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bunniesanddeer · 17 days ago

Text

Hate: Part Two

Loathing

Part two to this fic: Part One

Pairings: Alastor X Reader, (Hints of Angel Dust/Husk)

Warnings: Reader still hates Alastor, Reluctant enemies to enemies with benefits, angst, so much angst, Angel is a good friend, SMUT

Word Count: 5,109

MINORS DNI

Everything was awkward, now. You couldn’t look in any direction without being faced with evidence of his existence. He was absolutely everywhere, and not always in person. His coat folded neatly over the arm of a chair. The spices in the cupboard that he got specifically for when he made dinner. The red radio in the library. His scent lingered in your bed, even after the sheets had been changed twice. The bruises had stayed for weeks, dull green marks pressed into the dimples of your hips.

Sometimes, when he spoke, you had such a visceral, subconscious reaction. Your body would jolt, your ears pricking and swiveling. It was embarrassing how obvious it was, but thankfully for you, the worst was over. Your heat had long ended, and you had made it a goal to avoid ever interacting with him again.

Alastor, being the bastard he was, made it as difficult as possible. It seemed that when you told him that nothing would change, he made it his goal to continue to piss you off as much as possible. He would be outside your door when you woke up on the weekend, and would insist on walking you down to breakfast. If he was at the table, he’d pull out your chair, and dare you to deny him in front of Charlie. (How could you? The puppy eyes she gave you whenever you turned to take another chair could kill someone). So you’d sit, and he’d give you the most shit-eating grin every time. It made your skin crawl.

Alastor would find time to ask you about whatever you were doing. He’d ask insane questions, and he’d follow you around if you tried to ignore him. You’d be talking to Angel, and Alastor would leer over your shoulder, getting impossibly close without actually touching you. You quickly learned how to keep your expression flat, but your conversation partner, often Angel or Husk, would always react, making it harder.

There was one line, however, that he never crossed again. He never went inside your room. On multiple occasions he’d asked, but you’d firmly said no, (if a “fuck no, die,” was a firm no). He’d take your answer, and mosey on his way.

And so you suffered under his strange attentions for several weeks. Charlie did her best to give him tasks to keep the two of you separated, when she could, but he was eerily efficient, all in the name of bugging you some more. Vaggie, on multiple occasions, had offered to skewer him with her spear, but you’d denied, the thought of Charlie’s dismay stopping you.

Angel, nearing his namesake, (not the drug, thank Lucifer), was always close at hand when he wasn’t at work. And one night, seeing how stressed you were, he decided it was time to let loose.

��C’mon babe! You know you want to-”, Angel crooned, swinging the bottle of liquor in front of your face. Husk huffed in the background, shaking his head lovingly. “Come onnnnnnn. Let loose with me, an’ ol’ Husky!”

You roll your eyes with a small laugh, and shrug your shoulders. “Alright, you bitch. Fine. Pour me one.”

Angel pumps two of his hands in the air, and then just hands you the bottle. You stare flabbergasted at the bottle, and he just laughs. “Oh, you can down that straight! I’ve seen you. Don’t even lie to me right now.”

“Fuck you,” you mutter as you take a swig. You immediately wince. Whatever Angel handed you burns like hell, and you can’t help but take a glance at the label to try and figure out what it is. It’s written in French, and unfortunately tastes like licorice. “God, what is this?”

“It appears to be absinthe, my dear,” Alastor’s voice drawls from above you. You jump, nearly dropping the bottle. Your heart is pounding, and all you can think to do is glare at him. His smile wedges wider, and you want to punch his ugly yellow teeth in.

Without responding, you whip your head around and glare at Angel. “You gave me fucking absinthe? What’s the fucking — what’s the alcohol percentage?” You peer down at the label, and struggle to find the percentage. Alastor’s claw taps at small numbers underneath the name.

“74%. Definitely French, although how you got that down here, my friend, I would very much like to know.” Alastor peers down at the bottle with renewed interest, and you can’t help but agree. This is from the mortal plane, and goods from there are rare. Someone had to smuggle it, and there are only so many that have access. You hum, and then the shock hits you.

“YOU GAVE ME THIS? Oh my goodness! Angel! Do you know how much this must cost?!” You rush to set it down on Husk’s bar top, and back away from it. “Dude! Not cool.” Your ears pin back, and you give Angel a light swat. He just keeps laughing, and Husk seems to be joining in.

“Figured you could use the stress relief, kid. It’s all yours.” Husk says it like it means nothing, still cleaning up behind the bar, but your eyes go wide. Husk is so rarely nice like this, and it makes your chest ache. You have friends. You have friends and you absolutely love them.

Your eyes are on the verge of tearing up, but you swallow it down. “Aw, I love you too!”

Angel laughs, pointing a finger at Husk, and hugs you with his extra arms. “We love you too, doll! Now let’s get drinking!”

You can hear a scoff come from the demon behind you, but you ignore it. Who cares what he thinks? You ask for a shot glass from Husk, grab the bottle, and settle in on one of the couches. Unfortunately, Alastor follows, and settles in the armchair across from you. You settle a glare on him, and then pour yourself a drink. You are going to ignore him, you can do this.

Husk and Angel settle on the other couch, and Angel points at you. “We’re gonna play a game! To spice things up. So, tell me toots, what’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?”

You cock your head. “Mortal, or down here?”

Angel’s face scrunches up as he thinks. “Mortal,” he decides. No one has really shared much about their mortal lives, so it’s relatively interesting.

“Well, if we’re talking about something I survived, then probably dislocating my shoulder. Most intense pain I had ever felt. Boyfriend had grabbed my armed and pulled a little too hard. But, if it’s not surviving that matters, probably how I died.” You don’t think on it too long, the pain flaring in your shoulder as if it had just happened. It had really hurt, too.

Angel leans forward, and even Alastor’s ear prick up. You try to keep from letting your gaze slide to him. “Ooo! How’d you die? C’mon! Tell me. You’ve gotta!”

Angel’s excitement nearly makes your eyes roll out of your head. Of course, he’d be interested, the bastard.

“I’m not gonna give you all the details,” you start, downing the shot and ignoring his sad ‘aw’. “But I will say, that the other guy got worse. Bet the asshole is drifting around down here.” You can’t help the sour look that passes over your face. You’d been in your late twenties, and some guy went and screwed over everything.

Alastor cocks his head, clearly intrigued. The look on his face tells you he very much wants to ask a question, but is restraining himself. The ‘why’ itches the back of your skull, but you just feel annoyed with yourself. You keep glancing over at him.

“Anyway. My turn. Uh. Husk. How much can you drink in five minutes?” Your face burns, and you just want this annoying feeling to go away.

“We don’t have enough to prove it.” His tail lazily twitches behind him, and his face is the epitome of boredom. You and Angel just blink at him. Laughter bursts out of the two of you, and a smile twitches across Husk’s face.

“Wowza! Was not expecting that to be yer answer, babes.” Angel wipes a tear from his eyes, and leans back. “Your turn.”

Husk hums and glances at Alastor before turning back to Angel. “Would you eat a cockroach for fifty bucks?”

“Wha— no? They’re like, basically my cousins babe! That’s fuckin’ gross!”

Your whole body lurches, desperately wanting to laugh, but your brain is halted, trying to process his answer. A glance across from you, and Alastor’s eyebrows are hitched nearly to his hairline. He glances back at you, and you can’t help it. You laugh so hard that it hurts. Your belly aches, and your ribs have a stitch growing in them. Your ears pin back as you try to calm yourself down, but it’s all so absurd; your friends, the asshole in the room. Everything is just so screwed up right now. (If you don’t laugh, maybe you’ll cry, and that’s so much more embarrassing).

“Sorry,” you start to say, taking a swig directly from the bottle. “Just, thought it was funny.”

All three men in the room are giving you strange looks, and you want to shrink in on yourself. God, could they not look anywhere else?

“Your turn, Angel,” you say, gently prodding him to start the conversation back up.

“Oh! Right. Hey Al, what’s your favorite position?”

You and Husk stiffen, and turn your attention to Alastor. His brows are pressed together, and his fingers twitch.

“What ever could you mean?” You can’t tell if he’s genuinely confused or if he’s annoyed. He’s always so good at shadowing one emotion with another, or maybe you are terrible at reading him, You never could discern between his expressions.

Angel laughs, and waves a hand. “Oh, come on, Al! You know, in bed. What’s your favorite position in bed?”

“Asleep,” Alastor bluntly replies, and it draws a snort from you. His eyes meet yours for a second as his grin grows. You stare at the floor.

“No, no! For sex, Al. What’s your favorite sex position?”

You cringe, and from the corner of your eye, can see Alastor’s leg twitch, shifting when he’s normally so still.

When the quiet pause lasts longer than you thought it would, you look up, and Alastor is staring straight at you. His gaze is intense, and his smile is as close to being flat as it could be, (excluding that night. The line of his mouth, the softness in his eyes), and he’s just staring at you. His brows furrow and smoothen, and the corner of his mouth twists.

“I think I prefer it on all fours.” He cocks his head, and his sharp smile grows wide. His eyes narrow, and you feel like prey, caught in the claws of its demise. Your ears flatten back as he speaks, “I like them on their belly.”

You stand up, setting the bottle down on the coffee table, and point at him. “FUCK YOU!”

Husk and Angel watch on, eyes wide. Angel settles a hand on Husk’s knee, and squeezes.

“Fuck you Alastor! You came to ME! Not the other way around!” You clench your teeth together, trying to force down your shaking. You’re so fed up.

“Wait, what?” You hear Angel mutter, but Alastor is standing up, and it’s all you can focus on.

“Yes, but it was you who needed me. Don’t pretend like you did not like it, my dear! Nothing can change that it happened. There’s no point in pretending it didn’t.” He sounds so calm, and it infuriates you. He doesn’t get to pull this shit with you. You want him down on your level.

“Oh-ho. No. I told you nothing would change. I was EXPLICIT with that fact. I hate your fucking guts. Just because Hell decided your dick was the only one my body wanted, doesn’t change that. You don’t get to just be a goddamn puppy now, constantly begging for my attention! Why are you like that? Stop following me around! I hate you! You hate me! Get the fuck over it!”

His eyes are narrowed, and his ears tipped back. “So presumptuous, ma douce. You think to understand my motives, and you barely understand yours.”

You bare your teeth at him. “You snuck into my room, for my attention. You’re so damn desperate. Is that what this is? You want me to like you that bad, that you’ll fuck me to get it?”

Alastor’s expression screams that he thinks you’re stupid. “Oh, you know nothing, do you, dearest?”

“Fuck you.”

“You already have.”

Angel stands up, setting himself between you. You hadn’t even noticed that the two of you had stepped closer to each other. “Whoa, whoa. Calm down.” He turns to Alastor. “You went to their room? You told me you were leaving for the night!”

Alastor answers without missing a beat. “I lied.”

You want to scream. You pull at your hair, and turn to the side, trying to slow your breathing. This insufferable bastard.

“I’m going to bed,” you finally huff. You take off towards the stairs. You just want to go to bed. Fuck everything. All of them. He makes your head hurt.

Halfway to your room, you notice the static. He’s following you. Great.

You turn around, and glare at him. “What do you want?”

His expression is strangely open. His smile is smaller than usual, and he keeps glancing behind him. Why is his behavior always like this? So back and forth. You can never understand him.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” He finally says. His brows pinch together, and he opens his mouth, but shuts it again.

“I have. It’s easy.” You lie. It’s such a lie. When you are in bed at night, you can feel the ghost of his hands trailing your thighs, your neck. You can feel him cradle your head as he presses a strange kiss to your shoulder. It’s an ache, but the deep burning hatred is stronger. It burns the ghosts to ash, and it leaves you feeling empty.

Alastor seems hurt by your words, but almost as if he expected them. “I want to do it again. I want—” He stops himself, hesitating. You just want him to get it over with so you can go to bed. It’s all so exhausting. “I want to touch you again, ma biche. I have been trying to get you to spend time with me, so I could bring it up naturally, but I have not been able to find the time or the words appropriate.” He swallows, and shifts, and you can feel his static swell. “I have never wanted someone before. It’s normally an urge that is easily handled alone, but you are different. I want to know why. And I want to get rid of this feeling. It’s hard to concentrate.” He coughs, and avoids your gaze for a moment, before staring back at you.

You fucking knew it. This asshole. Of course, this is what it is. He just wants his dick wet again, now that he’s had you. You scoff.

“Is that all this is for? Are you kidding me?” You frown at him and shake your head. “This is ridiculous.” You take a deep breath. “Will you leave me alone if we have sex?”

His expression twitches, and for some reason you feel like he is about to lie. “Yes, I suppose I can do that.”

You want to scream. You want to drag him to your room. You want to throw something. You settle on asking, “My room or yours?”

The two of you go to your room. He mutters about not having your scent in his room, and you shrug. You’re closer to yours anyway.

When you enter the room, you start to strip off your clothing, anger clouding any shame. You can hear his noise of surprise, but make your way to the bed, ignoring him. Down to your bra and underwear, you sit on the bed, looking over him.

“How are we doing this?” You want to poke at him over his comment from earlier, but decide not to.

“I believe that I would like you in my lap. I’ve been having… dreams about it.” Alastor struggles to say it while unbuttoning his shirt. You quietly watch while processing his request. You’d have to be facing him. Can you do that? Would looking at his face prevent orgasm, or would it not matter? You hum, and nod.

“Alright. No kissing though.” He acquiesces, and settles onto the edge of the bed, shucking off his pants. His briefs are loose, and black.

“Where should I be?” His question is asked softly, and it makes you hesitate to be mean. You decide to just focus on the act, and not who he is. It’s better that way, isn’t it?

“Do you want me riding, or actually in your lap? If you want the former, just lie down. For the latter, sit up, settle against the headboard.” You gesture with your hands, and stand up to remove your undergarments. He eyes your motions as he sits against the headboard. You internally sigh. You really wish that isn’t what he wanted.

He’s still wearing his briefs when you settle into his lap. His legs are bony, and they press awkwardly against your ass, so you wriggle to get comfortable. Alastor’s hands, thin and graceful, and incredibly sharp at the ends, settle on your hips. (You have to beg your mind not to focus on the fact that you’ll likely have a new set of bruises, overlapping prettily with the last set).

Alastor’s head is level with yours, the tall bastard, so you turn yours into the crux of his neck, and sigh. Alright, you’re doing this again. You can do it. It doesn’t matter that you really want to punch him. His dick is kind of nice. You can do this.

You roll your hips against him, starting a gentle rhythm. His fingers squeeze you, and you can tell he’s holding back. His grip is soft, and his thumbs rub back and forth, tracing a lazy pattern into your skin. You take a deep breath in, and immediately regret it. His scent is incredibly strong at his neck. It feels overwhelming, and you have to blink repeatedly to drive the dizziness away.

The gentle rhythm of your hips eventually makes it clear that he’s getting hard. His thumbs hesitate every couple of thrusts, as if the feeling was too much for him to even lazily move his fingers back and forth. His cock rubbing against you, even through two layers of fabric, is kind of nice, you have to admit. Alastor feels nice, and the warmth of him is enjoyable too. You can’t tell if you are trying to convince yourself, or if that is how you actually feel. You don’t get to find out, because his hands grip down harder.

“Can I rock your hips, dearest?” His voice is rough, and the sudden noise makes you glance at him. His gaze is fuzzy, and he seems unfocused. The look wrecks you; he’s being vulnerable, the bastard, and you can barely look at him. You barely manage a nod, but his sharp grin is your reward.

His tight grip on your hips shifts just a little lower, to the crux of your hips and outer thighs. He presses you down onto his erection, and rocks you against him. The easy way he moves your whole body reminds you of the strength in his lithe body. You can’t help the admiration you feel, although it is quickly drowned out by the rocking of your body.

“Ma bichette, you feel so good,” he whispers. He presses you down rougher, and it feels as if he’s trying to slide into you through the scraps of fabric dividing you. “I want to feel you, dearest. I want to fill you and hold you. Je veux vous faire plaisir, mon cœur. You are so good for me, let me make you feel good.”

You rear up, pressing your hands against his chest as your eyes widen in shock. He absolutely pushed too far. That upsetting feeling from your heat is back. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes again. He is being far too nice, but you love it. You want him to make you feel good, want him to call you nice things. The anger that festers in your belly, that ever present loathing is blanketed by desire for him, and you give in.

“Okay,” you quietly reply. Alastor’s eyes flutter, and then he is lifting you up on your knees, and attempting to remove your underwear. You assist him, and then sit back to let him remove his own. You settle back in his lap, your naked sex against his cock. The heat lifts a groan from you. You look at him, take in the mess of his hair, the set of his eyes, and you frown. “No kissing,” you remind him. You can’t let him cross that boundary. You’ve only kissed people you loved, and you hate him. Obviously.

There’s a twitch of his brows, but he assents. His large hands settle back on you. One sits flush against the front of your thighs, and his thumb brushed against the hood of your clit. You gently huff, and roll your hips against him. Alastor’s hips twitch, and he groans.

His touch is perfectly coordinated, his eyes settled on your flushed, and quickly growing wet, sex. His teeth separate, and you can feel his hot breath fan across your face. It doesn’t smell the way you thought it might.

“You are a sight, my dear. So pretty. I want to fill you, and see how far that blush of yours spreads.” His eyes flick up to your face, briefly, and then he's focused on the tight circles of his thumb on your clit.

You don’t have the time to think of a response, because he’s pressing harder. White noise fills your ears, and with a single sharp thrust of his hips against yours, you feel your body clenching down on nothing. Your head tilts back, and your hands reach out, trying to grasp onto anything. You find purchase on his shoulders, and dig your blunted claws in, letting out a cry. You can hear Alastor’s grunt, but can barely focus on it. He just keeps circling his thumb.

“Yes! Ma douce! Cum for me, dearest.” His other hand presses you down against him, and he thrusts up against your wet heat.

You let out a harsh breath, his name slipping from clenched teeth. “Alastor – please!”

He lifts you, just slightly, your thick slick stringing between the two of you, and he uses one hand to guide his cock. “Just a moment, my doe.”

And finally, his erection is pressing into you, your slick letting him slide in with only just a bit of resistance. When your bodies finally sit flush, you both let out sighs. You forgot just how full he made you feel, and it hadn’t even been terribly long.

You take a deep breath, barely making eye contact with him, (how can you? He’s got this expression that’s nigh on impossible to name), and then you lift your hips. It’s that first drag that nearly knocks you over. You can feel his cock dragging against your velvety insides. Even with how wet you are, the friction is overwhelming.

Your breath comes out in stutters, and your thighs shake with the effort to not just drop back down on him. Your hands on his shoulders clench, and then you settle back down. His resulting groan makes you clench. You’re still so sensitive from him getting you off first, so you shake with the effort to keep riding him.

“Dearest,” Alastor says, his hot breath fanning across your face. “Would you like some help?”

You lock your gaze with him and drop on his dick rather harshly, and his eyes flutter. His hands flex, claws lightly grazing your skin. He’s being so careful, and it bothers you.

“What does ‘help’ look like to you?” You ask, your residual anger tinting your words. Are you not going fast enough for his liking?

His hips thrust up, just enough to spear you further, and you rock your hips in response. The heat, the fullness, it keeps knocking the breath out of you. It’s so unfair. You need him just as off-kilter as you are. (But isn’t he already? Your head is fuzzy. You aren’t thinking straight).

One of his hands reaches up and cradles the back of your head, and then the world is shifting around you. Your thighs are slotted over his hips nicely, and the hand that had been holding your head is propping him up. You’re on your back. (How did he do that so effortlessly? He seems so experienced – it’s a thought that suddenly makes you unhappy).

“Worry not, dearest. You were spectacular, but I’m losing my marbles.” He rolls his hips against yours, and you clench your eyes closed. It’s overwhelming. The heat is pooling in your navel, and there’s this fuzzy feeling to your hands and feet. You can practically feel his static scattering over the surface of your skin. “Yes, you are very good, mon cœur. I cannot get enough.”

His words make your eyes open, just a touch, and you gaze up at him. His eyes are already searching for yours, and the soft smile he’s giving you – you feel like you’re going to throw up. How could he do this to you? He doesn’t get to be such a dick, then go on and fuck you within an inch of your sanity while praising you. It’s not fair.

Alastor starts thrusting his hips, his ears bouncing just a little at the effort. He’s on his knees, and the hand on your hip squeezes every other thrust. You can smell the musk the two of you make, and it has you dizzy. It’s a nice smell, but you know it’ll never wash out of your sheets. You might have to just change rooms when all is said and done.

He suddenly shifts, settling further back on his knees, and both of his hands are lifting you up. “Is this alright, my doe?” He asks as he lifts your knees to his shoulders.

Your eyes widen. He’s going to hit spots in you that you’ve probably never felt. His cock is already large, but this position is going to ruin you. However, you just can’t say no. You aren’t sure if it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the fact that you’re barely in your own head. With a rough swallow, you nod.

He pants, and then you’re folded in on yourself, your slit snug against him, thighs cradling his head. His arms framed your head, and his weight pressed down on you. Each breath the two of you took was hard, and they mingled in the space between you. His forehead pressed against yours, and he kept your gaze as he began his rhythm again.

Your hands could no longer be kept in check. What little of him you could reach was quickly grabbed onto for dear life. You were panting, and every drag of his cock had your walls quivering.

For a moment all you could hear was the wet sound of your bodies rocking together, and the harsh breaths each of you took, but then you heard it. He was muttering to himself.

“Al- Alastor, what?” You asked quietly. Another harsh thrust of his hips and you moaned, your mind briefly dragged away from the thought.

“Just singing your praise, dearest.” His left hand lifted just slightly, and his thumb rubbed against your cheek to the rhythm of his snapping of his hips. “You are wonderful. I just adore this with you. You are ever so soft, and tight, my doe.”

You startle, eyes locked back on him. His smile is crooked, and he looks so genuine. That deep, angry ache is back in your chest, and it nearly clouds the lust and the wonderful sensations he’s flooding you with.

“Je te veux. Je ne veux personne d'autre que toi. Je veux que tu aies envie de moi. Pourquoi ne le fais-tu pas?” He whispers to you in words you cant understand, but his eyes are fuzzy, and his smile is small, and soft. Alastor cups your face ever so softly, and he rocks his hips roughly against yours.

Suddenly the pace he sets is incredibly fast, and you can feel that tightness building again. You scratch at him, barely able to get air into your lungs. You can’t focus on much more than the deep heat beneath your navel, and the furrow of his brows. (Some small part of you wants to ease it with your fingers).

His grip on your face tightens a smidgen, and then he rolls his hip and takes his right hand to rub at your clit. His thumb is in tight circles again, and he’s clenching his teeth and all your limbs go tingly and–

Everything is white-hot. There are lightning bolts zipping down your spine, making your back arch. Your mouth is open, but the buzzing in your ears makes it impossible to tell if you’re making any noise.

He’s still moving, but he’s reaching for your face, too. He cups it, his large hands holding you still as his cock continues slamming into you. Alastor is muttering again, but you can only tell from the movement of his lips. His mouth opens, a harsh pant leaving him before his body stills suddenly. His teeth clack shut, and he curls into you, the head of his cock brushing your cervix. You’re still dealing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and can barely comprehend the feeling. It’s nearly too much.

He’s breathing hard, and he just barely sits back.

“Thank you,” he whispers. His thumb brushes the skin just underneath your eyes, and there is a wistful smile on his face. He seems so far away, and you can’t comprehend why. Isn’t this what he wanted?

You’re about to ask when he slots his lips over yours. He’s warm, and his lips are soft. It only lasts a moment, and then he’s gone.

You’re left empty, messy, and alone.

You sit up in the darkness of your room, glancing around.

“Alastor?”

I will post on my blog, giving an update. Feel free to check it out if you're wondering what's been so long.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfic #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #bun's short fics #alastor fanfiction #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut #Bun's Smut Fics

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heaven4lostgirls · 12 days ago

Note

Can I request a Regulus x Reader where they both get into a fight and he starts saying something in French which, normally ends the fight but, she's extremely pissed and instead of the argument ending she retorts back and continues on in another language(preferably Russian), while crying (bc she gets worked up easily) and he doesn't think anything of it bc she does this quite often, and at the end of pouring her heart out in another language she storms off. Regulus is shocked but, doesn't think much of it till he can't find her for several days which turns out, she's avoiding him bc she's genuinely upset. He gets a hold of her in the library a week later and talks things out with her calmly and she does end up breaking down again but in his arms this time.

I don't have a specific thing that the argument if over but maybe something along the lines of him lying/being secretive to her or maybe him not being completely open and kinda cold which is making her feel bad and slightly unloved.

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

summary: request above!

warnings: mentions of blood purity, sirius running away and regulus being traumatized, also all translations were done using google translate (sorry)

word count: 2.1K

a/n: loved this ask, hope it measures up to what you wanted!

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“Why won’t you just talk to me!” you plead as you rush after Regulus. Something had been off the past couple of days, he was pulling away from you and you had no idea why.

You knew what Regulus was like when he self-isolated, and this was exactly that. He was closed off, cold and frankly not the boy you knew.

He seemed to start walking faster at the sound of your voice as his hands clenched around his textbooks.

“Regulus!” you pleaded as your grasped onto his robes to pull him to stop outside of the Slytherin common room.

“Don’t touch me!” he spun around and hissed at you. You gasped in shock at the cold glare on his face as you pulled your hand back shakily.

“Sorry” you murmured as you looked at your feet, “I needed to get you attention” you added.

You could see a flicker of pain pass through his eyes before his emotionless mask was put back in place.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” He simply stated and you just blinked at him.

“…Okay.” You acquiesced before looking at him straight, “Why?”

He fixed you with an unbothered upturn of his chin, “Why? Why what?”

You took a deep breath before answering, he really was staring to piss you off.

“Why don’t you want to talk to me?” you ask through gritted teeth.

“I’m busy” he replied impatiently, and you couldn’t believe it.

Busy? Since when? He hadn’t spoken to you in over 3 days and his only reply was that he was ‘busy’. Bullshit.

“Bullshit.” You scoff and watch as shock graces his features.

“Too busy to let your own sodding girlfriend know you’re alright?” you ask as you jab a finger into his chest.

He only maintains his unbothered façade as he watches you uninterestedly.

“Fucking say something then!” you yell.

All he can do is roll his eyes.

“You’re being emotional Y/N. it’s unbecoming of a pureblood lady, did your mother teach you anything?” he scoffs snidely, and you can feel the tears welling in your eyes.

“You’re being mean Regulus.” You say with a quiver in your voice and watch as his face falls a bit at the tears in your eyes.

“Mon amour-” Regulus starts as he lifts his hand to cup your face, but you can only shake your head as you push him away as you wipe your own eyes.

Regulus’ heart aches at the sight of your tears and you refusing his affection, so he reverts to his roots, something he knows you have a weak spot for.

“Désolé mon amour, pouvons-nous en finir avec ça s'il te plaît ? Je n'avais pas l'intention de te faire pleurer.” Regulus says softly and waits for your tears to dry and for you to lift your head with that shy smile he loves so much. [I’m sorry my love, can we be done with this please? I didn’t mean to make you cry]

Only, you don’t. You seem to freeze at the sound of his French and your gaze grows cold and despondent.

You drop your hands from your cheeks as you straighten and look at him. The anger in your eyes has him double checking, he’s so used to his French being able to get through to you.

You always enjoyed the fact that the both of you were bilingual, a commonality between each other that was cherished.

But you had grown tired of Regulus using it against you to sweet talk you into forgiving him for every misgiving.

“Иди на хуй” you hiss and watch as shock spreads over his features. [fuck you.]

“Ты не можешь просто так сидеть там и сладко разговаривать со мной по-французски после каждой ссоры. Особенно после того, как я провела последние три дня, думая, что ты всё еще меня любишь. Ты не имеешь права мне в лицо говорить, что я чистокровная. Кстати, спойлер: ты тоже! Не думай, что я твоя песочница, которая будет молчать и терпеть твои истерики только потому, что ты Блэк.” You speak sharply and unwavering as he looks at you dumbfoundedly. [You don't get to sit there and sweet talk me in French after every argument. Not after I've spent the last three days wondering if you still love me. you don't get to throw it in my face that I'm a pureblood. which, spoiler alert! so are you! Don't mistake me for one your lapdogs that will sit back and take your temper tantrums just because you're a Black.]

He tries to reach for you but all you can do is push him away as you walk through the door of the Slytherin common room and into your dorm where you lay in your bed and sob.

The following days are monotonous at best, you get up, go to your classes, avoid Regulus at any given chance and go back to your dorm.

People have clearly picked up that something had happened between the two of you. Besides the fact that Regulus had tried looking for you anytime he was outside of his dorm, asking everyone you knew if they knew where you were, Barty and Evan had stopped by your dorm to ask why they had stopped seeing you around.

You had politely told them a shortened version of what had gone on and waved them out of the dorm before they could utter another word, only catching a glimpse of their sympathetic expressions.

Regulus had thus figured out that you were ignoring him, purposefully. Barty and Evan had given him shit as soon as they had walked into the dorms that same evening after having talked with you.

They watched in live time as Regulus’ already deathly pale face drained even more. Sure, he thought the fight was bad, but he had never not been given the chance to apologise and make it right with you.

The fight hadn’t really been weighing on his mind until now. Most couples fought, and this fight was just another one your lovers’ spats right? He’d apologise and you’d forgive him, like you always did…right?

That also proved wrong as Regulus couldn’t seem to find you anywhere for the next days, and by Merlin did he try. He waited outside of your classes until he had to be threatened by professors or prefects with detention.

He tried to catch your gaze during lessons, but you had pointedly decided to not look away from your textbooks.

He had tried to walk up to you and your friends at lunch but had been met with multiple wands to the face and threats of hexes he doubted were actually real the more he thought about it.

All until it finally culminated to the highest form of desperation, asking his brother for help. To the shock of Regulus, his brother had actually been somewhat of a genius as he leant Regulus two very invaluable items.

“Of course, you have one of the deathly hallows” Regulus sighed as he grasped the cloak Sirius held out to him with a shit eating grin as he opened his mouth to begin to explain.

“I do not care to know of where you got it from, I only care that you have it and that it helps me accomplish what I need” Regulus says simply and watches delightfully as Sirius’ smile drops into a pitiful pout.

Regulus tilts his head towards the blank parchment in his brother’s hand which brings back the smile on his face as he shows Regulus how the map works.

Regulus is unfortunately impressed with the magic, not that he would ever admit it. He haphazardly expressed his gratitude in a simple “Thank you” and a hug that lasts too long in Regulus’ opinion.

He uses the map the next day to find you in the library, fortunately alone and in a secluded section. He quickly throws the cloak over his form as he walks briskly towards the library.

His exhales shakily as he glances at the map multiple times to make sure you don’t leave.

As he reaches the door to the library, he waits for a student to walk out as he sneaks past and towards the seating area where you sit.

His heart flutters as he catches sight of you, even focused and clearly sleep-deprived he thinks you may be an angel sent just for him.

He walks quietly towards you as he stops right behind you. He takes a quick look around and notices everyone else in the library conveniently far enough away that they would not be distracted about his next actions.

In an uncoordinated movement he grasps your hand and tugs you out of your chair. You yelp and try to tug your arm out the invisible force holding you captive.

“Merlin and Morgana both!” you hear being hissed in front of you as you’re pulled towards a secluded corner in the library by the force. You push your heels into the carpeted floor of the library and hear a grunt and what sounds like a “fucking hell” before you reach the corner.

Regulus quickly whips the cloak off his body and watches as shock passes through your face before you compose yourself and turn to walk off.

“Wait!” Regulus pleads and tugs at your hand again. You turn back to fix your gaze on where his hand rests and he pulls it off immediately.

You turn back to him and make a motion with your hand for him to ‘get on with it.’ He nods before starting to talk.

“I wanted to apologise, I didn’t realise I had hurt you- no, Well I did. I just didn’t really care- Wait! That’s not what I meant, I just meant that I’m a dick, and I hurt you which is not what I meant and I understand that you’re upset-” he rambles and you have to conceal your snort of laughter with a cough as he looks up in embarrassment

“Regulus” you interrupt him, and he stops immediately, back straightening and looking at you with a kicked puppy expression.

“What are you doing?” you sigh.

He looks confused, “Apologising?” he asks.

You shake your head, “do you even know why I’m upset?” you ask tiredly.

“I was being rude to you which, okay, yes but-” he starts again, and you can only shake your head again.

“I’m upset because you made me feel unloved” you state and watch as he gapes for a bit before shutting his jaw with a click.

“What?” he asks.

“You were ignoring me” you start, and you can feel your eyes beginning to burn again as you look up and try to blink your tears away before continuing.

“You stopped talking to me Regulus. I spent three days waiting and waiting and waiting for you to come to me, I kept asking you to talk to me, to tell me what was wrong you just didn’t” you say helplessly as tears fall down your face.

You wrap your arms around your middle as you watch him look at you with a heartbroken expression.

“Y/N” he pleads, and you can only shake your head.

“Y-you threw my blood purity in my face when you know it doesn’t matter to me. You were so cold, and so m-mean” you sniffle and wipe your tears as they cascade down your face.

Regulus lets out a wounded sound and goes to wrap his arms around you before thinking better and letting them fall limply to his sides.

“You were so mean; I was just trying to help, and you made me think I was stupid for caring about you!” you say, and you watch as tears well in Regulus’ eyes.

“So yes you were rude” you say with a sniff before adding, “but you made me feel so inferior” you whisper as you cry.

You don’t hear Regulus move but when you start to blink blearily, there’s Slytherin robes in front of you and the smell of Regulus’ expensive cologne in your nostrils.

“Can I hold you?” he whispers, and you throw yourself into his arms as you cry into his sweater.

He holds you tightly as he runs his hands through your hair, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry” he murmurs into your hair as he rubs your back.

As your crying reduces to small sniffled, you pull back with an embarrassed smile.

“Hi love” Regulus murmurs as he cups your face, you go to speak but Regulus just shakes his head, “my turn now, please?” he asks softly and all you can do is nod.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I was having a bad day- week, rather- but that doesn’t excuse how I treated you, I’ve never had someone to talk to, especially since, well, since Sirius left home really. It’s always been easier to shut down and isolate than talk about what’s going on, and I guess Barty and Evan have never been those friends to talk about emotions either so I never realised that I could with you?” he says ashamedly and all you can do is nod softly.

“I’ll do better, I promise, I’ll try to talk to you, it won’t be easy but I need you to know that I’m willing to try if you’re willing to let me make it up to you?” he asks hopefully.

You smile softly before letting out a small, “Yeah”

He opens his mouth to talk again and all you can do is hug him.

“It’s okay, well, not how you spoke to me, but us, we’re okay” you murmur into his neck, and you can feel his smile as he squeezes you tighter.

“Yeah?” he asks softly.

“yeah” you reply as you snuggle into him.

“You’re still a bitch for sneaking up on me though” you add.

#juliwrites #marauders #harry potter #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x reader angst #regulus black angst #regulus black hurt/comfort #regulus black x fem!reader #regulus black drabble #regulus black and sirius black angst #black brothers angst

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moralesmilesanhour · 11 months ago

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Hi! May I request a small fic where miles 42 dates a male reader who's very bubbly, glittery, fashionista, and dresses in very bright colors or pastels. Maybe Rio and Aaron finally get to meet him and try their best not to tease or laugh at how ironic it is?

They find it even funnier knowing he's the who's been stickers all of his jackets or just anything that came out of his room.

Got carried away with this one oopsie

take it or leave it.

Miles peeled off his dark green puffer jacket, brushing off stray rain drops that hadn’t evaporated yet. In doing so his fingers ran over something smooth like plastic. Already knowing what it was, he took his forefinger and thumb and removed it.

The face of a rabbit with an ‘x’ for a mouth stared blankly at him. Miles held it up to the light and smiled to himself as little dots of color shifted from orange to green, having a good idea who it was from.

You liked to slap these things everywhere–anywhere–that you could reach. Though you never explained yourself to him, Miles suspected that your reason was the same as his when he spray-painted the walls of abandoned buildings: to make your presence known in a world that seemed set on ignoring you.

Your bleach-blonde curls, pastel shirts and flared pants made you quite difficult to ignore in the first place.

Even Miles, who hid beneath his hoodies and oversized jackets, couldn’t take his eyes off of you from across the basketball court that fateful day as you sat on a bench crowded with your friends. They were dressed just as elaborately, but not with nearly as much variety of color.

One girl draped head-to-toe in black lace and silver jewelry leaned over to whisper something to you. Whatever was said made you turn and meet his eyes just as he caught the basketball that had just sunk through the net above him.

He froze momentarily and could’ve sworn he saw you grinning at him before he started dribbling again.

You were too far away for Miles to commit the details of your face to memory, but he recognized the blonde sitting at the top of your head when you rammed into him in the middle of the hallway the very next day.

Now in full uniform–save for the fashionably-loosened tie–his eyes were drawn to the row of helix piercings lining your right ear, and the faint glow of metallic eyeshadow swiped across your lids with lashes that curled sharply upwards like–

“Yo,” your voice brought him back to reality. “Are you okay? I said ‘my bad’.”

Miles blinked.

“Oh,” he replied dimly.

You laughed good-naturedly.

“Just ‘oh’?”

“I-I mean,” Miles stumbled over his words, “You’re…good. I guess.”

“That’s…good,” you parroted with a teasing smile. “See you around!”

You pulled the strap of your book bag further over your shoulder, causing the cluster of charms and trinkets hanging from it to click-clack together with every bouncy step you took as you weaved through the stream of oncoming students.

That was how it began.

“I think he likes you.”

Sela took a bite of her french fry, which she then pointed towards the next table ahead of her. You followed her line of vision right back to the mismatched eyes that had burned two holes into the back of your skull in the hallway.

And P.E.

And A.P. Bio.

The more you thought about it, the more your friend’s hypothesis began to sound believable.

Still, you shook your head and chuckled.

“He’s definitely straight, first of all.”

“You don’t know that! What happened to not assuming?”

“Hm, I dunno…”

You looked again. This time, Miles was fiddling with the sleeves of his uniform, avoiding eye contact. Presentation aside, you’d never really seen him running with the sort of boy that said “Pause!” every five minutes, so that was a plus.

…Then again, you’d never seen him running with anyone. He even hooped alone. You recalled him making several lay-ups in a row as clean as the twin braids that brushed his shoulders. No team required.

Sela interrupted your quiet deliberation.

“Go talk to him and find out, then. Not like he’s gonna kill you if you ask.”

She tapped her long black coffin nails on the lunch table, awaiting your answer.

“I don’t feel like getting up,” you groaned lazily.

“Fine, I’ll call him over.”

“Hey, wait–”

“Aye, Morales! Miles Morales!”

Miles looked startled. “Huh?”

Sela waved at him while you ran your palm over your face.

“C’mere!”

He eyed her suspiciously, but slowly got up and shuffled over to your table.

“Do you…” he looked around. “Need something?”

The girl gestured enthusiastically towards you, and you rolled your eyes mentally before replacing the irritation with a smile and taking the lead.

“You looked lonely over there, man. Come sit with us!”

Miles bit his bottom lip once you spoke up, appearing to take in a sharp breath before taking the empty seat across from you.

“So do you have any, like, actual friends–? Ow!”

Sela rubbed her arm after you gave her a good smack.

“Sorry about her. She meant to ask if you were doing alright. You seemed kinda out of it.”

“I’m…fine,” he answered slowly.

“Well, that’s good. You were staring at me somethin’ fierce, I thought I had done something to you.”

Miles felt a rush of heat travel straight to his cheeks.

“N-nah, it’s just that–well, I saw you at the basketball court, and…” he trailed off and began messing with the end of one of his braids.

You leaned in closer to hear him better, which didn’t help his situation.

“One more time?”

“I saw you. At the basketball court.”

The teasing grin returned to your face.

“Yeah, I saw you too. What about it?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, trying to piece the right words together. Then he tried again.

“I liked your ‘fit.”

You held back an obnoxious snort of laughter.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, you have…good…fashion sense.”

Miles wrinkled his nose. He didn’t even believe his own lie. Why would you?

Mercifully, you narrowed your eyes but didn’t say anything.

“Thanks. You got good taste in sneakers.”

You paused, then added, “Meet me at the basketball court after school and I’ll show you how I put my outfits together. How's that sound?”

The offer hung in the air. Miles considered the possibility that you were just pulling his leg and that he’d wind up standing alone in an empty court, but there was no sign of a joke in your expression.

He shrugged in a fake show of nonchalance.

“Sure.”

The two of you went on like that for two long months. Meeting each other on the court, sitting on the bench and making light conversation while shooting compliments at each other that always just missed the mark of what you really meant to say, until one day you finally got tired of meandering.

“Miles, can I ask you something?”

“I dunno,” he answered, sipping on a pouch of Capri-Sun. “Can you?”

“You promise that if I ask, you’re gonna give me an honest answer?”

“If it won’t get me arrested, sure.”

“Miles, I’m serious.”

Your gaze intensified, making his heart rate quicken.

“Alright.”

“Are you into me?”

His blood ran hot and icy cold at the same time.

The thumping in his chest whenever you got close and he could smell what soap you used, the absent-minded doodles in his sketchbook, and finally, the staring, had been given a name. And in being named, it took on a physical form - something blinding and liquid that shot through his bloodstream.

Miles wanted to be able to say no. Give a straight answer, and move on to a more comfortable topic. But you’d read him like a book the last time he tried to lie to your face.

You noticed his hesitation, and the vice grip he had on his now-empty Capri-Sun.

“It won’t change anything, I just wanna be sure.”

He looked unconvinced. How do you just go back to normal knowing that your friend is in love with you? They could pretend nothing had changed for maybe a couple weeks, maximum, before conversations became clipped greetings in the hallway, then fizzled out into nothing. Impossible.

But again, it was no use lying.

He avoided your eyes as he answered, “I think so.”

Cold, delicate fingers suddenly found themselves beneath his chin, and his eyes widened as you turned his face towards yours.

“Miles, look at me. You either do or you don’t.”

His heartbeat was in his ears now, making his breaths shallow and the veins in his eyes pulse. The setting sun cast a sentimental glow over everything that filtered through your hair. No one else was around, save for the warm breeze.

“Miles, are you good–?”

He pressed his lips against yours before he could stop himself. Your lips were smoother than he’d expected, just slightly tacky with mentholated lip balm.

And, more importantly, they kissed him back.

Miles grabbed his sketchbook from his desk drawer and opened it to a page filled with tiny sketches of your outfits. Carefully, he placed the sticker next to the baby blue puffer you’d worn yesterday so that the two of you could be “twins”.

He should really call you, he thought.

You sighed, leaning your head back on the couch beneath the cool air-conditioning of Miles’ uncle Aaron’s apartment. The tall, lean man that you’d guessed Miles had probably gotten his accent from (and sayings that could only come out of the mouth of an older man) had gone out momentarily to grab food for all three of you.

Feeling his eyes on you, you turned to your now-sort-of-official boyfriend with a questioning look.

“What?”

Miles was holding back a laugh.

“Why’d you switch up like that in front of my uncle?”

“I didn’t ‘switch up’ anything.”

“I have never heard you talk like that in my life.”

You copied his pose, slouching and man-spreading with your hands resting on your thighs. You flattened and lowered your voice into the boring monotone that teenage boys liked to adopt when they wanted to be taken seriously.

“You mean like this?”

This earned a snicker from Miles, whose expression then became earnest.

“Seriously, though, you don’t gotta do the whole act around my unc. He’s not like that.”

“Then why do you do it?”

The boy paused.

Your observation was correct - Miles tended to lengthen and smooth out his stride when he walked next to Aaron on their ‘grocery runs’. He would remove the playful lilt in his voice, like when you strain freshly-brewed tea, leaving only the mellow liquid behind.

“That’s…different.”

We’re trying to impress him for two different reasons.

You let it go.

“Whatever you say. You are gonna tell him about us, though, right? Since he’s ‘not like that’.”

Miles scoffed, “You’re the one that introduced yourself as ‘a close friend of mine’. I ain’t tell you to say any of that.”

“I wasn’t sure if you felt safe!” you laughed.

“We were holding hands before he even opened the door, he definitely saw that shit.”

“Alright, alright, you win. We’ll both tell him, then. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

“Miles! Tu novio!”

“Coming!”

Miles padded over to the living room, where you stood in a bright yellow jacket covered in vibrant patchwork, and those jeans with the spray-painted stars all over them. Your hair was hidden beneath a red beanie you had stolen from his closet.

Aaron sipped on a fresh cup of coffee in the kitchen, well-within earshot as Miles greeted you.

“Hey.” The boy smiled, awkwardly sticking his hands in the pockets of his plain, dark-wash jeans.

His mother Rio shut the door and looked on in amusement at the two boys standing in front of her. You would think her son would add some more color to his wardrobe, being with someone that looked like that. But the all-black ensemble wasn’t going anywhere.

“¿Ustedes dos siguen fingiendo ser amigos?” the woman teased. “I’m not sensing any affection over here, guys!”

Miles gave his mom a blank stare, while you laughed. Even months later, the other boy wasn’t one for PDA.

“Oh they real affectionate, alright,” Aaron chimed in.

“Here we go…”

“I go out to get these boys some Domino’s one time, right? I come back up, and these two are cuddling on my damn couch after they told me they were ‘just good friends’. Now mind you, I ain’t believe ‘em for a second–”

“That’s great, unc,” Miles was already tugging you in the direction of his room, “We’re leaving now!”

“Don’t get too touchy in there!”

Once inside, he shut the door behind him. You struggled to suppress a laugh at the weary look on his face as you sat on the edge of his bed.

“She’s kinda right, y’know.”

“About?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to spare me a hug or something, once in a while.”

He said nothing.

You scanned Miles’ bedroom. All of his manga had been cleared off of his desk, and his swivel chair was no longer burdened with a pile of clothes. He just cleaned his room, you think.

The only thing left sitting there was his notorious sketchbook, a ballpoint pen, and a couple of Tombow markers scattered about.

And of course, your stickers.

You got up to take a closer look at the loose sketches and hummed in satisfaction.

“You’re really good at getting clothing folds right. You sure you never wanna study fashion design?”

He smiled, and shook his head.

“I’ll leave the fashion shit to you.”

“We could go to F.I.T. together, you and me.”

Without so much as making a peep, Miles and his long legs had snuck up behind you to wrap his equally-long arms around your waist.

“I’ll visit you.”

“What are you doing?”

“You asked for a hug.”

“That’s not what I mea–”

“Take it or leave it.”

The smell of paint and Jergens lotion enveloped you as you pulled him closer. You inhaled deeply, then sighed.

“You’re real stubborn, you know that?”

His chest shakes as he laughs.

“One of us has to be.”

#miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales x male reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales x you #requests #moralesanhour #earth 42 miles morales x male reader

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osamucide · 3 months ago

Text

DAZAI HCS! ⊹

LAST UPDATE: OCT 10

cw: talk of mental illness and substance use/abuse, speculation about Dazai’s f’ed up past+trauma, Dazai-typical references to suicide, references to self harm, probably a lot of projection on the author’s part

reid: i feel like yapping about Dazai tonight so here’s a non-exhaustive list of general headcanons i have about him. no word count because i’ll probably update this periodically lol

he does not listen to music from this century. he just doesn’t. not that he goes out of his way not to, he’s just drawn to a certain sound that only older music seems to have—I think The Smiths, Blondie, Tears For Fears, The Smashing Pumpkins, King Crimson, and Led Zeppelin are among his favorite artists

I think he also really enjoys classic jazz/blues/bebop music—Charles Mingus, Billie Holiday, Duke Ellington, Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, etc.

he’s anemic. I’m of the firm belief that Kunikida buys him a 100 ct bottle of iron tablets every 100 days which Dazai always graciously accepts. however, he only actually takes them when he gives enough of a shit to (which is not often) so the bottles are just accumulating on his bathroom sink/in the cupboard beneath

nail biter, cuticle picker, hair twirler, thigh bouncer, etc. I don’t think he really sits still unless it’s absolutely necessary

children love him, much to his dismay. they think he’s entertaining. he thinks they’re like puppies (and he canonically hates dogs). he won’t treat them badly, but he’s just not super interested in interacting with them. unwilling older brother vibe when faced with them. shithead kids can stoke his rage much faster than Chuuya ever could

he cannot take care of a fucking plant. has one succulent in his apartment. it’s surviving out of pure unadulterated spite. he hasn’t watered it in over a year

wearer of funky socks. his favorites are either the ones that say "I love my job ha ha just kidding" or the custom ones Yosano got him as a gag gift one year for white elephant at the office christmas party (they have Kunikida’s rage face on them)

really sad that, despite his criminal record being scrubbed clean, he is still banned from driving in the nation of Japan for the rest of his life because he wants a Ford Explorer so bad

PROFOUNDLY SOUND KNOWLEDGE OF MEDICAL TERMINOLOGY

he’s fluent in Japanese and English, proficient in French and Italian, and learning Russian

I think he also enjoys learning math/researching random shit/reading anything he can in his free time when he feels up to it. he never received a formal education and his IQ is through the roof—his yearning for academia is almost like an itch he has to scratch every once in a while. also, he just likes knowing things

he never learned how to ride a bike. wahhhh wahh

BPD king. look at him. my beautiful princess with a disorder. I doubt he’s diagnosed but he strongly suspects it seeing as he’s so self-aware; if not borderline, he just assumes he has severe PTSD. either way, he really won’t do anything other than what he already knows about how to manage it

along the same lines—he’s been a functional alcoholic since an alarmingly young age (I’m talking 16-17). I think it probably got a lot worse post-defection when he was underground, but he hardly had to function then anyway; he gets somewhat better after joining the Agency but still has a dependence, it’s just not severe enough to debilitate him

has a bin of art supplies in his apartment. he only ever pulls them out once every few months, but he rather enjoys painting and wouldn’t mind getting better at it

master at darts. don’t take him to a bar where there’s a dartboard. he will stand in front of it all night and obliterate everyone who challenges him

insatiable sweet tooth. he especially loves anything maple, butter pecan, or butterscotch he’s a grandpa

UPDATE.1

I love to headcanon that he has a glass eye!!! and that the bandages around his head in the dark era were some legitimate injury. he likes to pop it out as a party trick/to weird Kunikida out

he feeds the stray cats and kittens that linger around the ADA dorms. he probably spends some of his grocery money on the fancy wet canned food and leaves it out with a big plastic bowl of water. sometimes sits and watches them eat and likes to give them little scratches if they trust him enough to come rub up on his legs. they’re sort of to him as the orphans were to Odasaku, and it makes him feel closer to his deceased friend

on the note of grocery shopping—he only goes when Atsushi or Kunikida drag him along. keeps his list relatively the same from trip to trip: canned crab, cigarettes, bandages, a few cases of beer, sake, instant ramen, ice cream (particularly butter pecan), paper towels, and 3-in-1 shampoo when he needs it. Kunikida forces vegetables upon him (“put it in the ramen so you don’t die of heart disease”) but they almost always end up rotting to mush in his fridge. he steals his toilet paper from the ADA bathrooms/supply closets or bothers Atsushi and Kyoka for spare rolls when he’s out

religiously orders drinks from the cafe on his way in and out of work. on mornings he usually gets a latte with plenty of sugar and some sort of flavor; in the evenings he probably gets an iced flavored tea to mix or chase his sake with when he gets home

always has a pocket knife on him. probably one he got in his mafia days, or, it’s at least a habit/security he picked up from then

takes a lot of night walks. he doesn’t sleep well, so I think he probably wanders out tipsy with his pack of cigarettes in the wee hours of the morning and scuttles around to tire himself out

UPDATE.2

two words: medical trauma. I know some people get iffy when it comes to speculation about what Mori did/didn’t/may/may not have subjected him too as a young teenager (and believe me I have a lot of thoughts) but I definitely headcanon that Dazai was used as a little bit of a lab rat/sedated and coerced to some degree when it came to turning him into a killing machine. as a result, he’s got a fear of medical settings. after his surgery during the cannibalism arc? I know he got that phone back and was like “Tanizaki get me out of here right neow”

I think sweet little old ladies probably love him and he loves them too. always feels like he strikes up the best small talk with them. will help load groceries into their cars for them. he gets all smiley and stuff when they call him “sweetheart” “honey” “dear” or remark how handsome he is and about his hypothetical girlfriend must be so lucky

he can throw knives with pinpoint accuracy from a pretty impressive distance. he’s a little less accurate with his handgun at long range/with moving targets but HE’S GETTING BETTER

has like a 3.5 ft vertical jump at his best. like why are you a detective when the Lakers need a center

#bsd dazai #bsd osamu dazai #dazai hcs #dazai headcanons #bsd headcanons #bsd hcs #reid speaks.ᐟ #with love—reid

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grimm-the-tiger · 3 months ago

Text

Misadventures with Google Translate

I put Life Series quotes through Google Translate too many times. Please help me, I can't stop.

The Names

Bdubs -> Bduby

BigB -> Capital B

Cleo -> Language

Etho -> line

Gem -> Decoration

Grian -> Shooter

Impulse -> Road

Jimmy -> Jimmy

Joel -> Hurrah

Lizzie -> Lizzie

Martyn -> Martyne

Mumbo -> Explosives

Pearl -> Beer

Ren -> Ren

Scar -> Right

Scott -> Scott

Skizz -> Writing

Tango -> Background

The Watcher -> Inspector

Some highlights

Scott: this house Jimmy: And street. [Original line: "It's home?" "Home."]

Language: Be good to me: die for me. [Original line: "Do me a favor: Die for me."]

Lizzie: And I left this world the same way I entered it: troubled. [Original line: "And so I left this world just as I had entered it: confused."]

Shooter: Scar, I think we are spirit descendants and you are too busy catching fairies!! [Original line: "Scar, I think we're soulmates and you're too busy chasing fairies!"]

Scott: They tear up carpets and kill farm animals. It immediately burst into lava. [Original line: "They break carpet and kill cows. And they mine straight down into lava."]

Language: Look, if you have a lost father, you might lose it? [Original line: "Look, if you're gonna be an absent father, could you be at least absent?"]

Scott: Our theme is ABBA's summer house, is it there now? Dead metal?! [Original line: "Our theming was once Cottagecore ABBA, now it's what? Death metal?!"]

Martyne : Tell me something before you go. Why are you attached to the sun? Inspector: Hmmm... HE. It was never meant to be. He just wanted to look. [Original line: "Just... tell me one thing before I go. Why were you so set on Grian?" "Hmph... HIM. He was never meant to be there. He was only ever meant to watch."]

line: I'm a good person to have someone light my tree. [Original line: "I was a good person till somebody burned down my tree."]

Decoration: God, that seems like a recipe for anxiety. Yes I am. [Original line: "God, that sounds like a recipe for angst. Yeah, I'm in."]

Lizzie: Follow it! No friends! [Original line: "Ha! You've got no friends!"]

Beer: Something bad is happening here. [Original line: "Something wicked this way comes."]

Shooter: Here we show our true truth? For yourself or for someone else? Are we all excited? [Original line: "Is this where we show our true allegiance? To each other, and no one else? We turn on everyone?"]

Background: It's not fair, it's not fair, I'll come back to it. [Original line: "This is unjust, it's excessive, and I will return."]

Capital B: No holes! [Original line: "There is no hole!"]

Some notes

I thought it'd be funny if the translations I used were all into languages I either knew off the top of my head that the creators speak or are official languages where they live. This got really convoluted really fast, because Ren was the only person I could think of who speaks a language other than English and I completely ran out after French and Scottish Gaelic, so I added languages spoken by Hermitcraft members instead, then threw Maori on for good measure because New Zealand's close enough to Australia (sorry, New Zealand) and I couldn't find any aboriginal Australian languages on Google Translate. So the translation order roughly went Afrikaans -> French -> Scottish Gaelic -> German -> Swedish -> Polish -> Maori -> English.

Ren's line "Red Winter is coming, me laddie" line got translated as "The red winter is coming, my lady." Honestly, it still kind of works?

"Watcher" got translated as "Inspector", which gives me the mental image of Inspector Gadget in a Watcher costume.

I don't know where the extra e at the end of Martyn's name came from.

I don't know why Etho's name is the only name that got translated into lowercase.

The fact that Mumbo's name somehow got translated as "Explosives" made me start cackling as soon as I saw it.

There were several points where Grian's name got translated as "The Sun" instead, probably because "Grian" is the word for "Sun" in Irish and Scottish Gaelic is from the same language family, so they probably share the same or a similar word.

"Soulmate" somehow got translated as "Spirit descendants". I'm pretty sure it's because it got split up into its component words; "Soul" corrupted into "Spirit", and "Mate"...I honestly don't know.

I translated a grand total of one line from Bdubs, and for some reason when I translated the document back to English, that one line stayed stuck on what I'm pretty sure is Maori except the word "Boogey", which stayed exactly the same.

I'm genuinely surprised by how many lines stuck remarkably close to the originals. Aside from his name, one of Joel's lines ("Where's the fun in that?") somehow survived perfectly intact, and one of BigB's lines ("There is no hole!") got pretty close ("No holes!").

I think the best part about this is that you can tell how and why Google translated some things the way it did, and then others you're just left completely stumped about how the hell it happened.

#life series #traffic series #traffic smp #life smp #3rd life #last life #double life #limited life #secret life #translation fails #google translate #this is what happens when you watch backstroke of the west for the first time #i might make another one of these with more life series quotes but that'd mean i'd have to rewatch it #(i took all these quotes off of tvtropes)#and i just don't have the time rn #so feel free to give me quote suggestions

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astayinwonderland · 3 months ago

Text

Silk and Fire - Chapter 6

Read more about the series and find updates here (;

pairing: namjoon x f.reader x jungkook

guest starring: yoongi

genre: romance | drama | smut +18 MDNI

summary: after sharing that steamy kiss with jungkook, things get out of hand and your self-control is tested.

status: ongoing

MINORS DNI PLEASE

warnings: cheating, oral sex (f. receiving), mentions of sex, female orgasm

wc: 3k words

His strong hands lift you off the ground, hugging you so tightly as he spins you, once, twice. Time seems to stop as he puts you back down. Nervousness invades your being, not knowing what’s going to happen next. His hot breath on your ear made it almost impossible to think about anyone else. Namjoon smells your scent, one of his favourite things in the world. He missed you so much, three days was not long, but he craved to have you this close. He needed it like oxygen.

Namjoon lips find yours and he takes his sweet time with you. He kisses you softly, slightly tasting you, just a tease. Now he has plenty of time to be with you and make up for these three days when he couldn’t touch your warm, soft skin or kiss your beautiful lips. He grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you closer and that’s when your mind, body and soul remember– Jungkook.

“Babe?” you say, breaking the kiss.

Namjoon looks into your eyes, a loving smile drawn on his lips, making his cute dimples show up. Your heart accelerates.

“I love you,” you hear the sheer excitement in his voice. That excitement that boldly punches your gut and makes your heart sink in anguish.

“Love you too,” you kiss his cheek.

In all honesty, you loved him, you couldn’t deny that. But you also can’t deny that Jungkook is in your life now, you crossed that line with him last night– well not entirely. Nonetheless, a kiss is a kiss, and how his lips seemed to own yours was addictive. You secretly hope you end up nowhere near Jungkook in the next couple of days while you detox from last night’s encounter.

“Where did your mind go?” Namjoon asks puzzled.

“Huh? No… I am just tired, that’s all.”

Namjoon nods, he is always so understanding.

“Put on something cute, we are going out,” he gives you a little push and you just know you would do anything for this man.

From Namjonn you expected anything… but maybe not this. The place is small but quite elegant with white tablecloths and candles. The dim-lit French restaurant had an alluring atmosphere and the food smelled beyond amazing. Camille and Yoongi sit and you can see them in their ‘bubble state’ where they act as if no one’s watching. Your friend is talking effusively. Bright eyes, her voice a bit louder than usual, a thing she does when she’s excited. Yoongi’s face rests on this hand, admiring, all ears, just for her. It is curious, you think, did Namjoon bring you here just to remind you of what you are when your pussy isn’t leaking for Jungkook?

“Oh, hi!” Camille waves.

You rapidly find yourself sitting before the soon-to-be newlyweds. This is not your first time on a double date with them, but you assumed Namjoon would like some time alone after spending several days apart. Underneath, you are grateful, being alone with him makes your guilt surface and that’s the last thing you need.

Grateful for the change of scenery for the evening, this ‘special outing’ was great. Food was better than you could have imagined and you had time to catch up with Camille’s out-of-the-ordinary ideas for the rehearsal dinner and bachelorette party. Yoongi seems to be happy she is happy, and if this isn’t love… well–

“Hi, sorry I’m late,” that voice… you could feel the vibrations of that voice and know who it is.

Why is Jungook here?

“When have you ever been sorry for being late?” Yoongi laughs, making room for his friend to sit. Now you are stuck between Namjoon to your right and Jungkook in front of you.

Jungkook’s lips curve into a smile when his eyes meet yours, but your breathing seems off now that Namjoon holds your hand. Is the room spinning?

“Ah, Jungkook I’m glad you could join us,” Namjoon adds as he squeezes your hand endearly.

Tension could be cut with a knife, but this just seemed to be in your head. Camille relaxes, leaning over Yoongi’s shoulder as she laughs at Jungkook’s goofy grin.

“Isn’t it weird for you?” your eyes find his.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook replies, bringing his broad chest forward. Close enough for you to get the magnificent view of his firm, broad chest.

“I– don’t know. I thought this was going to be a double date thing,” you mumble quietly.

“Ah, don’t you worry about him. Bet he already has a hot babe as his date for the wedding,” Camille adds. Yoongi agrees by nodding quietly and shooting a mischievous look at his friend.

“Oh, no… no,” Jungkook starts, dismissing the comments with a wave of his hand. “I have someone I can’t take out of my mind though. She is so fiery, and feisty. The type I dream of again and again,”

“You’re so screwed…” Namjoon laughs, innocently sipping his drink as your heart is about to shoot out of your chest.

Jungkook keeps his mouth shut, reminiscing on what to say next. He is confused, for sure, the way he wants to turn your world around and get lost in you again and again until the only thing in your brain is his name… Call him doomed, if you must. He can smell you from across the table, you don’t notice but his nostrils want to inhale your scent forever. How could he do this to Namjoon? One of his closest friends, an older brother figure who has protected and counselled him throughout the years.

This is crazy.

A thoughtful smile finally appears on Jungkook’s lips.

“You have no idea how screwed I am,” his eyes avoid Namjoon’s. Instead, he looks directly into yours. Eyes so deep you wish you could just shut your eyes and erase this from your memory. But how can you when his mere touch electrifies your entire being? Is a fascinating thrill you’ve never experienced before, and now, you crave it again.

Your anxiety peaks as the dinner passes and now Camille orders dessert. Yoongi agreed to split it with her and Namjoon wanted some ice cream. It seems like the only people who were not hungry for dessert were you and the tattooed man across the table whose eyes looked at you as if you were the most exotic prey. Not exactly to eat but to keep captive, submissive to his thoughts and desires. You hate to admit this, but somehow, your legs start to tremble and the wet feeling between them cannot be stopped.

A familiar, yet irritating buzzing sound of your boyfriend’s phone interrupts your train of thought. Namjoon excuses himself to take a work call and you are not even surprised. Late work calls have begun to come a little bit too often, he worries you will get upset, but to be honest, your mind has other concerns. What are you going to do about Jungkook? There is not much you can do, just ignore him. Ignore the way he makes you feel. Ignore the way your lips tingle and the thought of him kissing you again. Ignore the thought of his strong hands travelling from your back to your hair, fisting and pulling it as the result of mere passion.

“I promise it won’t be long. Babe?” Namjoon’s eyes look into yours.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought.” You come back to your senses to see that the check has already been paid thanks to your boyfriend’s card. Camille and Yoongi are already up getting their coats. Jungkook seems to be waiting outside.

“I need to stop by the office real quick. Would you come with me or I can drop you off and maybe we’ll watch a movie later?” His smile is so beautiful you want to say yes. Yes to everything. You have the most considerate, amazing person on Earth, this is what you need to focus on, but suddenly it wasn’t so easy. You need time to think and decompress.

“I’ll just walk home. I’m in for the movie later if you promise you won’t fall asleep,” you answer playfully.

“See you later.” Namjoon lifts your chin and plants a firm kiss on your lips. It’s sweet, yet has a force that makes your knees weak.

—----------------------------------------

Because the restaurant was six blocks or so away from your house, you had no problem walking. It was your idea. It was refreshing even, the night was cool but not too windy. You needed to move and release all temptation. Nevertheless, it was quite unfortunate when all that peace was interrupted. You were so lost in thought you almost missed the deafening sound approaching you. It was like deep screeching announcing that you had just arrived at the gates of hell. It was a bike. No, it was the bike and riding it, Jungkook.

Your hand quickly covers your heart in shock as Jungkook grins cheesily. His helmet still on, black visor up.

“You like it?”

“Gosh, don’t scare me like that!”

“I can’t believe you are walking home. Let me give you a ride,” he innocently winks at you. But deep down you know there is nothing innocent about that wink or that invitation.

“I rather walk,” you answer a little bit louder, the noise of the motor a little bit too loud for your liking. “Helps me clear my mind.”

“Why does your mind need clearing?”

Damn, he is so persistent. You don't answer right away, but you do observe the way his chest rises and falls under his shirt. How his pecs were outlined, his arms holding his body in position to ride… Ride… Before your brain can process it, you find yourself getting on the back of the bike, Jungkook putting a helmet on you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, this is a thrill you’ve never experienced before but somehow you needed it. You want it again and again, the euphoria, the never-ending high.

Without turning his back, Jungkook carefully reaches out for your arms. His mind is alert and sharp, he believes the wrong move will send you running for the hills. So he takes his time, to take your hands in his with a sweet but tantalising demeanour. Your hands finally land on his torso, barely touching him, but your chest against his back feels how tense he is.

“Now, just hold on tight, baby.”

He speeds and the scream you were holding back finally comes out. Jungkook can barely hear you, but the way you now hold on to him for dear life is the way he has dreamt of since he first laid eyes on you. Fuck, the way he wants you to be his is sinful, wrong, even perverse. Would he be the bad person for wanting you this much, if so, then he’ll be damned. He is willing to risk it all. As your smell mixes up with the wind, Jungkook feels in heaven, while your wanton gets worse and you are sure you are in hell.

It took you about 5 minutes to realise you were not heading to your house at all. Instead, you were going in the opposite direction. You were getting further and further from the city’s downtown. You tried not to panic, but when Jungkook drove that bike from the top of a hill, you clutched so tightly that your hands were clawing his chest.

“Hey… hey…” he laughs. “It’s okay, we’re here.”

You open one eye and only then do you catch up with reality. You are outside Jungkook’s apartment.

“Come in, it’s getting cold.”

Speechless. Are you going into his apartment? Are you ready to confront whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you? But when he extends his tattooed arm and helps you out of the seat like a gentleman, you secretly wish he’d fuck you right there. No shame.

—--------------------------------------------------

Jungkook’s apartment is nice and neat. Minimal decor, a lot of earthy tones, feels empty but just enough at the same time. Still holding your hand, he takes you to the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

“No, thank you. I would stay up all night if I have coffee,” you kindly answer, giving his hand a little squeeze. Ugh you know it is dangerous when he looks down at his hand and then his eyes land on your lips.

“Okay, no coffee…” but then he closes the space between you and suddenly the air is sucked out of the room and there’s only him. “You sure about not wanting to stay up all night?” his breath combined with some liquor courage he had with dinner was now inches from your face, he was too close, way too close.

“Jungkook…” you hesitate, but little did you know the mere action of saying his name like that turned him on.

Fire engulfed him as you turned your head away but still gave him so easy access to your neck and shoulders. How easy would it be to rip you out of that pretty blouse you are wearing… Hmmm and that flowy skirt has to go.

“Be mine,” he breathes against your skin, planting then a wet kiss on your neck just below your ear. Sealing his actions like a death sentence, he repeats himself again and again while trying not to burst into his pants. What is it about you that makes him want everything you are, possess you.

“Be mine,” his tongue now freely travels from your shoulder to your earlobe, sucking it.

Your body gives in. Like a moth to the flame, your lips find Jungkook’s and in an instant, this growing heat forms in your belly. His kisses are urgent, forbidden, and lustful, his hand fists your hair so painfully good you can’t help but moan into his mouth. Everything about him is exquisite. His other hand grabs your waist now, and you find yourself sandwiched between the kitchen countertop and Jungkook’s body. His body gets so hot listening to your tiny cries and moans as he lifts you for you to sit in front of him. This is how he wants you, mind crowded with filthy thoughts of him only. Desperate for his touch, wishing he was there day and night to please you again and again until you can’t take it anymore.

Jungkook breaks off the kiss and takes a look at you. What a fucking wonder. Your lips are puffy, breasts are slightly exposed from the rough makeout session. They move with your accelerated breathing which makes him feel somewhat proud. Your eyes are blown with lust and even though he feels he can cum right there with merely the sight of you this is not how he wants it to happen. No. You have to use your words, you have to agree.

When Jungkook kneels, your brain seemed to stop working, but when he put his head between your legs, shit, you were in big trouble. His arms grab your thighs for you to stay still for him, and then he licks your entrance already dripping for him. Your panties stuck to your pulsating pussy. Jungkook looks at you with the charmiest of smiles.

“You are using the ones I bought. I knew you would look so fucking good in these…” with each word, he would lick your entrance, the poor fabric just soaked in your juices and his spit.

“Be mine,” he says again. This time, he bites your inner thigh, licking and kissing it right after to soothe the sudden pain.

But you loved it, every single touch is like a current that travels under your skin and ends in your clenching hole. You hand grabs his hair and you pull him to where you need him most, and with a swift move of your underwear to the side, his tongue is deep inside you.

Fuck!

You have to be honest, he eats you out like no one has ever before. That thought will be tormenting you for weeks, you know that. It is wrong, you should stop. But then, one of his fingers slides into you making your eyes roll back in pleasure. The moaning of his name involuntarily escaping your lips, you are louder now. Hips rocking back and forth as his lips suck your clit. With a little curve of his finger, you jolt.

“Right t-there, yes,” you whisper.

“Are you gonna be good and cum for me?”

“Yes!”

“Do you want me?” he inserts another finger in.

“Yes!”

The heat that once resided in your belly is now all over your body. Tears already threatening to leave your eyes as your orgasm approaches. So you close them. His tongue presses hard on your click and with one more thrust of his perfect fingers, you cum for him, your body shaking under his touch as he slows down his pace.

You reopen your eyes to find Jungkook leaving little kisses on your thighs. His eyes search yours and you see something in them you never did before. Pure bliss.

—------------------------------------------------------

“Can you believe the wedding is in a week?”

Camille’s voice echoed in the changing room while both of you tried your dresses for the nth time. She looks gorgeous, the dress fits like a glove. You, on the other hand, are still trying to slip into the dress.

“Well, someone has been occupied! Miss, is that a hickey on your thigh?” Camille acts shocked and you can’t help but feel embarrassed and hide it.

“This week isn’t about me, this is all about you!”

“Oh shut the fuck up. Are you spicing things up in bed?”

“Something like that…”

And God you want to tell her, she will snap you out of it, but how can you deny yourself of the most exciting oral sex you’ve ever had? This will all be over as soon as the wedding ends, you hope.

Your phone chimes.

Wanna come again?

Shit. What are you going to do about Jungkook?

----------------------------------

do not copy or translate

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨ hiiii I am back after being mentally and physically ill for months. I am not completely healed, but I felt inspired and this came out. Message me if you wish to be in the taglist <3 next chapter is on the works.

taglist: @paramedicnerd004 | @darkuni63 | @bangtans-momma | @diorh0seokie | @gimeow

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oolhan · 5 months ago

Text

Too Many Beds (Part 2)

okayyy so I finally had the time to continue the little fic I wrote about reverse trope of having too many beds instead of sharing one like they got used to do. I'm publishing it on ao3 here so I can navigate it easier. Give it some love there! Oh, read part 1 here. This will be in three parts, so enjoy this second one! Thank you! Edit: part 3 is up here!

Part 2:

Peeta’s bed was long empty before she even blinks sleep from her eyes. She hears some laughter outside their room as she puts on her robe but, well, it just could happen everybody is awake already.

“Oh, do you remember that time I got detention just from eating cookies in class?”

Hold up. It’s a familiar feminine voice and definitely not Jo’s or Annie’s. Katniss quietly peeks through the corner between the little dining set up and the hallway.

“No, no, Madge, I totally forgot that part after I was in detention for the first time,” Peeta accuses with sarcasm from the dining table.

Oh god, Madge? In France? Sitting prettily on a quaint chair eating some pastry in the morning? WITH PEETA?

“eh, tu l'as bien mérité,” Madge sips her coffee.

God, she’s French now, too?

Of course she is, because the Undersees flew to France shortly after their only daughter’s high school graduation, sending Madge off to a fancy college and never got the hang to be in touch with everybody. Well, except maybe for Annie and Delly. Madge Undersee was pretty popular in their batch, having been the student body president and an active advocate for several political issues. She fell into their group because Delly was part of her council and because she was, quite literally, head over heels for Peeta at the time.

Katniss can still hear the gasps in the school gym when Council President Madge Undersee tripped on her feet confessing to newly titled wrestling champion Peeta Mellark just after finishing his match. Katniss was stupidly giddy that day and had to keep herself from smiling because one, it’s horrible to be weirdly satisfied with someone’s embarrassing moment in public and two, Peeta gently rejected her confession.

It’s not that Katniss secretly hates Madge, not really. She respects her especially her courage in speaking out for different causes, as nonchalant as she may seem. It’s just that the girl’s advances towards Peeta comes off annoying as hell for someone like her. She’s always so sweet and so fluid with her walk and her hand gestures and she’s always speaking truth against the government and really smells so good whenever she arrives and always requests Peeta to bake her some strawberry shortcakes because why wouldn’t you bake for someone so irritatingly good? They really match well considering Peeta’s not only active in sports but also in social commentaries-

“Fuck!” Katniss hissed as Cinna placed a hand on her shoulder.

“What are you doing peeking here this early?” He whispers.

“Why is Madge here?” Katniss seethes, narrowing her eyes at Cinna’s bed head.

“Oh right, sorry. Hadn’t had the chance to tell you last night. She was in the city and heard about you guys from Delly. She got in very late,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katniss agrees and turns when she hears another fit of laughs. She finds Peeta’s head thrown back from laughing while holding his mug. Cinna follows her line of sight.

“After all these years, huh?” He mocks, smiling knowingly.

“What—”

“Good morning, Peeta!” Cinna cuts her off by walking into the dining room, joining them in the laughter. Katniss huffs and go as well.

“Madge Undersee. It’s been a long time,”

“Oh Katniss! Katniss Everdeen! It’s been a long time!” Madge stands to hug her and had no choice but to wrap her arms around the blonde who still smells like strawberries and frosting. Shit, she also has a French accent now. If she speaks against some corrupt government leader it’s much sexier.

Katniss doesn’t now how her ears are reacting, much less how Peeta is reacting.

“Yeah, I think it was your father’s home vacation when I last saw you. You look… good.” She almost said French.

“Well, I didn’t really keep in touch with the lot of you but thankfully Delly and a few added me on their socials so I still hear some high school drama. If you know, you know, yeah?” Madge winks as she sits and proceeds to drink her coffee. “Coffee, Katniss?”

She blinks.

“Katniss doesn’t drink coffee in the morning. Would you like some hot chocolate?” Peeta supplies abruptly, leaving Katniss rendering what Madge was implying. She notices Cinna smiling swirling his mug.

“Uh-yeah, sure,” Peeta stands up to make her one. She sits on his chair and takes some sliced bread.

“So, uh, how are you finding living in Paris?”

“Ugh, je suis épuisé, please, don’t make me rant about shit here,” Katniss smiles at this because all these years, it’s still amusing to know how nice-pretty-sweet achiever Madge can talk so vulgar. She sips from Peeta’s mug while waiting.

“I’m sorry, just tired and all. Hopefully this trip to Venice won’t leave me feeling guilty for resting,”

“You’re going with us?” Katniss blinks as Peeta places her mug and drinks his.

“Yes, I just found out just before you came in. Apparently, we need her as tour guide for Venice.” He sits beside her and reaches for some bread like they didn’t fight the night before.

Well, they didn't really fight. It was just some awkward exchange of disagreement, so she lets him take a bite from her toast and lay his arm around her chair.

They eat as Madge discusses on what's been occupying her all these years while partly helping Cinna every Paris Fashion Week when she questions, "Okay, so I know it's early to ask but…” Madge seeks Cinna’s eyes and he nods.

Katniss and Peeta anticipates.

“I'm curious how are you two? did you finally hit it off? you seem like an old couple."

Katniss chokes on her hot choco and Peeta coughs his toast, suddenly remembering their encounter the night before and how those skimpy shorts were underneath her robe right now.

"Oh, no madame, you're very wrong. They're still friends," Cinna laughs as he helps Madge kills the curiosity.

"Come on madame Madge, like you didn't just tripped confessing to me in high school," Peeta teases her to dispel the awkwardness he feels rising beside him. Madge gasped dramatically.

Katniss was still coughing when Cinna hands her some water. Peeta tries not to pat her back. Like patting her would make it more awkward.

"Please deflate that ego, Peeta Mellark. I just didn't know how small your dick was compared to frenchies I've sucked," Madge throws and Katniss bursts out laughing at this.

Yep, totally vulgar.

Not at all awkward.

She’s fumbling her braid, trying not to act so annoyed hearing Peeta and Madge conversing beside her. Despite not sleeping enough the night before, Katniss feels well rested on the flight to Milan, waking up to her head resting on Peeta’s shoulder. But the rest she felt quickly turned sour when Madge woke up beside Peeta and started catching up with old news from their social circles.

She planned on watching Before Sunrise with him as a quick remedy from their awkward tension just a while ago. It seems they’ve been hanging on some tension ever since they separated beds last night. Weird. Thankfully, after hearing Madge’s comeback they heard Annie shriek from surprise followed by a sleepy Finnick, waking up Delly and the others. They got to pack by lunch time and wished Cinna the best before getting on the short flight to Milan.

She felt dread when coincidentally, Madge’s seat was beside Peeta, and Katniss at his left. Great. What if she switches with Jo?

No, it’ll turn more awkward than it already is. Jo will just tease her.

And yet now she wishes she switched places with Johanna as she sighs, tapping buttons on the TV panel until the film starts. She tries very hard to fade out their annoying nostalgic conversations on high school memories.

Like can’t Madge just move on from their high school era? She thinks and crosses her arms, really, really focusing on Jesse and Celine.

“Oh! Before Sunrise! Haven’t watched that in a while,” Peeta suddenly turns to her, his face a huge ball of energy.

“Yeah, I haven’t too,” Her annoyance is simmering, she can feel it.

Why is she so annoyed though? It’s not like something is off with her or with him. Or with Madge.

“Imagine watching that when we were in Vienna, seems like some cathartic experience. Too bad we didn’t think of it,” Peeta continues, making her more irritated.

“Hmm,” she just nods.

Madge suddenly panics, tapping furiously at Peeta. “Arm cramp! Arm cramp!” she hisses, trying to stretch her arm and avoids yelling in pain.

Katniss tries really hard not to roll her eyes when Peeta takes Madge’s arm and massage it to calm her muscles. “it’s okay, I get this all the time,” Peeta soothes.

She can’t focus on the fucking movie.

Peeta's beginning to get suspicious. He doesn’t like this strange feeling at all. Like they’ve been avoiding each other at the same time laughing and bantering like usual. He can feel it from her subtle distance, like when he offers her a snicker bar on flight but she declines.

And when he tries to take her suitcase from the baggage counter she dismisses him, mumbling she can carry it herself and catches on with Annie and Delly.

Maybe he's just overanalyzing things. Especially since he noticed the bags under her eyes when he made her tea this morning. Guess she's just tired.

"Okay! old routine everyone. Just drop your bags and freshen up. Come back here in 20, we'll find some late dinner, sleep, then catch the train first thing in the morning. Chop chop!" Delly directs before following Thom to the right of the hallway.

Peeta's eyes automatically goes to Katniss, a little nervous. A little expectant.

Gale and Finnick go left. Johanna stands with Madge and Annie, leering their suitcases away conversing.

He gulps down when Katniss walks towards him. From relief? tension? He doesn't know, what he knows is she won’t meet his eyes, but she’s still share a room with him.

"Let's go, we're 1208," she dangles their key room and walks past him, his eyes on her form and his feet stumbles before following her.

The door's creak fills the silence. They are quiet as they enter the standard room with Italian accents, and even more quiet as they see the single queen bed on the center of it. Why the fuck's so awkward and tensed? it's not like they never shared a bed. Peeta coughs and drops his bag on the left side facing the window.

"Dibs on this side," he tries casually, tossing himself on the bed and letting out a tired groan, closing his eyes. A moment later he felt the mattress dip and he glances to his right, seeing two pools of droopy grays and a soft smile.

"I'm tired, Peeta." She whispers and closes her eyes for a bit. He stares at her soft skin and long lashes. Oh, the things he'd do just to freeze this moment and live in it.

He lets out a sigh of relief and closes his eyes, smiling.

Yes, that explains her silence. She's just tired, that's all. It's just some jet lag. Nothing that cannot be dispelled.

Except it is not nothing.

Katniss’ scowl isn’t new to him, but seeing her scowling standing by the side as he takes a picture of Madge in front of an Italian antique store gives him an odd feeling.

The group is finally walking and exploring the city all afternoon after nearly missing their train in Milan because of Katniss and Peeta. They accidentally slept their way through the night and woke up from Delly’s insistent knocking and suddenly stumbled from one another’s limbs. Well, maybe just Katniss. He notices some pink blushing her cheeks when she stands up to open the door, but his mind is still asleep. Guess he must be imagining things.

“What? You just woke up? You two didn’t even fucking told us you planned on staying in last night and you just woke up?” Delly nearly shouts, helping Katniss with her bags while she washes her face in the bathroom.

“Sorry Dell,” Peeta rises and rubs his face from sleep, quickly opening his luggage for fresh clothes.

“Just wash your fucking faces and get down in 10! Everybody’s ready! We’re running to the station,” Delly almost slams the door, annoyance from having to baby her completely-capable-to-wake-up-on-their-own friends.

Despite their rushing, he still feels warm from waking up next to Katniss, and he tries not to smile as he feels a rush of giddiness. He pulls his shirt off and rummage for his toothbrush, walking towards the bathroom seeing her brushing her teeth as well.

Their eyes meet on the reflection on the mirror, and Katniss quickly looks away.

And she continues looking away from him all day. In fact, he feels her distance when she sat beside Gale and Johanna on the train ride. He had no choice but to seat beside Madge and listen to her antics for two hours.

He thought they were okay after sleeping again together. He clearly thought wrong, and he’s determined to find out why.

“Peeta! One more!” Madge grins a perfect smile as she poses in front of the camera.

Of course, Peeta is the guy with the camera on these kinds of trips. He delights on taking pictures of everything, from sceneries to his friends, especially when Katniss rarely wants one. But he’s distracted all afternoon because he still didn’t have a picture of Katniss. Or a picture of both of them. And they were on their fourth place of Delly’s itinerary.

He steals another glance on Katniss when Madge pulls Delly and Annie for another picture. He sees her looking back at him and she quickly takes her eyes off, heading towards Finnick, Thom, and Gale. He takes another picture.

She stands beside Finnick, “seems like we need to put some time limit on picture taking,” she rants.

“Come on, they’re just taking souvenirs. Why not join them?” Finnick defends, eating del Moro’s.

“Yeah, Catnip, what’s up with you today? You’ve been kinda silent,” Gale supplies.

“Relax, she’s just envious of Madge,” Johanna says, walking into the conversation with some street food for Gale. Katniss huffs.

“What? That’s not true! I’m just—”

“You’re what? Just exhausted? I can read you like a book, Kat. You’ve been jumpy ever since Frenchie here joined us yesterday.”

“and why would I be jealous of her?” She snaps, taking the pasta from Finnick and eats it. That’s such a ridiculous notion, even for her.

Because yes, Madge is pretty opposite from her. Prettier, funnier, easier to get along with. But that’s not why she’s upset. She doesn’t even know why she’s grumpy at all.

“Ugh, this is so high school all over again. You were always this stubborn and seething when miss pretty president is in our table,”

“and poor Peeta always suffer with it,” Thom laughs. What does that even mean?

“Suffer from what?” Peeta suddenly stands beside her and she tries not to choke on the pasta.

“Suffer from taking hundreds of pictures of the same pose,” she supplies casually, glaring at Jo’s wicked smile and the guys’ snorting.

“Okay come on, it’s nearing sunset” Finnick pats her on the back, looking around to see Annie and the girls buying from the stall far from where they stood. He clears his throat and whispers, “Jo, make sure she’s distracted enough when we walk to the bridge, talk with Delly and Madge.”

“Wait, what? What’s going on?” Katniss seems clueless, and Jo rolls her eyes. “He’s proposing at sunset, brainless.”

“I thought Peeta told you?” Finnick’s brow crinkles. Katniss looks to Peeta, annoyance bubbling.

“Uh-I-I couldn’t find a moment, sorry.” Peeta clears his throat, avoiding her eyes.

They were walking all afternoon and he didn’t have two seconds to tell her? Katniss’ tone almost borders on shouting, “and I’m just finding out now?”

“I was just told on the train!” he turns to her, his patience exceeding.

What’s wrong with her?

What’s wrong with them?

“Will you two just don’t be children for a second?” Jo sighs, exasperated. “This is for Annie and Finnick, alright? Calm your assess off.” She scolds, watching as Peeta and Katniss blush from embarrassment. They were indeed acting like children.

“Okay, they’re still paying. Peeta, camera’s still good?”

“Yes.”

“Gale, record it on your phone, okay?”

“Got it, boss.”

Finnick heaves out a nervous exhale. He still can’t believe he’s doing this, in a bridge in Venice, of all places. Peeta notices his nervousness and pats him on the shoulder.

“You got this, man. It’s been a long time coming,” he says warmly, easing his friend’s nerves.

Peeta has to admit there’s a small part of him envious of Finnick. No, scratch that. Envious of Finnick and Annie’s tooth-rotting relationship. Their group always knew they end up married to one another, as their love can’t be mistaken when they glance at one another, but Peeta; Peeta witnessed this romance from day one, when Finnick went home to their dorm from his first date with Annie and declares right then and there he’s marrying that girl one day. The sparkle on Finnick’s eyes leaves no doubt.

“This would’ve happened anyway, Finnick.” Katniss adds, and Peeta’s eyes automatically goes to her. He can’t help but picture himself looking up into those gray eyes filled with all the things he needed, kneeling in front of her with a ring.

His heart aches from the longing, and Katniss can’t help staring back at him, feeling a weird sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“Okay they’re coming.”

Katniss looks away, exchanging the weird feeling with annoyance on having been the last one to know.

“Okay, come on. Tell me,” Peeta catches up to her, his camera dangling. They are headed for Ponte delle Guglie, a bridge with the most beautiful trajectory of the sunset at the right moment.

They are the last one on the walk, with Madge, Jo, and Delly distracting Annie ahead of them. Peeta thinks it’s the perfect timing to get her to talk.

“Tell you what? The fact that I don’t know my two friends are going to be engaged by sunset because you didn’t tell me?” She snaps, her words thick with sarcasm.

“Well, it’s not like I could talk to you.” He retorts, eyebrows crinkling from impatience.

“How can I even talk to you when you’re busy taking pictures of Madge’s ass?”

“Oh, so this is about Madge now? You can’t even look at me, you’ve been weirdly distant, and—"

“No! this isn’t about miss pretty little sunshine!” Katniss yells. She knows she’s becoming irrational now.

“Well, I’m sorry I was bonding with our friend that I hadn’t spoken to for a long time!”

“No, Peeta. This is about you not telling me things I’m supposed to know. Imagine if I hadn’t been there awhile ago! I would’ve look stupid for not knowing!”

“You’re the one to talk. As if you’ve been honest with me on why you’re so annoyed all of a sudden. Is this about us sleeping?”

Katniss gets caught off guard from the question. She inhales, ready to answer back, only to hear Annie shriek from surprise.

“Shit!” Peeta runs off from her, positioning his camera near a kneeling Finnick and a crying Annie, rushing to snap the moment.

Katniss suddenly feels ill from their argument and from almost ruining Finnick's proposal. What a memorable trip this is becoming.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #oolhanwrites #everlark fic #the hunger games

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justrainandcoffee · 3 months ago

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Sinners (James Delaney x fem!oc) I

Summary: Sister Agnes Hill wasn't always who she claimed to be. There was a time when she was Inés Serra, a Spanish girl that went to London with her father and brother when the patriarch lost everything he had. It was there that she also met James Delaney. "Stay away from him" her father warned her. And she should have listened to the man.

Series warnings: Everything that Taboo is, including incest. || Religious theme. || Dark themes, like murder. || My oc is a nun. || Unrequited love, for now at least. || Angst. || Not fluff at all in this series.

Words: 2.8k.

Author's note: The name Inés Serra is the Spanish version of Agnes Hill. They mean the same. All my ocs are named after flowers and there's one called "st Agnes" || I wrote some dialogues in Spanish but their translation is next every line.

1795-1803.

Inés Serra arrived at London with her father Fernando and Felipe, her eldest brother from the coast of Cantabria, Spain. Specifically, the city of Santander after the patriarch lost absolutely everything making business with a Portuguese man who stole from him. But it was legal and Fernando Serra couldn't do anything about it. He put his signature not knowing the consequences of it.

Fernando Serra was a traveller merchant sailing through the seas where he met Horace Delaney. It couldn't be said that both men became friends, but they had a mutual respect for the other and a relationship based on trust. Something that it wasn't usual those days. Not in times of constant wars, at least. Both men, collected several enemies but the other weren't one of them. Widower and without places to go, Fernando sold his last possessions and bought three tickets to England, hoping that Horace Delaney could help him. Maybe his children could have a future in the Capital city. Perhaps his daughter could marry a rich man, even that could help. But Inés was still a little girl and was only 8 years old. Felipe Serra, his son, probably could work for Delaney trade company as well, he was 13 years old was old enough to work.

Horace Delaney received them and same as Fernando. Their respective children were more or less the same age. Delaney was weird man, but Fernando couldn't complain about it. He never asked him anything and Fernando didn't bother him at all, except for the times that they talked about job. Felipe, few years older than James, preferred to work at his father's side instead of focusing on his studies. On the other hand, Inés was admitted in a school for girls.

For the next seven years, Inés studied in London where she learnt the local language along with Latin and French as it was usual. She learnt history and art. They taught her how to sew and to paint. And they taught her to respect the King and God like they were the same person.

But when Inés was 14 years old tragedy knocked on the Serra's door. Working on the docks, Felipe cut his hand with an old knife. It didn't seem to be that serious at first. It bleed but they put bandages on his hand and the young boy could keep working. But few days later he got fever and couldn't move from his bed. In less than two weeks, a terrible infection affected his whole body and Felipe, only 19 years old, died a summer night. His body was buried in the cemetery in a funeral that only his father, sister and Mr. Delaney assisted.

Inés left school a year later to stay with his father that never seemed to recover from his Felipe's death.

It was there that she started to pay attention to Delaney's son.

James was a young boy that never seemed to talk too much, but he was well educated and courteous. As far as Inés knew, he was always polite to her and her father. It wasn't until Inés started to live with Fernando that she really got to know James. The past years, he was just the firstborn of her father's boss: the heir of their fortune.

And there was also Zilpha, his half sister. Inés loved her poor brother, he was a good boy and always protected her but the relationship between the Delaney siblings, in her eyes, was totally devotion the one with the other. Zilpha was the same age as her but they studied in totally different places. Her social status allowed her to go to a better school so Inés didn't know her at all. And to be honest, the Delaney girl didn't seem to be interested in being friends with her at all.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Inés said once to James when she found him in the city. She started to work as governess for a rich family not long after she left school. She was still young but her education was enough to do an acceptable work teaching and taking care of those kids.

"It is, Ms. Serra," he said, smiling.

Inés confirmed that moment, that she was falling in love with James the instant his blue eyes met hers. Even when he was an impossible dream. The few last weeks, she had spent her free hours looking at him through the distance.

"Aléjate de James Delaney," her father said once he caught her looking at him. "Su madre murió en un asilo. Rumores dicen que alucinaba y era un peligro para los demás y ella misma. Y Horace no está cuerdo del todo tampoco. Si ambos padres están enfermos, sus hijos también". (Stay away from James Delaney. His mother ended in an asylum. Rumours says that she was hallucinating and was a danger to the rest and herself. And Horace isn't completely sane. If both parents are insane, so are their children.)"

Inés nodded.

"Vas a encontrar un buen hombre algun día." (One day you'll find a good man)

And yet despite the warnings, Inés couldn't stop looking at him.

Inés probably could never forget the day that everything changed. It was an afternoon that seemed to be night because a heavy thunderstorm. She was returning home after work when she saw them even when at first she thought it was her imagination, but it wasn't. There, under a tree and believing there were no one, James and his sister were kissing. They were kissing in ways that the church and also society forbade.

Maybe she was young, just 15, but she was old enough to know that everything about that absolutely wrong. The closeness between the siblings was darker than she, innocently thought at first. Inés ran inside her bedroom and thanked the rain that disguised her tears.

Her father was right: the Delaneys were sick.

Inés, that usually found an excuse to talk to James now started to avoid him completely and that didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Are you going to work?" he asked days later. "I have my horse, if you want to."

"I'm fine. Thanks, I prefer to walk this morning."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Mr. Delaney I've to go."

James looked at her, walking fast and disappearing from his view as soon as she turned the corner.

Inés thought about telling her father what she saw, but she was afraid of the consequences that the revelation could cause inside the family and Fernando Serra still depended on Delaney generosity to keep working. So she said nothing, but the girl started to resent Zilpha. Her money, her education, her last dress and her relationship with James. World wasn't fair and it wasn't Zilpha's fault that she couldn't afford those dresses or the professors she had, but the envy started to grow inside her like a cancer. But it was especially because of James. Maybe it wasn't Zilpha's fault that she was poorer, but it was that she had James' attention. Because it was wrong, it was forbidden and Inés was sure both siblings knew that. In top of all the things Ms. Delaney had and Inés didn't, the other girl also had the love of the only person that Inés felt she could give her heart.

Maybe his sister didn't notice anything because Zilpha never really paid attention to Inés, but James did notice the way the teenage girl who used to greeted him every time they saw each other, suddenly didn't do it anymore. And it was clear now that she was avoiding him. If James' suspicious were right, then it was better to him to talk to her. His life, after all, was going downhill no matter what. His insubordination against the East Indian Company could cost him his head and his love for his sister already condemned him to hell, and he was barely 16 years old.

He wrote a letter to her asking Inés to find him at the port. There were always people there and none were going to pay attention to two young friends talking.

The wisest thing to do was not going there. It'd have been clever if she'd have listened to the voice in her head, but she didn't. First, because she was just 15 years old and then, because she was madly in love with the boy who sent her the letter asking her to meet him.

James saw her coming, she was wearing a blue dress and a hat with a veil covering part of her face. James was sure that boys did pay attention to her because she was pretty and her Spanish accent help her to be more captivating. Sadly, for him, the only thing he noticed looking at her was that she wasn't Zilpha.

"Am I late? I couldn't leave in time the house where I work because one of the kids is sick. Poor boy, but I guess he'll be fine soon."

"No, you're just in time, don't worry."

"I'm glad then. What do you want? Your letter said it was urgent, but you didn't say anything else."

"Mmh. Yes. Inés, I know that you know. I know you saw us- my sister and I. I don't know exactly what did you see, but I know you're avoiding me because of that."

Inés stared at him for a moment before looking down, playing with her gloves.

"Under the tree. A thunderstorm months ago, you and her were kissing."

James sighed. Yes, he remembered now. It was Zilpha's idea and he accepted because he didn't know how to say no to her.

"Inés-"

"No. Don't. I know enough to know that it's bad and I don't want to be involved in that. I don't want explanations… Mierda- fuck." Inés felt her eyes filling with tears and hated herself. "Te amo," she finally said to him.

She shouldn't have said that, but if she didn't say it, the envy, the hate she felt towards Zilpha it was going to be the end of her. Tomorrow morning she was going to ask her father to send her to Ireland, or maybe back to Spain to start a new life far away from James and his sister because the only thing that Inés was getting of all that was corrupting her heart.

"You don't love me," James said. "Give your love to a good man, because you're a good woman, Inés. I don't deserve it."

"Don't tell me what do I deserve or what I don't. And I do love you, so bad I love you. My father is waiting for me, James. I have to make dinner for him."

She hated her weakness in that moment. She hated her voice trembling and her tears running down her face.

The boy that James was back then, wasn't the cold man that he was destined to be and even when probably he was just motivated by pity and a bit of compassion, he kissed her. Inés felt his hand first on her waist and then him bringing her closer to him. She let him guide her. Inés felt she was dreaming, because she dreamt about it but even there it wasn't that good as it was now. Her hands were caressing the back of his neck, as James pushed even closer to him.

She loved him, so it happened that she offered him her virginity when the kisses weren't enough and James took it. It was behind a cantina, while she was sitting on a barrel. Probably, Inés thought, Zilpha was even privileged enough to be in his bed and never where they were now. Not where probably people passing by, and ignoring them, just believe she was a cheap whore. Another one of the dozens that were there.

At least he didn't hurt her and it was as gentle as he could. She hid her head on his neck when both of them climaxed. They kissed again, slower this time.

"Te amo," she repeated. But he didn't answer back, just tucked her hair behind her ear.

James pulled up his pants and helped her to get off the barrel.

"Goodbye, James." Tears were burning her eyes, but the girl didn't gave him the chance to do nor say anything because ran away from there.

Her father wasn't there when she arrived to the house and Inés was grateful for that. She cook something for him and left a note saying she didn't feel good and didn't want to eat.

Alone in her bedroom, the girl hugged a pillow to muffling her sobs, while she remember what happened.

She couldn't bear to see him next to his sister. Or watching her clinging to him, while she whispered something to him. Inés couldn't bear the idea of them pretending to be siblings during the day when they were lovers during night.

James sought her the following days but not avail. He wanted to apologize but didn't know how. Even when he didn't force her to do anything, the barrel, the cantina felt so bad to him. She was a good person, she didn't deserve what he did.

But destiny was ready to play its cards and the apologies should wait ten years, if the man he was about to be was still willing to apologize to her.

Ten years later: 1813.

Inés Serra was dead as her brother was and also her father. Fernando Serra died seven years ago probably because his liver failed after drinking just rum for over a decade. But Inés died two years before him and in her place was now Agnes Hill.

Sister Agnes, specifically, the one who worked in st. Bartholomew hospital, helping people and near the American man surnamed Dumbarton.

She didn't trust him but the hospital did and she was there just to follow orders. So far, the doctor besides being a weird man who loved chemicals never bothered her or the other sisters ever. Yet, everything about him didn't like her.

Agnes started her day as always. Her little and modest bedroom faced the streets and the morning workers always woke her up. She prayed before having her breakfast and after cleaning her space, went like always to the hospital.

"Thanks, sister," a man in wheelchair said to her, after she helped him to sit there and wheeled him outside to enjoy the sun.

Agnes heard the voice of sister Clarice, telling a man "just follow the smell." She saw his back and hat but not his face. She didn't care, probably another one looking for Dumbarton.

Agnes forgot completely about the unknown man, the American and even Sister Clarice, because she was talking to her patient. He was a funny grandpa always talking about his son and granddaughters and he made her laugh, but it was getting cold and he should return inside.

It was when she was heading to another wing, when Agnes saw the man wearing the top hat and she felt her heart stop. Ten years passed, she knew that. She even could say how many days passed since he left.

James Keziah Delaney is dead. She heard the rumours about his death one time she left the monastery to visit her father. James Delaney died in the sea.

Or he was alive, or he was the devil visiting her.

James' eyes caught a nun staring at him and for a moment he didn't pay attention to her until he looked at her again.

It was her. Clearly older, but it was her.

James turned to walk towards the nun but she wasn't there anymore. James looked around but didn't see her. He was busy, he couldn't stay there for a person who escaped from him once again. Through a peephole of one of the many doors that the hospital had, she saw him walk away.

And Agnes knew that even when Inés was dead, the feelings she believed dead as well, were still there. Burning her like the infernal flames around the Devil.

#james delaney #james keziah delaney #james delaney x oc #james delaney x ofc #taboobbc #taboofx #tom hardy #agnes hill #my oc

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lisbeth-kk · 6 months ago

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May Prompts (23) Apology

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter23)

Summary: Rosie shares a surprise with her parents and uncle. All of them have different thoughts about this unexpected development, and silent negotiations are carried out.

Twenty-Three Years Old

I knew that Papa not fully understood my reason for studying international politics and data, but to his credit he didn’t for one second try to convince me to give it another thought and opt for something science related instead. Dad was just relieved that I’d finally had found a path to walk, after several failed attempts. Uncle Myc, well he tried to hide how utterly pleased he was with my choice, but by now I knew him well enough to read the signs. Truth be told, said signs weren’t that subtle.

“Bien choisi ma chérie,” he beamed at me, while Papa scowled at him.

“Merci oncle,” I retorted. “I can’t wait to start this and go to Paris.”

The three-year BA degree was taught by The University of London Institute in Paris. We would be taught in English, but if we had an A level in French, we could also take French courses. I’d learned French in school for years, and uncle Myc and I often conversed in French when uncle Greg wasn’t around.

I think it’s needless to say that my security and comfort in France was well taken care of. Papa and uncle Myc had a conversation using their eyes only when I spilled the beans. Dad knew exactly what was going on and went to make tea while negotiations were carried out. Once the brothers were satisfied, uncle Myc took out his phone and sent several texts or emails. By now, I knew it’ll be futile to pester any of them of what was going on. I was just relieved that no one had tried to talk me out of it, making me feel uncertain or guilty for leaving the country; actually, moving out of my childhood home.

My reasons for choosing this subject were multifaceted. I’d always enjoyed learning facts, obscure and otherwise, about different countries and cultures. Having had a relatively unorthodox upbringing, containing all sorts of people, played a big part too. The cherry on top was that the school was abroad. Nana’s tales of her experiences overseas and how educating it is to have lived some time in another country and society, had always seemed enticing to me.

***

The university was situated close to the Invalides and the Seine, while my lodgings were in the Charonne area in the 11th arrondissement on a cosy cobble street, with a nearby metro station. My landlady, Marguerite Vachon was one of uncle Myc’s acquaintances, from where, I still have no idea.

Marguerite preferred that I used her given name instead of the formal, Madame Vachon.

“Je ne suis pas ancient,” was her favourite line and reminded me quite a lot of Nana.

“I am not ancient, dear,” was a statement Nana had used every so often.

Marguerite was a petite and elegant woman. Her hair was cut in a bob, coloured black with a few red stripes. I never saw her without lipstick or makeup. She always wore bespoke dresses and high heeled shoes. I deduced that she was far more than a landlady. When I left for school in the morning, I could hear her sing or talk on the phone, and when I returned, she always opened her door and inquired about my day.

“She’s clearly spying for Mycroft,” Papa’s voice told me.

And there was something about her, which I couldn’t put my finger on. Something mysterious, secret, perhaps even dangerous.

***

It seemed like Marguerite had my schedule memorised. Not that I’d given her the information, but when she slipped, I got my suspicions confirmed. To be fair, it wasn’t slipping per se. She couldn’t have known that class was dismissed early that day.

Luckily, I spotted her and was able to hide behind a wall before she saw me. I’d almost missed her, because she wasn’t wearing her normal dress and high heels, but red trousers, a white and blue-striped jumper, and white trainers. Instead of one of her posh handbags, she had a dark blue canvas bag diagonally draped over her chest.

Papa had taught me a few tricks when it came to the fine art of following people without being discovered. I’ve never had much use of them obviously, but now I saw an opportunity. How I would explain this and apologise if I was caught, never crossed my mind.

I was sceptical when Marguerite walked to the metro station, but I was able to get into the same carriage as her, and it seemed that she had no idea she was being followed. She got off three stops later and walked in the direction of the big Père-Lachaise cemetery.

A fitting location for obscure and shady affairs.

Marguerite knew where she was going, walking briskly but not hurried. I had walked the premises several times before and knew where she was headed when I saw the grand tomb of Sir Richard Wallace, the British baronet who contributed millions to the Parisian poor during the Siege of Paris in the early 1870s.

This reeked of another posh Brit I knew.

When Marguerite had placed a folder by the tomb and another woman picked it up five minutes later, I had a hard time keeping myself composed. The woman picking up the folder was the French equivalent of Anthea.

I sent uncle Myc a text when both women were out of sight.

Thanks for keeping track on me, but this thing is like being part of a French noir film. You can tell Papa I think you’re both growing sentimental, and I demand an apology!

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#may prompts 2024 #may 23: apology #sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #mycroft holmes #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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yanderefairyangel · 1 year ago

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Knowledge in VNC : About Noé's eyes

So, we all remember that when Noé was very, very young he was injuried in one of his eye right ?

While people wonder why his left eye specifically, I might have the answer to this.

In latin, left is said "sinister" but in french it gave the word "sinistre" which means omnious and therefore lead to countless surpestition of left briging you infortune, on why you should never eat with your left hand, or that the wrong decision is always to choose the thing in the left etc. This comes from the Greek since Roman saw the left/sinister as a sign of good fortune and since VNC is full of latin/french reference it might be why.

Anyway, that answered. I'd like to point out something. In the Opening 1 of VNC, 空と虚/The sky and the void, towards the end of the 1st chorus, those lines are mentionned :

その目に僕は見えるでしょう？But those eyes can see me, can’t they?

You migh wonder why there would be such a focus on vision. Well, for a long, long time vision is associated with knowdlege which is why the word "blind" can have the literal meaning of not seeing things and the figurative meaning of not seeing them in the sense that you are ignorant about it despite the answer being right under your nose.

So to explain this I'd like to use two mythological reference : Oedipus and Tiresias.

Oedipus is know very infamous for giving it's name to something Freud called Oedipus complex, but in Sophocleus's tragedy, Oedipus king, there is an interesting play between the vision and the knowledge thanks to the use of the verb σκοπέω/skopeo which both means to see/to observes and to judge/to think. Hence the play shows us an Oedipus that has the answer to the question he has at the begining reguarding Laios's murderer and the fact that his wife Jocaste is actually his biological mother, but he doesn't see it, he is figuratively blind which causes him to not see in the sense of him making terrible decision and when he finally begin to see the truth, he is crushed by reality which causes him to blind himself literaly, saying that he is now as blind as he used to be at the beginging of the play. I could go on with this due to how interesting this auto mutilation act is, however I am supposed to focus on VNC.

Following this logic, I think that Noé's "bad eyesight" is mainly symbolic to how he is blind to some things of the world. At the begining of the story, he is mainly a child at heart, an innocent and well intentioned young man. He is pretty much a white page, he doesn't know the reality of so many thing and concept such as love or salvation. His vision is cracked to shows how much of an unreliable narrator he can be. We already had many instance of Noé's vision on an event being portrayed differently. See when he met Vani for the first time :

VS in chapter 52

We may wonder why it changed right ? well, it's because Noé vision/perception of things is shaped by what he knows of it.

An example of this in the Ball masqué arc

That's how Noé sees Vanitas. He is portrayed as radiant here, and the reason isn't just because he saved him from Naenia, but because Noé saw Vanitas saving several vampires using the Reverse operation, which gives him hope.

Vanitas is seen as a saving figure because it restored Noé's hope. After all, he experienced the loss of his childhood friend due to Curse bearer degeneration and this happen right after Naenia made him remember that.

However, when Vanitas fails to save Catherine and kills her instead, the portrayal/way Noé's view him changes

Vanitas's dialogue is in a dark bubble leading to understand the dialogue has a dark connotation which worries Noé creating a transition

The panel where darkness seems to be growing and thus contrast with the light panel where Vani's hair shines brighter with the use of trame; replaced now by ink to signify darnkess as taken over, and here it's in Noé's vision.

When we are at the point where he will kill Catherine, Noé becomes more hesistant, the look on the panel showing his anxiety and then

He remembered the face Vani made when he claimed to save all the Vampires but with the dialogue he said a bit earlier, and while many commented on how threatning this face is, the fact that Noé remember this face right as Vanitas is about to kill Catherine says a lot on how he ended up viewing him very differently from the moment Vanitas saved him.

With this example, you can see that Noé's perception is limited to what he knows of the thing he see, modeling how he sees things.

By the time of chapter 52, Vanitas could have once again appears in his soft side, having saved Chloé and having Noé learn about his own insecurities. But in this chapter, Vanitas threaten to kill his childhood, friend, hence he doesn't view him anymore as the same and is unable to focus on him. An blatant example is how he failed to notice that Vanitas made this face when he tried to attack him.

He will admits it himself, but it isn't before Jeanne, an objective watcher call hims out

That he snaps out. And even then he doesn't understand

Until he sees himself in the mirror

The fact that Noé's vision of Vanitas is shaped by what Vanitas let him see of him, coupled by his blind self makes him an unreliable narrator, especially when it comes to what VNC is about : knowing who Vanitas is.

Hence, I think Noé's eyesight is actually refering to this element, that he is figuratively blind. At least for now.

But it should also be noted that Noé and Vanitas don't view the same thing in the same way as they have different knowledge of it and I think nothing illustrates it better then their duet song, Le Formidable where the chorus goes as such :

I walk into this

useless (Vanitas)

wonderous (Noé)

world

The chorus and some of the verse are constantly showing the dichotomy of how these two sees the world, contrasting between Noé optimism view and Vanitas's pessimistiv view, and the two untertwining creates a sense of discontinuity within the lyrics as the song keeps switching between their 2 POV which is complete polar opposite and this is more notable when the song comes to the chorus where both voices finally sings together and seems to have finally meet, but to show that while they live in the same world and lives the same adventures, they don't view things in the same way.

Now talking about Tirésias. He was a mythic poet that was cursed with blindness but the gods granted him in compensation the gift to see the future and he became a famous fortune teller. This is actually linked to an old, old belief about blindness. That although they can't see, the are gifted with a knowledge unabling them to see what is invisible to the common man. And while blind people often have sharpended sense, this is also linked to the old belief that the poet as prophetic talents.

So how does it link with Noé ?

Noé is actually an entity that is double : with have past Noé, the character and present Noé, the narrator/writer of the story. Past Noé is blind, but present Noé, while a potentially unreliable narrator is the one that knows how the story ends. After all, the end of chapter 1 sounds like a premonition.

And that's because it already happen. Like for Oedipus that couldn't escape his fate, the story Noé is telling is bound to end like that because it's what the narrator already experienced. There is that critic Jean Paul Sartre made about true stories not existing arguing that the moment you tell a story when you know the ending of it, it cease be authentic because we don't know how things are supposed to end. And indeed, no one but God can know what will happen in the future. It is what is name the occult, ot "what is hidden"... what people used to believe blind people could see as compensation for their defective eyesight.

That add up to the fact Noé was shown to be literaly defective within his eyesight due to his injury. But canonically Noé has the power to know something that others vampire in particular can't. As an Archiviste, he can knows the past of someone by drinking their blood and looking into their memories, which got him to have a lot of people looking down on him for that has it's allowing him to look on what is intimate, etymologitically, what is deep inside of them, that which they occult. And in the case of Vanitas in particular, it's something that 1/ Vanitas don't want him to know 2/Noé admits in chapter 52 to not know.

However, as I mentionned the narrator knows the ending of the story, which contrast with how Noé is ignorant of the events of VNC compared to his future self narrating the story. And in chapter 56, there is finally a hint of him learning his irremediable fate

From the mouth of Vanitas, Noé learns what is future self already knew and told the audience.

This might be an indicator that Noé will manage to pass of his initial blindess as he tells the story and thus recover a proper eyesight, signifying be able to see things other then through a veil of ignorance/innocence/subjectivity.

And this can be seen as through VNC, there are clear instance of Vanitas moments focused when Noé was simply not here, and thus should not know about it, specially when Vanitas nevers tell him about it, such as his meeting with Jeanne at the ball, his discussion with her during the lunch Lucas invited them to partake, their meeting at the ball, their date in Paris or in the cabine.

There is also the fact that he relates his meeting with Ruthven in the meantime, when he should have forgotten about it. Or, the most obvious piece of evidence, the fact that he was able to convey how Vanitas felt when he attacked him even though the chapter made it clear Noé had no idea on how he looked like

This for instance, shows that Noé/narrator was able to overcome his own biais and overcome the fact he would have remained an unreliable narrator had his vision not changed.

Long story short is that Noé/narrator knows and see what Noé/character doesn't know/see and shows us the ignorance he had at the time, while keeping in mind that Noé/character doesn't know while Noé/narrator is the one who knows everything. What is going to happen, how it is going to unfold.

Thus it is very important to remember that what Noé/character sees will constantly be challenged by what his future self saw and therefore knows.

And considering that VNC heavily deals with how Noé's vision of the world is constantly challenged throughout the story, I think it is possible that his character would evolve in such a way

#vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vanitas no shuki #jun mochizuki #noé archiviste #meta analysis #manga analysis #greek mythology

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