going to be able to de-stress them from here, and yelling will just make it worse. Once they’ve realised that it’s safe, we should be able to convince them to come closer, and, hopefully, get onto the sling. That’s when we can bring in the sling and get Bruce on.”

“Great idea, Boss,” says the Crossed Arms Guy. It appears as if everyone has chosen him as their spokesperson. “Just, quick question?”

“Yeah,” you say. You think you know what he’s going to ask.

“Who’s going into the water? Because it sure as hell ain’t gonna be me.”

You look around the group. Everyone’s avoiding meeting your eye, except Crossed Arms guy, who only really looks defiant.

“I’ll do it.”

-

Short snippet, rest of the chapter is up on ao3 under the name 'floriian'.

[candycryptids]

20. do they have a “comfort outfit” or a go to look? if so, why did they choose those pieces?

26. what is their favorite snack food?

(for whomstever you'd like to answer these for >:3)

>:3 (you get Chuu Tuesday n Tangy cos Chuu+2 are my main(s) and Tangy is tapdancing on my brain) (oh god this gets long I think about clothes a lot)

I have a screenshot for Chuu cos she wears this SO MUCH. It’s my go-to Sage/Machinist glam lmao. (Which means Astro also ends up in this a lot lmao) if I can ever learn how to refit shoes to bunny+ I’ll fit the damn street shoes somehow lol Chuu tends to wear stuff with pockets (won’t carry a bag under normal circumstances. That’s what other people are for???) in screenshots I’m constantly taking off her facemask and sometimes her goggles but those are a frequent piece because she’s Paranoid about being recognized- but the goggles and mask themselves are becoming relatively identifiable… she’s gonna have to find a new face covering in dawntrail I think lmao. She actually doesn’t Love closed toe shoes and sneakers that much but Lab Safety :/ if she wasn’t working with anything that might catch fire, spark, spill acid, crush her big ol paws, she’d just wear sandals. Also clothing should be easy for her to just pull on; the level of visual intricacy is not considered so long as it takes her about a minute total to actually squirm into. (Good luck… making her put on Armor… it has to be serious) [Chuu’s go to snack is carrots/celery/bell pepper/apple/cabbage, chopped into bite sizes because its not juicy or wet and thus won’t leave stuff on her fingers/gloves to wipe off while she’s working. And she’ll just mindlessly eat it if it’s put nearby. Easy meal.]

Tuesday doesn’t much have a ‘comfort’ outfit but when Chuu finalizes his body and all that’s showing are traces of thermal thermal venting she *gifts* him a variety of crop tops. Loose, comfy, and people can see his very normal looking stomach which used to need coverage from armor or fabric to protect the innards (no skin; just mechanical guts). (He does have a go to color though, which is millioncorn yellow and orange… orange. I can’t remember the dye name off the top of my head 🫢 I think it’s Pumpkin…) [Tuesday doesn’t have a go-to snack food for himself :( but he likes making thumbprint cookies for others to snack on uvu and pleasing to the eye sliced veggies for dipping! Even if Chuu doesn’t notice that the carrots were cut into stars/hearts/diamonds]

🐈 Tangy’s go to outfits shift as she uh, changes, but the tendency is Sleeveless shirt, loose pants but they need to be cinched at the bottom somehow or Shorts. And closed toe shoes, she doesn’t wanna kick somethin and stub a toe lol. She can be convinced into armor, especially after ARR, but she doesn’t seem to enjoy it much. Makes her feel. Squished. (I did briefly imagine her in full plate with one of those deep armhole slashed tank tops over it and now I’m mad Im not confident enough in my drawing capabilities to DRAW IT lmao) [Her favorite go to snack is fish jerky. Strong flavor, very tasty. It’s easy to find her pack… 🫢 she also really likes pastries with sweet or savory fillings uvu]

[Ask Game!]

[thelegendcreator]

He gazes at the small child in his cave with no small amount of shock. Well, he calls it a small child, but it’s actually taller than him. And on second thought, maybe he should stop calling it ‘it’, when it’s clearly a boy. The child just doesn’t look like anything Bruno’s ever seen before, that’s all. White hair, red eyes, a weird mask—wait a second, are the boy’s eyes glowing?

“Hey, uh,” Bruno stammers, “who are you?”

“I am Red Eye,” the child replies with a growly voice. “And this is my Bey, Legend Spryzen.” He holds up a very fancy spinning top, and Bruno does a double take when the spinning top—or whatever fancy thing Red Eye calls it—starts to glow as well.

“What are you doing here? How old are you? Where are your parents,” Bruno panics, hands fluttering at his sides and disturbing his rats. “Dios, how do I get you back home?”

Red Eye seems reluctant now. “I don’t know how I got here, I was training with my Bey and when I looked up I was here. And I’m twelve, for what it’s worth. I have no idea where my parents are, but they don’t matter. Where am I? And who are you?”

“Colombia. I-I’m Bruno Madrigal. So, um, is there anything I can do to get you back home?”

Red Eye contemplates this. “Well, I’m from Japan, but there’s this illegal training facility called the Snake Pit in Mexico that I’ve been hanging around for a while now. Point me in a direction, and I’ll be fine.”

“I-Illegal training facility?”

“Yeah, it’s where Bladers go when they really need to get stronger. It’s only for the best of the best. The weak ones die.”

“I don’t know what a Blader is, but do your parents know about this Snake Pit thing?”

Red Eye somehow gives him a look from underneath the mask. “No, and if you ever meet them—which is highly unlikely—I don’t want you blabbing about it to them. And what year is it? You’re wearing some pretty weird clothes.”

“Oh, it’s 1951. And I know the hourglass pattern is weird, but Mamá insisted. ‘You can see the future, Brunito, you must lean into it!’”

Red Eye’s mouth dropped open, then he cursed in a foreign language. “1951? That’s decades away from the year I’m from! How am I supposed to go back when I’m not even in the right year?” Then something seemed to click, and his mouth dropped again. “Can you really see the future?”

Bruno turns his eyes on, and Red Eye’s eyes flash in response under the mask. “Yeah, b-but I don’t do visions anymore. Since you’re not in the right year, maybe you can stay with the family until I figure out how to send you back?”

“The family?”

Bruno smiles, “Yeah, they’re the best. They’re gonna love you, kid. You’ll fit right in.”

Red Eye holds up a hand, “Please tell me there isn’t an upbeat extrovert that motivates everyone around them. Please, for my sanity, tell me there isn’t a friendship magnet.”

“Wow, you just described Mirabel! She’s my niece, y’know. Nice kid, she is.”

“May the gods have mercy on my soul.”

____

Before I watched Encanto, I was an avid Beyblade Burst fan for four years. When I saw that there was a crossover week, I just had to make the small rat man meet Shu in his angsty phase. Father figure, meet the teenage angstlord. You have your work cut out for you, Bruno.

[wrongcaitlyn]

OKAY SO OW.

will got a little too real in this chapter 😍

THE ANGST THE ANGST AND THE WILL AND APOLLO FLUFF AND NICO BEING ANGRY/WORRIED AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

literally such a good chapter no i didn’t cry haha what are you speaking of????

so besides all of the sadness i have a very strange question but i overthink everything 😭 so sorry abt that, but i was just wondering cause i know nico has changed lyrics in his songs vrs the ones that are the actual irl songs (haunted having the “cause in your ghost right now your house is haunted” lyric instead of the regular ones) (plz tell me i’m remembering right) and this is actually such a nieche thing to think about but my question is because so many songs use the pet name “baby” in them and nico doesn’t seem like the type to use that (do they even have any nicknames for each other in tyt?) so. would he. a somehow just avoid it. b. use a different pet name c. i need to stop overthinking things because the original lyrics don’t all adhere to his songs. d. a secret fourth thing???

hopefully that makes at least some sense!

ty for another great chapter can’t wait until next week :D

HSJSJ im so glad you liked it bc it was an absolute horror to write!! yk sometimes you’ve got those scenes that you know have to happen, and they have to be written *perfectly* and so then you just stare at the doc for hours trying to figure out how the characters work

but on to the question! oh god. this is hard. see the thing is: i think it WOULD be in character for nico to say baby. i think he also says tesoro like in canon, and definitely sunshine, and maybe darling?

the thing is. i, personally, as a person, have a visceral HATRED of the word. and of pet names/nicknames in general. i don’t mind it in music, but whenever i try and write it into the fic, i just cringe and automatically backspace (this has absolutely nothing to do with people who actually use it as a term of endearment i just don’t know how to write it in without it sounding incredibly awkward or out of character)

so honestly, though, i think that nico is chill abt using it in a song, bc i feel like music honestly uses it more as filler? like, if you need to add a persons name, you’re obviously not gonna say their name (unless the song is hey stephen) so they just add in a pet name - most commonly baby

and i don’t think nico would have anything against that - id probably have to look through the playlists to see just how many times songs use the word, but i don’t think it’s that often

anyway my answer is that yes nico uses the word, i think that will started calling him babe at some point and nico just started using baby too but it’s much more rare and likely when he’s very tired/trying to convince will to do something (such as not work)

i think he prefers using something like darling in his songs (or maybe i’ve just been listening to too much hozier but that’s neither here nor there) but he doesn’t stray away from using the word if it fits well

and he probably uses more terms of endearment in real life than i’ve included (though will def uses them more often, and nico probably refrains from using pet names in front of other ppl) but i just hate writing them so much im sorry😭😭😭😭 i CANT i swear i tried to include a babe at some point in talk your talk and a sunshine but like the only thing slightly close to that that i ever left in a final draft was neeks. i can’t write pet names unless they’re said in a sarcastic or insulting mannerHSJDJ

thank you for the ask!!