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erineverly · 1 year ago

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“But you never saw other Ass-el.” Sighing, the boy pouts as though the world was ending just because his father’s never crossed paths with another man named Ass-el. Hearing her ex-husband snicker, Erin has to cover her mouth with her hand and fake a coughing fit to keep from giggling, which in turn would surely result in hurting the smaller redhead’s feelings. “We can make a big-board sign!” A billboard sign to attract other Axl’s for his dad to befriend so that he’s not so lonely. That’s when Erin nearly loses it and has to start clapping her hands to avert the boy’s attention from the look of sheer amusement on her face. “What a great idea, baby! We’ll write something along the lines of my daddy’s looking for new friends who share his interests and name on it,” she playfully teases, wondering how on earth any of this makes sense to her child but figuring it’s best she just goes with it. “Why’d you �� why’d you… Umm…” The boy needs a minute to collect his thoughts, scratching his head and trying to process everything that he’s just heard. Little love is just his nickname. This part makes sense to him, but the fact that dad, daddy and even dada are all nicknames, too, is a small revelation and serves to confuse him. He just doesn’t know how to put these conflicting thoughts into words. “Why’d you name me Sebastian Shiloh Rose but your name isn’t Daddy Ass-el?” Erin can’t help but think part of why this moment is so hilarious is the fact that they’re having these deep conversations in the middle of the living room floor, Sebastian clinging to Axl’s back. “I do!” Sebastian squeals when his cheeks get pinched, giggling and puffing out his chest when he gets praised. His confidence shooting through the roof. “I’ll show you! All songs. All songs I sing for you.” He decides, clumsily climbing off his dad’s back. Just like that, he suddenly decides it’s time for a music show and his parents should move to the couch. “You’re welcome, dad,” Erin says with a laugh, watching as their baby boy lifts one of Axl’s ink-covered arms and tries to drag him by it to the couch. Giggling so hard that he forgets how to breathe and his face begins to turn rosy, Sebastian has missed these moments so much and is now having the time of his life. His mom and dad playing with him, dad getting dramatic and making funny noises. He’s loving it. And for one evening, he doesn’t have to share them with anyone. That’s the best part. “Now you live, Elvis will sing for you,” the small boy explains, crouching beside Axl and gently patting his shoulder. “Oh, yuck,” he sighs when his palm touches the red spot on his father’s shirt. Studying his hand with a look of disgust written on his angelic features, as though he didn’t know where the sauce came from. “Oh, yuck is clearly the new I’m sorry,” Erin muses, snickering but also feeling bad for the singer. “It’s laundry day, you know? If that makes you feel better.”

“Well.” There’s a second where the singer has to gather composure. “I’m sure there are others named Ass-el.” And then he snickers because that’s just fucking funny. “How did you remember I told you where? But yeah, you’ve been my little love since the ol’ hospital days.” Axl happily smiles because it shows he’s right and it wasn’t just a him thing as a child…that children do remember everything you say or do to them. But then, he realizes it’s not that he remembers even if it’s still cute. “We named you Sebastian Shiloh Rose at the hospital. But little love is your nickname. A nickname is like the way you call me dad, dada or daddy. All those are nicknames.” he explains, teaching him new things is never pointless. “Ohhh, you do huh? I’m real proud, he’s a great artist to know all the songs to.” Axl cutely smiles, pinching the cute boys cheek. He’s unbelievable. “Aww, thanks Sebastian,” he kisses the top of his head for wanting Erin to say it back even though it embarrasses him more. Stephanie definitely wouldn’t be too happy with their flirty gig going on tonight, no one would be. “And thanks mom.” Saying to Erin so Sebastian doesn’t notice anything off, but then feels even more sadness that he thinks of being Erin’s love but can’t. But….why would he want to? She’s just being the version of Erin that he adores, he has to remember that whole other side to her. Makes it easier to stay separated when he remembers and not ruin his relationship with Stephanie. “Eat me!” Axl exclaims, feigning he’s terrified then kicking his legs, “Ahhhh.” he softly screams. “I’m bein’ eaten. You win sea monster, you win. No pirate is touchin’ your land now.” Making a ‘blah’ sound for a final dead noise, he goes limp and plays dead as he shuts his eyes. Only after a second realizing Sebastian’s face was covered with sauce and now…he’s rubbing it into his shirt. Well, fuck. Biting his lip, he groans out the genuine defeat he feels now.

#rcsechild #main verse: 1990s.#same :') and i just know this will be epic #CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW SWEET RED IS? THE WAY HES PRETENDING HES A DED PIRATE NOW :')))) AND THEN THAT DEFEATED GROAN #BYE IM LAUGHING HES TOO CUTE :')#LAUNDRY DAY = HAWT EX HUBS IN NOTHING BUT BOXERS ON >:D GOTTA LOVE THIS FOR CURL

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marvelstoriesepic · 24 days ago

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Whumpcember (day 27)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: Hypothermia

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: vivid descriptions of hypothermia; desperate!Bucky; Hydra; slight mentions of Bucky’s past

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

Pang. Pang. Pang.

It’s almost rhythmic, the way Bucky’s metal fist hits the strong, reinforced door of the room you’re trapped in.

You stand off to the side, pressing a finger to your earpiece, trying once more to summon aid.

Only static answers you, sharp and grating, hissing in your ear. You grit your teeth.

Bucky lets out a frustrated grunt and slams his fist harder.

You step forward, intending to tell him to stop, to conserve his strength, to redirect his anger into a better plan since the door doesn’t seem to budge at all.

But then you notice it, the faintest shift in the room.

Your skin tingles at the back of your neck and underneath your tactical suit.

The air is sharper. It’s colder.

You glance up at the small vents near the ceiling and find their slotted mouths releasing thin, ghostly fog that drifts downward.

Your stomach plummets to the ground.

“Bucky,” you say, voice quieter than you intended, eyes still on the vents.

Bucky doesn’t turn, but his hits have stopped. His metal fist rests against the door. You make out his head tilting slightly, acknowledging you.

“Bucky,” you repeat, more insistent, more warningly. “Look!”

He does turn now, his eyes on you before moving up to where you are looking. His gaze narrows as the fog becomes more visible, coiling in haphazard spirals before dissipating.

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his jaw tightens, the way his body turns to solid stone says he understands.

He then takes a step toward the control panel, his metal arm flexing instinctively. “We need to figure out how to shut this down. Fast.”

But you don’t know how fast you can make it.

The room already feels smaller, the walls seeming to close in, their cold presence pressing against you. You rub your arms, trying to ward off the frost spreading in the air.

But your cheeks start to sting and your skin tightens.

You are trapped in the sterile and metallic control room of a Hydra facility.

And if that wasn’t bad enough already, it’s not just a control hub. It’s also a containment chamber, and how it looks like, designed to neutralize intruders by pumping in freezing air when someone attempts to tamper with the control systems.

And since that’s the only reason you are in here, you fell for it.

Surveillance suggested the base holds remnants of sensitive data Hydra has been safeguarding, with a high likelihood that it could detail sleeper agents or hidden cells.

Bucky and you were paired and tasked with accessing the main control room, disabling the security grid, and providing an opening for the rest of the team to neutralize the facility.

And well, that didn’t go as planned.

Hydra has always been cruelly inventive and the freezing protocol seems as effective as inhumane to you.

Bucky immediately started to react the second a low beep emitted from the console, followed by an ominous hiss as the lights overhead flickered and shifted to an emergency red glow.

And he would have made it out before the heavy door slammed shut behind you since he’d been guarding the entrance.

But only without you.

And that didn’t seem to be an option for him.

You tried again and again to call out to the team.

Though it was futile from the start.

The base’s interior is heavily shielded, preventing outside communication.

Your teammates had a backup plan to breach the outer defenses if you two went radio silent, so they wouldn’t immediately realize something was wrong until it was too late.

The frost freezes up the walls, tiny ice particles wandering along the surfaces.

The air you draw into your lungs feels sharp, like shards of ice scraping the back of your throat.

Your muscles contract, huddling inward in a futile attempt to shield themselves.

Stiff and numb fingers try to tap against the slowly freezing metal of the console, but your movements are turning clumsy.

Bucky walks over to you. He seems to hold up better than you, but you see that this situation gnaws at him. His frown is in place, his shoulders are rigid and you don’t want to know the places his mind is traveling.

After all, this is not his first encounter with Hydras frost for him.

He looks over the consoles in front of you, glancing over the wires and frozen circuits.

“I don’t think p-punching it will help.” You try to say it lightly, bringing in some humor in your situation but your voice is shaking as much as your body.

Bucky gives you a sidelong glance. “You’d be surprised how often that works,” he deadpans.

You try to laugh but it falls flat.

The icy mist tumbles through the air so innocently, making it colder and colder, and then pounces on you so piercingly intense, it makes your breaths falter.

Warmth feels so far away. Seconds are stretching.

Bucky doesn’t glance back at the console.

He is watching you with furrowed brows.

His flesh hand brushes over your arm, trying to gauge your condition.

“Hey,” he says, almost sharply, but so full of concern. “You with me?”

You nod, but it’s sluggish. Unconvincing. Your teeth chatter as you try to speak. “I’m- I’m fine.”

Bucky grits his teeth, his jaw working roughly. “Don’t lie to me.” His voice sounds thick.

He pulls you close then. His arms wrap around you with a firmness that feels protective, desperate even.

You don’t resist, wouldn’t even have the strength to, and lean into him. Your body is shaking against him, your muscles seizing violently. It drains you rapidly. You do your best to try and let the warmth of his body temperature battle against the cold settling into your skin and sinking deep and even deeper into your bones.

It crawls into your ears, turning them numb and unresponsive. Sounds seem muted, as if the chill has even frozen the air’s ability to carry them.

The temperature drops and drops so rapidly.

You feel Bucky’s head right beside yours. His breath fanning over your cheek. “Stay upright, sweetheart. Alright? Don’t sit down. Try and move your legs.”

With that order, he brushes a trembling hand against your cheek for a split second before reluctantly letting go of you and storming toward the door again with clenched fists.

Another pang sounds out as Bucky slams his fist against the steel door again, each strike reverberating through the room. His hits are more frantic than before and there is no rhythm at all.

“Come on!” he shouts, his voice cracking.

The door doesn’t budge and he lets out a guttural roar, his fist slamming against the unyielding surface one last time before turning back to you.

You really tried.

You tried to follow his orders and stay upright, perhaps move through the room and keep yourself in motion.

But your knees were so weak and you let them crumble.

With an anguished sound that might have been your name, Bucky rushes back to you, dropping to his knees.

Your head dips forward before jerking back up, fighting to stay conscious.

“No! Y/n! You’re not doing this. Stay with me.”

You try to smile but it’s weak. “I’m just- just tired,” you murmur, voice slurring.

“No,” he snaps, shaking you just enough to make you focus on him. His eyes are wide, frantic. “You don’t get to sleep, you hear me? You sleep, you die!”

He’s pressing you against him, holding you so tightly.

The cold claims your flesh and veins. Your blood feels slowed.

His flesh hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your freezing skin in a way that’s almost tender, though his voice is anything but soft.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” he growls, his lips close to your ear. “You don’t.”

There has been pain. In your toes, your fingers, your ears.

But you feel it fade. And you know you should panic, because this is a terrible sign. But your mind becomes singular in its focus, so obsessed with the absence of heat, the ache of it so intense and pervasive, there is no room for much else.

Exhaustion tries to close your eyes. It weighs you down, trying to make you stop moving at all.

But you fight. You fight against your own body.

Bucky’s flesh hand trembles against you, though whether from the cold or the panic, you’re not sure.

His eyes are jumping across the room, from the control panel, to the vents, to the door, and back to you.

Bucky’s breath comes fast, visible puffs of white in the freezing air. You hear him faintly mutter to himself. Or rather curse.

All you manage is to let out a sigh. The exhale lets a tiny ghost rise before your face. But it fades too quickly. Your breathing began to slow already.

Bucky presses his forehead against yours, rocking you slightly in his lap, tightly cradled against his chest to keep you moving and give you more of his warmth. His stubble brushes against your icy skin.

You meet his eyes, but your gaze is weak.

His gaze is wild. Darting between focus and frenzy. His brows are knit together so tightly, forming deep creases that dig into his forehead like scars of desperation.

“Stick with me, alright? We’ll get outta here,” he breathes. But he barely even managed that. And it sounds more like a plea than a promise.

You nod faintly against him. Your eyes fall shut for a moment.

“No, no, no,” he croaks out, rocking you more forcefully. “Eyes on me, doll! Come on.”

Your eyelids feel frozen together but you manage to break through. Though it takes so much energy.

But looking back at Bucky’s expression might even be harder.

His lips are trembling at the corners. His eyes are glassy and so intense, shimmering with a desperation so vivid, it seems to cry out silently.

“Hold tight, sweetheart.” He swallows. “There’s gotta be something we can do. Something to stop this.”

His words are fierce, determined, but his gaze says something else entirely as he sweeps his frantic eyes across the room once again.

You’re trying your best to help, scanning the space through the haze clouding your vision, coming from the freezing mist.

You notice something. It’s barely noticeable against the frost-covered wall but the sight of it roots you in place, not from the cold this time.

Since Bucky’s arms are still pressing you to him, he feels you stiffen against his chest. But to be real, he would have noticed if you were across the room. His sharp instincts are always in tune with you, even more so in this freezing hell.

“What is it?” he demands, his voice rough with concern. His flesh fingers brush your face, coaxing your attention back to him. “You got something in mind?”

You don’t meet his eyes. Instead, you shake your head faintly. A weak denial, that falters the second you try to hold onto it.

“Doll,” he warns, his tone low, his desperation edging in. Your silence is unnerving him. “Talk to me. What is it?”

You let out a shallow breath. It’s fragile, just like you, trembling and on the verge of breaking.

Bucky’s grip on you tightens.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I really need you to talk to me.” His voice is strained. “If you’ve got an idea, tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll make it work.”

The frost crackles in the background.

You let out a sigh and nod faintly, reluctantly, toward the corner of the room. Toward the frozen console that glints from the crystals of the ice.

“If we c-can short-circuit that p-panel,” your voice is barely above a whisper, “it might s-stop the c-cold.”

Bucky’s eyes dart to the console the second you mention it, then back to your face, searching it as though he could pull the rest of the plan from your expression alone to spare you the energy to talk.

But your expression falters and his brow is furrowed so tightly it’s hard to look at.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So what’s the problem?”

You shake your head, your body sagging further into his. He shifts to hold you better but his gaze is fixed on your face. “But-” you struggle, the word escaping you as a faint breath, lips trembling from more than just the cold, “it might fry your arm.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Bucky-”

“No,” he cuts you off, shaking his head firmly, muscles straining in his face. His flesh hand wraps around your shoulders like it could anchor you to him. “I’m being dead serious. I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t care what happens to my arm.”

Those are the words you expected to hear. And you hate them.

His voice is hard, but his gaze softens when he sees your expression. There is something determined there, but also something tender, something so soft, something unshakable that makes you want to bury deep into his chest and never leave it again.

“I’ll be fine, doll. Promise. But I have to do this.” His voice is soft. Gentle. And he lets his lips brush against your cheek.

You try to protest. Try to shake your head. A faint whimper leaves your lips.

“Don’t care what happens to me. Only care about you, doll. And I’ll get you the fuck outta here.”

His hand again cups the side of your face and holds your gaze with so much intensity, blue eyes piercing you more than the cold, it leaves you breathless.

Then, he moves into action, setting you against the wall so carefully, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness none of the others had ever seen him with.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, his voice pleading. So earnest.

You do your best to give him a nod and watch as he strides toward the console.

His broad shoulders block your view for a moment, but you can see the resolution in every movement, the way his metal arm flexes as he tears away the frozen panel with one single tug.

Sparks erupt as he rips at the wires, and the sharp scent of burning metal fills the air.

All you can do is watch with your heart frozen in fear.

The console flickers violently, the room trembling slightly as the system begins to overload.

Bucky grits his teeth. His arm is sparking wildly by forcing the wires together, his entire body braced against the surging energy.

“Come on,” he mutters through clenched teeth, his voice barely audible over the crackling noise. “Come on, shut it down!”

And then, with a resounding hiss, the freezing air stops.

Bucky stumbles back. His metal arm twitches erratically.

“Bucky,” you whisper, fearing for his condition.

He only turns and crosses the room to you in a few strides, pulling you back into his arms.

Your face is pressed against his neck, his lips are by your ear.

“Told you I’ll be fine, doll,” he whispers, his voice a low rasp, thick with relief that feels like it’s been dragged from the depths of his chest. But it’s unsteady. It’s strained. There is a tremor in it that betrays him.

Because you are still so cold.

So cold in fact, it feels no longer like an invader. It becomes everything. It consumes you. It swallows your awareness. Leaving only the faintest sense of resistance. It’s so thin and fragile, you can barely remember why you’re still holding on.

His breath brushes against your temple, warm compared to the chill that has settled into your body. But it’s not enough. Not even close.

Your skin is ice beneath his touch and the tremors that whacked your body before are gone now. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You can’t tell where your body ends and the cold begins. It’s inside you, crawling through your veins like liquid frost, winding tighter and tighter with every slow beat of your heart.

Your skin doesn’t feel like skin anymore - it feels like glass.

“Hey,” he exclaims a little louder, his flesh hand soothing over your hair in a gesture so gentle it could shatter you into a thousand frozen pieces. “You’re okay. You’re with me. We did it, doll. You did it. The others will know something went wrong. They’ll come looking for us. You just have to hold on a little longer, yeah?”

His breaths are tangled in his words, rushing in too fast or skipping beats entirely. It makes his speech uneven.

But you can’t respond.

You want to reach for him, to speak, to swim in the warmth of his voice. But it’s impossible.

You know he’s holding you. You know he has his arms wrapped around you. You know you are pressed against his chest. The erratic pounding of his heart is by your ear. The weight of your body is resting against him. But it all feels so distant, like trying to recall details of a dream that is already fading from your memory.

Each gasp you try for feels farther apart, each exhale weaker than the last, dissipating into the air like it had never existed at all.

And you know Bucky feels it. Feels the way your body is slipping into a stillness that seems to terrify him enormously.

His breath catches.

“Don’t do this,” he grounds out, voice sharp and urgent. “No. Don’t you dare do this, Y/n!”

His metal arm curls tighter around you, and the steel, usually so cold itself, feels like a furnace compared to the icy skin underneath your suit.

He shifts you in his arms, his movements sluggish and frantic. Your head lolls against his shoulder and his flesh hand is at the back of your neck, fingers threading in your hair.

You feel so heavy. So impossibly heavy. You don’t even know where your hands are. Where your toes are.

“Don’t leave me,” he pleads, his voice cracking.

But your eyelids only flutter. They’re so heavy.

Bucky’s voice is there, somewhere in the muddle of your mind, but the words don’t land right. They sound muffled, like he might speak to you from underwater. Or as though you have fallen too far away to reach him anymore.

Lips press roughly against your temple. His hands try to rub warmth into you.

“No,” he growls, the anger in his tone masking the helplessness that causes him to shake his head and shake your body with it, due to the force, as if sheer denial could change the reality in front of him. “You don’t get to check out on me. Stay with me, Y/n. Fight for me. Come on. I know you can do it. Please! I know you can fight this.”

He gasps between phrases, trying to pull oxygen into lungs that refuse to expand fully, each sound on the verge of dissolving into sobs at any moment.

He buries his face in your hair, squeezing you against him.

“Sweetheart, please,” he cries, his words a single prayer to whoever will listen, so vulnerable and laid bare in a way Bucky Barnes rarely allows himself to be.

It elicits that faint, resilient ember beneath the frost you are succumbing to and you do your best to nurture it. It burns. Just a little. So small. But it’s there. And it burns because of him - because of Bucky.

The hectic rise and fall of his chest against you, the cracks of desperation in his hold on you, the tremble in his voice when he repeats the words stay with me and please, Y/n over and over, as raw and real as the ice in your veins - they make you promise to keep trying to hold on.

And you will. For him.

#whumpcember2024 #whumpcember24 #whumpcember day27 #bucky marvel #marvel mcu #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes whump #whump bucky #bucky whump #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst #avenger!bucky

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s0rr3l · 3 months ago

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BLACK MYTH: WUKONG OC

Name: Lǐyú (carp)

Age: 25

Height: 5''11 ft/180 cm

Pronouns: They/Them

Story

A traveller out of time and space, Lǐyú finds themselves stranded on Black Wind Mountain, alone and at the mercy of its hostile inhabitants.

Taking pity, the Keeper of Black Wind Mountain takes them in and assigns them the position of <Shrine Caretaker>, a minor position that oversees the upkeep and maintenance of the various shrines within Black Wind Mountain.

Under the elder Keeper’s care, Lǐyú begins to familiarise themselves with their new circumstances through the Keeper's guidance. Inbetween duties, Lǐyú takes the time to learn and record the world about them in an effort to understand and survive.

This routine persists for several weeks, until the arrival of a certain monkey.

Lǐyú is an optional (Companion) to the [Destined One], who may join your party after accepting the request of the Keeper of the Black Wind Mountain.

Accepting Lǐyú as a (Companion) will unlock their personal quest <<Long Way From Home>>.

((More info about their stats/abilities below!))

Stats

Although physically weak, Lǐyú is a valuable companion of the Destined One and shows surprising tenacity against the challenges of this new world.

(Companion) Lǐyú has 5 stats to upgrade from LVL 1. Stamina Recovery Rate and Damage Reduction stats are unlocked after clearing Chapter 1 ‘Black Wind, Red Fire’.

Abilities

[Luck that goes against the Heavens]

Lǐyú's fortunes are known to dip and rise in unusual patterns.

While they often come across opportunities to gather precious materials, ingredients or equipment, it is always accompanied by mortal peril.

Their Luck is so unnatural that it defies the natural balance of the world, so fortuitous encounters often come with the risk of danger in an effort to suppress their Luck.

(Companion) Lǐyú has MAX LVL [LUCK].

Can inflict one of the following debuffs to enemies within their range: Increased Miss Rate, Reduced Critical Hit chance, Reduced Movement Speed, Reduced Resistance to the Four Banes

Grants one buff to allies, 2 buffs to Companions (for more information, please see BUFFS page)

Increase the rate of EQUIPMENT/LOOT drops and discovery of precious ingredients/materials

Due to their nature, (Companion) Lǐyú will influence the [Destined One]'s own [LUCK].

Warning: should Lǐyú enter the STRESSED state, their [LUCK] will start to indiscriminately target allies and foes alike.

Will attract enemy AGGRO within a certain radius if not using Stealth

Allies and Companions will be afflicted with one random debuff: Increased Miss Rate, Reduced Critical Hit chance, Reduced Movement Speed, Reduced Resistance to the Four Banes

Introduces random environmental hazards

It is recommended that the [Destined One] keep Lǐyú's STRESS to a minimum.

Skills

(Companion) Lǐyú should come equipped with the following skills prior to joining the [Destined One].

Shrine Caretaker: Taught the basic upkeep and care of shrine maintenance. Allows Lǐyú to access the hub-world like the [Destined One].

Stealth: the ability to sneak past lesser yaoguais. However, skill will increases STRESS on Lǐyú. Can be upgraded.

Additional skills can be attained or unlocked through the completion of quests or advancing the main storyline.

TIP: Lǐyú is purely a support type (Companion) with little to no attack skills and prone to causing unexpected changes to main storyline. May the [Destined One] keep this in mind.

Spells

Due to limited Mana, Lǐyú cannot perform any spells.

Upon the completion of the <<Teacher for a Day>> quest, Lǐyú can begin training to increase mana and unlock [Spells].

In Chapter 3 ‘White Snow, Ice Cold’, Lǐyú can trigger the optional side quest <<Teacher for a Day>> upon meeting (Companion) Zhu Bajie.

Curios

Due to limited space, can only equip one curio at a time.

Upon meeting the Yin Tiger or upgrading to Legendary quality armour, Lǐyú can increase their curio slot by +1.

Current slot:

Wind Chime: Rare quality. Found while exploring the ruins of an old temple at the bottom of the mountain. Slightly increases movement speed. “Hark, the wind rises! That yaoguai must be coming this way!”

Inventory

(Companion) Lǐyú starts off with 10 inventory slots. These are their starting equipment:

Journal: Never seems to run out of paper. Lǐyú can use this item to access daily observations, enemy weaknesses and important landmarks/discovered secret realm locations.

Gourd: unknown quality, gifted by Yuan Shoucheng. A mysterious item that will grow along with it's user, has yet to show any special abilities. Can be upgraded.

Backpack: unknown quality, bigger inside than out. Carries all of Lǐyú's belongings.

Smartphone: rare quality. A keepsake from Lǐyú's world. Interacting with this item with the [Destined One] can trigger side quest <<???>>. “What a marvelous device!”

Fruit Leather: peach-flavoured. A consumable item that can raise the [Destined One]'s favourability.

Equipment

(Companion) Lǐyú starts off with the following equipment:

Old Temple Garb: rare quality. Gifted by the Keeper of Black Wind Mountain, who claims it was left behind by the previous Shrine Caretaker.

Cotton wristwraps: common quality. Plain but sturdy, in surprisingly good condition.

Cotton legwraps: common quality. Plain but sturdy, in surprisingly good condition.

Sneakers: unknown quality, but undeniably tough. A foreign brand gifted by their best friend. Claims to be both water-proof and fire-proof.

Hoodie: rare quality. A limited edition print from Lǐyú's favourite brand. Offers no defensive abilities but brings a sense of comfort. Can decrease the rate of Lǐyú's STRESS.

Quest Objectives

<<Long Way From Home>>

Lǐyú's final objective is to return to their original world. This can be completed by first completing main quest <<Revive Sun Wukong>>

(This objective is an optional side quest available to the [Destined One]. It is not compulsory for the completion of main quest <<Revive Sun Wukong>>)

<<Hug Auntie>> (must complete main quest objective)

<<Eat hotpot with friends>> (must complete main quest objective)

<<Red String of Fate>>

Secret side quest that triggers randomly depending on the relationship status between (Companion) Lǐyú and the [Destined One].

To unlock post-game content, the [Destined One] must complete main quest objective <<Revive Sun Wukong>>.

Endings

There are currently three available endings depending on whether the [Destined One] will complete Lǐyú's personal quest <<Long Way From Home>>

<<Till We Meet Again>>

Normal ending. Lǐyú returns to their original world after the [Destined One] fufills their destiny.

<<Promise>>

Secret Ending. Unlocked after the successful completion of the following side quests:

<<Long Way From Home>>

<<Red String of Fate>>

<<Fishbowl>>

Secret Ending. Unlocked after the successful completion of the following side quests:

<<Red String of Fate>>

<<???>>

Depending on the [Destined One]'s actions during CHAPTER 3, can trigger side quest <<???>>

(To achieve this ending, the [Destined One] must fail to complete side quest <<Long Way From Home>>)

#s0rr3l's art #black myth wukong #black myth wukong oc #liyu #destined one x oc #liyu x yezi #ahhhh yay ibgot refs now #*grabs them* look at my child aren’t they great #ive got 0 skills at writing but i wanted to keep track of liyu's everything while i flesh out backstory #so i thought an rpg game page description would be cool #will write more!! just… that means outlines. and DRAFTS #nlkljnjlnhnnnng hyperfixation save me

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mickandmusings · 7 months ago

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i. true blue

part one of the 'hangman & honey' series!

summary: The summer he turned nine, Jake was convinced he'd spend it like any other summer: riding his bike down dirt roads with all the other kids, lending a helping hand on the family farm, and brushing up on his backyard football. His life hits a tailspin when a new family moves into the house just down the road, leading him to a friendship and feelings he never saw coming.

word count: 4.5k

warnings: cute childhood friends to lovers, small sections of angst, tragic backstories and southern traditions. primarily self indulgent. this is written by someone from the most southern small town imaginable, so it's written with love as an ode to my own hometown, enjoy. <3

In the great state of Texas, just a few hours south of Austin, sits a small town called Haven. It was a fitting name for a town so picturesque-miles and miles of endless farmland, stunning sunsets and sunrises, and the beauty of the state's flora and fauna. However, in all it's Southern small-town glory, it was home to little else. There was the hub of activity 'downtown'-the one school system, a family-owned restaurant, a convenience store, the First Baptist Church of Haven, and a hair salon. On the outskirts of Haven sat a large patch of barbed-wire fenced farmland, one that spanned most of the remaining parts of the small town, more than the eye could see. It was large enough to have its own unpaved road-Seresin Farm Road-and was home to only one house, the Seresin family house.

The Seresin family had owned the land long before the turn of the century, and had been passed down from generation to generation ever since. The Seresin's owned much of Haven to begin with, their farmland excluded. Most of the businesses rented their buildings from Jacob Seresin Sr., with the exception of the school system and the church. Despite their seemingly looming hand of ownership, you'd never know they held power at all. Mrs. Janet Seresin-first lady of the Seresin estate-was known as the town egg lady, always more than happy to pass out dozens of Styrofoam cartons free of charge. She held the unofficial prize of having the best homemade ice cream in all of Haven, and anyone in the small town would attest. Jacob Seresin Sr.-head of the Seresin farm and Janet's husband-was regarded in the same warm fashion. You could find him driving up and down the main street in his trusty red farm truck, often loaded with feed or some kind of good necessary to keep his place up and running. He'd stop and talk to anyone and everyone, literally everyone, he knew. He had been the one to help nearly everyone in his community rebuild after natural disasters, always willing to help someone in need, never asking for anything in return. The Seresin's were Haven's unofficial first family, leaders of sorts, in the small town.

Their son, Jacob Seresin Jr., was elusive and a topic nearly everyone knew to avoid. He had been raised on the family farm, attended the local school, lived and breathed the same life as everyone else, but found himself itching for more. He quickly fell into trouble with the local law, and with a last name like Seresin, he got away with mostly everything, which, perhaps, was his greatest downfall. He had gotten his high school girlfriend-a sweet local girl named Georgia Joann Smith-pregnant their senior year. When she broke the news, he'd taken off in his truck to Kentucky, where it was rumored he still was, looking for something he could never find. Nine months later, Jacob Thomas Seresin III, or 'Jake' as he preferred, was born, healthy, all ten fingers and toes. Just hours after birth, his mother fell gravely ill, and made her own swift exit in death. She left behind only one thing-her son. Jacob Sr. and Janet took him in with no questions asked, raising him as any grandparent would. Jake, luckily, seemed to inherit more of his mother than his father. His blonde hair gleamed in the Texas sun, turning almost gold in the heat-filled summers. His green eyes held his kindness-a sharp contrast to his father's dark brown eyes that seemed to only hold his anger. Jake bore Georgia's gentle soul, her wide smile and her witty personality, she lived on in Jake entirely. So when the new family moved into the empty house at the end of Seresin Farm Road, Janet had zero hesitations in sending Jake down to welcome their new neighbors to Haven. She'd spent the entire morning making homemade bread, having to occasionally swat away Jake's hands from the counter or tell him to completely get out of the kitchen while the loaves cooled. After lunch, she handed him a well-wrapped loaf and gave him instructions to take it to the newcomers, which Jake did without complaint. He'd placed the bread into the metal basket attached to his royal blue bike, trekking down their long and winding driveway. When he'd arrived nearly ten minutes later, he had parked his bike on the edge of the lawn, against a towering oak tree. He made a point to kick the dirt off his shoes, not wanting to track it onto the seemingly freshly painted, white wrap-around porch. He lifts his first to wrap against the door, one with a glass cut-out, much different than the screen door on his farmhouse. He fixed his windswept hair in the reflection of the window, remembering Granny's words of always looking well put together when meeting new people. The door's lock clicked, and when Jake looked up to see the man or lady of the house, he instead had to look down, finding a girl who couldn't be much younger than him. Her eyes were wide as they stared up at him, hair pushed out of her face with colorful butterfly shaped clips. Her eyes were captivating, and all of Jake's intended Southern charm had flown out the window. She smiles shyly at Jake, wondering why this stranger was on her porch.

"Uh, this is for you-or,uh-your parents," his arm extends the bread as he stammered. "My Granny made it, we live at the farm on the end of the road, we-uh, she-wanted to invite you to the neighborhood. I'm Jake."

Jake stuck out a clammy hand for her to shake, and winced internally. His Pawpaw would be reprimanding him if he saw this-it wasn't polite to make a lady shake your hand. Shaking hands was for business deals, and Jake had just shook her hand like she'd bought his show heifer. Jake's mind was clouded for a reason he couldn't explain, and he wasn't thinking straight. The girl blushed and smiled slightly.

"I'm Honey," her voice was quiet but pronounced. "That's not actually my name, but everyone calls me Honey, so, you can call me Honey. Um, is your house the one with the big magnolia tree in the front?"

Jake nodded quickly. Her eyes widened, shimmering with something Jake couldn't make out. Quietness settled over them before Honey spoke again.

"Is that your bike?" Honey points at his bike leaning against the tree.

"Yeah! Most kids ride their bikes everywhere here."

"C-Could I ride with you, maybe?" Her voice was suddenly shy, no longer meeting Jake's eyes. "It's just summer and I-I don't know anyone yet and-"

"Yes!" Jake cut her off, and mentally scolded himself, but as Honey flashed him a wide smile he couldn't find himself caring. She tossed the bread on the table just inside the door, slid on her purple jelly sandals and shut the door behind her. She led Jake to the empty garage, only full of empty moving boxes and a bright yellow bike. As she led them out of the garage and towards the edge of the yard, Jake's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her.

"Shouldn't you let your momma know you left, leave her a note or somethin'?"

Honey's eyes cut to her feet, her smile fading.

"She won't care, I'll be back before she will. S-She's a nurse, works the night shift at the old folks home in the next town over."

Jake nodded but said nothing, pedaling off on his own bike to lead her back down to his farm.

From that moment on, Jake and Honey were practically inseparable. The entire summer was spent with a blue bike parked next to a yellow one, swimming in the creek behind Jake's house, and running around the farm with nothing but their imagination and makeshift stick swords. Jake's Border Collie, John Wayne, became a frightening dragon of their imagination, and Honey taught Jake how to make flower crowns from the wildflowers in the fields. Janet had grown fond of looking out her front window to see Honey sitting next to Jake under her magnolia tree, reading her Boxcar Children book as much as she could with Jake chattering next to her. Even when Jake was busy with his farm chores, Honey would sit placidly under the tree, enjoying the occasional breeze as she read her book of the week. After the long summer, Jacob Sr. had started referring to it as "Honey's tree," and he'd laugh to himself every time he saw the girl sitting quietly under it. Both Janet and Jacob Sr. loved having the sweet but shy girl around, especially when they found out that she spent most of her time alone in that house down the road. On the last night before summer ended, Jake and Honey sat under the tree, swatting at mosquitoes as the Texas sun set. Jake looked over at Honey, who had finally put her book down, and asked:

"Why do you like this tree so much?"

She smiled a smile that Jake knew to be half-hearted and brought her knees to her chest, her chin resting on her kneecaps.

"It reminds me of home."

Honey had moved from her tiny town in Mississippi that summer, and she often talked of her home there, the friends and family she'd left behind, how her mother had left when her grandmother died, looking for a fresh start.

"My Gram had a tree like this in her yard, and she'd babysit me when Mom worked," Honey's eyes rested on the ground, where she was picking grass from the ground around her bare feet. "She'd read to me a lot, and it was my favorite place in the world. Sometimes when I read here it sort of feels like I never left."

Jake simply nodded, thinking of the mother he'd only met in pictures, and the grandparents he wouldn't trade for the world's richest man. Neither of them spoke a word about the statement she made, but they understood what it meant to both of them. Even at age nine, Jake was in love with the girl next door, even if he didn't know it yet. From the first year they met and every year after, Jake and Honey found themselves under the magnolia blossoms. Well, almost every year...

As the budding teens entered into their freshman year at Haven High School, the differences between their personalities became more apparent than ever. Jake was the ideal all-American southern boy: athletic, outgoing, someone who guys high-fived in the hallway, and one that girls would be late to class just to get a glimpse of. Jake was never one to let the attention get to his head, at least not too much. Sure, he enjoyed the feeling of being liked, and, sure, he could be cocky at times, but he was never the one to bully those completely different from him. Someone like Honey. Honey had always been quiet, shy by nature, and the very definition of an advanced student. She was beloved by her teachers, but not as well received by her classmates. With a town as small as Haven, it was either incredibly easy or incredibly hard to make friends, and for Honey, it seemed to be the latter. It wasn't as if Honey was perpetually odd-she wasn't homely or weird, just quiet. Jake was the only one who knew about her boisterous laugh that could be prompted with his corny jokes, or her wild streak, like sneaking into his bedroom window after she and her mother got into yet another fight.

At the beginning of the school year, she spent her breaks talking to Jake, and she sat next to him at lunch. He'd let her ramble about her current read, and he'd talk about yesterday's football practice. She'd leave with the promise to come around for dinner, Mrs. Janet was making her favorite. However, when football season started, and Jake had made an infamous saving play at one of the first few games, he had peaked in popularity. Honey found herself on the outside of his swarm of new friends, listening to him talk to his football buddies while the girls that followed shot her sympathetic or lethal glances. She'd ignored it at first, simply enjoying her paperback until Jake could spare himself a minute to talk to her. Eventually, the bell would sound before she even got the chance to say 'hello' to him, and, with her heart suddenly heavy, she'd make her way to class. The routine lasted for weeks and she'd find herself waiting by the phone, figuring Jake would call her after football practice, but she'd only be greeted with silence through the night. After the second week of no contact, she decided to leave Jake and his new friends to their own devices, opting to sit in the library for breaks, taking her lunch in the empty courtyard. It was like Jake hadn't noticed her absence at all, at least in her mind, but Jacob Sr. and Janet noticed immediately. They had missed her bright aura that lit up their farmhouse, watching as she greeted the dogs as she parked her now lilac bike in the driveway. Janet missed her companionship as Honey would watch her sew patches onto Jacob Sr. and Jake's clothes, and her husband missed catching up with her over dinner. The only time they'd see her anymore would be on Friday nights, at Jake's games. She'd sit in the bleachers with them, decked out in her navy blue and gold, watching intently as the boys in jerseys made their way up and down the field. At the end of the game, she'd say her goodbyes before Jake would find his grandparents and they wouldn't see her until the following Friday. In typical grandparent fashion, Janet had assumed Jake had done something. Her grandson was kind, gentlemanly, but he also had a sharp tongue and a big head, which he sometimes used in malice. So, over dinner one Thursday, Janet finally dipped her toes into the water.

"Maybe you should talk to Honey after the game tomorrow, she always seems to slip away before you two get to catch up."

Jake's eyebrows furrowed as he wiped his mouth, looking up at his grandmother.

"Honey? At a football game? Granny, I don't really think that's her scene. She hates when we have a pep rally at school, I don't think she's going to a football game voluntarily."

Jacob Sr. and Janet give each other a knowing look across the table.

"How blind are ya, son?" Jacob Sr.'s voice is accusatory.

Jake looks up from his plate, looking over at his grandfather with a confused look.

"She's been at every game this season, Jake," his grandmother's voice speaks, much softer than her husbands. "She sits next to us in the stands. When was the last time you two talked? Just the two of you?"

Jake scoffs at his grandmother's accusation, his head shaking as he tried to wrack his brain for the last time he'd talked to his best friend.

"Maybe a week or so ago, I-I can't remember."

"That's a damn shame," Jacob Sr.'s voice grumbled. "She's a sweet girl, smart too. I know she doesn't run the same circles as you and your new buddies, but she's a good friend Jake, and you're treatin' her as if she doesn't exist. She still comes to all of those games. I'm not tellin' you what to do, but maybe give her a call, and pray to the Lord above that she wants to talk to your dumb ass."

Jake's heart sank as he carried out his nightly farm chores that night, thinking of how he had treated Honey. He knew what the other girls in the group said about her, how she was 'quiet' and 'weird,' often making comments that were completely false or disrespectful. Jake always shut the comments down, but found himself not bothering to talk to the one person who had always been there for him. Was it his fear of his new friends thinking he was weird? Did he think he wouldn't be surrounded by his football buddies if they saw him talking to someone like Honey? As Jake shut the barn door, he sighed, deciding he didn't care about either. Honey had been his friend for years, long before high school or popularity, or stupid teenage rules. She'd never changed, she was still the girl he fell in love with all those years ago. That night, as he sat by the phone thinking of what to say, he'd heard the faintest knock on his door. He figured it was his Granny coming to tell him goodnight, so he made quick work of making his way to the door and flinging it open. Instead of his grandmother, Honey stood in front of him. She held an algebra textbook in her arms, her eyes never meeting his, her arms crossed protectively. Her eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks staining her cheeks. She'd been crying, and Jake knew Honey all too well, her tears had nothing to do with the algebra assignment. Something had happened to her.

"Uh, hey, I-I know it's late, and I didn't want to bother you, but I've been workin' on this stupid algebra assignment for three hours, and i-it's not making a lick of sense. You-You're the only person I know who could help me, so if you could just show me how to do one, I'll be out of your hair. I know you have a game tomorrow, and you should really sleep-"

Honey was rambling, picking the skin around her fingernails, she was nervous. It shattered his heart in his chest, he could never remember a time when she was nervous around him.

"No, no, you're fine, Honey. C'mere."

He opened the door wide for her to come in. She nodded in thanks, hovering awkwardly in the space between his bed and his desk. Any other time she'd plop herself down on his plaid comforter, all but curling into the sheets and falling asleep. Now, she didn't know what to do. She hadn't spoken to him in weeks, and he was different now. He wasn't just Jake, her Jake, he was Jake Seresin, up and coming star of their hometown football team, someone that a person like her should avoid in the hallway, someone that shouldn't even be talking to her.

He pushed the chair of his desk out for her, figuring she'd feel more comfortable there. She laid her textbook and notebook out flat, opening the book to the dozens of equations she couldn't make out. Honey was incredibly smart, but as her math classes advanced, she found herself staring at her own notes in utter confusion.

"Um, so, this is on polynomials," she started. "But I couldn't even tell you what a fuckin' polynomial is and I'm starting to lose my mind."

Jake quickly noted the physical manifestation of her worry-her hair messy with the way she had been running her hands through it, the chipped nail polish on her nails, and her chewing on her bottom lip. His heart ached, how had he not noticed her struggling? They were in the same class, she sat two chairs in front of him.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

She didn't even spare him a look.

"It's not your fault I'm stupid, Jake."

Jake took her arm in a light hold, turning her to look at him.

"I'm not talkin' about algebra, and you're not stupid, first of all. You're one of the smartest people I know. I'm talkin' about the way I've been actin'. It's not fair to you, I've been an ass. I've been ignoring you at school, treatin' you as if you aren't even there. You've come to all my games and I didn't even know. Thanks for that, by the way, but, I mean it, Honey. I'm sorry."

Honey shrugs, her face sprouting a faint pink blush.

"'S fine, people grow up, move on. You don't have to apologize for leaving me for people more like-minded. I get it, I don't necessarily fit the mold of your new friend group. It's okay. They seem to really like you though, and you seem happy. Plus Sam is...she's pretty. I get why you wouldn't want me hanging around."

"Sam?" Jake's voice was confused. Sam was a cheerleader, and she was friends with the girlfriends of his teammates. They had a passing conversation from time to time, but they weren't dating. "What're you talkin' about?"

Honey's brow furrowed, tapping her pencil's eraser against her book.

"Sam Vance told me like the third or fourth week of school that you were together, around the same time we stopped talking. I just assumed that was why you didn't want to talk anymore. It's sort of the reason I've kept my distance."

Jake's blood boiled, he was not dating Sam Vance. She was heinously mean, even to her own 'friends.'

"Honey," Jake started, his eyes full of sympathy, his flash of anger flickering. "I'm not dating her, not by a long shot. I don't know why she lied to you, I've never said more than a few sentences to one another, she's...mean. She's vicious, I'm sorry."

Honey's head only shook in a nonchalant manner. She was good at this, pushing people away, Jake had noticed it over the years. After years of practically raising herself, those she loved either abandoning her or leaving her in death, she expected everyone to leave. Honey herself knew that someday Jake would leave her, just like everyone else, so when he pulled away, she didn't bother trying to stop it, no matter how it hurt.

"Stop that. I know what I did was shitty, and it seemed like I didn't want you there, but this isn't me dumping you off, Honey. I swear. And I know something's wrong, you're not crying because of a homework assignment. If it's because of what happened between us, I'll do anythin' to make it up to you-"

Honey's bottom lip trembles, her eyes lining with tears as she shakes her head. She looks up at Jake, pain clouding her usually kind eyes.

"You don't have to worry about me, Jake."

"No I don't," he stated honestly. "I want to, Honey. You're my best friend, and you're hurtin'. You may not need me, but I want to help you. I know I haven't been a good friend, the worst actually, but talk to me, please."

Honey looks at her lap, bringing her knees to her chest in an action of protection Jake was familiar with-every time she has to get vulnerable, it's her defensive action, as if curling up in a ball would save her from hurt.

"For what it's worth," Honey started, her voice small and quiet. "I really don't understand polynomials, like, at all. But you're right, it's more than that." She pauses and takes a deep breath, Jake's heart shattering. Her inability to speak freely, the bags under her eyes, her nervous habit at the forefront-he'd never seen her so tired, so heavy.

"About a week ago, I came home and all of my mom's stuff was gone. I mean, all of it, her bedroom was completely empty. She left a note on the kitchen table." Her eyes focus on the Cowboys poster on the back of Jake's door, her eyes dulling. "She decided to move in with her boyfriend, and he-he doesn't even know she has a child, so she left the house for me. Which is fine, we never got along anyway, it's just been...lonely. She pays the bills and leaves money, so it's not like I'm fending for myself, but, it just really sucks she doesn't really care about me. I guess it shouldn't, but-" She pauses, eyes dazed out, silent tears running down her cheeks. "Sorry for the soapbox, I just, it all is piling up, and now I'm crying over polynomials." She laughs dryly. "Just, God I've missed you, Jake. I sort of pushed myself away from you because I thought you'd found people you'd rather spend your time with. I'm nothing like you interest wise, and-"

"Stop putting yourself down, I won't stand for it." Jake looks at her as she laughs in a quiet manner, hands wiping away her silent tears. Jake moves directly in front of her, making eye contact. "I mean it. You're ten times cooler than any of them. Most of the guys on the team, pretty laid back, cool, but all they ever want to talk about is football and how hot so-and-so is, and their girlfriends? Worse, by a thousand, at least most of them. I'd like to think I'm not that shallow, right?"

Jake Seresin was a lot of things, but shallow was not one of them.

"Please hang out with me tomorrow? I'll have Granny pick you up for school. You and I are going to talk until the bell rings, you've got to catch me up on that Scarlett girl in that book you were reading last time we talked. I'm sitting with you at lunch because Granny made me promise to bring you lunch, and you gotta catch me up on last week's Dawson's Creek episode. Then I'll see you at the game, and we can swing by The Burger Basket, you, me, burgers, fries, a strawberry shake for you and a chocolate one for me."

Honey laughed, nodding her head, her heart warming as she heard Jake ask for the things she thought he found annoying-her ranting about the books she was reading, or the TV shows she was watching. She wiped her tears, standing and hugging the blonde boy who knew her better than herself sometimes. Her chest felt lighter, it felt good to be known so incredibly well. He squeezed her tight before she let go. (Jake never, ever, let go first.) She sits back in the desk chair, sliding in next to Jake, her head falling on his shoulder.

"So," she spoke after a moment of silence. "Polynomials?"

Jake chuckles.

"Let's make a deal, Hon. I explain to you how to solve these equations, and you explain to me what the hell Shakespeare is talking about in those English assignments for Mrs. Elmer's class?"

Honey laughs, she and Jake were both good students, but in two very different subjects.

"You've got yourself a deal, J."

Jake smirks, taking the pencil that sat in the crevice of the book, his scratchy handwriting across her paper as he attempted to explain. In a matter of minutes, Honey began to understand, a smile forming as she grasped the concepts. Jake's green eyes met hers in the light of his desk lamp, glimmering, and the breath in his chest catches, his heart hammering. His palms sweat around the pencil and he can't look away from her.

"You alright, Seresin?" Honey's voice is laced with humor, and it snaps him out of his trance.

"Y-Yeah."

Jake had lied, he had just realized, for the first time since Jake had known Honey, he was beginning to see her as something more than just his best friend. When he looked at Honey, he noticed something he'd never noticed before, she was beautiful.

#jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick #top gun imagine #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #requests

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noblevicartstudio08 · 6 months ago

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I don't want the power to revolutionize the world, but Allison needs me!

Another gift for the home girl, @reds-hub-and-main / @rcseteaparty

It felt like a crime to not draw these two as an Utena reference.

Reference image down below!!

#allison conway #lilith flowers #hollow port #my art #my ocs #friend's ocs #reds-hub-and-main #rcseteaparty #artists on tumblr #black artist on tumblr #queer artists on tumblr

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suugarbabe · 1 year ago

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[Chapter 1]

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word count: ~3.5k

Warning: slow burn, nothing too intense…yet

an: this is my main work right now, I’m super excited for it. I will not be doing a taglist for this story but I will be working on it consistently so updates will come when they come but I plan on being pretty consistent. Feedback is welcome and highly encouraged 🤗

Pulling the sleeves of your jumper over your fingers, you tucked your hands under your armpits as you made your walk from the diner to the club around the corner. You’d say you weren’t sure how you got here, but that would be a lie. You did your best to suppress a shiver that was creeping up your spine as the cool night air bit at the skin of your neck.

The red glow of the club sign lit up that portion of the street. Protego. It was a clever name for the club really. To any passing muggle it seemed like any other foreign fancy name for a strip club, but the owners knew what they were doing. Protego, in the wizarding world, was a protection spell, and that’s exactly what this club was for Mattheo and his cronies; a protected space, the home hub. Any wizard that had ill intentions wouldn’t be able to step foot on the premises, which was exactly what you were hoping for.

Standing at the edge of the parking lot you did your best to straighten your skirt before deciding to hike it up a bit higher. You pulled the strappy heels you had packed out of your bad and put them on before pulling your jumper off to reveal the low cut top you had put on. You did your best to appear confident as you walked up to the club door, but the ocean eyes of the bouncer giving you a once over made a chill run up your spine.

The bouncer was tall, broad shoulders with a mess of brown waves on his head. His tongue ran along his bottom lip as he did nothing to suppress his smirk, “You lost, dolcezza?” His tone mocking as his eyes roamed your form. Your body flushed under his gaze, him shamelessly taking in your appearance.

You pulled your shoulders back, ignoring every fiber in your being that told you to run, to change your mind, that coming here was a bad idea. “I was wondering if you guys were hiring any more dancers,” you kept your tone even despite the screaming between your ears.

The man in front of you scoffed, “You want to be a dancer?” You did your best to hold eye contact as you nodded, crossing your arms over your stomach with the sudden feeling of self consciousness. You averted your gaze as he smirked at you again, not saying anything.

The door opened suddenly behind him causing you to flinch and step back. A woman with neat black hair appeared in the doorway, a scowl on her face, “I swear to fuck, Nott, I told you to stop pulling that fucking legilimens bullshit on me when you’re too lazy to use your fucking phone.”

The man, Nott, finally broke his stoic facade, rolling his eyes at the woman, “Oh, per favore, Pansy, you know I hate that muggle bullshit.” Pansy peered around Nott, glancing at you up and down as he did before, “This the girl?”

He nodded, smirk annoying plastered on his face once more, “Said she wants to be a dancer.” Pansy furrowed her brows, coming fully outside of the club before taking you by the shoulders and forcibly turning you around so your back was facing her. “Hmm, it could work, should I bring her to Mattheo?”

You shook her hands off, turning yourself back to face them, “Erm, who is Mattheo?”

Nott flashed his teeth in a charming smile, “Mattheo, dolce mia, is the boss.”

You did your best to follow Pansy towards the back of the club. It was much larger on the inside than it appeared, you were sure thanks to an extension charm that was placed on the building. You assumed the alcohol the muggles seemed to be guzzling down helped them ignore the clear disproportion.

You marveled at the girls on the different stages throughout the room, some two to a stage. How their bodies seemed to move, how they just narrowly seemed to sway away from the men’s touches but still appear desirable.

“Don’t fall behind, pretty witch like you would get swallowed alive out here without direction,” Pansy continued to maneuver around tables, ignoring the eyes of patrons with ease while you felt like bugs were crawling on your skin from the men peering at you with every step.

You quickened your pace slightly to catch up with her, holding your bag tight to your side until you both came to a large black door. Pansy lifted her fist, rapping once with her knuckles, then twice quickly, then a singular time once more.

The door seemed to open on its own, as the only people in the room were a tall brooding blonde leaning on the edge of a large black desk, while the other was a man sitting back in a large chair. The man in the chair, while sitting, still emanated a large presence. It was obvious this was Mattheo, the boss. He had dark chestnut curls that seemed to have one or two fall flawlessly over his forehead. His eyes were onyx and they were roaming your figure not dissimilar to Notts earlier in the night.

However unlike Nott you didn’t necessarily feel objectified when Mattheo looked you over, more like he was observing, watching you take in everything around you. The blonde man broke the silence, voice low and almost teasing with his question, “This the bird Theo wanted us to see?”

Pansy put on a tight lipped smile, pushing you further toward the two men, “This is her, tell them your name.” You stumbled forward slightly, stuttering over your name as you did so, internally cursing yourself. The blonde smirked, “Not much confidence, this one, yeah?” He turned to Mattheo, “Gonna need more of that if you wanna be a dancer, Darling.”

You straightened your spine, doing your best to stand straight, “I have confidence.” The blonde scoffed, “Could’ve fooled me, little bird.” You rolled your eyes, not appreciating being talked down to after everything you’d been through in the last few months.

“Please, I’m not going to take insults from someone who looks like they stepped out of the bloody Children of the Corn films.” The blonde’s brows furrowed at your comeback, his grey eyes clouded in confusion as Pansy did her best to hide her laughter. Nonetheless, she helped him out, “It’s a muggle movie, Draco.”

Draco scoffed again, “You bring a bloody muggle in here Pan-” his words were cut off as his necktie tightened around his throat with a twist of your fingers by your side, causing him to choke and cough as he tried to pull it down.

“Not a muggle, but I know enough to be around them and not cause suspicion,” you loosened his tie with another twirl of your hand and Draco gasped for breath. His grey eyes turned to storm as he went to take a step toward you. Mattheo’s hand shot out, grabbing Draco’s arm, “Leave us, cousin.” Draco shook his head, “Fuck, no. You saw what she did she-”

“Malfoy. Now. And take Parkinson with you,” Mattheo’s voice was low and authoritative, causing Draco to merely scowl in your direction. He threw open the office door, Pansy following quickly behind him and shutting it on her way.

You never turned your back, staying facing Mattheo at his desk. “Sit,” he pointed to the chair directly in front of him. Like a scared pup, you obeyed. Any confidence you had towards Draco vanished with Mattheo’s strong and commanding tone. You took careful steps, dropping your bag on the floor next to the chair. You tugged slightly at your skirt as you sat.

“Don’t cover up now, Princess. If a dancer is what you’re seeking to be, you’re going to have to be comfortable showing a lot more than upper thigh,” Mattheo’s face was unreadable, blankness in both his eyes and his expressions. You couldn’t help but shift in your chair opening your mouth to respond before Mattheo cut you off.

“You can be a bartender, but not a dancer,” he started writing something down, ignoring your expressions in response. “But I came here for…why not a dancer?” Mattheo sat his pen down, finally making direct eye contact with you. It seemed his eyes changed with his mood, and from what you saw he clearly wasn’t used to being questioned.

You did your best to hold eye contact, despite the erratic beating of your heart that you were sure he could hear. “You’re not fit to be a dancer, you’d do better as a bartender,” reading the look on your face, Mattheo did his best to restrict rolling his eyes before he continued, “You said it yourself earlier, you know enough about muggles to be around them but not cause suspicion. A third of our clientele are muggles, much to my cousin's dismay. Enzo does well managing them, but he could use another strong witch to help him out when they get too far gone.”

You perked up slightly at his compliment, “You think I’m a strong witch?” Mattheo stood from his seat, standing up to round the desk and lean back on it in front of you. Merlin, you figured he could be intimidating before, but seeing all of him in front of you; long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his broad chest, you could see how others were quick to listen. Or quick to fall for him.

“Not many people would’ve pulled a stunt like you did on Malfoy, wandless no less,” Mattheo leaned forward, leveling his face with yours. His eyes pierced yours and you did your best to steady your breathing, but it was as if he was peering straight into your soul, into your past with how he was looking at you, “You’ve been through something. I won’t make you tell it to me now, but know if you work here, there’s no secrets. We can’t afford them in this business, on the surface and especially below it.”

He leaned back, allowing you to let go of a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. “How’s your legilimens ability,” he leaned back on his hands, as if the question was the same as ‘how’s the weather today.’

“I, erm, s’okay I guess? S’that something I needed to know if I were to work here? I-I wasn’t aware that-”

Mattheo held his hand up to stop your rambling, “Lets see what Enzo thinks of your abilities first, then we’ll see if it’s necessary. If it is, you'll do lessons with me. Twice a week until I feel like I can trust it.”

You went to ask what he meant when a quick singular rapt at the door caught your attention. With a wave of his hand Mattheo opened the door, “Enzo, this is your new trainee. Teach her the ropes tonight then report back to me. You know what I’m looking for.”

“Yes, boss.” Enzo’s voice behind you seemed calmer than all the others before. Mattheo motioned for you to stand, you did. You turned to face the man that was to be training you the rest of the night. What you didn’t expect was Mattheo’s voice in a whisper next to your ear, “Enzo is charming. Seems the sweetest of all of us, but don’t be fooled, Princess. If I needed it, he’s also the deadliest.”

An uncontrollable chill ran up your spine as Enzo greeted you with a kind smile, motioning for you to follow him. Enzo was the tallest man you’ve interacted with tonight, not as thin as Theo, but just as broad in the shoulders. He had a mop of brown hair and amber eyes that you were sure any girl fell easy for.

His black vest displayed the muscles in his shoulders and arms, one of which was covered in an array of tattoos down to his fingers. With a large hand splayed across the middle of your back he guided you to the side of the club where the bar resided. Immediately upon his return a slew of men were waving cards at him and shouting drinks.

He bent down to whisper in your ear, “Okay, Angel, let’s see how you do. If you don’t know how to make a drink, just mumble a spell into a class with your back turned, the boss said you’re pretty decent with wandless magic.”

You blushed slightly, whether it was the proximity he was to you or another compliment from Mattheo you were unsure, but now you were determined to show how well you could do. At the site of fresh meat, men at the bar were crowding your side, shouting various drinks along with cat calls your way.

They didn’t bother you much, nothing compared to how you’d been talked to before. Enzo’s eyes seemed to be always checking you, even between mixing drinks and grabbing pints it seemed like he was able to watch you. You did your best, grabbing drinks, swiping cards, pouring cocktails.

At last call the men seemed to get more frenzied, more desperate for your attention to drain their minds of their pathetic reality before they had to rejoin it after closing. One man in particular seemed to think he could control you, demand you give him more simply because you appeared weaker, smaller.

When you refused to get him another pint, as he was clearly loaded, he got handsy, grabbing your forearm and attempting to command your attention. Before Enzo got a chance to react you already twisted your arm in the man’s grip, grasping the collar of his shirt and pulling his face down to the bar, “Touch me again and you’re paying with a body part instead of a card, understand?”

The man nodded, a slight whimper leaving his throat. You let him up, him stumbling backwards before running off. You smiled sweetly at the slew of other men standing in front of you, silently asking if anyone else was going to be a problem for you.

Within thirty minutes you had everyone else’s tabs closed and were assisting Enzo with closing up the bar. As you were stacking cocktail glasses Enzo leaned on the bar beside you, “Quite impressive earlier, Angel. Thought I was gonna have to swoop in and save you from that drunk bastard.”

Your suppressed snort, “Despite appearances I can handle my own.” Enzo hummed in agreement, “Boss will like that. Where’d you learn to do that anyway?” You paused your actions, trying to control any color from rushing to your face at the memories of what you went through that caused you to want to be stronger, to learn how to better protect yourself.

“Taught myself, a necessary skill if you will,” you tried to play it off with a sweet smile but Enzo’s eyes told you he wasn’t buying it, only being polite and not pushing. You tried to distract you both, turning instead towards the man carrying a patron towards the door, “He work for the club too or is he just a good samaritan?”

Enzo followed your gaze, a grin spreading across his face, “That’s Blaise. He runs security with Theo, but he does more of the inside while Theo does more of the out. I’ll introduce you when he’s not as busy, real sweetheart if he likes you.” You picked another glass to dry as you kept conversation, “And the others, I know Mattheo’s the boss,” you emphasized the phrase with a playful tone, “but what about Pansy and Draco?”

“Draco’s in charge of finances, amongst…other things. While Pansy…well she’s kind of like Mattheo’s assistant,” Enzo’s tone told you there was more to both statements. “What other things? You lot are always saying things that double as another; s’giving me a headache. And assistant like…an actual assistant or like an assistant assistant?”

Enzo couldn’t help but laugh at your questions, “Godric, no, nothing like that. Like she’s his actual assistant, appointments, helping with hiring, the likes. Really keeps the rest of us in order when he’s off doing other business. As for the former question, if you need to know, Angel. You’ll know. Speaking of,”

Enzo titled his head behind you, causing you to turn and see Malfoy walking your way. “Cmon, little bird. Time to take you home.” You walked from behind the bar, “I can apparate home myself thanks, no need for the sitter.”

Draco rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed that he was the one tasked with this, “You don’t have permission to apparate in the building. C’mon, I’m taking you home. It’s not my choice either, a’right?”

“Then I can just leave the building and apparate home. I don’t understand the problem,” you crossed your arms in defiance, which only made Draco more irritated. He held his hand out towards Enzo in a will you please explain motion.

Enzo cleared his throat, “Listen, Angel. Mattheo’s rule is that if you work for him, he knows everything. That includes where you live, it’s gonna be easier just to go with Malfoy then fight it. Although I would love to see that fight, heard she gave you quite the run earlier.” Enzo smirked at the blonde.

“Watch your mouth, Berkshire,” Draco turned to you, holding out his arm, “C’mon little bird, I don’t wanna be at your place all morning.” Resisting further argument, you walked over toward him, grabbing his arm. The familiar feeling of twisting and pulling occurred before landing on your feet in front of your flat.

Draco’s sneer was evident as you grabbed your bag from his other hand and dug around for your keys, “This is where you live?” You scoffed, “Not everyone can live in a manor. Thanks for taking me back. Now you’ve seen it, you can go now.”

A small chuckle left Draco’s throat, “Sorry, birdie, Mattheo wants me to check out the entire flat. So I’m coming inside…unfortunately.” Draco followed you up the steps to the door, his tall figure looming over you as you undid all three locks on your door before mumbling undoing charms as well.

“Quite the security you have, birdie. What’re you afraid of?” Draco’s tone was dripping with curiosity that you weren’t about to entertain, “I’ll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours, Blondie.”

You turned the knob, walking through the door with Draco following. You did your normal routine, kicking off your shoes and hanging up your jumper by the door as Draco walked around your home. You walked into your kitchen, putting on the kettle for a cuppa.

When the kettle whistled you took down two mugs and filled them. Surprisingly Draco took one as he entered the room, taking a sip and making a satisfied humming noise. “Find anything interesting worth reporting back to your boss, Draco?”

He set his mug down, putting his hands in his trouser pockets, “Your boss too now. Enzo made a good report about you, said you held your own pretty well, kept up with orders, were strict when you needed to be and, as you phrased it earlier, blended in.”

A grin started to appear on your face, but quickly dropped at his next sentence, “But Mattheo won’t let you live here.” You leaned against your counter, crossing your arms over your chest, “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

The smile that formed on Draco’s lips was anything but settling, sending a chill to your bones no cup tea could warm, “Enjoy the night here little bird, but it’s gonna be the last in this flat. What you showed tonight has Mattheo thinking he can use you for…real work. I’d get good sleep tonight, birdie. Your legilimency lessons start tomorrow, and Mattheo is ruthless.”

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, Draco disappeared from your kitchen with a pop, leaving you standing there with his words swirling in your mind. As intimidating as the situation sounded, you needed this job. You needed the protection this job provided. You just hoped the cost didn’t outweigh the benefit.

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