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jolynej · 4 years ago

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I’m Not in Love

Summary: You and Prosciutto, both determined to keep things casual, are sent out on a mission to eliminate a target, but something goes wrong and you end up hurt, forcing Prosciutto to come to terms with his feelings

A/N: I started this weeks ago, but have been so busy that I haven’t had time to properly finish it until now! I’m a very slow writer, and I struggle with creating longer fics that exceed 1k words, so this was a huge labor of love! I hope that y’all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: heavily implied nsft, violence, guns, minor character death, blood, Prosciutto being a bit of an asshole, fainting

You both told each other when you made this arrangement that it was strictly physical and that you were only doing this out of convenience and carnal desire. Sure, he’s very attractive, and you’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about lingering in bed and pretending that you’re still asleep if only to savor his body heat and the weight of his arm across your torso for a few more minutes. But you couldn’t possibly cross that line.

The lives that both you led didn’t allow for the luxury of developing and maintaining romantic — or any, really — relationships that were outside of your work. You’d lost friends and family members to the steady passage of time and lack of communication. It came with the territory of the job, and though you’d tried to justify your drifting relationships by assuring yourself that it was done to protect those you used to hold close, you knew that was just an excuse you told yourself so that you could sleep at night.

The initial adjustment to your new job was tough in that aspect, but Prosciutto, aside from being your mentor, slowly became a comfort and a confidant for your bouts of anxiety and late night regrets of leaving your old life behind. You’d joined him outside at night on the balcony of the hideout plenty of times. He would self-soothe with cigarettes, exhaling out his demons in the shape of a puff of smoke whilst he listened to you reminisce on your happier, less bloody days.

“It’s a damn shame you’re so good at you job,” he’d told you one particular night, when the orange and white city lights below cast a bright glow over his sharp features; yet simultaneously, it accentuated the dark circles under his eyes, and the shadows beneath those jagged angles of his cheekbones and jawline made him look far older than he was. Prosciutto looked beautiful as he did horrible.

You just shook your head and smirked, inquiring, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Kid, there were many different paths that you could’ve picked from,” He stops briefly to take a drag of his cigarette. “But this is what you opted for.” The blond flicked his cigarette and snuffed it with the toe of his oxfords, answering with, “All I’m saying is that you had your whole life ahead of you, and instead of getting a normal, decent job, you decided that this was worth the Louboutins and those diamond earrings of yours.”

“It’s good that it ended up working out for you.”

His compliments were usually pretty backhanded, but you could tell that this wasn’t just because of his usual condescending behavior. He seemed almost... sad and guilty, but then again, it could just be from the shadows on his face exaggerating his features.

“I’m glad you’re damn good at your job, too,” you remarked, leaning against the railing, savoring in the feeling of the warm, summer night wind caressing your face.

Soon, you found the touch against your cheeks was replaced by his calloused fingers and then his lips, giving birth to a routine that would continue every-so-often: you’d join him outside at night and would wake up in bed next to him in a tangle of limbs and satin sheets.

Maybe it was only natural that you and him would end up growing closer and more intimate.

—

This little arrangement between the two of you continues, and with each time you bare yourself to him, you struggle with your developing feelings. After you had slept together that first night — before you had a real chance to give yourself a proper chance to evaluate your own feelings — he assured you that the prior night’s events had meant nothing to him, that it was a mistake. He apologized, confessing that the rendezvous had stemmed from a place of pent up arousal and convenience and that it wouldn’t happen again.

That’s what he’d said the second, and third, time too. But by the fourth time, you’d both decided to become ‘coworkers with benefits’ as you’d so eloquently put it. It’s purely out of physical need and mutual trust and nothing else. There’s no time for romance.

—

The following spring, you were sent out together to a job on the coast, and were given a shared room at a hotel near the warehouse where your target was supposedly going to be tonight. The assignment had worked in your favor, you’d both arrive mid-morning, have time to scout out the location, go back to the room for a quick fuck, then proceed to the location, clean up, and spend the night between the sheets until you both passed out from sheer exhaustion.

“The target should be on location this evening,” he informs you casually as he’s sliding on his trousers, as if he hadn’t just fucked you into the mattress. He gives his watch a quick glance before speaking again. “Which gives us approximately an hour before we need to head out.”

You nod, reaching for your clothes — his hand stops you, grasping your wrist. “Let me clean you up first,” he says, briefly locking eyes with you, before averting his gaze just as quickly. “If you’re going out you should at least be comfortable.”

While Prosciutto walks off to the bathroom to retrieve a glass of water and a washcloth, you look down at your naked body. Your combined releases dribble down your thighs, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the sticky, wet sensation on your lower body.

He’s back approximately a minute later, the glass is set upon the nightstand, and he’s kneeling, still shirtless, at your feet with the wet washcloth in hand. He cleans you up in relative silence, and the intimacy and vulnerability in this situation is not lost on either of you. It hangs around like a heavy fog that both of you desperately try to ignore, hoping that it’ll dissipate.

Under different circumstances, you’d love to be able to cradle his chin in your hand and confess every single romantic thought that you’d ever held for him, and in turn, he’d press tender kisses up your thighs, and trade the rag for his tongue, cleaning you up with a few slow licks. Instead, you give him a curt, ‘thank you’ and get dressed.

Your little trysts were littered with subtle, more domestic moments like this one where you wanted to push the boundary between what is and isn’t appropriate when you’re in a friends-with-benefits situation with your coworker. Even without the romance that you so desperately craved, there was still a strong sense of intimacy and familiarity with each ‘Was I too rough?’ or ‘You can sleep in here tonight’ that could only stem from a certain level of trust and comfort.

The rest of the time leading up to your assignment was spent going over your plan of attack and working out any loose ends or confusion on either side, and as he spoke, you couldn’t help but allow your eyes to travel down to his plush lips and the exposed patch of skin from his half-buttoned blouse that, when he shifted at a certain angle, allowed for you to catch a glimpse of a dark red bruise where your lips had been.

You were passing the threshold, the imaginary line. You’d stepped on it, gotten it stuck to your feet, and try as you may to deny its presence and scrub it clean from your skin — you could scrub it raw, until you bled — it wasn’t something you could erase.

As he’s stepping out of the hotel room, you glance back to ask him if he’s ready, but you’re caught off guard by the buttons of his shirt. They’re all closed completely save for a lone button rendering the bruise no longer visible. Inquisitively, the blond quirks up an eyebrow, silently asking if there’s a problem.

“I’m just ready to get this over with,” you sigh, matching your stride with his as you both exit the hotel and journey to the warehouse.

The target doesn’t show as planned, much to your and Prosciutto's dismay and annoyance. You had both searched the large building and its surroundings as thoroughly as possible but still the target hasn’t made an appearance. There aren’t even any hidden clues as to where he’s run off to. As pissed as you both felt in that moment — you were cursing to yourself and your partner was leaning against a metal structure with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth — Risotto was going to be absolutely furious.

Unlike most contracts where you were paid after the deed or half before and half after, the client had paid a hefty sum up front and with a dark leer he was insistent that the job be completed as soon as possible. Something deep within you knew that he would not be the type of man whose bad side you’d like to be on.

Defeated and angry, you both decided to bite the bullet and head back to the hotel to inform your superior of the unfortunate situation. Just outside of the hotel, Prosciutto glances over at a payphone on the street corner.

“Go on inside and shower and eat, kid, I’ll talk to Risotto.”

“Are you sure? We can speak to him together, or I can just sp—“ He cut you off with a hand patting your cheek, gently thumbing your skin. He was stressed and so were you.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” he manages a tiny half-smile. “I’ve got it.”

Yeah, you are stressed as all hell, but at least you didn’t have to be at the receiving end of Risotto’s wrath — for tonight anyway. Thinking about Prosciutto opting to do so in your stead and acting out of concern for you sends a cacophony of butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. He has always looked out for you ever since you’d joined, but this was something more than just him looking out for a junior member of his team. There was no way that he’d touch Formaggio or even Pesci like that, with such a pure tenderness that leaves your skin tingling from where his fingers were.

Making your way up the stairs to your shared room, the sensation of butterflies immediately flees from your stomach and instead, an eerie, insidious feeling begins to tiptoe up your spine, and you get the sense that something is very, very wrong.

One of the hall lights has gone out, and the other is flickering in random spasms as it emits a faint buzz. With each step towards your door, the broken light fixture seems to dim and buzz louder until it makes one final loud screech and dies completely the moment that you touch the door handle, and as soon as your fingers gripped the metal handle, an overpowering jolt of electricity fizzles throughout your entire body, sending you doubling over in pain, desperately croaking out for your stand as you fall to the dingy carpet.

The world around you seemed to morph into blackness and little snippets of sounds — you weren’t sure if you were still awake or if you’d lost consciousness — but you clung onto what you could decipher to the best of your ability. Static, the plodding footfall of someone running on carpet with urgency, the unmistakable click of a gun, a heavy thud, then silence.

You crane your head and espy a familiar pair of oxfords, and with a sigh of relief you feel your eyes grow heavy.

—

You come-to in the backseat of a car, and if it weren’t for the intensity of the events before you passed out, you would’ve happily shut your eyes to the steady thrum of the car speeding down the road. A bubble of panic rises up your throat, throwing your senses in overdrive as you carefully assess your surroundings. You find that a suit jacket has been draped over you like a makeshift blanket, and the familiar scent of cologne, tobacco, and cigarette-smoke is an instant relief.

Looking up, you find Prosciutto is in the driver’s seat of the car with a plain, white tank top in the place of his button-up. The bones of his knuckles are prominent due to the strain and force of his grip on the steering wheel, and they’re dotted with specks of red that extend up to his forearms.

There’s an evident scowl on his lips, which are scabbed and bloody from worrying teeth marks and not from — what you can safely assume given the sound you’d heard earlier — a gunshot to the man that had been in your hotel room.

“The target was dealt with,” he says upon seeing you awake, and he disguises it with a cough, but his entire face softens with a relieved sigh. The visible tension in his bulging veins on his forearms eases along with the death-grip that he has on the steering wheel; Prosciutto settles one hand on his thigh, splaying his fingers out on the fabric of his trousers, feeling for something in his pocket — cigarettes most likely. He’s still antsy and tense, alternating between his hands on the wheel to search his other pocket.

You have a myriad of questions wreaking havoc on your brain, which is still a bit fuzzy from the electricity and has brought on a dull headache. With the blazer clenched tightly to your chest, you fiddle around until you find a pack of his smokes and pull them out, holding them in the air with a dopey, lopsided grin that says ‘lookee here!’. It earns a playful eye roll and a smirk from Prosciutto who brings his hand back to take them from you.

When you offer the box up, your fingers brush, and you swear that he leaves his hand extended towards you a moment longer than necessary. The sensation sends a full-body chill through your veins.

“Put the coat on, kid, I don’t want you freezing up and getting sick in the car.” He’s staring straight out at the road, but you know the sentiment is there, beneath the layer of sweat and blood there’s worry. “Go back to sleep,” he orders in that gravelly, stern but caring tone of his that he uses on you when he gives you orders, and only you. In a way, it’s not that much different from how he talks in bed, and the familiarity has you warm all over. God, you’re in love with this man.

“I’ll wake you up in about an or two, capisce?”

—

You’re awoken by Prosciutto opening the door of the backseat and calling your name. You can barely see him, he’s almost a dark, looming figure in the night. The sky in the countryside is worlds away from the city skyline that you’re accustomed to. Behind him, there’s a sea of twinkling stars, and the bright crescent moon hangs proudly behind his head like a half-halo, and he appears to you like a fallen angel, still clinging on desperately to something good and holy that someone like him does not deserve. In his right hand, he holds a shovel, and his arms and face and tank top are caked in the weight of his sins, blood and dirt and sweat; you surmise that the closer you get to him, the less the moon resembles a halo and moreso a pair of horns. Again, the night is playing tricks on you.

“I’ve buried the remains,” he explains. “I decided it would be easiest to just take care of it myself until we can get you checked out. We don’t know the full extent of the damage that you’ve received or what effects that my stand could have on you in this state.” It’s a poor excuse, and you both know it, but it’s easier for him to lie to you when his facial expressions are harder to see.

Still, you don’t know if it’s from the adrenaline in your blood, your feelings for him, or some leftover electricity that’s done something to your brain, but you decide to call him out.

Sitting upright, you say, “I still could’ve helped, Prosci, otherwise there would be no point for me to come on this mission with you. You’ve done more than enough to help me, and I… I really appreciate everything that you’ve done to help me, but I have to work to earn my share of the payment!

“I can’t just lie back and let you treat me like some doll or damsel in distress!” You spout, wadding up his blazer and tossing it at him. He catches it with a growl, and the shovel clatters to the ground with a resounding clang.

He’s crawling across the backseat, hovering over you like a mangy beast; truthfully, you don’t think that you’ve ever seen him look so unhinged and disheveled. His scent bears no resemblance to the comforting aroma of his suit-jacket, and instead, he emits a pungent odor of grime and sweat, evident by the damp, dirty stray pieces of hair that encircle his face and the thin layer of earth that stains his skin with splotches of gray and brown. He looks like he can hurt you, and for a second you make the mistake of thinking that he will.

“Kid, you need to listen to me! I—“ he huffs, but upon seeing your face up close, all scared and doe-like, he kisses you. It’s emotional and hurried and needy and far unlike any previous kiss that you’d shared. It’s not spurred on by wanting or lust but by love and a great fear of loss.

“I love you,” he whispers like a gasp when he pulls apart from you. “I love you,” he says once more, softer, sweeter. “I love you.”

In his eyes, you can see every word that he leaves unsaid, his confession of how afraid he was that he’d never see you again, how he panicked and saw red and shot the man on sight, how he carried you to the car with a metaphorical knife stabbing at his heart, and how he almost cried from relief when he saw you open your eyes.

“I love you, too,” you say back, smiling, kissing him again with that same passion as before.

#prosciutto #prosciutto x reader #jjba x reader #la squadra x reader #tumblr formats things so weirdly!#jjba #my fics

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

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HASO, “Family Dynamics.”

Thought you guys might enjoy this today.

A lot of you have been asking for more Conn in the stories, so I hope you enjoy :)

“Wow, would you look at that.”

“No.”

“Wow.” “No. Hopping on the nope train and taking a ride to nopeville….. Nope absolutely not.”

“Come on, Krill, isn’t it just….. Just awesome!.”

“That, that right there is an absolute raging death trap.” “Oh come on>” Adam said, hands on his hips as he stared up at the rocket.. THe Saturn V replica down to the last bolt. He grinned and danced around on his toes in a circle, “This is gonna be so cool!”

Krill turned to look at Adam, “No, no this is not cool, Adam. I am serious this time, not joking. I really don’t want you going in that thing. And with the assassination attempts and…. All that is going on with the GA leaders….” He looked at Adam Very pointedly here, “I don’t think you should do this.”

“Are you serious, a once in a lifetime opportunity and you want me to just say no because there is a possibility someone Might try to kill me?”

“Um…. YES.”

Adam crossed his arms, “Krill, I refuse to let myself live in fear when there is life to be lived.”

Krill turned to look hopefully over at Eris who was standing quietly by his side. She shook her head at him.

“He isn’t going to change his mind.”

“Can you at least try?”

She sighed, “Ok.”

Gently Eris took one of his hands forcing him to look at her, “Da…..Adam think about it please, there are a lot of powerful people after you, powerful and with resources. If they want to kill you, then this will be the perfect time to do it. They could put it off as some horrible accident, and no one would be the wiser.” She paused as he looked back at her, “I can see that this isn’t going to change your mind either.”

He smiled, “This is what I have my people for.” HE took the two of them by the shoulders and led them to where they could overlook the command station in the distance, “In there, right now, there are elements of the criminal underworld that owe me a favor, looking for any clues to indicate an attempt on my life.” He grinned, “Also, I have two secret weapons.”

He put his arm around Eris and then turned his head to look up at the sky.

Eris and Krill followed his lead.

Krill groaned, and Eris went wide eyed.

As a starborn descended from the sky ribbons flapping hands outstretched dropping from heaven like an ethereal angel. Sunlight bounced off his skin as he moved slowly downward hands held out to the side fingers outstretched. She stepped forward and- was immediately hit with a wall of his thoughts.

She no longer saw him as ethereal.

He was an asshole.

Conn drifted towards the ground but didn’t touch ribbons swirling around him seaweed undulating in a dark sea: Yes her thoughts about him had changed that much, he had gone from angel to seaweed rather quickly in her head.

He turned his eyes to her.

‘Who invited you’

Eris frowned, “I-

Adam glowered at Conn, “Be nice to her.”

Conn turned his head to look at Eris and drifted closer looking her over, ‘Oh daddy issues I see, well who doesn't.” He turned to look up at Adam, ‘Gotta love people borrowing your DNA for craft projects especially when they give you kids a little too early.”

Adam was not able to hide the thought that came marching to the forefront of his mind.

You know that’s interesting considering your starborn DNA was the most easily accessible before Eris was born.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he didn’t need to.

Eris made a face, and Conn drew back.

“HIM!”

Shit, Adam thought

“I never said that.”

“But you were thinking it.” She retorted turning on him with her eyes narrowed before turning to look back at Conn, who floated in shock behind her.

Adam held up his hands, “Woah now, I can’t be for sure, it just makes sense.”

Eris turned back to where Conn was floating and made another face, “But, but HIM. I don’t want…. I, I can’t be related to HIM.”

Adam sighed, “Being able to read his thoughts must be a bitch eh?”

Of course at the moment Conn wasn’t really having any thoughts. It was mostly just TV static with an undercurrent of the thoughts of people around him amplifying them even more in Eris’s head. Which is why she could hear Dr Krill quietly inching away as he wondered if he should tell them or nah?

He hd suspected as much the moment they had seen Eris, and learned that the DNA being used was Adam’s.

It had been easy enough to get Adam’s DNA strands from the original hybrids….. The adaptids….. But they would have needed other aliens to pair him with. And there was only one known starborn available to steal DNA from.

Conn’s static continued.

Eris groaned and put her hands to her head.

Adam rubbed his forehead, “Well, on the bright side, you turned out more like your human side of the family.” That’s when the static in Conn’s head fizzled out and he turned to look at Adam. With a sudden Evil grin, which he must have been practicing, for it seemed far to human for him, He floated over and grabbed both of them around the shoulders, “Isn’t this sweet, now we can all be one big happy family.’

“Get off me Conn.” Adam grumbled

He just squeezed tighter, though as a starborn the strength was somewhat lacking. ‘Don’t talk like that, you and I have a beautiful daughter together. Just look at her. She’s got your internal organs and my skin. Isn’t that lovely.”

“Conn I swear if you keep touching me I will punch you and probably break something.”

Conn made like he was sighing as he pulled away, “You know, as her parents we should really be trying to set an example for a healthy loving relationship. A family that plays together-”

He floated away quickly before Adam could swipe at him missing the strike by mere inches.

“Domestic assault in this household!”

Eris hid her face in her hands, “Oh no.”

She was definitely not sure how she was supposed to feel about this. One the one hand, she was at least glad that he wasn’t repulsed by the idea of her existing. However, on the other hand, it was likely that her paternal starborn side was Conn! The thought made her nauseous . Reading his thoughts made her feel the same way. Clearly this creature, whatever he was had never grown out of petty pranks, and intense sarcasm.

More annoyingly, he seemed to have the ability to hide things from her just by NOT thinking about them. She learned nothing about his past, or really his more internal thoughts. He only let her see what she wanted to see, and what he wanted her to see made her more annoyed the more she thought about it.

“I’m so excited, aren't you. Finally reunited at last!”

Adam sighed, “This is now how I planned this. Conn you stupid bastard, I called you down here to do a job for me.”

“You wouldn’t call your hubby stupid would you?”

Adam looked like he was about to turn green, “Never in a million years would I ever even consider that. In fact, I think I would rather shoot myself out the airlock an have all the nitrogen bubble out of my blood thank you very much.:”

“One night stands happen.”

“Conn I swear if you keep going down this metaphor. I am going to commit murder. Never in a million years would I touch you with a nine and a half foot pole, end of story.”

“Excuse me for being skeptical as you have been known to date aliens in the past.”

“That was Sunny, who is arguably, not even arguably, but she IS smart, talented, funny, a total badass, and a fucking gem, while you are a creepy little space gremlin.”

“Yet I have a kid with you and she doesn’t sooooooo, forgive me if I say I win.”

“We can’t be for sure that she’s yours.”

“I demand a paternity test.”

“Conn, if you don’t let this go right now I am going to rip your spine out through your back and let Waffles chew on it.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a spine.”

Adam took a eep long-suffering breath, “I am done with this conversation, now I called you down here for a reason, and that reason is that I need you two watching out for something going wrong. Eris, as a member of my family you will be allowed inside mission control to watch what is going on. Your job is to make sure that no one is planning my death from the inside.” he turned his head in Conn’s direction and flipped him the bird as he continued to speak, “You on the other hand are in charge of the engineers. I know you don’t give a shit about boundaries, so your job is to hang around the engineers and the rocket hangers to see if any of them had a hand in sabotaging the mission. If you can get near the chairwoman, or the UN President, than do what you can. I need to know how deep all of this goes.” He turned his head to Eris, “You are probably going to be able to get closer to everyone than Conn can. People know he is a starborn and they know what he can do. No one will assume anything about you if you keep your head low.”

She smiled, “Already done.” A little part of her leaped inside, and she felt giddy. Adam needed her to help protect him! She was being useful for once! Not to mention that this meant he trusted her and….. She turned a side eye on conn, Then again, that probably meant that Adam trusted him too.

The starborn grinned at her again, showing rows and rows of of sharp circular teeth.

She winced and looked away.

Gross

“I have to get going, but you two should get to work. This is going to be a long week.”

He whistles once, and Waffles jumped up from where she had been resting at his side, and gently trotted after him as he walked away back towards the command station. Eris started after him and Conn floated up next to her.

“What an unexpectedly delightful day, don’t you think.”

“Can you be less creepy please.”

“It runs in the family Eris, you have the creepy inside you too. Embrace it!”

She shoved him away with one hand and ran to catch up with Adam.

She could hear conn laughing behind her as he floated away towards the hangers.

She glanced over his shoulder as she grabbed onto Adam’s arm, “Why is he so weird!”

Adam shrugged, “I think something happened to him when he was first born. I would say that he was dropped on his head, but that’s probably not accurate. Think i heard something about him having been isolated from his clan for the first few thousand years with his dead mother, but I don’t know if that’s true or if it’s just something he made up. Either way I think whatever happened to him kind of made him psycho.”

She glanced over her shoulder to the figure floating off into the distance, “Than why do you keep him around?”

He sighed, “Unfortunately, his abilities are invaluable. The ability to bring him alone when it comes to negotiations, or to talk with new alien species speeds up both diplomatic missions and learning new languages.” He sighed, “Also, as far as I can tell he is pretty loyal. He always does everything I ask him to do as long as it is important enough. Sure if I asked him to pick up after himself he’d probably flip me the bird and go floating in the other direction. But every time something big and important has happened, he has always been relatively reliable. A part of me wonders if he just doesn’t know how to interact with people, and somewhere deep down there is a desire to be wanted, but that’s not something I can prove.” He glanced pointedly at her.

She shook her head, “Sorry, he’s pretty good at hiding what’ he’s thinking.”

Adam grunted, “A real pity. Now-” He turned to look at her, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eye, “Stay low. If you hear anything, don’t try to do anything about it yourself. Call my ship, either Sunny or Ramirez and they will deal with everything. If you see someone wearing a red pin with a white rocket on it, then those are our undercover guys, and they should be able to help you too. But it’s likely you will know who they are anyway.”

He looked her in the eyes, “Whatever happens, your safety comes first, not mine. You got that/”

She nodded eagerly even though she knew that last instruction was a lie.

He was more important than her.

And she was going to make sure that he stayed safe.

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forbidding-souda · 4 years ago

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If you can, I'd like to request an Ultimate Spirit Medium S/O, summoning the spirit of the deceased drv3 characters? It can be blackened or killed, I don't mind. I dont mind if you only do a few, I'd be happy if you did this at all tbh-

SHSL Spirit Medium S/O conjuring up deceased DRV3 characters

WOAH you bet your bottom I will!!! I chose my fav DRV3 characters and I made it so they could see them too bc story writing *~*

Spoilers btw lolz

-Mod Souda

Rantarou Amami

Your fingers dance around the candle. Such a fire hazard. But you need it near. You need it.

Placed in between two bookshelves, right between your legs, is a simple white candle. Your posture is nothing short of perfect. You have to do this precisely. There’s no way you would forgive yourself if you mess up.

You take a deep breath, “I never thought I would have to beg for you to talk to me. You always seemed to be there. No matter what. So how about now?”

Still, you are met with silence. The wick flickers, noting a presence. But no one showed up.

There are a lot of different books around you, a lot of them with a spine hinting towards geography, which you find almost sickening. Such a horrible place for him to die.

“That was begging for you?”

The sound runs a shiver down your spine. The sense of familiarity is uncanny in this situation, even though you were the one that searched it out.

But there he was, sitting behind your candle, resting his hands on his knees.

He leans forward, a bit, trying to get as close as he can without overstepping the underworlds’ boundaries. “You miss me enough to contact me? Well... I should be flattered, huh?”

You laugh. The heavy weight in your throat doesn’t go away, no matter how happy you feel.

“Why do you sound so surprised? Don’t act like you don’t want to see me.” You furrow your eyebrows at the thought. He always thought your talent was a gift brought by despair. People come to you in their sadness, looking for acceptance. It uneases him a bit to think that you are desperate enough to use it to contact him.

He doesn’t respond immediately, and instead, offers you a small smile. “It’s good to see you, S/O.”

Kaede Akamatsu

With your fingers dazing over the piano, you play a every octave’s C and G. If only she lived long enough to teach you a song.

You are grateful to have known her as long as you have. She was kind, optimistic, and a bit flirty.

Everyone knew you were close with her. You would always trail behind her, eager to assist.

It was just something in her eyes. Something lively. She could never be a killer.

Her death wasn’t flattering to her person. Hopefully she isn’t the type of spirit that clings to this realm.

You don’t know if you could face her if she was.

“Kaede Akamatsu, come play me a song.”

Moving your hands, you direct them to the bass section of the piano. “Please.”

The sound of the treble notes singing their tune appeared faster than her ghostly figure did.

After a second of contemplation, you find yourself leaning your shoulder against hers. It holds.

You shake your head. “You’ve been waiting for me to call you, haven’t you?”

“Oh, of course I have! I knew you’d figure it out soon enough.”

Her blonde hair lacks its usual vibrance.

She adds as the music stops, “I’ll be here if you ever need me, S/O. I’ll always be here for you.”

Your hands clench into fists. She did not need to stay. It almost seems unfair.

So god damn unfair.

“If that’s what you want then I guess I’ll comply,” you nod with your eyes close. “For now, how about you teach me a song?”

“Oh?” She doesn’t add much after that. Perhaps her mind is filled with lessons to teach. Or else she is running your undoubtably passive aggressive words through her head.

“Alright,” she coos in a sing-songy voice. Her usual smile covers her phantom face. “Try and keep up!”

Angie Yonaga

“I doubt you even want to come back.” You whisper, to hardly anyone, as you sit alone in the art room. “I want to think you have been missing me. But talking to spirits isn’t a usual practice in your religion, is it? I wish you were here to educate me.”

You passion for art isn’t nearly as intense as hers. But being in this room definitely inspires you. What would she be creating if she were here right now? You mumble the question out loud, fingering the paint brushes.

“I think I’d be creating a masterful art piece of your cute little face!” She coos, spinning on her tip toes around the room. Her white hair bounces in the air like she has no problem in the world.

You stiff, watching her dance. Of course, you think, of course she is happy. It shouldn’t have surprised you.

“You think I’m cute?” You tease, turning to face her completely.

A small giggle leaves her lips as she skips up to you, touching both of your cheeks with her hands. There’s almost a feeling.

“I think your beauty is everlasting, dearest S/O.”

The heart in your chest starts beating faster, and the butterflies in your stomach grow more intense. How selfless of her.

You shake your head, trying to relieve you constant seriousness. You should be happy, put a smile on your face for her.

“I think your beauty is the one that is everlasting, Angie.” You tease.

Shinguuji Korekiyo

You feel almost embarrassed to call upon him. It’s a bit tasteless, isn’t it?

And a few steps below ironic.

It takes longer than it should to be able to conjure up an image of him. Based entirely on whether or not you think it’s appropriate. Will he even entertain you enough to come?

You look over to the masks on his wall before pursing your lips. He’s here.

You ask. “Are you going to say hello?”

“This is quite an occasion.”

Certainly is, you mock agree.

Without his mask, he looks extremely different. You’re not too used to seeing him like that. Bare. Exposed. And at peace.

You hug him, arms almost phasing through his distance body.

His eyes widen, a bit caught off guard at the affection. There no way you were not this distressed with his death? It opposed the way the two of you got along in the first place.

“My love...” he trails off, letting his bandages hands go through your hair.

There’s a moment where everything around you goes quiet. His eyes dance around his room. It doesn’t look too different. Except his bed is unmade. Have you been sleeping in it?

He continues. “You are strong. You will do well without me, I promise. Feel no burden over what has been done.”

“I don’t.” You reply, almost too quickly for his liking. “I just really wanted to see you.”

He grins, placing his hands on your shoulders to pull you back. “Then I will make this moment the best in your life.”

Your expression relaxes, the tears fighting to appear subsiding for the moment. You nod. “Thank you.”

#danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #shinguuji x reader #korekiyo shinguji #korekiyo shinguuji #shinguuji korekiyo #korekiyo shinguuji x reader #angie yonaga #angie yonaga x reader #kaede akamatsu #kaede akamatsu x reader #rantarou amami #rantaro amami #rantarou amami x reader

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bubblesthemonsterartist · 7 years ago

Text

The Ten Vows

He was never born. And he will never die.

There’s no way of knowing if the former is true, but he has certainly tested the latter, evident enough in the way his body is a crisscrossed road map of silver. He traces each one with a sort of fondness: at one intersection, a life saved; at another, a soul lost.

He would keep their memories closer to his heart if he had half the mind to, but the weight of blood and bone carries him down to a time when he crushed wailing spirits between his teeth, gnawing on their atrophy like a child with taffy.

It’s best to forget the good he has done. He will never be able to pay his debt in sorrow.

* * *

“I wish you weren’t like this,” she scolds, cutting his shirt away from his open shoulder blade.

He hisses, bearing his teeth as she begins to pour alcohol over the wound. What a shame to waste such an expensive thing on one as low as him. “Would you prefer it if I just let them take you, Miss?” he grins over his shoulder. “Let them suck the marrow from your bones? It must be delicious. I would love to try it for myself.”

Dark eyes framed in a darker face stare back at him, steady, and his breath catches in his throat. Her face shifts and changes - all of her pasts, all of her futures, all at once - and for a moment he knows what a curse was laid upon him when the gods had opened his Sight.

“Why do you talk about yourself like that?” she asks.

He closes his eye from the vision, shame stirring in his heart.

“Because it’s the truth.”

~ ~ ~

It’s hard to recall when the pact was sworn, a blood of oath and soul, but their spirits are intertwined. For him, she is steady as his heartbeat; for her, he is eternal as the earth she constantly returns to. His role as her protector, as a demon god formed from the ill will of men, meant to bear his teeth where she cannot, has been written in the stars since before the universe was born.

But he wouldn’t be what he is without standing against them in challenge. Every time, he swears he’ll never do it again. It shouldn’t be the place of those on the cusp of descending into the sixteen hells to walk the same road as those who are nearly liberated.

He manages a lifetime at first, maybe two. But she has become his compass; no matter which direction he goes, she is always his northbound star.

This time around, she burns particularly bright. She attracts more than just the ire of royalty.

So he calls down a warning, he lets it fly free:

To the red haired guest: Do not advance even one more step. Leave!

Even from here, he can feel the way her eyes scald him. It makes him want to offer his throat in repentance.

She rips the arrow from centuries old stone and charges forward.

~ ~ ~

The rain pounds against dry earth, quickly soaking until it overflows. It’s truly a pleasure to see his blood mixing with it.

“You’re getting reckless,” Torou scolds, rending her skirt and gathering enough fabric to staunch the bleeding. “Just because she isn’t here to hold your reigns does not mean you should test them.”

He laughs, low in his chest. “You know what they say about curiosity and felines.”

Torou makes a sound. She’s worried, but she also knows it is best not to look him in the eye.

“I know I’m no better when my Master is between the worlds,” she replies. “But when the time comes for her return, think of how many fewer years she will have if you are not there to protect her.”

Obi hums. “I wonder how many fewer times she would come back if I did not interfere in her life at all.”

Hands still, frozen like the still North.

“What a horrible thing to say.”

~ ~ ~

The only way to get close is to supplicant himself before another.

So he takes another Master. A soul who by all rights should use him to tear down their enemies.

He orders him not to show himself before her, instead.

It is the greatest relief to feel himself bound by such a law.

It is also a blessing to know that she has found herself such a protector in this life. One subject to mortal laws with mortal kings and a stage to rise her up upon when the time comes. He smothers the protesting nag in his chest; the one that rejects; the one that says Mine! when it has no right to.

It’s better this way. Really.

~ ~ ~

“Is it always the same?” she asks, toes dipping out from beneath silk and lace to feel the current of the river against skin. It is a challenge to hold himself still when she puts herself so close to danger.

“Is what the same, Mistress?”

“Me,” she replies, lavender eyes flickering to his. “You.”

He sighs heavily, the weight of the ages weighing heavy on his chest.

“Some things yes,” he replies. “Some things no.”

She hums. He knows that she is unsatisfied with his answer.

“You are always beautiful,” he grins, pleased when she lets a curtain of dark hair hide her blush. “But I do not shed my skin like you. What you see before you is what I am.”

She looks up at him, curious now. “And what are you?”

His grin falters and he looks beyond her to the opposite bank.

“I wish I knew.”

~ ~ ~

He runs, freer than he has felt in lifetimes, leaping from frosted tree to frozen stonework. The ease of joints and heart sing through his veins: how good it is that he’s found her; how good it is that he is kept away.

A protector. A potential companion. She has one. The more he thinks about it, the more he likes it.

She doesn’t need him this time. If he were to simply disappear into the ethers, she would be none the wiser.

But it is as if her soul has heard his, the way she appears before him, weighed down with a box that looks heavier than she is.

His feet become as solid as the stone beneath him.

Every incarnation is the same. Every incarnation is different. She still pulls him, an invisible string from his heart to her beckoning fingers.

This form of hers lacks all the physical grace of her prior lifetimes, though. It makes him want to scold her when she sways under her own weight. It makes him want to tell her that she should not have hidden herself away so well before now. He would have at least taught her how to walk properly.

Don’t.

The box slips numbly from her grip, landing only a breath from her toes. His whole body twitches.

Don’t do it.

She picks the box back up, swaying violently, and her feet are no longer firm beneath her body and-

His heart moves towards hers, dragging his body with it before his mind can even garner a vote.

And just like that, he has her. One arm circling her waist, the other balancing a far too heavy box.

And just like that, his binds are newly formed.

He pulls her up to her feet and looks away. It’s all he can do to hide his exhilaration; it’s all he can do to not fall to his knees in relief.

“…And I did it.”

~ ~ ~

His presses hard against her stomach, blood hot and sticky staining his hands. It’s not enough, it’s not enough. He’s not her. He only knows how to deal in death, not in life-

A palm, already cooling, rests upon his cheek and his head snaps up. She’s smiling, fond and loving in a way he doesn’t deserve, not when he couldn’t find her until now, not until his first sight of her was to be his last.

“Mistress,” he breathes. “Don’t leave. I just got you back.”

Her skin is paler than her hair, paler than the snow blowing in drifts around her. She opens her mouth, but only blood comes out, deep and red and thick, staining her lips, running down her chin.

“Please,” he begs.

Eyes the color of ice drift shut.

~ ~ ~

It’s a selfish dance his heart plays, drifting closer to her; holding himself back. But it is danger that resolves him.

“And so we have another problem,” Obi says, hands aching to have soft throat give way beneath them. That anyone would dare to take his Mistress-

“Mitsuhide,” Master says, and it’s like a slap to the face. "I leave the matter of Shirayuki’s escort to you.”

Obi stares at his Masters back.

That-

That is a step too far.

~ ~ ~

“I didn’t believe you when I was younger,” Mistress murmurs.

“Oh?” he grins, kneeling at her bedside to smooth the blankets down where she has kicked them up. “Do I have an untrustworthy face?”

She manages a breathy sort of laugh. “Yes.”

He smiles at the way her eyes glitter with her teasing. “What changed your mind?”

“You did,” she replies. “You and your magic tricks.”

“Ah, Mistress!” he mocks affront, palm to chest. “Such a thing to accuse me of!”

“You must have at least a few,” she smiles, reaching out and pressing her palm against his. The smile falls from his face, his body becoming one taut string of longing. “How else could I be so old and you still so beautiful?”

Her pulse falters through gossamer skin and already the madness of loneliness snaps at his heel. “You are still the most beautiful creation ever made,” he breathes, his heart swelling on his tongue.

She huffs, eyes closing. “Liar.”

He wants to argue, if only to keep her near for just a little while longer. She could never resist a good fight or for him to be right for more than a minute. But it would be wrong to let her sleep with an argument on her lips.

“I miss fresh air,” his Mistress murmurs after a time, and even that is too much effort for her cracking voice. Her thumb runs the line of his when he leans in closer to catch her failing breath. “And quiet. I’ll think it’s time to retire alone to the mountains.”

He closes his eyes and lets himself pretend that he has gone with her.

~ ~ ~

The stars stretch out like an endless blanket above him and he wonders yet again why they placed him at her side. His chest burns like his palm where he had held her for only a second longer than what was proper.

Not for him. Not for him. Why was that so hard for him to remember?

This place puts him on edge, and at the fringes of his senses, he can hear a million devils snarling at the boundaries he has placed. How foolish of him. He had been too flippant, too trusting of a mortal with her protection. It was only through appealing to Master’s own cravings that she had any sort of proper guard at all.

Ah, but how much easier it would have been if he had been able to come, too.

“Obi!”

He starts, blinking at the vision that she paints as she stands just an arm's length away. Her smile is kind and gentles even the moonlight.

“Did I wake you?”

He forces a smile to his lips and shakes his head. “No, rather I was just longing for Master.”

Something in her softens and she blushes in a sweet sort of way. “Zen is probably lonely too.”

His heart squeezes. He wants to tell her. He craves her comfort in this, but he came too late in this lifetime. She wouldn’t understand. She would just be upset knowing of his isolation, how the years between companionship and desolation stretches out before him like a death sentence.

“After such a long time, anyone would go a little mad.”

#bubbleswrites #obiyuki #obiyukiwinter #day 2 #reincarnation au #tw: mentions of death #this is me putting my college education to work

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mastcomm · 5 years ago

Text

How #MeToo Is Smashing the Casting Couch

A basketball court at the Park City Municipal Athletic and Recreation Center has been converted into a screening room, as have a nearby synagogue and the auditorium at the local high school. The roads of this old mining town are gagged with standstill traffic.

And the Utah attorney general’s office is staffing a 24-hour hotline in case anyone is sexually harassed or threatened while at the Sundance Film Festival.

No matter how Harvey Weinstein’s criminal trial in Manhattan turns out, the revelations about the way he used his power over women have altered Hollywood in ways big and small. There are new rules on where and how to hold meetings, legal changes that make it easier to sue for sexual harassment and different ways to report when something goes wrong — all efforts to make Hollywood a bit safer. And while the industry is still very much dominated by men, women have begun to land more directing and executive roles, the positions of power that shape its culture.

Hollywood is a business of freelancers going from one project to the next, a setup that makes predators difficult to contain and blowing the whistle especially risky. Still, activists and industry professionals say that the steps being taken represent sustained attention to the issue, some improvement in day-to-day working conditions and perhaps signs of bona fide change.

��I think most people would like to see a situation where people go to work and feel good about the environment,” said Gail Berman, a producer and co-president of the Producers Guild, which now offers sexual harassment training to independent projects. “Does that mean there is no longer any predatory behavior in this business? I’d say that would be a ridiculous assumption. But I can tell you I think there is a great deal of sincerity on the part of a lot of people to change the culture.”

A fight that began a century ago

The Manhattan sexual assault case against Mr. Weinstein focuses on two women. One was a film production assistant who said Mr. Weinstein forced her to have oral sex in his apartment. Another was an aspiring actress who said that he raped her in a Manhattan hotel room. Mr. Weinstein’s lawyers say that “loving emails” between him and his accusers show it was all consensual.

But for many of the dozens of women who have accused him of sexual misconduct, the story was the same: Actresses say he cornered them in hotel rooms and offered them roles as a form or coercion. Sleep with me and you’ll be a star. Or don’t, and I’ll ruin you.

At least two women have accused Mr. Weinstein of raping or sexually abusing them while at Sundance, the country’s premier annual exhibition for independent films. In 2018, just a few months after the accusations against Mr. Weinstein exploded, the festival announced its hotline, which is now advertised on signs around Park City and on the Sundance credentials. A spokesman for the Utah attorney general’s office said while the office did not keep a log of harassment complaints to the hotline, investigators recalled receiving one in 2018 and none last year.

While the casting process has been professionalized for years, concerns about the “casting couch” — a euphemism for demanding sex in exchange for a job — are as old as Hollywood.

Filmmakers started arriving in Los Angeles around 1910, according to Denise McKenna, a historian who has researched the early history of the film industry, and by 1915, a minister named Charles Selecman was campaigning against what he called the “moral conditions in Los Angeles.” Articles appeared in the local press that insinuated women were being forced to have sex for work, under headlines like “Girl Tells Selecman of the Vice Dangers in the Movies” and “Studio Evils to Be Fought to the End, Says Pastor.”

An arm of the Los Angeles Police Department called the City Mother’s Bureau was installed at studios, Dr. McKenna said, and was supposed to check on young actresses to be sure they had enough money and places to stay, and that they didn’t become the city’s responsibility.

One of the earliest known instances of casting couch behavior was not in the movies, but on Broadway. In his book “Boys From Syracuse: The Shuberts’ Theatrical Empire,” Foster Hirsch described an “elegantly furnished boudoir” the theater owner Lee Shubert kept near his office, where he brought leading ladies and promising up-and-comers. He kept a separate, sparsely furnished room with “a single couch” where he would bring chorus girls.

This brand of predation extended deep into the studio system. “Lion of Hollywood: The Life and Legend of Louis B. Mayer,” described Mayer’s MGM — and every other studio — as housing “a supply of what were known as ‘six-month-option girls’ to be passed around the executive offices.” The book quotes a producer once saying of the studio executive Darryl Zanuck: “You must realize one thing: Every time Darryl takes a girl to bed, a star is born.”

The abusive behavior went beyond the major studios. One of the blind spots exposed by the #MeToo movement was how the Hollywood system, in which the studios often do not have direct control over the employees of powerful independent producers like Mr. Weinstein, left workers with nowhere to turn with complaints. Among other changes in the industry, Warner Bros., for example, has created a human resources team specifically assigned to its productions. And the Hollywood Commission, led by Anita Hill, is building a system where anyone in the industry who does not already have a place to file complaints can report harassment or discrimination.

Actors are now encouraged to avoid one-on-one meetings in private settings. SAG-AFTRA, the screen actors union, has issued guidelines saying its members should not go to meetings in hotels and residences, and if they feel they must, they should bring someone along.

Sharon Bialy, a casting director in Los Angeles, always has at least one other person in the room with her during auditions. Long a practice she’s done herself, she now makes it a point that everyone on her staff does the same.

While private meetings certainly still happen, even in hotel rooms, some industry professionals mentioned that a hotel meeting might now take place in the lobby instead, or what might have been a meeting in a home office now takes place at a coffee shop.

“Everyone is aware of the optics now,” Ms. Bialy said. “And I do feel like people are more careful and cognizant about it.”

Taking the camera under the covers

What could make someone more vulnerable than taking off his or her clothes in a room full of people and pretending to have sex with a colleague?

Difficult in the best of circumstances, sex scenes can easily go horribly wrong. According to Time’s Up, the Hollywood-led group that combats sexual harassment, actors have arrived on the day of the shoot and been pressured to show more of their bodies than they agreed to, or later discovered that members of the crew had taken videos of them on their smartphones and posted them online. Some actors have been told that they should have actual sex instead of simulating it.

Time’s Up has released guides on how to handle intimate and simulated sex scenes, and what actors should do in an audition if someone tells them to “come back sexier.” New laws in California and elsewhere make it easier to sue people like producers and directors for sexual harassment and have restricted the use of nondisclosure agreements, which prevent victims from speaking out and allow abusers to continue their harmful behavior.

And in the past two years, productions have been turning more and more to intimacy coordinators, whose job, which falls somewhere between stunt coordinator and therapist, is to make the scenes as comfortable as possible for the actors while still creating a convincing shoot. They have conversations about boundaries and sexually transmitted diseases. They make sure the performers have robes to wear between takes and covers for their genitals during filming. They also have precise conversations about what will and will not be shown, and see that those limits are written into contracts in the form of “nudity riders.”

“It’s often been, especially in TV, an actor would have a rider for the series and the rider used to say, ‘Actor agrees to appear nude and perform scenes of a sexual nature during this series’ — and that was it,” said Claire Warden, an intimacy coordinator. “Now there’s a rider for each scene in each episode, and it will say, ‘actor will show top of breast and side of breast but not nipple,” she said. “Or they agree to three-quarters of buttocks shown, but not a full shot.”

There is some resistance, however, especially from directors who are concerned an intimacy coordinator will step on their toes creatively, or interfere with their relationship with the actors. Teniece Divya Johnson, an intimacy coordinator based in New York, described being told on set not to speak unless spoken to.

But overall, coordinators say that the directors come around.

“There is an acceptance,” Ms. Warden said, “that this needs to be paid attention to.”

Putting women in power

As part of the #MeToo movement, there has been a vocal push to hire more women, and more people of color, to positions of power in Hollywood. That, activists say, is the key to changing the culture of the movie business, as well as the kinds of stories that are celebrated and told. (The Oscars were criticized this year for nominating a best acting field that was almost exclusively white and overlooking women completely in the best director category.)

Darnell Hunt, a professor at the University of California, Los Angeles, who produces an annual Hollywood diversity report, said that while the share of women directing and starring in big movies has increased, it is still nowhere near where it should be. Women directed about 4 percent of the top 200 films in 2011, he said. By 2017, they had increased to a little less than 13 percent.

Perhaps most crucially, at some of the biggest movie studios, including Disney, Warner Bros., Netflix and Amazon, 82 percent of the chief executives today are male, and 91 percent of them are white, according to Dr. Hunt’s coming 2020 diversity report. In 2015, about the same percentage of those executives were white — but every last one of them was a man.

The problems, of course, have not gone away. Genie Harrison, a lawyer in Los Angeles who represents some of Mr. Weinstein’s accusers, says she still receives cases alleging sexual harassment in the industry, and retaliation when someone comes forward to report it.

Mara Grobins Nasatir, one of the leaders of Time’s Up’s entertainment work, said that while there were definite improvements, “it also feels that we’re moving at a glacial pace.”

“While I am very hopeful and excited because the conversation is happening in a way that wasn’t the case two years ago, I also think there is an urgent need for change because people are continue to be harmed,” she said. “Safety is at stake.”

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mastcomm · 5 years ago

Text

How #MeToo Is Smashing the Casting Couch

And the Utah attorney general’s office is staffing a 24-hour hotline in case anyone is sexually harassed or threatened while at the Sundance Film Festival.

“I think most people would like to see a situation where people go to work and feel good about the environment,” said Gail Berman, a producer and co-president of the Producers Guild, which now offers sexual harassment training to independent projects. “Does that mean there is no longer any predatory behavior in this business? I’d say that would be a ridiculous assumption. But I can tell you I think there is a great deal of sincerity on the part of a lot of people to change the culture.”

A fight that began a century ago

While the casting process has been professionalized for years, concerns about the “casting couch” — a euphemism for demanding sex in exchange for a job — are as old as Hollywood.

“Everyone is aware of the optics now,” Ms. Bialy said. “And I do feel like people are more careful and cognizant about it.”

Taking the camera under the covers

What could make someone more vulnerable than taking off his or her clothes in a room full of people and pretending to have sex with a colleague?

But overall, coordinators say that the directors come around.

“There is an acceptance,” Ms. Warden said, “that this needs to be paid attention to.”

Putting women in power

Mara Grobins Nasatir, one of the leaders of Time’s Up’s entertainment work, said that while there were definite improvements, “it also feels that we’re moving at a glacial pace.”

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/how-metoo-is-smashing-the-casting-couch/

#Entertainment

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