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0junemeatcleaver0 · 3 years

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The Young And The Feckless: A Post I Never Thought I’d Make.

INTRODUCTION

The back half of that title might sound a bit dramatic, I know. But as someone who has viewed call out posts as something the kids do, finding myself putting so much effort into writing one when I have gray hair and a mortgage feels...pretty weird. So let me (briefly) explain.

@saint-molochaii (or as I’ll be referring to him in the remainder of this post, SM) first pinged my radar when I saw a post of his appear in the Vampire Chronicles tag here on Tumblr back in autumn. I was aware of him in a vague way—I had seen his gifs being reblogged here and there, but I had not until this point seen any personal posts from him, nor had I interacted with him on a one on one basis.

I won’t get into the specifics of this post as it has apparently since been deleted and as you can see, I have done my damnedest to back up everything I’m about to say with direct links. But what I will say about this post for context’s sake is that it rubbed me the wrong way, to say the least.

The post pertained to him attempting to be an ally in fighting racism in fandom (the VC fandom specifically), but it was fairly obvious to me by the tone of the post that he was going about it very poorly.

I didn’t feel like going to his blog to sift through for details and context, so I just rolled my eyes and kept scrolling. I could not have predicted that months later, I would be scrolling back through to March on his blog to try to gain context after he threw a shit fit that I did interact with (more on that later).

That interaction stuck in my craw for reasons I’ll get into later in this post. But the thing that stuck with me the most was the realization that the more I put off talking about the points he brought up in that post, the bigger my hypocrisy was becoming. In other words, I was mad at him for doing allyship wrong, and then refused to do the hard work of pointing out how and what went wrong with all that. That’s on me, that’s my bad.

Which brings us to the most important question of this section of the post: Who is this post for?

The first section of this post Bad Allyship: A Timeline of Events is for the fandom at large! It’s become apparent to me (for reasons that will become obvious over the course of this post) that people are currently nervous to talk about race in the VC Tumblr fandom space. And I get it, it can be tricky knowing how to speak about racism–how to talk to other white people about it as an ally. The first section will include resources and a primer on what not to do, using SM as an example. Because fuck having interesting, nuanced discussions about race in fiction being shut down by a performitive activist.

The second section of this post But Molochaii...You Know How This Looks, Right? are all the questions I still have for SM. Which won’t be answered, just as my initial question to him remains. But I’m a curious cat, so I’ll ask those questions anyway. While this bit of the post will be directed at him specifically, feel free to read it yourself or skip it as you see fit.

You may be wondering why the first section isn’t directed specifically toward SM, when I obviously think that he’s still got a lot to learn. That is because I do not think that SM is acting in good faith. You can feel free to disagree, but I think reading through both sections of this post will clue you into why that’s my feeling on the whole situation.

NOTE: This is absolutely not some call to action to go harass SM for being a bad faith actor within fandom while weaponizing allyship when facing even the most tepid pushback. This is simply someone entering a fandom, realizing there is a problem, and stating what the problem is. My advice would ultimately be to ignore him and block him if you feel you must. If you read all this and find yourself thirsting for the sight of some internet weirdo getting dunked on, I am sure he’ll show up in my askbox as an anon, at which point I will dunk on him as hard as I see fit to thus slaking that thirst. I’ll even come up with a tag for it. These types tend to react in the exact same ways when called out and well. Anon is still on. So. I can’t wait for him to prove me wrong </sarcasm>

And if you’d like a TL;DR version of what exactly happened to kick all this off, this now deactivated user summed it up perfectly back in September:

Bad Allyship: A Timeline of Events

When it comes to how to talk about racism as an ally, the guide we’ll be using for simplicity’s sake is dosomething.org’s “How White People Can Talk to Each Other About Disrupting Racism”. It’s a great, concise read and I would highly recommend it to any white person who claims the title ally and wishes to do the difficult work of anti-racist activism.

For a clear view of what being an ally actually means, we will be using The Guide to Allyship. https://guidetoallyship.com/

I highly recommend clicking through to read both of these links in their entirety, but for the sake of brevity (this is already such a long post), I will be posting the bits I’ll be pulling from the most here.

From dosomething.org:

Prepare For The Conversation

Understand why white people should have conversations with one another

Think about why you want to have this conversation.

Choose who you want to talk to and how

Establish goals for the conversation

Set expectations for yourself and your conversation partner

Also from dosomething.org:

Have The Conversation

DO start the conversation from a place of curiosity and care

DO lead with “I” statements

DO ask open ended questions

DON’T end the conversation at the first sign of discomfort

DO stay on topic

DON’T think you have to do this alone (IE: bring resources)

DO consider taking a pause and returning to the conversation at a different time if you feel like the conversation is moving more towards conflict and away from conversation.

From guidetoallyship.com:

To Be An Ally Is To...

Take on the struggle as your own

Transfer the benefits of your privilege to those who lack it

Amplify voices of the oppressed before your own

Acknowledge that even though you feel pain, the conversation is not about you

Stand up, even when you feel scared

Own your mistakes and de-center yourself

Understand that your education is up to you and no one else

Now, onto the bit where we learn by example. I present to you a case study in what not to do:

MAY 25

Amid rumors of a black man potentially being cast as Louis, SM makes a rather milquetoast, standard post to the fandom at large about not being racist about this decision.

The post itself is...fine. The tone isn’t overly condescending. He seemed to have a goal (getting out ahead of any racist shit that might be said about this decision). Not a bad post, but also nothing to write home about.

The only comment he gets that isn’t just immediate agreement is the following:

The reason I point out the fact that this is the only comment he got on this post that wasn’t just 100% agreeing with everything he said will become clear. Don’t worry.

AUGUST 25

SM admits to having already blocked all the racists on Tumblr and thus has not seen any racist activity on Tumblr where the VC fandom is concerned. Though he does say he’s still been seeing it on Facebook.

This appears to simply be a rant post, which is fair enough. The important part, though, is the admittance to blocking anyone he viewed to be racist on Tumblr.

I can’t know which point from our resources are behind his decision to block (was it “stand up, even when you feel scared” or “don’t end the conversation at the first sign of discomfort”?) I can’t possibly know what his reasoning was, just that claiming allyship only to block every person you think is racist on a platform is...a choice.

More tellingly, in an answer to an anon, he cops to being (direct quote) “incredibly bad at having limits”. We’ll get back to that later.

AUGUST 26

SM makes a fandom-wide appeal to any BIPOC fans to give him any hints on what to do as an ally about all the racism he’s seen in fandom, while alluding to having hateful anon messages in his askbox.

Understand that your education is up to you and no one else.

While I already had these resources bookmarked, they are not difficult to find on Google at all. 30 whole seconds at most. Anti-racist work looks just the same in fandom as out of it. The mechanics are the same. He could have asked Google this question instead of asking fans of color.

Moreover:

“Somewhere in the notes to the casting post, someone mentioned that blocking people isn’t helpful bc it only removes the issue from our (white people’s) end, not for existing in general, & that interaction & reporting was a better choice. I agree to an extent, except I’m not sure what arguing with people on tumblr accomplishes, the block button is open for anyone to use so?”

Notice that not only does he disregard the very good point this unnamed user brought up in the notes of the post he mentions, he also implies here that the only way he can envision having anti-racist conversations is in the form of arguments. Start the conversation from a place of curiosity and care. (Also lol-ing forever at ‘the block button is open for anyone to use’. #NotAllBlockButtons)

Sofipitch responds to tell him that it’s cool to just delete and block and all that.

SM agrees and shows just how unaware he is re: allyship work and his place in it.

In this reply he uses the word conversation once and it’s in quotations as though he thinks actually trying to understand why another white person might hold a racist belief so he can see how best to inform them of their ignorance is somehow beneath him and not...how allies are supposed to help dismantle racism?

SEPTEMBER 1

SM reblogs a post by I-Want-My-IWTV. IWMI answered an anon where they spoke about the rumors of black!Louis possibly being a brothel owner. It was a fairly nuanced post about all the possible pros and cons of that decision from a writing and representation perspective. Outside of that, it was a wholly unremarkable post.

SM’s whole problem with this post seemed to be that there’s a real racism problem in the VC fandom internet-wide, though it’s hard to tell because he never specifies on what platforms he’s having these difficulties speaking to other white people about this. (Remember: He admitted back in mid-August that he’s blocked everyone he thinks is racist here on Tumblr. So it would be safe to assume that he’s not speaking about here on Tumblr.)

Here we start to see the breakdown in communication really ramp up.

Part of the problem I think is that we’re all going to have our own definitions of ‘fandom’, as well as having limits to exactly how many platforms we use to participate in fandom.

I’ll use myself as an example. I only count people as being a part of fandom if they produce or interact with fanworks and/or participate in discussion about the work with other fans (headcanons and metas being an example of this). I also only have Tumblr as a personal social media account. This is the only place I interact with the fandom.

You may have a different definition. Perhaps to you, fandom is anyone who enjoys a piece of media to spend money on it and actively keeps up with news about the IP. And maybe you are active in fandom on all social media platforms.

All of that is fine. There’s no wrong way to do fandom outside of just straight up being an asshole.

But the breakdown in communication is directly tied to the fact that SM seems to have skipped over steps 3-5 of Preparing For The Conversation as outlined by dosomething.org.

3) Choose who you want to talk to and how. He blocked all the (to his estimation) racists in the fandom on Tumblr. So we can assume that the people he’s seen being racist in the internet-wide VC fandom have been on other platforms. But then he continuously comes to Tumblr to fight the racism? That he’s not seeing because he already blocked all the racists on here? Who is he talking to? And why? Which brings us to:

4) Establish goals for the conversation. If he doesn’t know who exactly he’s addressing (or is addressing no one in specific) then it is impossible for this conversation to have a goal. If the person he wanted to speak to from point #3 was IWMI, then I’m still unclear on what his intended goal might have been. One could assume that he wanted the people of Tumblr to collectively break down camp and make the trek over to Facebook to fight the people of the page. But he never made that clear. He acted as though he was the only one capable of seeing the key to stopping the evil racist fans and then just...didn’t elaborate on what that was.

5) Set expectations for yourself and your conversation partner. See the above point. I can’t know what his expectations were in making this post, but they clearly weren’t met. But again, that’s on him and his lack of planning, elaboration, and know-how.

The problem with this is while IWMI’s post did make mention of the wider VC fandom/audience, they also didn’t make any denials about whether or not there actually are malicious actors in the fandom.

Reading IWMI’s response as someone who wasn’t involved in this discussion at the time has led me to believe that what IWMI was saying is that it’s difficult to know the true intentions behind bringing up displeasure with Louis’s casting. Which is true. That’s why steps one and three of Having The Conversation from dosomething.org are: Start the conversation from a place of curiosity and care and ask open ended questions. Which IWMI came closer to doing in this post than SM did in any of his posts or responses that I’ve seen.

SEPTEMBER 14

SM makes his first of a series of “I’m stepping away from fandom” posts.

He states in this post that he doesn’t care if people say he’s just crying white male tears. Which is fortunate because that’s what he then goes on to do and I could imagine that caring that people are pointing out where you’re messing up would be terribly distracting while you’re trying to make anti-racist work all about yourself as a white man.

I’m being a bit uncharitable there, I know. But the whole post is him making anti-racist work all about how doing it has effected him as a white man.

To be an ally is to acknowledge that even though you feel pain, the conversation is not about you.

SEPTEMBER 18

SM makes a post further elaborating on his experiences being the only white man in fandom willing to fight the good fight.

I include this post to touch on two points contained therein.

“A lot of white people are afraid to talk about racial issues & that’s why this shit keeps happening.” (First line of the first paragraph of that post). From what I’ve seen through my research the reason white folks in the Tumblr VC fandom were beginning to become afraid of discussing race (and racism in Anne’s work and racism in fandom or the implications inherent in narrative choices the showrunners were rumored to be making) was that he was insinuating anyone who didn’t agree with his thoughts on the choices the showrunners were making were all covert racists. He actively made this stuff difficult to talk about. Which is not the role of an ally.

“I don’t necessarily have a concrete example of what ‘talking about it’ means.” Clearly. You see, here he admits to not knowing how to actively be an anti-racist ally. He knows discussions need to happen, but not what the mechanics of that could possibly be. This is not someone who needs to be doing this work. This is someone who is in the very early stages of his anti-racist work, which is fine! We all have to start somewhere! But this is someone who seems to have skipped most of the learning stage and has gone right into the more hands-on activism when he is absolutely unprepared to do so. Whether he realizes it or not, he’s admitted that fact within this single sentence, not to mention how he’s gone about discussing racism in the fandom.

SEPTEMBER 28

Sm writes an empty apology to unknown persons.

In this post, he apologizes for “some of the things I said / did” during this “bullying issue”. He makes allusions to wrongdoings on his part, but mentions no specifics. As you’ll come to see later in this post, this apology appears to be ultimately empty, as it’s clear that he’s learned very little from the experiences he’s had doing this work.

He also admits to having his PTSD triggered during all of this. Which again demonstrates how unprepared for confronting racism he is. There is nothing wrong with admitting when you are not in the mental space to take on potentially being yelled at by vitriolic people. But that is also a possibility you need to be prepared for if you want to not only call yourself an ally, but also act as one.

Furthermore, reading this post feels like playing bad apology bingo. For more on how to properly apologize: https://guidetoallyship.com/#apologies

And because it is once again relevant: To be an ally is to acknowledge that even though you feel pain, the conversation is not about you.

NOVEMBER 28

SM calls two people running a fan event “horrendous racists” and claims they’re both responsible for sending him and his friends anon hate.

He offers no proof to back up either of these claims. While it’s hard to prove a negative (that these people didn’t send him hate), most posts of this ilk that I’ve seen on Tumblr have something in the way of evidence. Again, he offers none.

Although there’s some interesting circumstantial evidence that implies he himself has sent people he’s disagreed with anon hate. More on that directly below.

OCTOBER 1

SM claims there were doxxing threats made to him.

NOTE: While talking about this here, I am going to leave out the name of the person he accused. I’ve spoken with her in the DMs and to hear her tell it, SM and his little friends really went out of their way to harass her. Obviously, I don’t want to rope her back into this any more than is necessary after the shit they put her through. And so for this section, I will be calling her User and the equally ambiguous “she”.

The claim of doxxing was, in fact, bullshit.

Here’s how it went down, according to User: User was getting harassed and noticed via her statcounter that someone from Clearwater FL was showing up on her blog again and again.

So she made a post that simply said, “Clearwater, FL” and tagged it “statcounter” and “stop stalking me”.

From there, SM made the above post about how someone (meaning User) was threatening to doxx him.

In response to this buffoonery, User wrote this post and pinned it to her profile:

Please note that while she edited out his IP address, I edited out her tumblr url. In her post (which is still up), her url is visible on this statcounter.

SM has made it public knowledge that he lives in Florida. And while he might not be comfortable with people knowing the exact city he’s doing his stalking from...it’s his fault I was able to put this together? User didn’t need to tell me this was him. I knew it before I asked her about it. She confirmed it, yes. But the only reason I arrived at that conclusion was I saw he lives in FL, I saw him publicly saying he was being doxxed while putting together my timeline (I didn’t see this as it was happening), and then me remembering having seen the above post from the person he stalked previous to all this research.

Plus like...she’s one of the “horrendous racists” he’s supposedly had blocked since August at the earliest, November at the latest. Why is he still visiting her blog this much? This one, imo, is on him.

But either way you slice it, he accidentally copped to this being him being spoken about. And as you might imagine, stalking isn’t a part of the anti-racist ally protocol. Obviously.

Thus ends the “doxxing” saga.

And so now we get to the catalyst for this whole post.

Because here’s where I actually enter the picture and can speak to things I have first hand knowledge of.

DECEMBER 12

Christopher Rice makes a post on his mother’s Facebook page letting everyone know that Anne had died from complications from a stroke.

It didn’t take long for this news to spread to Tumblr. And from that second forward, the Anne Rice tag was flooded with posts from people (presumably) outside of the fandom making jokes about now being able to write fanfic. Something that was obviously upsetting to fans of her work, myself included, I’ll admit.

Of note: I saw a total of two posts in the tag that weren’t either fans mourning or people making fic jokes. One was someone bringing up how Anne once stood up for a romance writer’s right to write a “Holocaust survivor falls for a Nazi” novel and this tweet.

December 19

SM makes this openly antagonistic post.

There’s quite a bit to unpack there, but I’ll try to make it brief as this post is already monstrously long and I already addressed this post in my response (more in a second).

“I’m not saying you have to think & feel like I do. I’m not going to invade your space & tell you you’re wrong if we disagree. I’m using my own space only & that’s it.”

Except he didn't though. He posted this to the Anne Rice tag. A public space. This defense only holds water if he left it untagged for just him and his followers to see.

But I think that was part of his plan. Because no one can be stupid enough to post something so openly vitriolic to a tag where fans are sharing stories of grief and their conflicted feelings about Anne as a person and creator and expect something like this post to not cause a stir.

"It’s just been extremely weird watching people practically tearing their hair out over a rich stranger who died of old age during a pandemic, acting like it’s the greatest tragedy of all time.

We all die, I don’t know what to tell you there, & dying of old age is a luxury most of us don’t get, especially since covid has been on the scene. She died the way that most rich, white people die. Rich & isolated from the real world, with a lot of people on the internet ready to weirdly give up their own life defending them too."

His emphasis, not mine.

This isn’t a gripe with Anne. This is directed at people who are actively in grief. Which is already a complicated emotion but becomes more difficult to navigate when your feelings are conflicted about the person you’re grieving.

This is an intentionally malicious post. It’s clear he’s pissed and he’s acting out on it.

Again, this is not how an ally acts. Allyship requires maintaining a level head. Remember: Do consider taking a pause and returning to the conversation at a different time if you feel like the conversation is moving more towards conflict and away from conversation.

It was clear to me from reading the above chunk of text that this was not a good faith post. I skimmed the rest. None of it was news to me. And surprise surprise, reading a refresher course on different problematic shit Anne had done wasn’t enough to magically make the grief of losing one of my favorite authors evaporate. Weird, how that works.

And so I made the following response.

Was it minorly bitchy? Sure. But the points I made still stand to this day.

And my question remains unanswered. I still don’t know who that post was for.

Well, I do. It was for himself and the benefit of his ego. But I didn’t expect him to cop to that. So.

Oh well.

Later that same day, SM makes this post about how he is taking a break from Tumblr and how we’re all terrible, etc etc. Second verse, same as the first. This is, indeed, the song that never ends.

This was his response to me, I’m pretty sure. Hard to know when he refuses to call people out by name or (heaven forbid!) speak to them directly. But the reason I’m fairly certain this was about me was that I was the only one in the notes that was even slightly confrontational towards him. And even still, I wasn’t even that harsh. I didn’t call him any names, I didn’t try to claim that his points were in bad faith (I didn’t know him. I still don’t, I just know what he’s posted to tunglr dot hell). All I did was ask the question, who is this post for exactly? And instead of providing an answer, he folded like a lawn chair in a hurricane, and implied that the people who interacted with his posts in a way that didn’t absolutely lick his hole lacked the ability to experience emotions.

“Nobody here knows half the shit that’s been done to me because of speaking up about this bc I have chosen to not focus on it.”

surejan.gif

The post is all manipulation, but not even good manipulation which proves that practice doesn’t always make perfect.

And that’s pretty much the end of this saga (for now—I’m sure he’ll have some sort of reaction to this post probably). But to put a neat little bow on the learning portion of our call out post, let me pull one more excerpt from this last post of his:

“I asked for help from people who I thought were involved here to make this feel like a community for everyone & I found out that’s actually not many people’s interest at all.”

Imagine for a moment that you have a roommate. You’re sitting on the couch and your roommate is in the kitchen. Roomie calls your name and asks for your help. You walk into the kitchen. “I need help!” Roomie reiterates, standing in the middle of the room with their hands at their sides. “Okay, with what?” “Help.” “Yes, with what?” “I need it.” You stare at your roommate. Your roommate stares at you. The fridge fan whines. A moth throws itself uselessly against the bare bulb above you. “H el p .. .” Your roommate gurgles. The sun explodes, end scene.

The point is, sure. He asked for help. But he was never clear what he needed help with, other than the vague goal of “fighting racism in fandom”. He had no game plan. He didn’t tell anyone what platforms were the worst for it. He didn’t name names. He didn’t do anything of any use. When you’re the one who feels comfortable being the first to make the rallying cry, you better point in a direction in which to lead the charge.

The only time he was at all specific with any of this was when he said he was getting hate anons. Anyone who has been on the internet for more than 20 minutes knows it’s not worth fighting with anons. Plus...they’re anonymous? How were any of us supposed to know who they were? How are we meant to fight what are essentially ghosts??

And thus concludes the bit where we all talk about allyship in a relatively calm, levelheaded way. Now we move on to our final chapter:

But Molochaii...You Know How This Looks, Right?

Hey, man. I wanna say “welcome to your tape” but I’m still alive when I’m sure you wish I weren’t. It’s fine, we can move past the inconvenient fact that I’m both speaking to you and respirating.

When you’re ready, take my arm and we’ll take a little stroll down memory lane together while I ask you questions Ghost of Tumblr Posts Past style. A little late for the reference, but I move in my own time.

You remember that time you rambled for way too long about how bad you feel for Tom Cruise for being a Scientologist? And before you say, “He’s in a cult! Do you have any idea—” Yeah, actually. I do. My family (myself included) was in a cult. I do know. Do you know who doesn’t have a bad time in cults? The people who benefit from how the cult operates. Tom’s doing just fine in Scientology. With that out of the way, I have more questions: Where was this level of nuance and sensitivity for Anne? Do you think only having sympathy for terrible people you’re a fan of and no sympathy for terrible people you’re not a fan of is hypocritical? Yes or no. Do you think you’ll be sad when Tom dies? Do you think it’ll hurt your feelings to see people celebrating his death while you’re mourning it? Say yes or lie to me and yourself. Do you think this black and white (no pun intended) thinking helps or hinders your attempts at allyship?

Hey, Molochaii. You remember when someone very calmly laid out their point of view and you moved the goal posts and then shut the conversation down? Did you read the resources I linked at the top of this post? Do I need to repeat myself again? Do you see where you fucked up, or is your ego blocking your view?

Hey, Mol—can I call you Mol? You remember when a WOC replied to a post of yours and you refused to engage in any meaningful way with her? How you didn’t reblog her response as a way of “amplifying oppressed voices before your own”?

Hey, Chii Chii—can I call you Chii Chii? You remember when instead of interacting in a meaningful way with that WOC, you screenshotted and then cropped a very good point from her response to you, and then tried to use that as some sort of slam dunk but instead of a ball it was your point and instead of a hoop it was a toilet? You remember how you implied that she was lying about her race? Do you think that denying that there is a difference between ignorance and hatefulness is helpful to your allyship work? Do you think you know better about racism than a WOC?

Hey, Moldavia. Do you have a moment to read this quote from guidetoallyship.com? ”Lack of self-awareness is not a trait of an ally. You’ll be complicit in the oppression of those you intend to help. If you choose not to understand this, but label yourself an ‘ally’, you’re essentially a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You’ll find ways to infiltrate vulnerable communities and wield far more power than someone who is outwardly ‘-ist’ or ‘-ic’ because you’re ‘trusted’.” Do you have time to take this quote to heart, or are you too full of yourself to create space for it?

Hey, Molotov cocktail. You remember how in a post where you bemoaned the fact that you weren’t getting enough attention, you admitted to the fact that you’re as petty as a 12 year old? Do you think this admission makes me or anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together likely to believe that you’re the type of person who people can easily disagree with without you throwing a hissy fit before trying to make yourself the victim in every situation? You remember how you copped to being “incredibly bad at having limits”? Do you see how these two things make it very easy to believe that you’d be the type of person to harass people via anon hate?

Hey, Mollycoddled Man Child. You remember when you were still so upset with other people in this fandom getting more attention than you that you felt the need to make TWO posts about it in one day a couple weeks after the post above?

You remember how you did that at the end of July, right before your supposed crusade against racism in fandom really started to ramp up in August?

Do you see how that looks? Do you know that it’s not a good look? Are you happy now? Do you plan on stopping anytime soon?

Oh and for your trouble:

#anne rice #the vampire chronicles #vampire chronicles #tvc

29 notes · View notes

ethanesimp · 3 years

Text

WHEN YOU’RE GONE // D.D.

Pairing: Mob Boss! Damiano David x Mob GN! Reader (it was originally written with a fem! reader so please let me know if you spot any slip ups on my part)

Summary: Soulmates are already a difficult concept to grasp and things don’t seem to get any easier when you like a person who already has a soulmate.

Word Count: 9.8k (it’s so long lakjd)

Warnings: Swearing, death and mentions of it, injuries, angst -lots of it-, it’s a mob fic so violence, smoking, Damiano being kind of an asshole? Me probably using swear words in italian wrong... Just read with caution pls

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

A/N: If you’ve seen this before, it’s probably because this has been written and posted on my other blog @pparkersbitch as a Tom Holland fanfiction at the beginning of the year (which has now been deleted). It’s the same person and I’m not stealing anyone’s work :) I just like it and wanted to bring it back. I did add/modify some tiny details though. The idea is probably dumb, but I’m sharing anyways.

Taglist: @gretavanfleetlove @superchrystaldrug @reputationdamiano

“This isn’t how I wanted to start my morning,” Your best friend mumbled in a tired voice. You could barely hear him from where you were standing over the sounds the old -and surely broken- coffee machine kept making and the music playing from his phone.

“Well, sucks to be us, huh?” You chuckled and poured coffee on both of your cups as you did a small dance to try and shake the tiredness off your body. You handed Damiano his cup after preparing his coffee the way he liked it, a teaspoon of sugar with a splash of milk, and walked with him to the large office down the hall, “I don’t get why Ethan and Thomas can’t do this instead of us.”

The room was always cold and you seemed to forget about it most of the time since it still slipped your mind to wear a sweater or hoodie over your thin pajama shirt. You grabbed one of the blankets from the small black couch on the corner of the room and wrapped it around your body as best as you could with your free hand.

You sat down on the chair next to him to have a better look at all the papers and files he had spread out on the desk, “What exactly are we looking for?” You asked with furrowed eyebrows. All those documents were enough to keep you occupied for the whole day if you didn’t work fast enough.

“We are looking for any leads to the drug cartel or its leader. Really anything that can help us find them,” Damiano explained and took a sip of his coffee as he opened the first file.

You had been trying to track a drug cartel ever since they infiltrated your warehouse and stole some of your products. Damiano’s father had been at both of your necks ever since it happened as if it had been your fault instead of the incompetent guards that were supposed to be guarding the entrance at all times, “I’m sure these are people we’ve made deals with in the past, they wouldn’t have been able to break in otherwise. We’ve always been far too careful for this to be a mere coincidence.”

He removed the gold ring from his ring finger and left it on the jewelry bowl you had placed on his desk. You had known Damiano David and his family for years. For as long as you had known him, the band on his ring finger had been gold, and you hated it.

That stupid little gold band was a silent reminder that he had met his soulmate and there was nothing to be done about it. For months you had silently hoped and prayed for Damiano to be your soulmate, but any illusion or wish you had of it happening, had vanished the moment you saw the gold ring on his finger for the first time. You later discovered he avoided wearing it on his hand because it put his soulmate at risk of being found, but he still kept it close to him at all times by using it as a necklace.

You avoided wearing yours for an entirely different reason. The black ring and all the stares and words of pity that came with it were saddening and something you didn’t need. While gold was a reminder of love and good luck, black was a reminder that your soulmate was no longer alive and you were doomed to spend the rest of your life alone. You were sure the band had been black for most of your life, or at least that’s how you remembered it.

It was safe to say you were jealous of Damiano’s soulmate, Marlee. Not only was she one of the most beautiful women you had ever met, but she got to have perhaps the most amazing man by her side until her dying day, something you could never have in any way that wasn’t platonic.

You successfully ignored it most days, which wasn’t so hard to do since you had better things to think about most of the time, but nights were always the hardest. In your loud and chaotic life, there was a speck in time where everything quieted and calmed down. During those few hours was when you’d break down and grieve for the person whose name you didn’t even get to know. You’d cry for being stupid enough to fall for someone who wasn’t only your best friend, but who also had a girlfriend.

“Damiano, Y/N?” Marlee’s sweet voice interrupted your train of thoughts. You had been reading the files consciously enough to notice anything unusual, but you had paid no mind to anything else until she walked into the room. You smiled politely at her and waved.

She walked up to Damiano and he immediately closed all files with any sort of photo that might be too graphic for her to look at. Marlee cupped his face and pressed her lips to his for a few moments that felt like an eternity to you, watching everything from the side as a feeling of jealousy invaded your senses. You did nothing but look at the painting on the wall until they stopped locking lips, which took a bit longer than you would’ve liked.

“Did you two find anything?” Marlee asked once she pulled away from Damiano. He gave her a look you knew as ‘I cannot tell you anything about the mob to keep you safe’. She had been involved with the mob’s administration for most of her life, only after she met Damiano and her father united his mob with Damiano’s did she stop working.

You had been brought in as a replacement of sorts once Marlee stopped doing any mob business per Damiano’s request. His parents had saved yours from a legal accident, which left you in debt with his family, so you didn’t have much say on whether you’d join the mob or not.

Something you were grateful for was that Damiano always kept your hands clean. No matter what business it was, he made sure to keep you out of any sort of situation in which you’d have to hurt or get hurt by another member of the mob. Most people that worked for Damiano didn’t have the pleasure of knowing him as the lenient and caring individual he was around you.

You excused yourself after spending a few more minutes flipping through the files in search of something but ultimately found nothing. It was supposed to be your free day, or at least that was what Damiano had promised. Apart from that impromptu search for information at 5 am, he promised he’d have Ethan, Vic, or Thomas help with anything he needed.

That was why you took the liberty to lock yourself inside your room and put your phone on silent. You desperately wanted to catch up on all the hours of sleep you had lost in between those early morning duty calls and coffee runs. No matter how much you enjoyed spending time with Damiano, you still missed your normal sleep schedule.

When you woke up a few hours later, the house was completely silent. The usual chatter coming from the kitchen wasn’t there, neither was the noise of Vic repeatedly firing bullets at the targets in the garden to practice her aim like she did every morning or the soft sound of Thomas softly strumming his guitar as he tried to piece an unplanned melody together with the assistance of Ethan’s drumming.

It wasn’t a Sunday, which meant they weren’t away visiting their families. They were all supposed to be home. That last thought made you nervous and you couldn’t help but wonder if something had happened while you were asleep. Being in the mob, you knew a lot of unexpected things happened all the time and you had to be prepared for them all.

You walked to the door, determined to investigate what was wrong. Your hand was already firmly grasping the doorknob and you were about to undo the lock when someone knocked harshly on the door, startling you.

Without hesitation, you jumped back and reached for the gun stuffed in one of the drawers nearby, “Y/N? You awake?”

You let go of the drawer’s handle and your tense body relaxed at the sound of Victoria’s raspy voice, “Fuck, Vic, you scared me,” You spoke as you opened the door to be met with her panicked blue eyes. Your eyebrows furrowed at her worried expression, but before you could ask, she grabbed you by the arm softly and dragged you out of the room.

Once you were in the hallway, you finally heard everything with a lot more clarity. The faint sound of glass clinking before falling to the floor, Thomas’s exasperated shouts, and Damiano’s complaints. You looked at Victoria, expecting an explanation.

“I don’t know what happened,” She began, “One second he was alright, then at like 9 AM Ethan and I heard them fighting. She’s gone and Damiano’s locked in his room, won’t let anyone in. Thomas is trying to get him to talk while Ethan looks for the keys.”

You walked past Victoria and ran up the stairs. Damiano’s room was right above yours. Upon walking up to the third floor of the house, you saw Thomas repeatedly knocking on Damiano’s door. Once he heard footsteps and spotted you, it was like relief washed all over him at the sight of you.

“Do you mind trying?” He asked, “He’s been asking for you,” Thomas added with a sigh as he brushed his messy hair out of his forehead. You nodded and got closer to the door once he got out of the way.

With hesitation, you knocked on the door and patiently waited for a response, which arrived only after you knocked once again, “Vaffanculo, Thomas! Which part of your tiny fucking brain cannot understand that I want to be left alone?”

You flinched at his words and took a long breath as you gathered the confidence to speak up, “I-It’s Y/N, Dami,” You said, loud enough for him to hear you from where he was. You were expecting rejection; if Damiano didn’t want to talk to people who were as close to him as siblings, why would he talk to you? Sure, you were one of his best friends, but he’d known Thomas for longer than he—

Your thoughts were interrupted when Damiano opened the door and quickly dragged you in before slamming it shut once more. For the first few minutes, you stood in silence while Damiano faced the door. You couldn’t see his face or his eyes, so you had no idea what could be going through his mind, so you focused on your surroundings instead.

The room was a mess, but not more than it usually was. What alarmed you was the shattered glass on the floor as well as the drops of blood that stained the white floor. You looked back at your best friend and noticed that it was dripping from his hand.

“Damiano,” You called, “Amore, your hand,” He turned to look at you and that’s when you finally saw his red and swollen eyes as well his tear-stained cheeks. His gaze softened once his eyes fell on yours. He choked back a sob and turned away from you once again.

If his hand hadn’t been bleeding, you wouldn’t have hesitated on wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to comfort him. Instead, you ran to his bathroom to grab the first-aid kit. After years of being in the business, treating Damiano’s cuts and injuries wasn’t anything new to you, but you were oblivious as to why he was in such a state in the first place.

Being the person he was, Damiano had learned to conceal his emotions incredibly well to protect himself, even around the people he trusted the most. You had only seen him that shaken once when something had gone terribly wrong. The fact that Marlee was gone too only gave you a worse feeling. The fact that her clothes were all gone from the closet didn’t ease your worried mind either.

Damiano was sitting on the bed patiently waiting for you to return. Once you did, he avoided your gaze and said nothing as you examined his hand. The cuts were all superficial and would surely cure on their own in a few days, which was why you only focused on removing the tiny shards of glass that had stuck to his skin with a pair of tweezers.

Once that was done and you had cleaned the cuts, you wrapped a bandage around his hand once and secured it with a small piece of tape. You sat in silence for a while, you didn’t comment on the sobs that would escape his lips every once in a while or the tears that had started falling down his cheeks.

Instead, you waited until he was ready to say something, “I don’t even know how to tell you this,” Damiano mumbled. His eyes stayed glued to the floor. He seemed… embarrassed to look you in the eye.

“I was finally going to do it this morning, N/N,” He said as a sigh escaped past his lips and he took a small velvet box out of his pocket. He didn’t have to say what was inside the box because you knew exactly what it was. Damiano had been planning on proposing for months, but there was always something that managed to get in the way of completing his goal.

“She went to the bathroom and had left her phone on my bedside table. I was going to get the ring and Y/N… I-I swear to God I didn’t want to look but the messages kept coming, one after the other, the fucking phone wouldn’t stop making noise. Cazzo, she was the one feeding information to the drug cartel and Lord knows to who else,” He said those words in one breath and you had barely been able to catch them all. Damiano threw the box at the wall angrily and from the noise, you didn’t doubt there’d be an indent there.

“I asked her about it and you have no idea how much I wished she’d deny it, but she didn’t even try,” Damiano cried. Unexpectedly, Damiano turned his body around to face yours and wrapped his arms around your waist while he buried his face on your neck.

It took you by surprise, but you said nothing. Instead, you focused on rubbing circles on his back and whispering soothing words into his ear. Part of you knew there was something else going on, even if you didn’t ask. You hadn’t seen Damiano cry in a long time and even then you saw nothing more than just a few tears rolling down his cheeks. What happened with Marlee had truly driven him right to the edge and he couldn’t keep in everything he had been trying so hard to hide.

In the four months that followed, you didn’t see Marlee once. She never had the guts to return after Damiano found out about everything she had been doing behind his back. At first, he had been utterly destroyed by her absence, it pained you to see him shut everything and everyone out with the lame excuse that he had work to do. Every single time he did so, you’d quietly sit down and help him despite his complaints.

He got better though. Once enough time passed, he healed, but all that love he had once felt for her was now nothing more than pure hatred every single time her name was mentioned. You knew better than anyone that it wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, but it didn’t matter how many times you told him so because it never truly changed much.

As for the mob, things seemed to calm down once Damiano and Ethan were able to track down the leader of the drug cartel and get the stolen products back. Everything was too good and too quiet. While your four friends enjoyed all that peace, you couldn’t help but worry about something being wrong. It was a silly thing anyway, there was nothing that gave you even the slightest confirmation that your worry wasn’t just fueled by paranoia, not a single thing.

You should’ve been grateful instead. Your sleep schedule had gotten acceptably regular and there was no more working from 5 am to 10 pm every single day. You also had time to finally sit down and read the books that had been sitting on your untouched shelf ever since the start of the year, just like you were doing at that very moment while the boys were playing poker in the basement and Vic was on a date.

Damiano walked into your room eventually, still smelling like the cigarette he had just been smoking minutes back. He couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose as the smell of lemon incense burning hit his nostrils.

You looked up and giggled at his disgusted expression, “You cannot be disgusted when you were the one who walked into my room smelling like cigar and beer,” Damiano rolled his eyes and plopped down on the bed next to you.

“Incense is bad for you,” You shot Damiano a killer look and closed your book. He gave you a funny look back and then put his attention on your book, “What are you reading anyway?”

You hummed and showed him the cover. It had a beautiful yet simple design, which accurately represented the story hidden in between those pages, “Okay so, it’s the story of these people that all get invited to this island. They’re all summoned there for different reasons but it turns out they all have this common enemy. It’s terrifying because they get killed off one by one when a children’s lullaby plays. I truly cannot explain it enough to do justice to how intense this book is.”

“Oh and before that I got to read the most wonderful romance book! It was apparently the first book written where soulmates weren’t a thing and it was just a piece of art. Beautifully written, made me cry for hours too.”

Damiano smiled and you could almost see all the gears turning inside his brain, “Wouldn’t it be amazing?”

“What would?”

He shrugged and propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at you, “A world without soulmates, where you’re not bound to someone since birth.”

You sighed and turned to look at him, “It’s our own fault… being bound, I mean. No angel from the heavens came down to tell us we have to love our soulmate as anything more than a close friend, you know? It can be purely platonic, we’re just stupid.”

“Were you ever able to fall in love with your soulmate or was it just platonic?” Damiano asked. You never talked much about soulmates with him. He still didn’t know your soulmate had been dead for as long as you could remember.

“I never got to know them,” You smiled sadly and showed him the black ring you had gotten used to wearing around your neck, carefully tucked under your shirt to stay unseen. His mouth fell open as he grabbed the ring and inspected it closely. It was the first time he had seen a black ring.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry,” Damiano let the ring go. You shrugged and waved your hand to silently show it wasn’t too important, “I thought you guys were separated or something.”

You shook your head, “Mom says the ring turned black when I was six, but I don’t really remember so I just like to pretend I never had one in the first place… I don’t know.”

There was a question on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t want to ask it, as intrigued as you were to know the answer. You hadn’t talked about her ever since she left and he’d most likely avoid the question because he truly wanted to keep her name out of his mouth. Nonetheless, he noticed your hesitance because you suddenly got too silent.

“You can ask, you know? I know I just touched on a sensitive topic, so…” You nodded. Both of you were lying on your backs, looking up at the ceiling which had some of those glow-in-the-dark stars and planets you had glued when you first moved in to feel less lonely.

You hummed softly as you tried to find the right words. You didn’t want to be too straightforward with your question in fear of upsetting your best friend even though he had asked you the same question minutes earlier, “Did-did you ever… you know, fall in love with her?”

Damiano thought about it in silence, you had probably caught him off-guard with your question, “No, not really. Not in the way I was expecting at least. You know truth be told, I was a bit disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, she had this angelic look to her, she was a stunning girl. I just- there was nothing we had in common other than being soulmates. For years I had seen my parents act like they shared one mind and just thought the same things. I always imagined it’d be like that for me too.

“My expectations couldn’t have been further from what it truly was like. Honestly, I’m not even sure which part of our relationship was true anymore. Now that I look back on it, I’ve realized most of the things she did or said were just to get information out of me.”

It was weird to hear him say all that. As a person who always got to look at the way Marlee and Damiano interacted with one another, you would’ve never expected Damiano to feel that way, “And,” He continued, “I was expecting it to be someone else.”

His last confession made you turn around to look at him. It was the first time he had admitted that, probably because of the beer he had been drinking while playing with his friends.

“I know it sounds terrible but… I met her and this other person on the same day, almost at the same time. I didn’t notice my ring had turned gold until much later. I had only been with them both and people I already knew. I thought it had been the other person until she told me her ring had changed too. Meanwhile, the other one said nothing. Now I realize it would’ve been impossible for them to be my soulmate.”

It might’ve been because he was telling you all those things and you felt safe to admit what you felt, or maybe because you were tired of bottling it up for so long. Either way, you spoke up, not caring if you’d regret it later, “It’s not as terrible as you might think.”

“Look, I’m not bound to anyone. The black ring gives me the freedom of loving someone else. I never met my soulmate so there’s no guilt in being with someone else. It’s supposed to be a perfect thing, Dami, only it isn’t. I know a lot of people who’re also blacksouled,” You hated using the word. It was usually how people would refer to those who didn’t have a soulmate anymore, “And I fell in love.”

“T-that’s great!” Damiano replied, “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, not like you’re obliged to tell me anything just because we’re friends but I-”

You interrupted his rant, “I fell in love with someone whose soulmate’s still alive.”

“So what? You said it yourself. Are they together?” He asked. You told him they weren’t. If only he knew you were talking about him… He’d probably run away and never speak to you again, “Then fuck it. Fuck the rules and everything else society has to say.”

“It’s not that simple, Dami. I truly wish it was, but it isn’t,” You wanted nothing more than for the conversation to be over. If it went any further, you knew you’d spill every single thing. It had gotten far too hard to conceal your feelings when you were close to him. Now that you were talking about them, it’d be even harder.

You got up and walked to your bookshelf, where you started accommodating your books as an excuse to avoid being so close to him, to avoid his curious gaze. Even if they weren’t together anymore, you knew Damiano would reject you, that was far too obvious. Even if he felt the same, after what happened, it’d take Damiano a lot of effort to ever trust someone in such an intimate way, even if that someone was you, his best friend.

“Why? It is that simple. If they’re not together, what’s stopping you? You’ll never know what could happen if you don’t try,” You turned around to look at him, fists clenched by your sides, “Listen Y/N, I know you’re scared of relationships and everything they involve but you cannot let that sto—”

“Fine then, I’m in love with you! I can barely breathe when I’m around you because my love for you is so suffocatingly strong, and I can’t think straight either! You and your stupidly handsome face drive me insane. How’s that?” You admitted, interrupting his small speech midway, too irritated to process what you had just said. Once you did, your hand flew to your mouth and you shook your head. You wanted to say it wasn’t true, no, it was nothing more than a lie to get him to stop poking his nose into your love life. Except it wasn’t and, if you were being honest, no part of you wanted to hide it anymore.

Just like you expected, he said nothing. Damiano stayed silent for a few seconds before getting up and walking out without another word. He slammed the door on the way out so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if the door separated from its hinges.

For the weeks that followed, Damiano avoided you as much as possible. You were still his right-hand person and needed to be present at every meeting and would have to discuss any type of business with him. It used to be your favorite part of the day when you got to sit in the meeting room with Damiano and discuss plans to make the mob prosper, now it was nothing but uncomfortable because you’d do all the talking while he looked at you as if his biggest desire was to carve your heart out with his pocket knife.

While you understood that he was still mad at Marlee and wanted nothing to do with her, you didn’t understand why he was treating you that way when you had nothing to do with it and weren’t to blame for the stupid shit his ex had tried to pull. You thought he knew that you loved him far too much to ever do anything to jeopardize his safety. Yet again, he might’ve assumed the same thing about Marlee.

You walked out of yet another unsuccessful meeting with Damiano and slammed the door as hard as you could to let him know how much his childish behavior annoyed you. Ethan was standing close to the door and you could see the shadow of a smile that was threatening to break out and illuminate his face, “Don’t you dare,” He raised his hands in defense and bit his lip to try and hide the smile that would just annoy you further.

“You two are starting to act like two teenagers and it’s fucking pathetic,” Thomas chimed in from where he was sitting on one of the couches.

“Yeah? Tell that to your friend who is giving me the silent treatment like a fucking toddler! I just want- I need to have a serious conversation with him,” You admitted and sighed as you fell on the couch right next to Thomas, head in your hands to try and cover up the tears that were threatening to spill down your cheeks.

Both men stayed silent as they watched you, Even though you could feel their stares, you decided to focus on not crying instead. The truth was, the longer Damiano spent ignoring you, the more you regretted telling him what you had been bottling up for years, it had been a mistake there was no coming back from. Unless he decided to stop acting like a kindergartener, things would never go back to the way they were.

It was frustrating to think that your friendship would go to shit just because of your confession. Being rejected by him wouldn’t have been a big deal if he had actually stayed in your room and spoken like the adult he was.

“For the record, I think he’s acting like an idiot because he’s scared,” Sighed Victoria, who had just walked into the room with an ice pack placed over her hand, “I know it’s been a while but, give him time. He’ll come around or I’ll make him, I promise.”

You gave Victoria a tight-lipped smile and nodded. You hoped more than anything that it wouldn’t have to come to getting locked up in the same room as Damiano to get him to speak to you.

Except… as more days passed, you feared it would most likely have to be that way because he was still saying nothing to you. He had only spoken once and it had been to call you out for being doing everything wrong while looking through some important documents when you were, in fact, doing everything just like he had initially requested. Now, not only had he been giving you the cold shoulder, but he had started acting like a complete jerk around you too.

You tried to distract yourself by focusing on all the work you had pending, but it wasn’t working. Every single day, no matter what you were doing, your mind still wandered back to the brown-eyed man and his stupid face, his stupid hair, and stupid smile.

Even as you stood in the middle of the kitchen, your thoughts made it difficult to bake the cookies you had been craving all week. You had started to work on the second batch after the first one came out disgustingly salty because somewhere along the process you had mistaken the salt for the sugar.

You hated how bothered you were by the whole situation. It had affected you way more than you would’ve liked to admit. Truth be told, you had never felt sad about his rejection because it was something you had expected ever since that attraction for him first settled on your brain. It was the way he was treating you that got on your nerves.

That was mainly the reason why you were so thankful for being alone in the house at that very moment. Apart from a few security guards here and there, you were completely alone. You allowed yourself to relax for a split second and connected your phone to the speaker system in the kitchen. You started playing one of your favorite playlists before getting back to making cookies the right way this time.

You softly swayed your body along to the music as you dumped all the ingredients on the large bowl in front of you. As you poured the flour in the bowl and mixed it with your hands, you noticed Damiano standing by the door. For some unknown reason, he scared you so bad you accidentally tipped the bowl and made a mess of the counter.

A frustrated sigh escaped past your lips and you threw your head back, feeling defeated and irritated, “I’m sorry,” Damiano spoke up hesitantly, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head and wiped your hands on the apron you had tied around your waist, “It’s fine,” You turned around so your back was to him and started wiping the counter with a damp towel.

“You deserve so much better…” You heard him speak up over the music. His words caught you by surprise. You turned around to look at him but said nothing. You could tell he was nervous by the way his hands trembled by his sides and the way his jaw was firmly clenched.

After a few minutes of hesitation, Damiano started walking to where you were. He placed his hands on the counter by your sides, leaving you trapped in between the counter and his body. You looked into his dark eyes to maybe try and guess what was going through his mind.

You breathed in so deeply your chest hit his. You gulped at that and tried to control your trembling hands without looking away.

“What you said the other day, did you mean it?” Damiano asked, without hesitation this time around. Your eyes widened.

“I-I… What?”

“Just answer me Y/N, please,” Damiano pleaded. He looked so desperate to know the answer, which only made your blood boil. After weeks of silence, of glares and being a jerk, he dared to just show up and demand answers?

You shook your head and pointed your finger at his chest, “How dare you?” You took a step towards him, which made Damiano take a step back, “You have no right to show up like this and ask me to give you answers after how much of an asshole you’ve been.”

He seemed taken aback by your truthful words, but you didn’t care. If he wanted to know how much truth had been behind your words that night, he’d have to hear it all, “You know I’m your best friend and you also know I’d keep up with anything you do because that’s how much I care about you, but can you stop it? I know I was stupid for telling you because of what you just went through and I’m sorry, but please don’t keep giving me the cold shoulder. I just want to fix this.”

After a few minutes of silence, you shrugged and, like it was the simplest thing in the world, spoke up, “And yeah, I meant every word.”

Your expression softened as you waited for any sort of reaction from Damiano. You expected something similar to what had happened the day you first told him. No part of you expected him to cup your face with his warm, calloused palms to bring your face closer to him once again.

Neither did you expect to feel his soft lips pressed against yours, or the feeling of his soft hair as you brushed it back with your fingers and your eyes slowly closing as you basked on the joy and pleasure his soft touches caused.

Damiano was gentle as he held your face in between his hands, almost as if you were made of glass and he was afraid of breaking you into pieces if he didn’t hold you delicately enough. That kiss felt so intimate, like nothing you had ever felt before. Everything from the way he held you to his slow movements and touches was so much better than you could’ve ever imagined.

When he pulled away, he left you completely breathless, wordless. There was nothing you could possibly say after the way he had kissed you, so you waited for him to find the right words instead.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Damiano mumbled. He still hadn’t let go of your face, “You truly deserve better. You are so beautiful, so perfect. I’m so sorry for being such an idiot and hurting you, ignoring you. I just- I know I cannot love you as you deserve. Believe me, I want nothing more than to have you close to me all the time, to kiss your lips until you grow sick of me, but I can’t,” His voice was starting to crack as he said those words to you and you knew it was because of how he saw your face fall.

“No, no, shut up and listen to me,” You pleaded and placed your hands on top of his. You gave them a soft squeeze and let your forehead rest against his, “I know it’s hard for you to trust after what happened with her and I know it’s not going to be easy, but believe me, I’m willing to try if you are, Damiano.”

“You were that other person,” He confessed and got closer to kiss you once more, with as much passion as the last time. You were too concentrated on the smell of his musky cologne and the faint taste of vanilla chapstick he had surely stolen from your room to respond to his comment.

His hands fell from your face and comfortably rested on your hips as his lips attacked yours. Damiano pushed you against the counter and kept savoring the moment as if it were the first and last time he’d kiss you like that. You hoped for your sake it wouldn’t be the last.

Damiano pulled away reluctantly and unexpectedly lifted you up so you’d sit on the counter. He stood in between your legs and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Remember when I told you about the person I met the day I met Marlee?” You nodded, “That was you... Ever since I met you I’ve felt this inexplicable attraction towards you and it’s been driving me insane. I couldn’t believe it when you told me you loved me because I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

“You’ve done so much to deserve it, so so much,” You mumbled and brought him close to you to kiss him for the third time. It was such an addicting feeling and both your heart and mind were screaming to feel it again.

That time around, Damiano didn’t hesitate to lift you up once more, he carried you to his room and locked the door.

—

It had been a few weeks since your conversation in the kitchen. Things returned back to normal after that night. Other than your relationship with Damiano, things were the same again. You had to go back to working at ungodly hours of the morning thanks to some suspicious activity Ethan had noticed. Apparently, one of the oldest members of Damiano’s mob had tried to establish a deal with an unknown subject but had been caught before he could accomplish it.

This put you both on edge because there was someone out there desperate to break into the mob and finish it for good. At first, you thought it wasn’t more serious than whatever had happened with Marlee, but Damiano’s father proved you wrong the moment he brought you, their most loyal employee, in for questioning.

It had been nothing too serious, at least not in comparison to what you had heard others say. In your case, it had been done mostly as a standardized protocol, to stop others from thinking there was some sort of preference or special treatment towards you just because you worked so close to Damiano. You knew almost everything Damiano did, so you were possibly the greatest source of information outside the David family and their small circle of friends.

“Amore?” Damiano asked softly as his hand caressed the exposed skin of your waist. You had been cuddling in bed for almost two hours with the excuse that you needed a break after all the hard work you’d done, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You turned around to be face to face with him and pressed a kiss to his freckled nose, “Not much. I was just remembering I need to get my ring resized again. I tried putting it on a few days ago and it didn’t fit anymore.

Damiano frowned at your words, “Your soulmate ring?”

“Mhm,” You responded simply and let your head rest on his chest. You enjoyed the feeling of warmth his body irradiated, it was soothing and the soft sound of his rhythmic heartbeat never failed to make you feel calmer.

“Soulmate rings don’t need to be resized, ever. Not that I know of, at least,” Now it was your turn to frown because, as far as you remembered, you had always gone to get your ring resized by a family friend who didn’t live too far away. No one had ever told you it wasn’t necessary.

You pulled away from his embrace and reached for the bedside table where you had been keeping the ring for the past few days. Once you turned back around, Damiano looked confused and almost scared, “Just, out of curiosity, tesoro. Have you ever taken off the ring and left it like far away for longer than a few hours?”

A giggle escaped past your lips at his silly question, “It’s just a piece of jewelry, Dami. Of course, I have, several times.”

You laughed nervously once you saw his horrified expression. Damiano was starting to scare you, but you knew better than to say something because you’d end up looking like a fool if he started laughing and told you it was all a joke. Except, it didn’t seem like one.

“Please get dressed and meet me in room five, okay? I might be going insane but I just need to make sure I’m not,” Before you could ask any questions, Damiano had already grabbed a pair of pants and a t-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed.

You tried not to think much about his weird questions and got dressed quickly instead. You grabbed your cup of tea, which had already gone cold, and walked to meeting room five.

You opened the door and were surprised to see all your friends already sitting around the small table you’d use for informal meetings. Thomas and Victoria looked tired and Ethan’s long hair was tangled and messy. That gave you the impression that Damiano had most likely woken them all up for your impromptu meeting.

They all looked just as confused as you felt. There were a lot of questions you wanted to ask, but Ethan beat you to it, “Okay, now that we’re all here can you fucking explain why you had to wake me up? Please.”

“Have any of you three—,” Started Damiano, referring to Thomas, Victoria and Ethan, “—tried to take off your ring for a while but have started feeling sick and weird?”

Thomas and Victoria looked at each other, confused, but nodded. Ethan did after a few seconds of thinking about it, “Yeah, there was actually this one time I went on a date and I didn’t want the girl to see the ring had turned gold, so I left it at home. Thirty minutes later I was puking everywhere. I didn’t really understand why but someone at the Soulmate Centre explained rings are an extension of the soul and they need to be close to us at all times and there are actually records of people dying after losing their rings. Why?”

Damiano looked at you and raised his eyebrows to silently ask if he could share the information with the other three guys. Once you nodded, Damiano spoke up, “Y/N doesn’t need to have it close to them and they need to get it resized every once in a while.”

Ethan shrugged his shoulders, “That’s as far as my knowledge goes. I don’t know. I think the best thing you can do is go to the SC.”

You sighed but nodded. Ethan’s explanation had started to freak you out. What if there was something terribly wrong with you? What if you were born without a ring and your parents lied to you all your life?

—

After having a short conversation with Damiano in private, you decided to follow Ethan’s advice and go to the Soulmate Centre that was only a few minutes away from your house. He wanted to go with you or send someone to watch over you but had accepted your petition to go alone after you told him it was a private matter and you'd tell him all about it once you got back.

So there you were, on the reception of the SC, with your sweaty hands intertwined together as you tried to ignore all the dirty looks people were giving you. Everyone around knew exactly who you were and most weren't one bit pleased to see you there. While some didn't hesitate to look at you like they wanted to kill you, others were afraid to do so.

Those few minutes that passed until the lady at the desk called your name were some of the most uncomfortable of your life. Some part of you hated having the mobster title because that usually gave people the wrong idea and drove them to hate you even if you could proudly say you had done nothing illegal or violent in your whole life. You had to admit the mob wasn’t an ideal job to have morally wise, but you had found a family inside those four walls others doomed to be cursed.

You walked up to the lady. She had what you could interpret as a nervous smile as she stood behind the desk, patiently waiting for you to tell her what had brought you there in the first place. You were hesitant to communicate your issue because you were mortified of finding out a truth that should probably stay hidden.

You reached back and unclasped the chain the ring was looped through. You left it on the counter and smiled softly as you shyly spoke, “So uh, good morning, ma’am. I was hoping you could take a look at my ring, I’m slightly concerned there was something wrong with it.”

The lady nodded and removed the ring from the chain. She inspected it closely for a few minutes before nodding her head towards one of the rooms that said ‘only employees allowed’. She started walking towards it with a quick step and you saw no other choice but to follow right behind her.

She opened the door and quickly closed it with a lock once she verified you were inside, “Listen, the only reason I’m not turning you over to the authorities is because you don’t strike me as someone stupid enough to walk into an SC with a soulmate ring like this.”

Your jaw dropped in surprise at how direct she was being. For a second, you noticed her face fall before she realized it was best to keep a face that communicated seriousness instead of begging for your forgiveness or whatever people did when they pissed Damiano off.

“I don’t know who gave this to you or in which illegal market you bought this but if a higher authority sees you with this, not even Damiano David could save you from the consequences of sporting a fake ring,” She said. You honestly didn’t know how to respond because panic had started to drown out any coherent thought that tried to form on your mind.

You didn’t even try to disguise your panicked expression that time around. Instead, you focused on regulating your breathing and trying to keep all your emotions at bay before you lost control and began to hyperventilate. The other woman noticed your distress almost immediately and led you to sit down on one of the couches.

After you took a few deep breaths, you looked back at her, eager to ask thousands of questions, “How can you know they are fake?”

She sat down next to you and put the ring on your palm, “Look at the inside,” She demanded while pointing her finger to a spot on the inside edge of the ring, “They usually have something engraved inside, a code that only repeats itself twice. Whenever one loses their soulmate, this code vanishes. Your code is still there. I also used a detector to confirm my suspicions and it detected nothing.”

“And with… with that code, can you tell me if my soulmate’s still alive? Or who they are?” The older lady looked at you with pity in her green eyes and shook her head.

“Unless this is the original code engraved on the real ring, there’s not much I can do for you other than telling you how your soulmate is. I need so much more information to ever give you a name,” You nodded in understanding. All you needed to know was if they were alive, that’s all you wanted.

She took your nod as a sign of approval and disappeared into another room. While you waited, you couldn’t help but secretly hope they were dead. You wanted all those weeks of bliss you had spent with Damiano to last a lifetime. He knew everything about you, from the number of scars scattered around your body to what book you had read the most times. No soulmate could learn that about you until years after meeting each other. Besides, it wouldn’t feel right. The Gods had already been too cruel for not making him your soulmate, but now that he wasn’t with Marlee and you knew he loved you just as much as you loved him…

She walked out of the room and cleared her throat to catch your attention. You were thankful for her interruption because you were mere seconds away from bursting into tears of distress. She looked nervous to tell you what she had found out, but the way you looked at her made her spill the truth without any warning.

“Your soulmate is still somewhere out there, alive.”

—

Damiano clutched his side with his hands as every type of curse word spilled from his mouth, “Thomas! Dammit Thomas, where the fuck are you?” He screamed and pushed the ache in his throat and side to the back of his mind as he limped towards the table where his loaded gun was placed, ready to be grabbed and shot.

Things had been perfectly fine just ten minutes back. He had been drinking and playing pool with the boys in the basement. They were all laughing and messing around when Victoria heard the first gunshot. Thomas had been quick to dismiss it as one of the guards practicing his accuracy like they did every once in a while, so they went back to playing the game.

Then they heard it again and again and again. In that time it took the four men to walk up the stairs, people had already successfully broken into the house and they were shooting at anything that moved. The blood-red snake symbol all these people had on the masks that were covering their faces was one he had grown far too familiar with. These were the people Marlee had been conspiring with and they had managed to overthrow every single line of defense in between them and the front door.

Damiano had been in his room fetching a gun when a smoke bomb was thrown into the room. It had stopped him from seeing the person who shot him. Thankfully enough, their vision wasn’t much better either, because the bullet only grazed his side. It was still painful as hell and blood was pouring out of the wound, but it wasn’t going to be anything deadly.

He finally got ahold of his gun after minutes of feeling around the table to try and spot it with the low amount of vision he still had. Once Damiano had it in his hands, he raised the scarf he was wearing to cover the lower part of his face to try and lower the quantity of smoke he inhaled.

He walked out of his room and into the hallway, still holding the gun firmly ready to shoot it at the first person he saw with that red symbol. Damiano opened the door to every room on the third floor. He had to shoot at one or two people before walking down to the floor below. The first room he opened was yours. His eyes went wide as he remembered you were still supposed to be at the SC. Damiano cursed under his breath. He needed to warn you not to come back but to go to your parents’ instead. Damiano opened the tracking app first, a precaution he had been insistent on taking just to make sure you both knew the other was safe.

“Fucking hell,” Damiano mumbled as he saw that blue dot with your name above it was right on the same spot as his. You were back home.

Every thought of investigating each and every room to make sure there was no intruder flew out the window and instead he focused on trying to find you. Everything had turned chaotic on those few minutes he had been in your room, which was why it had gotten harder to get around without finding someone waiting on almost every corner for him to appear.

Damiano heard a piercing scream that made his blood go cold. You were in danger somewhere inside the large home and he desperately needed to get to you, to make sure you were safe from any danger. He knew his friends would be perfectly fine, they had their guns and several types of weaponry close-by, but he knew you didn’t. You always refused to take a gun or dagger with you whenever you went out and if they had caught you right when you had just gotten back… you’d most likely have nothing to defend yourself with.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were witty and incredibly smart, not to mention agile and great at coming up with plans on the spot, but he still needed to make sure you were alright.

He got down on the first floor and his eyes met with a pair of blue ones he knew far too well. He let his eyes trail down to her carmine-tinted shirt. Marlee smiled at him and trailed her thumb along her jawline. That’s when he noticed her hands were also red and she had also left a trail of bloody footsteps from his office to where she was standing. His office.

Damiano didn’t hesitate to point the gun at her leg and pull the trigger. He then aimed for her other leg and shot it. She fell to the floor as an agonizing scream fell from her parted lips. Damiano was satisfied now that her stupid smile had been wiped right off her face.

He quickly ran to the office and opened the door. What he saw inside made time stop. It made all those sounds go silent. It made him feel like there was no floor beneath him to stand on. You were lying on the floor, a dagger piercing your chest.

You looked panicked, sad, like you wanted to do nothing but scream and cry, which you had started doing the moment you saw Damiano walked into the room. He didn’t know if your reaction was out of relief or if there was something else that concerned you, apart from the obvious.

“Damiano,” You spoke up weakly, The sound of your raspy voice was like a slap back into reality. He didn’t waste a second to fall to his knees right by your side. Damiano cupped your face with his trembling hands and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“Shh. I’m here amore, I’m here,” He responded voice barely above a whisper, “I just need to find something to press against this wound I— something…” He stood up, ready to look for a rag, bandages, anything to stop the blood from rushing out of your body so quickly, but you stopped him.

You wrapped your hand around his arm and with all the strength you had brought him back down, “No hey, stop,” You mumbled, “Unless she happened to study every major artery, vein or has awfully perfect aim, I’ll be dead in minutes.”

He shook his head and wiped the tears that were starting to fall with the back of his hand. He was not giving up. Damiano was not going to let you die, “Wait, no, no. I can do this,” Damiano took his sweater and scarf off. With the help of his scarf, he applied pressure to the wound, careful not to move or dig the dagger further with his movements.

You shook your head and Damiano couldn’t help but cry harder at the desperation and panic in your eyes, “Please, Dami. Stop it, there’s no use. I-I just want you to hold me, please.”

He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand and nodded repeatedly as he careful cradled you in his arms and moved your head to rest on his lap, “Everything’s going to be okay,” Damiano mumbled and left a long kiss on your forehead, then another one on your cheek and a last one on your lips.

You cupped his face with one of your hands and wiped the tears with your thumb. There wasn’t much left to say, not like you’d be able to talk even if you tried. Instead, you offered him one last sincere smile with all the energy you had left.

He watched in horror as life slowly started to drain out of you as his ring simultaneously turned black. Damiano sat there for minutes after you were gone. He cried and let every frustration, confusion, and pain escape his body with a loud scream.

Damiano didn’t let go of your body until Victoria and Thomas had to forcefully pull him away and let someone else take care of you.

—

Ethan didn’t walk into the room until he made sure every single intruder had been killed, except for Marlee, because Damiano had asked to keep her alive. When he did walk in, all he saw was Damiano with a folder in his hand and multiple pieces of paper scattered around the desk in his room. He looked pale, mortified by everything he was reading. The long-haired man didn’t understand what had gotten his friend in such a state of shock until he walked closer and looked at what seemed to be a contract.

You were Damiano’s soulmate. All your lives you had been tricked into believing you weren’t meant for each other. Your parents had made you believe you had no soulmate and Damiano had been fooled into thinking Marlee was his. You had gotten right to the bottom of it all and the secret would’ve gone to the grave with you if you hadn’t left the papers lying on his desk and if he had left his ring on the pocket of his jeans like he usually would. But now it was far too late to do anything about it.

#damiano david x reader #damiano david x y/n #damiano david x you #damiano david fanfiction #maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction

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lord-explosion-baku · 4 years

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Lying Is A Formal Pleasure

Yandere!Hawks x Pro Hero!Reader

Forced into a “relationship” to better your image, you agonize through the night as you pretend to be head over you heels in love with a douchebag.

warnings: non consensual touching, light violence

A/N: I posted this a few months ago, but after a bad mental health night, I deleted it like a day later. But now I’m screaming over my oneshot inactivity and the 80 WIPs that remain unfinished, so I figured I’d post something that’s done fhjfv. :’D

Blinking flashbulbs and whispering onlookers flood your audio and visual spaces, forcing you to pause while you take a moment to gather yourself, swaying uneasily in the too-high heels you’ve been forced into. You’re close to being overwhelmed when Hawks places a smooth hand on the small of your exposed back, ushering you closer to his side. He waves to a camera flickering with a red dot, the one that tells the two of you that you’re live on air. The warm impression of his fingers on your skin offers you an insincere sense of security. You’re not as used to being on screen as your ‘lover,’ so you let him take the lead. It’s easier this way, as resentful as you are to admit it.

A thin woman in a red dress holds a microphone up between the two of you and asks if the happy couple has high hopes in regards to their award nominations. Hawks, always quick to flash a charming grin, leans into the mic and says, “we’re both just very honored to be here.”

It’s not like him to be so humble, especially not when he has an audience, but your publicist recently advised you that although his pride is fitting for his singular image, nobody quite likes a power couple who, in her words, “thinks they’re the shit.” People want to see bashful, blossoming love. They want to see you be together, grow together, and develop together. You have to be shy—show that you’re excited to be by his side, and he has to be supportive—happy to introduce you to the sensational side of being a hero. It’s all a facade, even your relationship, but if you stay true to your new role, your popularity will see a serious incline.

Hawks runs his hand up your spine and you get a chill when you realize that the reporter asked you a question: how long have the two of you been together?

“Oh-” you start, shifting to look up at your partner. Amber eyes bare down on you and you swallow dryly, trusting that you look enchanted, rather than sick to your stomach. If you were to be honest with her, you’d say, ‘too long,’ but it’s not your job to be honest tonight. You have to be delightful and charming, cute and coy. So instead, you timidly blink up at Hawks, cover your shy grin with your elegantly gloved hand while leaning into him, and say, “nearly two months.”

The number two hero chuckles, moving his hand over to your side to squeeze it a little harder than necessary. He’s telling you one thing: wrong answer.

“Well, she says two months, while I say three.” Hawks is all confidence and little to no self-doubt. In a way, he’s everything you want to be, and every time you think about it in that light, the more you seem to detest him. You hate that you virtually need him in this respect to get you where you want to be in your career. You hate that he’s living this farce up. “It took my little angel a while to finally agree to go on a date with me. Even then, I knew that we were meant to be together.” His eyes slide back to you, and his tone takes a dark edge that nobody besides you will be able to pick up on. “From the very first moment I laid my eyes on her.”

It’s not entirely a lie. Hawks had barrated you to go out with him for about a month before your publicist told you it would be good for your public image to have a pro—the number two pro—by your side. Apparently, you and him work well because of your quirk: siren. Her reasoning is that you sing just like birds sing. Hawks is a bird. Therefore, you and him should go hand-in-hand. The public aptly named your relationship birdsong and you’ve already done a photoshoot where you had to pose behind a golden birdcage where Hawks sat inside, gripping onto the cage’s bars, staring up at you while you had your lips pursed subtly, pantamiming a song. The irony of your situation is that there is a metaphorical prison in your fake relationship, but it’s not Hawks who sits in the cage. The second irony of your situation is that hawks don’t sing at all; they prey.

“Awwww,” the reporter whines in a shrill, albeit melodramatic voice, looking adoringly from you to Hawks, “I couldn’t imagine how anybody could ever say no to you! That must’ve put a damper on your ego! Poor thing.”

Hawks shrugs like he does—another thing you despise. You can smell the smugness wafting off his chest that seems to puff up as he speaks. “I knew she was just playing hard to get.” He winks at you, sliding his hand down to sit not so obediently at your hip. You feel him drifting towards your ass cheek, and you struggle to not change your fraudulent smile into a full on sneer. “And she knew I liked the challenge.”

The reporter’s eyes aren’t even on you when she asks, “really, how could you say no to this dreamboat? I certainly wouldn’t be able to!”

If you want him, you can take him, you think tartly as you maneuver your arm around Hawks. He makes a sort of low, sort of grunting noise when you lace your fingers through his heavy feathers, and you realize that this might be the first time you’ve actually touched his wings. You’re bitter to admit that the feel of them in your hands are soft to the touch—enjoyable, almost. They might be the most redeeming thing about him.

You tighten your hand into a fist and tug, softly at first, but when you feel him tense next to you, you pull a little tighter, enjoying the brief sadism break you allow yourself.

“I must have been too darn shy at first!” Your words are syrup dribbling over glass. You wrench your hand, twisting into Hawks’ wings. He clears his throat in an attempt to cover up a groan, his hold on your side worsening infinitesimally. “Or maybe I just couldn’t believe that the number two hero was actually interested in me. Honestly? I was starstruck! I thought I was being used for some kind of joke!”

“Hah…” Hawks’ thumb rubs circles in your back when you guide your hand along the stream of his wings and grab at a different bunch of feathers. He whispers, “take it easy, chickadee…’

But you don’t want to take it easy. Hawks’ cheeks redden a bit more every time you move your fingers through his wings. He must be incredibly uncomfortable and you take pride in the fact that, for once, it’s not you who’s suffering. You lean into his shoulder, offer the reporter woman a smile so sickly sweet, you can practically feel sugar coating your gums when you say, “now every day I get to spend with him is a dream come true!!”

One of Hawks’ eyes twitches when you give the tuft of feathers in your hold a final twist. He spreads his palms wide on your back, and slowly curls his fingers inward, pulling on your skin.

After a few more questions, the reporter notices Hawks glancing down to the large hall being used as the ceremony venue, and thanks the both of you for indulging the public with information about your relationship. Sending a final wink to the camera, Hawks guides you through arched doors and nods at a few other well-known heroes attending the ceremony. You sneak away when you think Hawks is about to get lost in another conversation, but when you slip into an empty lounge reserved for award nominees, he’s right on your heels.

Ignoring his presence completely, you fix yourself a drink at an unattended minibar. You swirl the ice around in your glass and finally turn to scowl at your partner. He looks off, or not very present, still smirking, but dazed. Maybe he tied his tie too tightly, and he’s blocking the blood flow to his brain. You grin at the thought of choking him out while you sip on your beverage. Hawks grins back.

Engulfing and consuming the space around you, he takes a confident step towards you. You feel nothing short of a shadow to a tree with his wings puffed out and spread proudly like they are.

“Nervous?” He asks, placing a hand on the bar as he leans closer to you. You give him a half-hearted shrug, trying to be nonchalant. Even if Hawks knows you're uncomfortable, you aren’t willing to show him an inch of fear.

“You shouldn’t be,” he goes on, staring at your lips. He watches you suck down your drink and clears his throat. “You were great out there.”

“Believable?” You ask sarcastically, licking your bottom lip. You reach out to stroke the inside of his wings, running your hands along his feathers teasingly slow, enjoying the sight of each row of his crimson plume twitch down along with your touch.

“Believable,” he chuckles. “I had no idea that I was your dream come true.”

You scoff and place your empty glass down. “Mhm, my everlasting, waking nightmare.” You bring your arm back to your hip. “I’m truthful when I can be.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a goofy half-grin. It’s off-putting. He isn’t any less sharp than usual, but there’s something about him right now that has goosebumps raising on your arms.

“C’mere,” he coaxes, grabbing your wrist. You snap it back immediately.

“Oh, please.” You push past him, intentionally brushing into his wings, and begin strutting away.

“You’re such a goddamn tease,” he rasps, hooking you sideways. Both of his hands curl around your hips, and you’re immediately pulled back against him. “Have I ever told you how sexy your back is?”

“Get off of me,” you say without enthusiasm, because it’s not the first time he’s gotten handsy with you in closed spaces. Call yourself jaded, but it’s something that you’re semi-used to. So, when he doesn’t let up, all you can do is roll your eyes and fetch your compact mirror out of your clutch. While you fix your lips, Hawks lays his chin on your shoulder. His eyes find yours, and though they’re looking straight at you, they are, at once, incredibly ambiguous and eerily hyperfocused. He squeezes his arms around your torso, then brushes his lips across your cheek. Against your stubborn will, your stomach flips when he plants kisses on your jaw and trails down to your neck. The scruff of his beard tickles your skin, making your shift around in his embrace. That's when you feel a stiffening behind you.

“Hawks, what the hell are you doing?”

“Shame on you-“ his breath is hot on your ear- “touching me like that on camera, baby? Who knew my angel could be so naughty…”

You jerk your elbow back into his gut.

“I never touched you,” you seethe, ready to actually throw hands, when he rushes you forward, pushing you against the bar so that you’re lodged between it and him. Hot blood floods your face when you feel him pulse against your ass, and it doesn’t help when he snakes a hand through the back opening of your dress, sliding around to cup your stomach. He pulls you back so his bulge rubs between your cheeks.

“You’re seriously crossing the line right now!” You push against the bar, trying to bump him back, but he crowds you with his wings, shrouding you just like the metaphorical birdcage you’ve been stuck in for two—three months. You grasp a fistful of his feathers and yank on them hard, but he only snickers in response.

“Oh, little dove,” he groans, rocking his pelvis against your ass. It’s like he doesn’t even hear your protests. “Fuck. How’d you know I like it rough?” He kisses the hollow of your throat and hums appreciatively when you reluctantly shudder in response. “You have no idea how badly I wanna slip my cock into you right now. Finally wipe that sour look off your face as I drive myself in, inch by inch.” His fingers move down to pet your pubic bone. You want to scream in defiance when you feel a flash of liquid heat pool between your thighs. He dips in between your folds and he croons. “Bet you’d hug me nice and tight too. You don’t spread your legs for just anybody, do you babygirl?”

“Certainly not for you,” you rebuke. You grasp your abandoned glass, smash it against the bar, and spin yourself around, swiping your makeshift weapon across the number two hero’s face.

There’s a moment of shocked silence that falls between you two. A streak of red falls from the cut on Hawks’ cheeks and falls in spots on the whites in between his tuxedo coat. He dabs at the wound and examines the blood on his fingers, then his chest.

He snickers.

“Oh man, I wonder what they’ll think about this.” He shakes his head, grinning. “What do I tell ‘em: we were getting a little too frisky in the lounge, or do I lie and say it was an accident?”

“You can tell whoever, whatever you want,” you mumble. You know you should apologize for the sanctity of your status, but seeing his blood is cathartic to you, in a way. At least, until he speaks again.

With a clever fox smile, smug as the king of hell, Hawks drawls out, “the rising hero, Siren, is unstable and shouldn’t be trusted by the public.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. Hawks’ grin crawls wider, contented by your reaction to his threat.

“I was telling her not to get her hopes up about the awards ceremony. ‘There are a lot of other promising heroes gunning for The Best New Hero award,’ is what I told her, and she lost it…”

“Hawks—“

“She came at me with a glass she broke on the bar. Honestly, I’ve been worried about her drinking habits since day one, but I didn’t do enough to help her with the issue. In a way, it’s my fault this happened.”

“It is your fault!” You stomp your heel and throw an accusatory finger into his chest. “You attacked me!”

“Who do you think they’ll believe, sweetheart?” Hawks takes your hand in his, brings the back of your wrist up to his mouth, and kisses it. “The new hero with a pretty face, pretty voice, but is otherwise unknown, or me? Hero numero dos: Japan’s most trusted.”

You glare at him and he loves it. He enjoys every minute he puts you through mental turmoil.

“I could tell them it was an accident,” he sings, looping an arm around your waist to briskly pull flush up against him. You let him, but keep your head turned so you don’t meet his gaze. He continues—“but you’d have to make it up to me, little dove.”

His wings fall over you, shrouding you closer to him. He presses his lips to your temple, but doesn’t kiss you—doesn’t even speak again. He’s waiting for you to ask how.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” you say into his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” he hums, the vibration of his voice buzzing down your neck, “we can just end your career tonight.”

“Hawks.”

“Don’t act like you’re not soaking wet right now. I felt that cunt, babe. Turns out, I’m not the only one who likes it rough.” He turns your head to face him. “You want me-“ he sneers-“and I didn’t even have to stroke your feathers to get you there.”

You close your eyes when his lips greet yours. The kiss is quick, but it lingers like old faith. If you let him in, he’ll stay there. You know that. But he’s backed you into a corner.

“You’re my girl,” he coos, “and I wanna be civil—I do, baby. You know I only want what’s best for us. But you’re gonna have to meet me halfway in order to get us where we need to be. Do you understand?”

Us...we…He throws those words around as if they matter. Then again, they do matter. They must, to him at least, but not to you. The only thing you really care about is me. Still, you nod.

“I’m gonna need you to say it, Siren.”

You sigh. “Yes, Hawks. I understand.”

“Good!” He chirps enthusiastically, any dark tone he previously took vanished. He spins you around to face the door that leads back to the hall. At first, you think he’s going to continue where he left off, but his hand finds its place at the small of your back, and he guides you forward.

“Now, let's go win us some awards,” Hawks says, bringing his hand down to pat your ass, “then we can make sure both of our dreams come true.”

#yandere bnha #yandere!Hawks #yandere!hawks x reader #tw yandere #bnha x reader #bnha reader insert #reader insert #hawks x reader #yandere male

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peaceisadirtyword · 4 years

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Move On (Modern!Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hi♥️ I don’t even know what is this, to be honest, I started writing it the other day and this came out. It’s not good, it doesn't even make sense, I think. It’s angsty, bad written and awful, but it’s the first thing I was able to write in nearly a month, and as I didn’t post anything these days, I decided to post it. I’ll probably regret it in the morning, so if I delete it don’t be surprised. Sorry. I also worked a bit on Don’t Play With Fire, but... Well, I'll continue with the drabbles tomorrow😅

Warnings: an attempt of angst, mentions of insecurities, my bad writing, I don’t even know what is this I'm sorry

Words: 2425

gif belongs to @hvitserkk

You sighed in boredom as you took a sip of your drink, looking around the nightclub as you held back another sigh.

You knew you should have stayed home that night. Everyone seemed to be having so much fun, and you didn't want to ruin everything but you felt so alone...

Your eyes went back to the bar, where your boyfriend stood, leant on one of the stools as he spoke to the blonde girl that was, in some way, responsible for your bitterness.

Ivar had been distant for weeks. He was having some rough therapy sessions, so you supposed that was the reason why he was acting so weird. He barely called you, and didn't answer your texts -this was normal, Ivar hated texting, but usually when you texted him he called you to talk-, you had stayed at his house a couple of nights, but he didn't even touch you. So different from the long nights full of sex, cuddles and making out sessions you had barely two months ago.

Your didn't even remember when was the last time he kissed you.

But now you kind of imagined why.

Everything had changed when the blonde girl had moved to the apartment next to Ivar and Hvitserk. You remembered how she had came to their apartment as you were having breakfast; with her perfect smile and a soft voice, asking if they had sugar; she just moved the day before and didn't have time to go to the grocery store just yet. Her eyes had lingered on Ivar for too long, but you didn't really give that much importance; you were used to people staring at him. Even if he didn't realize it, Ivar was amazingly handsome; which was the main reason people stared at him, and not his legs.

What worried you was the look Ivar gave her. He widened his eyes and cleared his throat before introducing himself. That day you had a huge fight; not because of that, but because he got annoyed at you when you proposed to go to the cinema just the two of you.

Since then, Ivar had invited her everywhere, even in those nights out with his brothers you did every week; and even if you didn't want to be jealous, knowing Ivar could have as many friends as he wanted and he was probably trying to make her feel more comfortable as she just moved in and didn't know anyone.

But whenever she was close... He changed too much.

"Hey" Hvitserk sitting next to you interrupted your thoughts "Are you okay?"

You sighed again but smiled at him and nodded.

"Just a bit tired" you shrugged "I'm going home, I think"

"Now?" Hvitserk frowned "It's too late, why don't you wait and come with us? You shouldn't walk alone at this hour"

"Yeah but..." you looked at them again. Hvitserk followed your gaze and rolled his eyes at his brother "It's a bit boring, right?"

"I don't like her either" he muttered "She seems... Too nice. But only with Ivar; she barely pays attention to anyone else"

"I mean, we don't know her, she might be the sweetest person in the world" you shook your head "It's Ivar who I'm worried about"

Hvitserk frowned again.

"Hey, don't worry about him, okay? Ivar would never do that"

"Yeah..." you cleared your throat, looking away from them "I hope so"

"He's not stupid enough to ruin a four year relationship for a girl he just met" he shrugged "Trust me"

_________________________________________

You looked at your reflection on the mirror. Without your makeup, you felt even worse than before. Your eyes scanned your face, sighing. You had learnt not to compare yourself with other women, but sometimes -like this time- you couldn't help it.

Ivar had barely talked to you since you left the club. Freydis had came with you, talking sweetly to Ivar and Hvitserk, and even you; but you only answered with 'yes' and 'no', because you knew that you'd be rude if you said something else, and were too tired to argue.

She had said goodnight with a wide smile, and Ivar had smiled back at her; a smile that left his face as soon as the two of you were all alone in his bedroom.

It was like he couldn't stand being near you.

When you entered the bedroom again, he was already in bed, and barely looked at you, focused on his phone. You preferred not to ask who he was talking to.

Kneeling on his bed, you looked at him biting your lip. You had the feeling he was angry at you, but you didn't remember doing anything to make him mad.

"Ivar" you said his name softly. His deep blue eyes fixed on you "Are you okay?"

"Yes, why?" He nodded calmly.

You blinked, confused. Maybe you were imagining everything. Maybe you were exaggerating and nothing had changed, it could be that.

Right?

You crawled under the covers, dressed on one of Ivar's shirts. His bed was the most comfortable place you had ever slept on. It was warm and soft, but in that moment it felt like the coldest place on Earth.

You moved closer to him, but Ivar didn't look at you. When you touched his arm softly, he tensed up, but his eyes were still glued to the screen.

He didn't move, not until you tried to snuggle up next to him, when he sighed in annoyance and moved away. Then you immediately moved away, muttering an apology.

Then you turned around, and let a couple of tears run down your cheeks before closing your eyes and forcing yourself to sleep.

_________________________

When you woke up, you were alone in bed. Ivar's side was already cold, which meant he had gotten up much earlier than you. You took a deep breath before closing your eyes again and covering your face with the sheets. You absolutely hated fighting with Ivar, especially when he was angry and wouldn't tell you why.

When you entered the kitchen, Hvitserk was already there, looking at his phone as he ate breakfast. He greeted you with a wink and a smile.

"Morning" you muttered.

"Good morning, princess" he chuckled "Had a rough night?"

You sighed and rolled your eyes, making him laugh.

"Where's Ivar?"

"He went for a walk" he shrugged "He seemed angry, I didn't dare to ask because he was having breakfast and had a knife on his hand"

You rubbed your face tiredly.

"I don't know what's wrong with him, he's acting so weird... Last night he barely looked at me, but when I asked if he was okay he said yes"

"He's difficult" Hvitserk shook his head "I'm sure it's nothing personal, he's like that with everyone"

Yeah... But not with me.

You stole one of his toasts, making him pout and glare at you, but let you eat it and even poured another cup of coffee for you.

"I should get dressed and leave" you muttered, drinking the coffee quickly and grabbing another toast "I have things to do today"

"Want me to drive you home?" He asked with his mouth full.

"No, thanks, I prefer to walk a bit, to clear up my mind"

He hummed, nodding his head. You felt his eyes on you as you left the kitchen and walked down the hall to Ivar's bedroom.

________________________________

"And... This is my room" Ivar bit his lip nervously, letting you in. You entered with a wide smile on your lips, excited to see it for the first time. It was full of books, and the king sized bed was covered with a black duvet. Everything in that room screamed Ivar and you loved it.

"It's really nice" you smiled at him "I like it"

He blushed and closed the door behind him.

"It's not much... Most of my stuff is at my parents' house"

You looked at the bookshelf, reading the titles of the books and frowning every time you saw one in a foreign language.

"Is this Icelandic?"

He nodded.

"Floki and Helga had a house in Iceland, I used to spend the summer holidays in there since I was six" he muttered "I learnt the language, it's the closest to Old Norse"

"I didn't know you spoke Icelandic" you looked at him in awe "Impressive"

He blushed again.

"I'd love to go to Iceland" you said, moving to look at the books he had on his desk, next to his laptop "It must be amazing"

"It is" he nodded "You should come with me next summer, we could go for a couple of weeks" he whispered, almost like he was scared of you hearing it.

You blushed too, but smiled and approached him again.

"You haven't even asked me to be your girlfriend and you want us to plan our first holiday together" you giggled, and Ivar's eyes widened. He looked terrified.

"I..."

"I'm joking, Ivar" you laughed "Sorry, I could go as your friend too... So, what's your plan? It will rain all day" you pouted "But we can do something else, right?"

His eyes fixed on you made you nervous.

"Yeah, we could... Do something in here..." He cleared his throat "Netflix?"

You nodded, making him sigh in relief.

He gestured towards his bed, and you sat on it as he grabbed his laptop before sitting next to you.

It was there, laying on his bed and sharing a blanket with him, watching Netflix in silence, both too nervous to even look at each other when he cleared his throat.

"Y/N" he muttered, making you look at him "I really want you to come to Iceland with me"

You smiled at him, biting your lip to hide the excitement that made you tremble.

"I'd love to go to Iceland with you"

"As my girlfriend" he muttered.

"As your girlfriend" you answered, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. Ivar hummed and kissed you back. The movie playing on his laptop already forgotten.

__________________________________

You entered his bedroom, missing that shy and sweet Ivar that blushed every time you looked at him. Four years later, you felt like everything had changed except for that bedroom.

You laid on the bed again, unlocking your phone and answering some texts. Torvi had sent the photos all of you had taken together the night before. You scanned your face and frowned, biting your lip. Why suddenly you hated the way you looked? You thought you were already over that.

You heard the main door closing, and some voices down the hall. Ivar was back, and you locked your phone and kneeled on the bed, ready to face him. His stupid behavior was hurting you more than you thought, and you needed him to stop.

He looked almost surprised when he saw you.

"Hi" you muttered.

"Hi" he answered with a sigh, approaching the bed to sit down, grunting softly and grabbing his leg.

"Are you okay?" You saw him wince and bit your lip.

"It's just the humidity" he shrugged "Apparently, it will be raining the whole day"

You nodded, watching him carefully.

"Ivar... I think we need to talk" you said softly "I don't know what have I done to make you be so angry at me, but I'm sorry, this is killing me I... Please, just talk to me so we can figure this out"

He rubbed his eyes, nodding.

"You haven't done anything" he cleared his throat "I went for a walk because I needed to think"

"To think about what?" Your voice trembled a bit.

Ivar took a deep breath, clenching his jaw before turning to look at you.

"I think I'm in love with someone else, Y/N"

A part of you already knew it, even if you didn't want to believe it. But it broke your heart anyway; you felt some tears fall down your cheeks and stood silent. Ivar didn't look at you.

"Since when?" you managed to whisper.

"I don't know, it just happened..." He finally looked at you "I'm really sorry, Y/N, she..."

"I know who is she" you interrupted him. If he said her name you would start sobbing "Have you... Done anything?"

"No" he shook his head "We didn't do anything, I swear, I wouldn't do that"

You nodded, even if knowing he hadn't cheated on you didn't really comfort you in any way.

"So..." You sniffed "This means..."

"It's over, Y/N" he shrugged "I don't want to hurt you"

"A bit late for that I think" your voice cracked.

"I'm sorry" he muttered again.

You stood up, and got dressed as fast as you could, trying to control the tears and with your heart racing. You even felt dizzy. Ivar didn't move. He stood there, sitting with his eyes on the floor, biting his lip and fiddling with his crutch.

You opened the door. Standing there for a moment looking at him, trying to find something to say. He looked at you again, and this time at least he looked hurt.

After a couple of seconds, and feeling the tears filling your eyes again, you turned around, leaving the room and closing the door behind you. The sound drowned the small sob you let out.

Hvitserk was standing on the living room, he frowned.

"Hey, hey" he tried to hug you but you moved away "What happened, Y/N?"

"I need to leave, I'm sorry" you muttered. He nodded.

"Okay, do you want me to take you home? It's raining, and it's cold"

You shook your head.

"Thank you, Hvitty, for everything" you tried to smile, but it looked more like a pout.

"You don't have to thank me" he smiled softly "Call if you need anything, okay?"

You nodded.

"Bye" you whispered before opening the door.

Hvitserk was right, it was raining and the cold made you shiver even more as you walked down the street. You felt a strange pressure in your chest, and could barely breathe. Ivar's words replayed on your head again and again. You felt a mix between anger and sadness, your throat burned and the tears barely let you see where you were going.

Still trembling, you took out your phone and unlocked it. The thought of locking yourself at home all alone scared you.

You pressed the call icon and tried to control yourself, stopping and leaning onto a wall.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Alfred" surprisingly, your voice sounded much better than you thought "Are you busy?"

________________________________________________

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @therealcalicali @chimera4plums @blushingskywalker @awkwardfangirl02 @gruffle1 @justacripple @love-dria @heartbeats-wildly @letsrunawaytotomorrow @inforapound @sallydelys @hellogabysblog @trashcanx @winchesterwife27 @hecohansen31 @youbloodymadgenius @xinyourdreamsx @funmadnessandbadassvikings @eteramfools @tgrrose @flokidottirsstuff @lovessce @tootie-fruity @didiintheblog @alexhandersenx @belovedcherry

#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #modern ivar #vikings imagine #vikings #modern vikings

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firefly464 · 4 years

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The Real World - Chapter 12

Alright chapter 12 lets goooo. Another slightly slower chapter, but I promise that its gonna be picking up real soon. Also Pami wrote the irl bit because shes the coolest and I love her :D

Made in collaboration with @i-have-this-now Thank you to @rivys for beta reading and editing!

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~~~

Dream stared at his friend, confusion and worry filling his mind. The teenager had been staring into space for the past minute or so, not responding to either him or Tubbo. Dream hadn’t been too concerned, until he noticed that Tommy was crying.Tears were streaking down Tommy’s face, forging a path on his cheeks. His expression was filled with a mixture of hope and fear, his eyes glazed over, like he was listening to something that no one else could hear.

“Tommy? Hellooo? You ok?” Dream asked, waving a hand in front of his face. No response. He glanced over at Tubbo, trying to see if he had any ideas. Instead, when Dream made eye contact with him, Tubbo flinched and sank back into his seat, as if trying to disappear. Right. Of course Tubbo was scared of him. Everyone was scared of him.

“You know I’m not going to hurt you, right?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood.

The younger brunette stared at him in fear, unsure of how he was supposed to respond. If Dream had said those same words to him a month ago, he would have ran, no questions asked. Now though, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know this man, had no idea what he was like. All he had to go off of was what Tommy had said.

His eyes darted over towards his spaced out friend. “What did you do to him?” He asked, struggling to keep the tremor out of his voice. He had only stood up to Dream once, and it had resulted in him nearly losing his arm. Slowly, as to not draw attention to himself, he moved his hand to the hilt of his sword. If this went south, then he sure as hell needed to be ready to defend himself.

“Nothing! I didn’t do anything, I promise” Dream dropped the bow and put his hands up in an attempt to show he meant no harm. He understood why Tubbo was so scared of him, but that didn’t change the fact that it stung. How could it not? Someone who he had thought of as a friend was now trembling before him in fear.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you hurt Tommy in any way I will not hesitate to run you through.” Tubbo’s voice shook with fear, despite his best attempts at keeping it steady.

Seeing the young teenager like this, Dream couldn’t help but be filled with pity and sadness. He was only 16, still just a kid. He should have been worried about homework, or some other small problem. He shouldn’t be stressing over whether or not he was going to live through the day, or who was going to try and hurt him next. It just wasn’t right.

Dream nodded, his hands still raised.“I promise, Tubbo, I didn’t do anything, and I don’t plan on hurting either of you.”

“Tubbo…” A soft voice startled them both. Tommy was now staring at the fallen bow, the tears freely flowing.

Tubbo’s attention was instantly drawn to his best friend, his eyes filled with overwhelming concern. “Hey man, you ok?”

Tommy looked up at his friend. A pang of homesickness shot through him. Everything about the boy next to him felt… wrong. He knew that it was still Tubbo, but that didn’t change the fact that it didn’t seem right. He was too tense, too nervous. It was as if at any moment, he could be attacked. It was so different from the laid back attitude of his Tubbo. The one that got excited over the smallest things. The one who casually went around killing people in game for no real reason. Tommy couldn’t help but miss the energetic and fun loving Tubbo from his own world. Still, he was still his friend.

Without hesitation, Tommy reached over to give his friend a hug. The tears continued to flow as the words of the message replayed in his mind. ‘I swear, we’re gonna figure something out and get you guys out of there. I promise.’ It wasn’t much to go off of, but goddammit what did he have to lose?

Tubbo couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden hug. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Sorry, sorry” Tommy quickly said, backing up and giving his friend space. He frantically wiped the tears off his face and tried to compose himself. “Yeah, I’m good.” “What the hell was that? You just zoned out, are you sure you’re ok?” Dream asked.

“I uh, I think I just got a message from Tubbo. Our Tubbo,” he made sure to clarify. “Apparently he’s been working with Wilbur and the other Tommy to try and bring us home…”

Dream felt his jaw drop. “Wait, really?! You’re kidding!”

“I swear to you that I am not joking. Trust me, I want to go home as much as you do.”

“How?! What did he say? What do we do?”

“There’s- There’s a console. Apparently it's like the server console back home, but it's an actual physical computer here. According to Tubbo it has the ability to do some really weird shit.”

“Like run regular commands?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Damn, imagine what kinda fucked up shit you could do with that kinda thing…”

“Uh huh, imagine what kind of fucked up shit this other Dream already did with that thing.”

“Fuck, you’re right.”

“So how exactly does this help us get home?”

“Right, right. I guess that the other Dream figured out how to swap people’s souls across dimensions or something with it.”

Dream’s face lit up as he made the connection. “We could do it too! We could use the command to swap us back and put everything back to normal!” A rush of excitement filled him. Finally, finally they had some direction. They actually had a goal, something to work towards. They had hope. “Where is it? Where can we find it?”

“See, that's the problem. Actually, there's two problems. One, we don’t know the command. Tubbo was thinking if we could make it to the console, we might be able to communicate with them and figure something out.”

“Wait, what? How would that even work?”

Tommy shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m honestly just hoping that Tubbo knows what he’s doing.”

“Riiight. So what's the other problem?”

Tommy took a deep breath and tried to find something, anything else to look at. He didn’t want to look Dream or Tubbo in the eyes when he told them the truth. Eventually, his eyes rested on the white, porcelain mask that hung on the wall. The simple smile seemed to bore into his very soul, taunting him in a way. He looked away. “The computer is super far away. Apparently it takes a couple days to reach on foot.”

“Ok? And?”

“According to the other Tommy, the other Dream is going to delete the server in a little less than 48 hours, which would most likely result in every single one of us dying a very painful death.”

Dream let out a low whistle. “Right. So you’re telling me that we have to go and find this super powerful computer that's really far away, try to come up with a plan, and figure out what the right command is within the next 48 hours, or the world will be deleted and we all die.”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“Right. Ok, no pressure.” he ran a hand through his hair, already trying to figure out what the best course of action was. “Where exactly is the console?”

“He said it’s in this room made out of bedrock in the middle of a dark forest, almost directly east of us.”

Dream nodded. “Got it. Tommy, go let George know what's going on. See if he wants to join us. It’d probably be smart to have someone who actually knows what they’re doing with us. I’m going to get together some supplies.”

“Got it. Tubbo, do you wanna come with us?” Tommy asked, startling the brunette.

He had been deep in thought, trying to keep up with the conversation. He was confused, but he also didn’t want to ask any questions and risk angering Dream. He shook his head. “I’m good. You guys uh, you’ll need someone to cover for you, right? I can tell Wilbur what's going on…” He was lying, of course. He just didn’t want to spend any more time around Dream. Sure, Tommy trusted him, but that didn’t change the fact that just looking at the man brought back painful memories.

“Ok, that's probably smart. Make sure he knows that the other Tommy is safe, ok? He’s going to be coming home soon.”

A slight smile crossed Tubbo’s face. “Alright. I can do that. I’ll uh, I’ll see you guys later then.” He rushed out of the base, running towards L’manberg.

Dream and Tommy were silent, neither of them mentioning the obvious. If all went according to plan, then they would never see this version of Tubbo again.

~~~

“Florida?!” Tubbo cried, flabbergasted. “We’re going to Florida? That’s like a 9 hour flight!” All this SMP stuff was making his head spin. First, it was just Tommy and Dream’s disappearance, then it escalated to something much, much worse. His friends’ lives were at stake if they didn’t do anything. He honestly didn’t want to believe Tommy, but something told him that what he’s saying is true.

“Look, I’m used to taking on my problems in person. I can’t just sit in front of this thing- whatever weird gadget this is- and do nothing! We have to go there!” Tommy explained.

“Tommy, what will you tell everyone else? What will you tell your parents? You can’t just prance up to them and go ‘hello dearest parents! As it turns out, I’m not your son, but I’m him from another dimension! Y’know how he plays that video game? It’s that dimension! Anyways, I’m off to Florida to go do a murder! I’ll be home before dinner!’ How do you think that’s gonna go down?” Wilbur said.

“Will, I know what I’m doing! This psychopath is gonna try to kill my friends. I need to save them.” Tommy told them desperately. “If we reach him, we can get to his computer and I can go home!”

“We don’t even know where he lives, Tommy!” Wilbur retaliated.

“Well, I might.” Tubbo said, nonchalantly.

Wilbur blinked. “You what? You’re not going to hack him, Tubbo-”

“He isn’t our Dream, Will. This is probably the only chance we have to do this! Lives are at stake!”

“But there’s laws--” Wilbur sighed, pulling on his face in resignation. He still had trouble believing in this. Dimension travel? Souls? A few days ago he’d say they never existed. But, now… “Okay, fine. I can get us three to Florida. Earliest flight I can get us will be at about five-in-the-morning. We find Dream and we…” Wilbur trailed off.

“Kill him.” Tommy gritted out.

“NO!” Wilbur and Tubbo shouted.

“Tommy, we are not going to kill him. We need our Dream and Tommy to come back and send both of you back. If you kill him-” Wilbur explained.

“Okay, fine,” Tommy sighed, cutting off whatever it was Wilbur was about to say. “We won’t kill him. We just need to hold him long enough for him to tell us the command.”

“And what if he refuses to tell us?”

“Then we make him tell us.”

~~~

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#hey whoever commented about how they had to go to florida #you're a prophet and really cool #i dunno how you managed to figure it out but im just gonna assume it was magic #tubbo_#tubbolive #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #wilbursoot #wilbur soot #The Real World #The Real World AU #dream smp #l'manberg #my writing #mcyt #mcyt au #fanfiction #dream team #tommyinnit

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redxblueihateloveyou · 4 years

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Hey!! 👋🏽😄 I know you said in your last rant about SK8 and Reki and Renga that you were one of those people that always looks up and learns from others, but after your last Langa edit, I just wanted to remind you how immensely talented you are. I might have not seen your first attempts at editing, but I know how it looks like when you're barely starting something, and I'm sure everyone is proud of the progress you've made and many people looks up to you as the level of skill they want to achieve. You're doing amazing! 💖💖💖

Hi, my love!!!!!! ASDFSDFGHG that’s soooo sweet, thank you so much for saying this, it really means the world to me <3 Oh, haha I’ve deleted most of my old videos so it wouldn’t hurt anyone’s eyes lmao T_T I’m still a bit nervous each time I’m uploading my vids to the day to be honest, even with so many subs rn, but at first I really didn’t have any supporters at all and my god I sucked at this, but I guess the love for my fav ships was stronger apparently haha. So I always get silly happy at each nice comment and feedback, so thank you seriously.

I really love love love vidding, Idk why but when smth comes out the way I wanted it’s a super addictive feeling for some reason, but many times I just looked at the final result and just threw it in the trash and started over and my god how many times SonyVegas crushed and didn’t autosave the project. I’m like Suga now, I’m pressing the save button each 2 minutes, cause don’t want to lose anything xD Being someone’s inspiration is truly an honor to me, I’ve got some messages that hit me too hard. Still feels weird bc I’m like “but do you know that I can’t even use photoshop tho, how do u like me now then?” lol.

I’m always drawn to talented characters, bc they amaze me, esp the humble ones. Like those who hate Haru or Lanaga just buffle me honestly. I understand that they’re pretty and talented and everything, but they’re also the sweetest and loveliest human beings, so like...??? And I adore those who don’t whine and get what they want. I just can’t help it. I’m a strong believer in the fact that "you can do anything if you put your mind to it”. So far it worked in real life so suck it lol.

People are also saying like Langa doesn’t deserve to win this and Haru doesn’t deserve to be in Olympics, like Langa didn’t snowboard since he was 2 and Haru wasn’t swimming every day since he was born. I’m like.. and you need to check in the mirror if your face is a shade of green. BTW I’ve also been in a professional sports for quite a long time since I was a little kid, ballroom dancing and adored it back then, and I did not get jealous at ppl who were talented than me, I was watching the tapes actually with a popcorn. And oh god those large competition events when you sit there for days and give it all, but then you’re like 296 out of 1000. Why was I proud instead of being sad? Idk xD It was fun.

So thanks for liking the vid, cause I even regretted uploading it a bit yesterday. Sadly everyone already knows that we lost this fandom to the middle schoolers being extra, so they do not care for anything each episode except for this ship, so that’s what I got for posting a just Langa vid:

And etc. and that just made me sad, cause I do not like such fandoms, like it’s not even related to the video, that I’ve been making... with love. Also thanks for the "sama” title, I’m flattered, but editor only wants to vid matchablossom for now, so like there’s no need for any warnings. I’ve been in such horrendoes fandoms, that I’m immune to this. I also in fact didn’t know some keep ruining Langa’s page and saying that he steals Reki’s screen time... cause he’s aparently the only main character...? ...lmao? I didn’t even know Langa can be hated tbh. I wasn’t really ready for all the drama that followed me making a vid about him.

I’ve already deleted some comments, cause I’m like what this even has to do with the vid about Langa? No, I am not obliged to make a vid about Reki, too. What if I post a matchablossom vid, everyone will only start commenting “do renga”, cause fuck your efforts? I’m like... I hate such fanbases, seriously. I do not even know where this is going, but their fans are already pissing me off. I’m still trying hard for this to not affect my point of view about the ship, cause it’d be kinda unfair to them, but its getting harder each week istg.

And I maybe can’t take requests, but I love when some try to get me addicted on their ship with passion and great arguments. It happened to me with some nice ppl. But def not with agression and stupidity haha.

Cause apparently its one of the fandoms where you can’t NOT care for the main ship, even if you accept it for the only possible Langa ship (cause he doesn’t give a shit for anyone else, so like what’s the point), but it doesn’t do anything for you. I’m like... thanks for threatening. This will make me on board ASAP. Like it’s not the epitomy of love to me... I’m sorry? LMAO

Some anon even sent me a “you’re dense” (literally thats it) ask after that Reki ask. I was tempted to write smth like “oh I’m sorry, this is the most epic love story of my life and his character is the most complex in the world and he’s the best friend and the most inspiring human being that ever hit my screen. can I become undense now? xD”. But you know I do not know if they’d realise the sarcasm and my pride sadly never allowed me to sell my life values for a bunch of 12 years olds to love me lol

My sister always laughs and jokingly says “but you’d probably get much more subs if you made a vid about this or that, but at what price that would be lmao”. Cause yeah, I never could make myself vid smth I do not like, cause I love vidding and do not want it to be associated with things I do not like, plus it’ll most likely turn out ugly, if I do not care. My mom says that she can feel love I put in my shipping vids that’s why she loves them. I really don’t think she’s wrong. But that also kinda makes me an idiot technically, cause I’m not into many of the popular ships, and some popular animes I just find really basic.

Also I’m like 100% sure it ain’t happening, but even if they miraculously suck each other’s dicks while sitting on a skate board, I can still have the rights not to care at the end. Like did I sign some form where I’m obliged to love each and everyone canon gay ship even if it’s not what I like? Like gay is not the type of love in relationships. You can only care about his ass like Lan Zhan for example or you can only care about your ass. Like that’s different types of relationships, and whatever you like you like. So get all the way of people’s backs, please.

Also do ppl know that you do not need to be blind to the bad sides of the characters in your ships? Or you just gonna be like “I suddenly can’t see” for forever.

So really thanks for such wonderful message and liking the video and for the boosts when I need them and not being an ass to me if I’m not being obsessed with smth, when you like it. (like I think we have different ship in bnha, right? but we’re still doing great tho, thanks for being an angel <3)

I still didn’t expect this becoming a Voltron 2.0. situation tho. We in our twenties see everything differently, I guess. I do get extra about “their love is everywhere”, but I do not get extra by anonymously attacking ppl, threatening creators and yelling “queeerbating psychotic blind assholes if these two aint fucking by the end of the season I’m shaving my head and jumping out of the window and shoot the director. you do not ship it HARD? YOU DUMB FUCK. THAT’S THE BEST LOVE STORY IN THE WORLD”. Like damn, take your blinders off and see the world, kid. Firstly, it’s definitely not, secondly, ppl see love differently in general and at each age too.

Ah, also you must kill Adam, cause he’s a pedo apparently. Like he ain’t even a threat to your ship, unless you’re blind, but they’re still at it, like they do not know that this kind of age difference is literally nothing for an anime? And that there are canon ships with a huger age difference left and right, too. It’s like its their first time approaching an anime or smth. Like in anime world character can literally kill 1000 ppl with his bare hands and bathe in their blood and we can still stan them, depends on their story, ok? Also Langa couldn’t care less for his advances, so like separate Adam from your ship pls. Like, fuck off, if someone is interested in his character. Yeah, he’s a weirdo for reasons, but anime kind of weird do not apply to real life. Stop acting like you’re some purist, when later you’re gonna ship smth else and it suddenly will not apply. Also rules do not apply to animes, everyone knows they do not apply. These are not western cartoons, my god. And 24 years old flirting with 16 year old is defiinitely not the weirdest shit anyone has ever seen in the anime. Chinese BL has characters who were 14 and 30 when they met and happily married. Also FICTION is not life. Literally no one cares. If you’re scared for your saint eyes, do not watch animes, you’re gonna have a heart-attack from what you can see there. Also we’ve seen gayer bromances in animes, who are just bromances, so pls do not shoot anyone if it’s not canon.

So basically I was kinda pissed yersterday, cause fuck them for ruining the tag, but after chatting with my hommies and your ask, I’m okay again, I just have to avoid this fandom and stick to a tight community xD. I just got used to my nice fandoms and forgot for a bit about the precautions you need to take if you’re in one of those. You know. Who make a circus out of lgbt, instead of supporting it, and make other ppl hate being in fandoms.

P.S. sorry for this partially unrelated rant, your messages really always make my heart bloom, so thanks for supporting me, and I know you’re proud of my progress, too <3 and this makes me happy. LY

#answered #heavensweetheart #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #in such moments you for a moment don't even want to vid this fandom anymore #like seems more pain in the ass than joy #but then denying smth bc of stupid ppl is also dumb #so its like I need to breathe and not go to the tags or twitter #sjws ruin everything #anime #I'd rather go spend some time in my chill fandom with less ppl but more adults

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devintrinidad · 4 years

Text

So Uhm, CAW anon here. I haven’t been into Hetalia for years. But I feel like talking about a few things I noticed back in fandom a lot that I didn’t see at all in the canon manga/anime (though Hetalia itself is just a fanfic of history. I’m only focusing on character and relationships present in the canon series).

Ok a lot has probably changed since the last couple of years in fandom. But back then I saw a lot of depictions of the FACE group: England and Canada not having much of a relationship. France and Canda being the closest while France and America aren’t close at all. America and Canada having a strained if not dysfunctional brotherly bond. Canada having no backbone and being a sad sack all the time or just being a pure angel with no flaws. America being too childish.

I’m going to try to remember all the canon bits to back me up. But I’m mostly curious if there’s anything off and your (most likely much more up to date and informed) thoughts.

Canada and England have a pretty good relationship from what I’ve seen. We’ve sen plenty of material of England being present in colony Canada’s life. He used to cook for him too (poor Canada) and Canada spent almost about the same amount of time with him as America did. Later on Canada chose Enlgand over America when the colonies revolted. He didn’t want to pick a side but in the end he did. He fought against American troops. Was there when England was heartbroken over the fighting. He even acted as a strategist, using his knowledge as America’s twin brother to use America’s weaknesses against him (sending surrender papers inside a basket of food. America was so hungry it took George Washington telling him to resist to not take the bait). Later on when America and Canada were trying to mend their relationship. Canada would get so nervous and have England talk for him all the time instead (which only confused America). England did it without any fuss despite any issues he and America might still have. Overall Canada recalls having a good childhood and England was a part of that. The two might not be as close as America and England are, but they have their own history and bond both are very comfortable and happy with each other.

America and Canada. Fans I ran into often focused on America and England’s dynamic history. But the North American brothers have a lot of their own turmoil and strength to them as well. While Canada might,moan about being invisible and such. Canada also remembers having a very fun childhood with America. So much he remembers how sad he was when America grew up much faster then him and couldn’t play with him all the time like he used to. When Canada told America he didn’t want to fight, only to choose England, America felt betrayed. He loved Canada and wanted his twin brother to fight for freedom with him. Their relationship went pretty sour for a long time. But the two did end up trying to be mature later on in life and congratulate each other despite how annoyed they are at how different the other is.

From there we only get brother goodness. They can bug each other a lot. Canada takes for granted everything America has done and gone through, things that have also been good for Canada. While America likes to mess with Canada and act pushy with him. They do like to horse around and spend time together. Despite their differences, they’re probably the closest siblings in the world of nations. They’ve gone through their bitterness and still chose to be close brothers in the end. They like to play sports together. They like to use their appearances to mess with England who can’t tell them apart like France can. They call each other on the phone a lot. They have a joint Search for Santa Claus operations every winter. America respects Canada’s opportunity and ability to easily get along with others. He also takes Canada’s concerns very seriously and offers reasonable and helpful advice such as how to help his citizens get along. Canada’s opinions must mean a lot to him since Canada is the only individual to make America cry in despair when he went into his 3 hour insult rant against him. Despite his complaints about his personality, Canada looks up to America as a big brother who he always goes to for comfort or help. He respects and admires America a lot and trusts him as his closest confidante (after his polar bear. Not that that bear is ever helpful). Overall America and Canada have their downs like every sibling pair has. But they also seem to have a very strong and stable connection where they can act like brothers and best friends. Sometimes I think it’s easier to imagine America is closer to Canada then he is to England.

America and France. Back then these two didn’t get a lot of attention. Which is strange because there’s tons of material of them interacting throughout the centuries. France used to cook for America when England wasn’t around (I bet when Colony America said English food was as good as French food, some thing broke inside France. The reason America started disliking English food is because France made it his mission to salvage some of his tastebuds. Xp). France has been the only FACE member to stay by America’s side without conflict. Both of them obviously had a close bond since France gave America Lady Liberty and you could see teasing and ruffling America’s hair like a big brother. The two hang out a lot. They go to Maid Cafes together. They seem to have lunch together all the time at conferences since France is always looking for America to go eat together. They apparently also have sleepovers a lot and like to compare different genres of movies. Whatever issues their people can have with each other never seems to affect their personal interactions. France is the big brother of love and that’s sometimes a running gag for jokes. But he really seems to be like a normal big brother figure for America. He often worries about America and Russia’s scary relationship and chides England for raising America to be weird. In a deleted strip, France is preventing America from drinking alcohol because he’s too young (being physically 19). It also gets a bit heartwarming when you recall the Joan of arc strips where France meets the reincarnation of Joan and she’s an American. Almost like America is now taking care of Joan and giving her the opportunity to be free and happy in ways she couldn’t before.

Also while it’s not part of their dynamic. It’s always interesting that when the author wanted to show the Nation’s personal relationships with humanity. He always chose America and France. The supposed happy go lucky airheads who often gain a affectionate yet somber (to even downright tragic) experience from it.

Overall America and France have a nice quiet and stable relationship. You could say while England raised America as a colony. France was among the mentors to America on how to be his own Nation.

I think that’s it. Again my memory might be foggy but that’s what I can recall. =P

~~~

WAIT A MINUTE YOU’RE ALSO A HETALIAN??? AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME???

Okay, I’m going to prioritize this ask/submission thing first because wow, you’re a Hetalian and Hetalia has a special place in my heart. First of all, I’m kind of flattered that you think that I’m up to date for this, hahaha. I’ll have to tell you, while I do know a lot about American history, I’m actually more of a fan of the Itabros, hehehe.

A few tumblr people that I know specialize in Hetalia and have already posted FACE dynamics a lot in the blogs are, but not limited to: @historihet @stirringwinds and @ellawritesficssometimes. I’m not sure if Ella is still active, but there’s a lot of content that you can browse through if I’m not thorough. Also, again, the list of tumblrs that have been associated with FACE are definitely more than I can imagine, those are the three that I follow and know off the top of my head.

To @historihet @stirringwinds @ellawritesficssometimes, I love your interpretations and love for history! If I say anything inaccurate or something you don’t find to your liking, please inform me! I don’t want to spread misinformation and I’m just so excited to talk about Hetalia to my dear Anon Friend :D

If you’re reading this, I hope that you all have a wonderful day! And keep up the great work with your own analyses/fanart/fanfiction/etc. You guys rock and keep the fandom alive. :D

Anywhoozles, what you said here is fairly accurate. FACE definitely has its up and downs. Assuming that you haven’t been active in the fandom since... let’s say 2012-2014ish era, you might have noticed that the common bonds are Canada and France (platonic), France and England (rivalry/lovers/enemies), and the most concerning relationship America and England (brothers/rivals/lovers???). What you said in your analysis really applies within the sense of what is considered to be manga/anime canon, not necessarily historical canon.

In historical canon (if you want to go down that route), FACE is one dysfunctional mess if you want to consider it as one family unit. Every one of them at one point has been at each other’s throat at one point (whether it be at war or just snubbing the other because of politics).

We have:

1. The Revolutionary War (England vs America)

2. War of 1812 (Canada/England vs America, with special emphasis in 1814 because Canada burned down America’s White House if I remember correctly)

3. The XYZ Affair (I’m pretty sure it was a snub in diplomacy??? which actually started a war???)

4. The fact that American promised to help France in their own revolution, but Washington said no because we’re still a new country and all that jazz (...I know this because of Hamilton IF YOU’RE ALSO A HAMILFAN I WILL CRY)

5. And like the entire history of France/England is just its own thing

As you can probably tell, FACE... I think was just a term for the fans to make this makeshift family dynamic that is cute in some respects if this was like a human au, but definitely a cluster of effs if you imagine them as eldritch abominations that were brought to life because of human imagination.

Like, the dynamics can go in so many directions if you want to choose one aspect of history over another.

In @stirringwinds, they often write/draw about America as this Prodigal son who happens to be like the Crown Prince succeeding his once proud father. (America turning into a superpower after the World Wars and the English Empire just kinda dismantling itself because of everything.... OF COURSE THAT’S AN OVERSIMPLIFICATION, PLEASE DON’T KILL ME FOR INACCURACY!

Whereas for another tumblr, @historihet they portray the USUK relationship as more of a ship. Like, the whole brother relationship that is skewed in the anime/dubs/subs (this is due to the fact that some fans take the whole older brother thing too literally because in Japan, you call your elders/peers that happen to be older than you via polite endearments) is more of a... I’m not gonna say paternal, but it was more of a mentor thing? I’m not sure, I haven’t interacted with them much, but I’m pretty sure they ship it. Plus, their art is so amazing and they’re obviously a fan of history because wow, their head canons and their art is so beautiful and detailed.

As for the whole France and Canada relationship, I think this can be further elaborated via @ellawritesficssometimes. I remember reading that France and Canada, while having a similar relationship to England and America, it wasn’t that close or as heartwarming as many fans make it out to be. If you follow Canadian history, I’m pretty sure Canada was under French rule for a sort time before becoming part of the English Empire. Like, Canada was part of the Empire for a longer time than under France. This means that France wasn’t always there, England was. You can further read between the lines about the English/Canadian relationships, especially if you consider the fact that America fought an entire revolution to get away from England because of neglect on England’s part and on Canada’s part.... all he had to do was ask.

Soooooo....

Overall, I’m glad that you told me that you were part of the Hetalia fandom. It’s nice to see that the fandom is still alive and kicking, hahah. That reminds me, I’ve got to finish my series concerning Italia Veneziano, oops. Just wondering, but why did you want to talk about this? Not that I mind, it just seems out of the blue...

Thanks for the analysis and your chat! I hope that you have a wonderful day! :D

Please don’t tell me you want a FACE fic, hahahah. XD

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gallavictorious · 4 years

Text

Fic: Foreign Country

For fuck’s sake... So I got an ask in response to this comment, wherein the lovely nonnie suggested that Ian and Mickey’s reaction to the Kash and Grab would be a reverse sort of situation, with that place holding very happy memories in spite of being a site of trauma (because Kash shot Mickey there). I’m paraphrasing here, obviously... And I spent over a week trying to write the fic that this ask (unintentionally) inspired and now when I posted it Tumblr was messing with the ‘Read more’ so I, stupid and/or tired bastard that I am, deleted the thing to repost it but of course that means the ask is gone aaaaand yeah. I AM SO SORRY NONNIE! :( Hope this one finds you all the same.

Anyway, here’s my resonse:

Ah, yes. Yes! Nonnie, I applaud your dedication to sparking joy and thank you for sharing this delightful reflection! <3 And, uh, it got me thinking about the Kash and Grab and its role as the site of so much that went down with Ian and Mickey in the early years, and yeah, now there’s a ficlet. It involves a trip down memory lane, some angst, some fluff, and a rather startling number of I love you:s. It’s also the reason why it took me so damned long to get back to you… Sorry about that!

Did you ask me to write this? No. Does it stay completely true to your observation rather than carelessly running with it? Also no, but with slightly more regret.

---

Never returning had not been a conscious choice. Neither was going back.

---

Chicago, on a Thursday afternoon in early October, and the air is unusually crisp when Ian steps out from the ambulance station. He's been working the early shift and now he pauses on the sidewalk and turns his face towards the sun, considering. No one's expecting him for another few hours, and it's a fine day: maybe he needn't rush home. Maybe he could walk for a bit.

It's an idea. He's feeling restless, though not the sort of restless that heralds the on-set of a manic episode (or so he thinks, but he makes a mental note to keep an eye out for other signs, and maybe mention it to Mickey). But yeah. He could walk for a bit, then maybe find a station for the L when he tires.

So he walks. Walks and walks and doesn’t tire, and eventually he finds himself on a familiar street and outside a familiar store and he realizes with a start that he hasn't been here in years. Hadn't even known the store was still open, but the sign on the door proudly proclaims it so, and above it the name remains the same, white letters on red: Kash and Grab.

Huh. Without making a conscious decision to, he's stopped walking and is just standing there, staring at the store. The sight of it brings a strange jumble of emotions, and the quietly jarring mingle of familiarty and distance that comes from returning to a place where once you did belong, but belong no longer.

The last time he stood here was the day before he ran off to join the Army, leaving Linda with nothing more than a short message on her phone. That’s more than what his family got, so he hopes she wasn’t too upset. He never asked; never came back; never really thought back – until now.

He hesitates for a moment, then walks up to the door and steps inside. He’s running low on smokes anyway.

It's the smell that hits him first. It hasn't changed, and brings him back to the days when it would cling to his clothes and follow him home, a not unpleasant but distinctive whiff of frozen food and sweet spices.

The interior hasn't changed much either. There’s a kid behind the counter that looks to be in his early teens, and Ian wonders if it’s one of Kash’s sons, if Linda's still running the store. He could ask, but who knows what Linda's told her kids about the teenager who fucked their closeted father before he ran off?

He glances at the boy again – and yeah, he could be Kash's, there's something about the eyes and the chin – and wonders if he ever looked that young when he manned the register. Wonders if that's what he looked like to Mickey, when he'd come into the store to just take whatever the hell he wanted, wether it was chips or, later, Ian's fucking breath away.

Ian Gallagher. You messed with the wrong girl.

And just like that, it's like no time's passed, and he's 15 and 16 and 17 again; he's doing it with Kash and he thinks he loves him; he excels at ROTC and dreams of Westpoint; his mother is alive and he doesn’t yet know that Frank isn’t his father at all – it hardly matters anyhow, because Fiona is there, as she has always been there, as he still thinks she will always be.

She got out and good for her. If she'd stayed here, she'd never been free of her role as sister-mother – never free to be Fiona. And as for him... he'd mourned the army dream when it died, but knows now that it was an uninformed dream, one he would not have cared to live even if given the opportunity.

Glancing at the counter where he used to open his trigonomy textbook he feels no regret, though perhaps a twinge of sadness for the loss of that optimistic, determined kid, who had not had an easy life by any means, but who had yet to take any real blows, any blows that truly mattered. Those had come later (had come in this very store, some of them) and standing here, where he'd spent so much time as a child and none as a man, he feels something of that kid returning. Remembers the weight of the hundreth can put on a shelf; feels the ghost of a (too) easy smile on his lips; sees himself as he moves between the backroom and counter and fridge.

And everywhere he looks, there is Mickey. Mickey, in a dirty coat or a security west, angry and rough and funny and sometimes with the briefest flash of something softer, sweeter. He is stealing and scaring of thieving kids and restocking the shelves and plotting to murder Frank and moaning as Ian pushes into him.

He is on the floor, too, cursing Kash but otherwise strangely unaffected by having been shot. Ian thinks he might have been more scared and upset than Mickey. It strikes him now as a moment of innocence lost; your lover shot by a jealous ex, a real gun and real blood and what if Kash had had better aim? This was a thing that happened in the world, and if that could happen – anything could.

It strikes him, too, as a turning point: Mickey going away could easily have spelled the end of their intense but brief affair. For all they knew each other's bodies they hadn't really know each other back then, and while Ian had been crushing hard he had not yet loved Mickey. Perhaps they might both have moved on, found other lives and loves. Perhaps that had still been possible, then.

Or perhaps not. It was the first time they were separated and the first time they found their way back to one another, but not the last. It's a dance of coming together and coming apart and coming together, again and again, and they've traced its steps for close to a decade, never once stopping, not truly.

Because even in the absences, Mickey had been, is; there, always, in the stretches of time when he was locked up in juvie; in the eager hours of wating for him to show up at the store; in the exact distance between them at any given time.

Ian can still feel the jolt, like a punch to his gut, like electricity, of looking up from stacking oranges and finding blue eyes staring straight into his.

He remembers the last time they were in here together, when him and his siblings had been taken away by the CPS and Mickey invited him to crash at his place. He remembers his giddy delight at the question, his excitement at the realization that Mickey wanted to spend time with him. He had been so nervous, and looking back, knowing what he now knows, he thinks that Mickey might have been fucking terrified, but there'd been such ease to that evening and night; such familiarty and tenderness. And oh, the sex had been fantastic.

He tries to remember only this, not what came after with the morning light and a door suddenly slammed open –

Mickey had never returned to the store after that, and a few months later Ian had left for the army. Not really for the army, though; what he'd been moving towards had not been nearly as important as what he was moving away from.

Stings, still, that memory; but less than it once did, and as he strolls down the aisles, noting where the pickled cucumber jars have been replaced with tins of tuna and where the small bottles of cheap olive oil still remain, he is surprised to find himself... okay. For a long time, so much of his past had been a painful, tangled thing he did his best to forget, and even after he made his peace with it, he made a point of looking forward rather than back. Now he thinks that maybe, if you're happy with where you ended up, the hardships of the road which led you there are easier to bear.

Doesn't make everything that happened right; just... yeah. Easier to bear.

He buys a pack of cigarettes. The kid behind the counter is eyeing him suspiciously, but Ian thinks that has more to do with him walking around the store and staring at random things rather than with the boy recognizing him from some lurid tale of Linda's. Ian almost asks him to say hello to her from him, but nah. Let old dogs lie.

Outside, twilight is coming on, and there's a slight chill to the air now that the sun is sinking. Ian lights a cigarette and sucks the smoke deep into his lungs. This, too, is familiar, and for a moment he feels unthethered, unsure of when he is, who he is.

Without really thinking about it, he picks up his phone. Mickey's still working but can't be too busy because he answers on the second signal: “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ian says, and then he doesn't say anything else for long enough that Mickey asks him if he fucking wanted something or he's just being a creepy ass phone stalker.

It makes Ian smile. Grounds him. “I love you,” he says.

A beat. “You called me at fucking work to tell me that?” And Ian knows that the gruff disbelief is partially an attempt to cover Mickey's surprised delight at the proclamation.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” he says. Waits for a moment, but Mickey is silent. “You gonna say it back?”

“You fucking serious?”

“Kinda need to hear it.” Because he gets to say that; gets to ask for that. They're not kids not anymore and they don't need to hide. They’re fucking married.

That is real. That is now.

“Jesus Christ, Ian.” But then Mickey, as Ian knew he would, relents. “I love you,” he says, and Ian doesn't know if he's already alone or if he just doesn't care who overhears him, because he doesn't lower his voice or take the time to move somewhere more private.

A brief silence as neither of them speak, but simply rest in the warmth of the words, the truth of them.

Then: “Are you okay?” There's a trace of real worry in Mickey's voice now, and there's a part of Ian's that immediately annoyed because he hates that people worry about him so easily – but a larger part of him has made his peace with it; knows and accepts the reason for it; loves that Mickey loves him enough to worry.

So he offers a brief smile, even though Mickey cannot see it. Hopes it translates into his voice. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I promise, it's just... I'll tell you when you get home, okay?”

“Okay.” And maybe Mickey isn't convinced but he takes Ian's word for it. Trust. That's another thing they've been doing better with. “I'll see you in maybe an hour then? I get off at five.”

”Yeah, I'll see you then.” And, because he can, because it's true: ”I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you fucking said that already.” A brief pause, then quietly: “I love you, too.”

They hang up. Throwing one last look at Kash and Grab before he walks off, Ian is pleased to realize that he feels nothing but a vague sense of affection for the place. Some things withered and was left here, sure, youthful dreams and ambitions and most of his naivite – but the best thing about it he kept, and Ian will see him soon and hold him soon, and this time he will neither leave nor let him go. Their new dance will move to a different beat.

#asks #gallavich #i am so mad at myself and tumblr right now #also the use of semicolons in this one is absurd #sorry not sorry #fic #my stuff

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jaqdawks · 3 years

Text

I wrote a little short story thing, where these two go shopping lol

Gonna post it cuz why not

Word count - 2308

Trigger Warnings - Mentions to doomsday cult branding and a barely avoided panic attack

Béla pulled up by the bus, right around where Rameir stood in line. He rolled his window down and pointed at him. “Get in loser, we’re going shopping.”

Rameir obliged, glad to have any reason to postpone going home.

The inside of the car was average, other than the steering wheel being on the right hand side of the car.

“Don’t see that every day,” Rameir mused as he got in the back seat.

“Huh?”

“The wheel.”

Béla glanced back at him and then his steering wheel. “Oh, yeah. My mom was pretty determined to keep her old car when she moved from Europe.”

“And she’s giving it to you now?”

Béla shrugged. “It’s old. Anyways, I don’t have anything that’s actually warm enough to keep up with winter.” As the bus started, Béla got around it to pass it. He continued, “So we’re going to the mall.”

“And how come you’re taking me with you?”

Béla glanced at him through the rear view mirror. “I’ve been wanting to get you something decent in your wardrobe for ages.”

Rameir frowned. “I don’t have any money with me.”

“Don’t worry, shit’s on sale right now, it’ll be fine. If you really feel bad about it, we can go by some thrift stores.”

Rameir sat back and shut up for the rest of the drive. He wondered what his parents would think. He called them, but they didn’t pick up. He texted them, but his dad had a rule about calling over texting.

“Got a curfew?” Béla chimed in.

“I’ve never really stayed out before, so my parents never established one.”

“Oof. Okay, we’ll get you home by. . . How far out do you live again?”

“Almost an hour out of town.”

“Fuck,” Béla muttered, “Okay, well it’s a Friday so worst case scenario you can spend the night.”

Béla pulled into the mall’s parking lot and got a space near the entrance. Rameir hesitantly stepped out, leaving his backpack behind.

“You look nervous,” Béla commented.

“I’ve never really been in a mall.”

“Holy shit you are sheltered,” Béla whistled, “This was a good idea. I should have done this sooner.”

Rameir followed him into the building. That smell of money, the kind that’s been all around and smells more like people’s hands than paper, it was as if it hit him in the face when he walked in. Bright displays of makeup and skincare products lined the shelves, Rameir looked over to Béla in confusion.

“This is just their cosmetics floor.”

“There’s several floors?”

Béla responded as if that was obvious, “Yeah, Nordstrom is like, rich as fuck. Anyways this is just one of the convenient entrances, let’s go.”

He led Rameir through the store. Rameir felt a breath of relief when they stepped into the main part of the mall and escaped the white tiles and white floors and fluorescent lights of Nordstrom. Rameir looked out at all the shops, randomly placed indoor benches, and clusters of people walking by.

Béla raised an eyebrow at Rameir’s stare. “Jesus Christ, you really haven’t been in a mall before, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I should have brought reinforcements,” Béla said under his breath, “C’mon, let’s start at Aéropostale.”

Rameir followed awkwardly behind him, until Béla got fed up with his non-confrontation and backpedaled to walk next to him. Rameir kept his head down as Béla tried to start a conversation with him multiple times.

It wasn’t as long of a walk as Rameir could have hoped.

As they entered the store, a cashier greeted them from behind the counter. The store was mostly empty, other than the occasional teen around their age group hidden behind wracks of clothes.

Béla started towards the back, dragging Rameir along.

They stopped at a table with folds of various shirts on it, and some mannequins behind it. “So, what exactly do you like? And if it’s anything close to what you already wear, I’m gonna invalidate your opinion.”

Rameir looked over the shirts. He hesitantly picked up one with a Polaroid logo on it, and Béla shook his head. “That's extra small. Hold on.” Béla’s hands reached around the back of his collar and flipped over the tag on his shirt. “Okay, medium, right?”

Rameir felt goosebumps prickling up his back.“I guess.”

Béla took the shirt and put it back on the pile, then flipped through it and picked up a different one that was a bit bigger. “Here.”

Rameir took it reluctantly. He stared at the shirts, not quite considering them.

“You look like a deer in headlights.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not really in your element here, huh?”

“No.”

Béla rested his hand on his hip. “Do you need help picking things out?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, this’ll be fun,” Béla grinned. He picked up a few shirts, some striped, some plain, some with pictures or designs on them. Some he put down after considering them for a minute, some he handed over to Rameir. By the end, they’d picked out four shirts on the sale wrack and one jacket that Rameir thought looked cool.

“Okay, now what?” Rameir asked once they both decided they’d found enough for this store.

Béla motioned to the changing rooms. “Well, go try them on.”

Rameir froze. “What?”

“It’d be a waste if we bought all this stuff and it turned out it doesn’t fit you.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really like, y’know, changing in public.”

“You’ll be alone, no ones gonna see you dude.”

Rameir tensed his fists. “Are you sure?”

“Go ahead. The doors even lock from the inside.” He gave Rameir a gentle push in their direction. “I’m gonna look around for myself for a second. If anything doesn’t fit you, just leave it behind.”

Rameir sighed to himself and took the clothes to one of the rooms.

Of course, there was a mirror right on the wall to stare back at him. He sat the stuff down on the small bench and locked the door behind him. For a moment, he just stared at his reflection, before he frowned at it and slowly took his shirt off.

He avoided direct eye contact at the cult’s brand on his chest as he changed through the different shirts. They all fit fine, Rameir put his own shirt back on and gathered them up and folded them.

He spotted Béla looking through some jackets, and walked over to him with all the stuff.

Béla glanced at the folded pile and then back at the jackets on the wall wracks. “Did you try them?”

“Yeah.”

“They all fit?”

Rameir nodded.

“Great. Just gimme a minute.”

Béla gathered a small pile of stuff for himself together and left Rameir to wait on a bench near the changing rooms. Rameir fiddled with one of the tags and wondered what his parents would think when he came home with shopping bags. He checked his phone, still no reply.

Béla stepped out of the changing room a few minutes later. “Okay, ready to go,” he announced.

They took all the stuff to the cash register, and Béla swiped his card without hesitation.

“How much of that do I owe you?” Rameir asked.

“None.”

Rameir would check the tags at home and figure out how much on his own, then.

They bid the cashier goodbye and left a moment later.

“Levi’s next,” Béla had said, but they stopped at a small shop called Claire’s first. Béla didn’t push Rameir to buy anything, he found a pair of earrings with cherries dangling from them and brought them to the counter. That was all.

When they did get to Levi’s, Béla dragged him straight to the jeans section. Rameir was amazed by a store’s ability to have a whole section for jeans.

“Do you know your waist size?”

“No.”

Béla picked some ripped jeans in various sizes. “Okay, you’ll just have to see what works.” He thrusted several pairs of jeans into Rameir’s arms. “When you figure out which fits, tell me. I wanna see what they look like on you.”

Rameir gave him a puzzled look. “Okay?”

Béla waited by the changing rooms this time. Rameir found it easier to try them on than the shirts—there weren’t any suspicious marks on his legs, after all.

“Got one?” Béla called into the room.

“Think so.”

“Show me!”

Rameir stepped out, feeling not very self confident. Béla took a picture, and Rameir went pale.

“What the hell?”

“Relax. I’m only sending it to Drew, then I’ll delete it.”

Rameir’s stomach did pathetic flips, and his lungs felt too empty. He stepped back into the changing room and covered his face with his hands.

“Are you alright in there?” Béla asked.

Rameir didn’t respond.

“If it’s any consolation, Drew said you look cute.”

Rameir still didn’t respond. He didn’t know why, but he felt so ashamed.

Béla stepped in, Rameir had forgotten to lock the door again. “Hey, for real, you okay?”

“Please get out,” Rameir squeaked in a small voice.

Béla backed off. “Sorry.”

He closed the door behind him, and Rameir sat down on the changing room stool and tried to pull himself together. With a tired sigh, he changed back into his own clothes again and brought the jeans that fit back out.

Béla was having a very quiet phone call with someone when Rameir walked out. He paused mid-sentence, before saying to the person on the other line, “He’s back, gotta go.” He hung up quickly and stood up.

“Who was that?”

“Oh, just my dad,” Béla responded, “Anyways, what’s the waist size?”

Rameir checked the tag. “Thirty by Thirty-two.”

“Cool. Pretty much everything is the same here so, you don’t have to try any other pants on as long as we’re getting them in that size.”

To Rameir, he sounded like he might be stretching the truth. But Rameir didn’t question it. “Alright.”

“Let’s just grab one more, your choice.”

They found something sub par, cargo pants that Rameir could tolerate the color of. It seemed that cargo pants always came in a color that was almost a good shade of brown but not quite there. Béla texted someone quickly, before he left Rameir to sit on his own again.

“If you wanna wander and see anything else you like, feel free. I’m just gonna look around again.”

Rameir didn’t. He sat and tried to get over his feeling of overwhelm. His phone vibrated in his pocket, so he pulled it out to see who was calling. He’d hoped it would be his dad calling him back, it was Drew instead.

Rameir held the phone up to his ear. “Hello?”

Drew’s voice sounded on the other line. “Hi.” Rameir felt like the electrical technicalities of how phones worked didn’t do his voice justice. “Béla said you kind of freaked out earlier, is everything alright?”

“Kinda, sorta.”

Drew waited for him to continue.

So he did. “I’ve just never been shopping before, and it’s a bit much.”

“Yeah, I feel ya. They’re super loud and there’s way too many people.”

“Oh,” Rameir said, “it’s not really crowded right now.”

“You would not enjoy them in the middle of the day.”

Rameir laughed slightly. “Probably not.”

“Sorry if Béla is being a bit intense, too,” Drew rambled on, “He’s kinda. . . passionate about these things.”

“It’s alright.”

“So, how’s the shopping going?”

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Rameir admitted, “I usually just got all my clothes from my cousin, sometimes my parents would bring stuff home, that’s about it.”

“Excited about the new stuff?”

Rameir half-smiled. “A bit. I feel bad though.”

“Oh, how come?”

“Well, Béla’s paying for it all, and yeah.”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s got all sorts of reward discounts,” Drew assured him with a hearty chuckle, “He could probably whittle the price of a shirt down to a dollar if he tried.”

Rameir watched Béla take a small stack of clothes into a changing room. “Yeah.”

“I gotta go now. If it starts to get late, you can tell Béla to drop you off with me. I can get my parents to vouch for you not coming home last night.”

“Thanks, I’ll consider it.”

“Alright, goodbye.”

“Bye.”

Rameir clicked the hang up button. A missed call notification popped up from his cousin. Rameir didn’t want to deal with Faust right now, he didn’t call often and he didn’t call with friendly intentions, so he ignored it.

Béla took another moment in the changing room. When he finished, they took the stuff to the counter and left with the things in bags.

“You good for one more stop?” Béla checked.

“Sure.”

They went by one more shop with a name Rameir didn’t bother to read. He got a polo shirt that Béla insisted on, and that was it. He was far more worn out than he thought.

Béla seemed to pick up on this, and made the stop quick.

When they got back out to the car, Rameir was ready to collapse. Béla put their bags in the back. Rameir got into the back seat again and pressed his forehead against the headrest. He checked the time on his phone, it read 17:09.

“So, it’s kind of rush hour,” Béla said as he got into the driver’s seat, “It might take, like, a really long time to get you out to the countryside.”

“Mhm.”

“Wanna go get some dinner and try to wait it out, or should I just take you home?”

“Drew said you could drop me off at his place. So, that, I guess,” Rameir mumbled.

“Alright.”

Rameir sat back and put his seat belt on. Béla started the car and pulled out of the mall parking lot. Rameir tried to call his dad again, to no avail, then texted Drew that they were on their way.

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murdersexual · 4 years

Note

So... When are you going to post that LeoPika fic? 👀👀👀

Mane bet... 😏 But I might delete it later! Here’s part one!

🚨WARNING!🚨

Rated MA for Mature Audiences only. NSFW.

Sex, Drugs, Alcohol, Gambling, Gun Violence.

NOT COMPLETELY PROOFREAD.

May have a few out of character instances for I wrote this around 3am, so please excuse that.

✨Ship/Pairing✨:

LeoPika (Leorio x Kurapika)

March 3rd, XXXX, En route to World Resorts Casino, around 9:47pm:

The weather in Yorknew hadn’t exactly started to reflect that it’s close to Springtime yet. It’s still cold and snowy but that wasn’t going to stop the event that’s being hosted by some of the biggest names in Underground Crime.

We’re talking about a night full of sex, drugs, alcohol, gambling and music.

It’s also the night of Leorio’s 21st birthday and he’s in town, steaming hot for he’s yet to receive a ‘happy birthday’ call from a certain Mafia Leader with the most gorgeous of light blonde hair. However, that’s not all... In general, Leorio is ultimately tired of trying so hard to be the glue to what’s considered an already unfixable relationship. The point of his visit this time is to give Kurapika a piece of damn mind for what may be the final time.

What a way to spend his birthday, right?

The hot blooded koi fish found himself strolling down the cold streets of Yorknew by his lonesome. His enticing hazel gaze is relative to the weather... Cold and piercing. He wore the meanest of faces with his lips decorated in a sheer pout. Then his face and ears are red from the whipping of the snow and frosty winds. The thoughts that went around his sophisticated skull only ruses him further. With each step he took, the snow crunched beneath his expensive waterproof combat boots. The sound gave him a slight sense of calm—one that managed to steal attention momentarily.

“I forgot the last time I’ve even enjoyed the Winter...”

The words came rolling off his tongue. His eyes slightly softened as he now comes to a brief halt, a soft sigh exhales from the tall doctor-to-be. He finds the dark sky that slowly drops the small white flakes. Being the jovial spirit he knows he could be, he sticks his tongue out and catches a few of them. His handsome features are now graced with a soft smile only to see the lights of his destination illuminate the skyline. With a low growl, he’s reminded of his current goal.

“Bet even YOU won’t see me coming...”

His icy glare returns and the tone of his voice has lost all signs of benevolence. His words came out way darker than they should’ve.

But can you blame him though?

Continuing his traverse through the snowy lands of the busy city, he adjusts his earmuffs while now stuffing his gloved hands back into his long black winter coat. The brunette’s hair is messy and filled with snowflakes, such a look makes him appear rather gentle despite his mood. His trademark circular shades are gently shaded from the current weather but that doesn’t stop him from seeing now does it?

‘When I get there, I promise this time I’m gonna knock his fucking lights out.’

The thought got his adrenaline flowing. Now he yearns to cause physical damage. The question is... will it actually happen? This IS Kurapika here. He’s not gonna sit there and take that shit, UNLESS... he ACTUALLY accepts such a punishment.

Leorio knows how aggressive he can be but he is more angry than sad. He won’t ever come to say it...

But the idea of not being called on his birthday genuinely hurt him.

It felt like a slap in the face, especially for everything he’s done. He’d never miss any birthdays or special occasions and it’s to the point where he feels like it’s only him who thinks that way.

‘I give too fucking much to not get much—better yet, NOTHING in return!’

Being a person with a heart the size of the world this is the curse: to always be dealt a hand that’s never going to win. Knowing him? He wants to break that curse and by default there’s no better way to do it than to throw hands. His actions always spoke louder anyways.

Crossing a few streets and nearly fighting one of the people who almost hit him, he finally makes it to his destination—World Resorts Casino. Entering through the slide open glass doors, the bright slots, signs that point to everything and even the neon-like decor nearly blinded him. The smell of expensive imported cigars, cigarettes, various alcohol and a multitude of different colognes and perfumes filled the air. His nose burned from the mixture of scents all around. A low grunt emits as he now removes his gloves and earmuffs. Stuffing both in his pocket, he proceeds to walk ahead while undoing his silver buckle, his finely seamed gold buttons and his golden zipper. It revealed the finest of outfits!

He’s wearing a sleek black slim fit blazer that fits rather nicely around his muscular arms, a jet black satin button up that’s halfway unbuttoned at the top and neatly tucked in his matching sleek slacks that’s accented with a gold buckle Gucci belt. Tapping his feet to rid of the snow from the bottom, he walks on ahead only to meet one of the Casino Bunnies.

“Welcome to the World Resorts Casino, my fine gentleman! If you’re looking for the event labelled ‘How To Play Russian Roulette With a Criminal Mastermind’, it’s from the second floor on up! Here’s a complimentary welcome drink! May you enjoy your time here~!”

Giving a quick bow, the busty beauty now switches away, her semi-exposed cheeks had a little bit of a wiggle to them much like her makeshift bunny tail. With a smirk as he watches her, he stirs his drink and takes a sip, now charmed by how well it’s mixed.

“Not bad!”

Heading to the stairs that’s decorated in the cutest of roulette wheel numbers, he heads up, his ears are open and listening to the music that’s being played. He hums while trying to figure out what floor Kurapika may be on...

Speaking of him?

Kurapika’s right hand reaches for the roulette wheel, the midnight blue and black ombré nail polish that was still on his hands matched with the blue and purple ambience that is on the 8th floor. In his left, he held a half empty shot glass, now proceeding to spin the wheel. His right leg is crossed over his left, his foot gently swung to the beat, a soft smirk now decorating his face for he’s caught up hosting the Roulette Table.

“What’s your bets?”

He asked the two players, a woman in a black short evening dress that seemed one size too small, her breasts looked as if they were about to pop out of it and her bodacious hips, butt and thighs made the dress rise to the point her black g-string nearly showed. But it’s a good thing she has her legs crossed right?

“I’ll take all even on red, my kind sire~”

Her voice cooed, almost in a flirtatious tone towards him. To be honest, she’s been debating on attempting to charm him since his grand appearance earlier in the night. He knew that just from her gestures and body language alone. Those light grey orbs swished over to the woman beside her, she held herself up, a cigarette now being doused out in an ashtray, she wears a smile on her ruby red lips as she now casually blows smoke into the air.

“Mmm, can luck be a lady tonight~? I think I’ll take all even on black, hun~”

Sipping the little bit of cognac that’s left in his shot glass, he sets it down and looks to the wheel while mentally trying to calculate who’s going to win this round.

“How much?”

The busty lady was quick to answer...

“I’ll put 100 genie on my red~”

The ruby red lipstick lady smirked at her.

“Hmph, I’m a bit of a daredevil, so I’ll do 700 on my black~”

With that being said, he spins the wheel and actually narrows his choice down to who’s going to win.

‘Ruby, otherwise she wouldn’t have bet so much. She’s confident that all black on even will be victorious. And she’s not wrong... Tara’s bet was a safe one so there’s a lack of confidence in her choice. I know I’m the reason why she’s picked red... I have my earring to blame.’

“And the winner is...”

His eyes carefully watched the wheel as it began to slow up. The tiny little ball clicked and clanged until it fell onto...

Black, 26.

“Ruby.”

‘Just as I thought.’

Indeed, he knew it and with a gasp of disbelief, Tara pouts before reaching in between her breasts and pulling out a total of 800 genie. She hands it over to Ruby who takes it and waves it like a fan over her.

“Mmm, I can smell that vanilla perfume with a hint of boob sweat~ You were nervous weren’t you, doll face~?”

Tara gives an eye roll and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Hmph! What’s it to ya? Ya won already!”

She squeaks angrily. Getting up from her chair, Ruby wanders over and stands behind her before leaning down and wrapping her arms around her, she plants a kiss on her cheek before using her alcohol tinged tongue to sensually lick the shell of her ear before nipping at it and tugging on it. She purrs playfully.

“Better behave yourself, kitten~”

A soft squeak emits from Tara who huffs softly. She hates how she plays at one of her many weaknesses.

“Oh fine! But you’re on the couch tonight!”

“As long as my face is between your legs, I’m fine with that.”

The exchange between the two didn’t really surprise the blonde. As a Mafia Leader, he’s come to accept the shit he’s gonna see on a pretty regular basis. Taking his ice cubes and holding them into his cheeks he sets up for the next spin only to receive a call.

“Ugh...”

He knew whose voice it was off the back. He blinks his eyes closed as he slides the answer icon to the right and places it to his ear.

“What...?”

On the other line, that soft voice of Melody’s muttered...

“You have a visitor on his way to you... He seems very pissed...”

But who exactly is SHE referring to?

‘Oh don’t tell me...’

“Who…?”

He was enticed to ask anyways.

“I think it’s Leorio! I-I’m not sure, the only heartbeat I recognise that’s this fast and full of anger is yours though... It doesn’t seem like him at all...”

His eyes found the sky as he worded ‘my dear family, I do apologise, but fuck me gently with a fucking chainsaw, please, speed on low and blades on extra sharp.’ He made Tara and Ruby giggle for they read his lips perfectly. With a gentle sigh, he asks...

“Okay... so is it him or not…? I’m in the middle of hosting the roulette table...”

Her answer would’ve been immediate for she could hear the irritation starting to ruse. But before she could answer, she was spotted by the angry Leorio. His eyes glinted as he knew she was snitching.

“U-Uh!”

“MELODY!! TELL THAT FUCKER I SAID... BE READY TO FUCKING FIGHT!!”

Now leaning to his left hand to pinch his nose bridge a dreaded sigh left Kurapika.

“...Great.”

👀👀👀

I see that you’ve made it this far... This is ONLY part one. I currently have three full parts. So if you’d like to see the rest? Let me know! (EWW I CANNOT WRITE WTF! 🥲) I do apologise if this is all over the place but I knew that I’d get asked to post this some time around!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh 2011 #oneshot #writing #leorio #leorio paladiknight #Kurapika #ask #ask response #anime #hxh imagines #one shot #fanfic #part one #thanks for the ask!#casino

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