#this isn’t my first black parade | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anitalenia · 7 months ago

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. 𝐎𝐇, 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋, 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝓘𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 . ♡ 𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑢𝑒. 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 ♡ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ dark knight!joker x fem!reader ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ suggestive content, mature content, reader is spoiled but not a brat, reader isn’t necessarily a good person, joker is lowkey your sugar daddy, inner turmoil and lowkey delusions, joker being manipulative ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ slight dark content, a lot of emotional turmoil with reader, lowkey brainwashed reader ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ this is actually like my fav. Joker, I miss him 😞 hope you enjoy ♡ also, this isn’t my best merged gif but I haven’t done one since my wattpad days 😫 2017 era 🕺🏻 Sorry this has no smut in it, but this is my first joker fic so I wanted to do something tame. I’m not sure how I would approach writing smut for him 😭 he cray cray. I do like this idea though so I’ll probably expand on it somewhere down the line. ♡

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ♡ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍. This was a fact constantly paraded around your face everywhere you went in Gotham City. It was in the front pages of newspapers most often, written in big, black, bold letters that the bad man had struck again. Murder, ruination, destruction, robbery, devil — all synonymous with his name, all written in big, black, bold letters.

It would be written in the same newspapers, more often than not, that were shoved into dingy trash cans and sold at corner stores. A big gray photo of his mugshot plastered right onto the front page of the neatly rolled up papers thrown onto your porch every morning. His face was easily distinguishable and it always made you shiver when you saw it; soulless black eyes topped with a frazzled hair of green.

It was televised in the local breaking news segments almost every day on the hour, when you’d be sitting at your glass table drinking your morning coffee, wearing that grand red robe that was much more expensive than necessary. It was always the same story; the bad man has stolen millions from another major bank and has somehow gotten away with it, whatever will Gordon do?

The joker. His face, those beaming crimson lips, they were plastered on the tabloids and the front pages of magazines and painted across the wanted posters that hung on every light pole installed on every block in the grandest city of grime.

He was everywhere you seemed to be, watching, smiling, plotting. His scarred face a shadow in the back of your mind and his maniacal laugh an echo that lingered behind your every thought.

He was in every reflection and sprinkled around every corner; the yellow tape wrapped around the ruins of a building, the joker playing cards mockingly laid out in the street brushing past you in the soft breeze, the eery quiet after nightfall and the laugh dancing in the empty streets everyone pretends to not notice.

He was like a ghost, your own personal demon you couldn’t just brush to the side and ignore. His presence was constant and persistent even when he wasn’t there, gnawing at your sanity like a feral dog thin and hungry, the memory of his smile found in the cold corners of your house and his sourly sweet musk soaked into every pore of your polished home. His very existence haunted you, as you were sure he intended.

No matter the source the message was always profoundly clear to you; you could never escape him.

You belonged to him in his own possessively twisted way you could never rationalize with a sound mind. You were his and he loved to entertain that notion in front of you as often as he could. He had spared your life that night in a carefully orchestrated plot to ensnare you, wrap you in his shadow and keep you tucked away in the dark.

You were his.

Yes, That was a fact that blared in your mind as loud and as simple as big, black, bold letters.

You were his.

Today was a dreaded day for you for one fatal reason and one reason alone. Today was the first of November, a very dreaded day you had found yourself dreading to face during the whole length of October.

With every beginning of a new month he would take it upon himself to visit you, invite himself into your life once more and disrupt any kind of routine uniformity you had developed. He’d come just to remind you of who exactly you belonged to, of who exactly gave you this life to begin with.

Of course, you would see him sparingly throughout the month when he’d come check up on you unannounced — it was really just a ploy to make sure you were sat put and not planning anything devious behind his back. Those moments were short and brief, sporadic and sometimes only ever occurring thrice within a thirty day period. Those moments were manageable.

He was a busy man he’d always say, too busy to attend to you and your whims.

But now it was the first of the month, the beginning of the month. He reserved those days especially for you, to give you his undivided attention and to ensure you’re properly reminded of your place. Today, Joker was going to come to your door once more with the expectation of you catering to his delusion, with the intention of being with you in every sense of the word.

You had found yourself lingering in bed later than usual, being sure to keep the television off to avoid yet another news story on the man you were going to see later on in the evening anyway.

You had avoided going outside, avoided any newspapers or magazines, completely disrupting your normal ritual in order to remain sane at the expectation of what was to occur later on. You didn’t want to see his face, it only served as a heinous reminder of what your life had become; long fragmented strings orchestrated under his wicked, purple gloved fingers.

You had just sat in your living room for the majority of the afternoon in a sweet green dress with a glass of white wine, reading a thick, verbose book you had no real interest in finishing. It might’ve been a dictionary, but you couldn’t focus on the words anyway to know, your eyes just blindly running over blurs of black ink and dwindling for several long minutes on the same page.

Your fingers trembled and you couldn’t help but gnaw on your bottom lip until it was sore, your wine glass constantly refilled and your throat consistently dry.

A part of you hoped that if you drank enough wine you’d be too tipsy to properly remember your night with him; your efforts were pointless and had been for quite some time. Sadly, your tolerance had heightened many moons ago when you found yourself starting to drink more to abide the anxious time you sat waiting, waiting for him.

These were the tell tale signs of your foreboding nervousness, all attempts of futile idle work to distract yourself from looking at the clock overhead your television.

It was a big flat screen, your fancy television was, with the best surround sound and 4K picture any tv on the market could offer. It was unnecessary and cruelly gratuitous — another flashy thing thrown your away to appease you when all it did was take up space. But, you supposed, it’d be selfish to complain.

As with the tv almost everything in your household had been given to you unmerited by the Joker himself; the diamonds, the fancy silver, the lavish fabrics and the fine jewelry. It was all luxuries you used to admire, now they were nothing but blood money to you. They were all one in the same, all tainted with some sort of sin or another he had committed to get them for you in the first place. You really couldn’t stand to be surrounded by them, to be surrounded by the filth.

But, you supposed once more, it wasn’t necessarily unmerited.

If you were really being honest with yourself he had spoiled you, or better put, he had fooled you. He had dangled all the riches and glamour you could’ve ever wanted over your starved, gaping mouth like a chunk of red meat.

You had been skin and bones before him, suffering, discarded to the side of the road like a diseased dog nobody wanted and he had used that to his full advantage, dangling that chunk of meat in front of your face as a faulty promise to ensnare you in his steel trap.

In your old life — that’s what you liked to call it anyway — before him, you were never able to dwell on superficial things like beauty or fashion. They had no place with you then, no substance, as your life was nothing but a dirty stain smeared in the smallest corner of Gotham that would easily tarnish such superficial things. It was a disastrous life held together by the withered scraps of a run down waitressing job.

You had been poor, incredibly so, hungry for the comfort and wealth you’d only ever see dripping off the fancy ladies you’d serve gin and tonics to in their lavish fur coats and shoes.

You were envious of them, angry, easily able to be coerced into any solution that could fix those feelings.

He had viewed your vulnerability as an opportunity, a moment he couldn’t let pass. He had manipulated you with the hollow promises of a magical land full of diamonds and rubies, one in which you’d never be hurt or forgotten about, one in which you’d get everything you ever desired and all your worries would bleed away, one in which you’d look even better than the ladies you’d serve gin and tonics to with their lavish fur coats and shoes.

You had salivated at the thought.

He knew you had been deprived for so long, deprived of love and care, of the warmth and intimacy only a real home could provide. You had missed that sense of belonging, of purpose, and he knew that in the way he selflessly fed to your greedy jaws of want — you wanted it all. He had shown up like a savior adorned in a purple cloak and green hair, coming to your aid. And despite the terrible rumors you had heard about him, the abominable things you’d seen, you had truly thought he was so for a while.

He had saw your famine, your insatiable appetite, and had raised you prosperity, an abundance of all the food, the money, you could ever want. If only you had seen that his promises were just carefully coated secrets to disguise his true intent, a bountiful paradise concealing the sinister hellscape underneath it.

It all seemed like a dream come true at the time. You had ate the scraps of luxury right out of his purple clothed palm and it wasn’t long before you had realized that you’d ate too much; you’d been spoiled by him, fooled by him, so familiar in the unconventional relationship you had found within him now to ever regret doing so.

You could never go back to your old life now and you knew it, he knew it. You could never go back to the dark, to the sick, to the cruelty of the real world outside of your selfishly curated paradise abundant with food, with money, more than you’d ever had in the accumulation of your whole existence. He had trained you well, fed you so much your teeth were rotten and your belly was full.

If only you had known that there was a price, a trick, before you ever agreed to his terms. If only you had read the fine print in the contract, for there was always a price to pay, a trick up their sleeve, when it came to the matters of a clown.

Yes, you were to be given everything you ever wanted, all the money, the clothes, the makeup, the jewelry, everything, but only in exchange for just one little thing.

Your devotion.

Your devotion to him and to him alone and to only ever him.

It seems meager of course, insignificant and small compared to what you were getting in return.

But no, no you see, because there was so much more to it as there always was to a slippery, two-sided promise. He wanted everything in return for giving you everything in the first place. He wanted your loyalty, your trust, your morals, your essence and your very soul. You were rich in the material sense while he was wealthy in a morbidly different fashion entirely.

He had saved you from the street, gave you food, gave you comfort, gave you a home, and just like a dog you had been blinded by his compassion, too blinded by the glitz and the glamour of his castle to notice the cracks in it’s foundation.

He had saved you, fed you, comforted you, clothed you, his loyal pet, bound to his side forever now with a diamond studded collar, your leash tied to the sinister intricacies of his pale hands.

Now, now you were his in all of your totality, a helplessly devoted, hypocritical bitch dressed up in blood-stained diamonds.

There was no saving you now. You were too far gone, too spoiled by him to ever give up your riches for sanity’s sake. He had filled you with that sense of belonging you desperately craved, your existence catered to him and his needs in exchange for a modicum of companionship.

As time went on you had come to loath your two story home and its white walls, its glass tables and expensive vases, its flower ridden garden and its white oak gazebo. It was too extravagant now, each shiny object digging a hole further in the hollow of your chest where your morals were supposed to be. Now it was all material, all superficial, all things given to appease you yet they only took up space.

But, you supposed for a third time, you could never give it up and go back to the way things were. Yes, you hated this house and its white washed walls that seemed to expand and swallow you whole, digesting your cowardice and greed, but you loved that it was all yours and no one else’s, you loved that he spoiled you and only you and you alone, that in a weird, twisted way you had his devotion just as he had yours.

You hated him and all his complexities yet you needed his company and praise. You were a poor, desolate creature lapping up any semblance of gold and care he spared you. Sometimes you’d wonder if there was better for you outside of your white-walled prison, but then he’d stroke your hair and call you a good girl and you’d wag your tail like it was all forgiven, like you were foolish for even thinking such a thought in the first place.

Yes, you were just as you said, a helplessly devoted, hypocritical, bitch.

You filled your wine glass up once more once the sky had settled into a sheer blue hue, the yellow tainted liquid filled to the edge of the glass as you looked at the clock pasted on the white wall over your fancy television with the fancy surround sound and the fancy 4K picture.

You took a heavy sip of dreaded excitement as the clock struck seven.

He’d be here any minute now.

“So, how ya been, honey? After all it’s been a month since the last time I saw you. I was starting to miss you, ya know. Miss ya real bad. Miss that pretty little smile on that pretty little face…” He drawled out slowly in that scratchy tone of his, his voice gritty and raw, fragmented.

You swallowed nervously as his fingers delicately traced over the skin of your cheek from where he stood in front of you, his black painted eyes looking up at you from the bridge of his nose.

He was hunched over in front of you in the stillness of your living room, amidst the white, both of you stood by the red couch yet he was taller than you as always, clad in his signature purple suit and gloves to match — they were soft on your cheek in the fleeting touch he spared them.

You looked back at him with a measly gaze, breath trembled with the subconscious fear you got whenever he was too close to you. His aura was palpable and dark, and with his irritable tendency to step into your personal space it seemed to swallow you whole and make you uncomfortable (not that he really cared). But you also guessed that if you belonged to him trivial things such as boundaries didn’t really apply.

On the other hand, you couldn’t deny that your body wantonly sought out his whenever it sensed him near — the flutter in your tummy, the tightness in your legs and the excited buzzing in your hands. It was an irritating betrayal to your logical mind, who knew wanting him was wrong yet was left wanting anyway.

You had been steadily convincing yourself it was just the symptoms of Stockholm syndrome, but you were not kidnapped and he was no captor… well, in the literal sense of the word. But, maybe that’s exactly what this was; you doubted he’d ever let you leave him anyway. Unfortunately, you knew your affections weren’t as simple as black and white. Really, your feelings for him were a puzzling paradox locked in a spinning box better left unopened, lost somewhere in the dark abysses of your mind better left unexplored.

You inhaled a soft breath, blinking up at him as time, in your altered perception, seemed to stretch and bend into a warped mirage of endless minutes and infinite seconds as you found yourself lost in your own thoughts, the smell of him tickling your nose pleasantly.

He smelt of smoke and something sickly sweet, scents that reminded you of cane sugar and the residue of a house fire. His hair was stringy and green, slicked back away from his messily painted white face that seemed to bore into yours.

Your body was tense, back straight and chin up, your arms sternly at your sides as you were too perturbed to know what to do with them. You were awkward, more than usual, having not seem him in an uncharacteristically long time. You had forgotten what pleasantries you used to rely on when he was around, any automated responses you were comfortable with using lost in the fluffiness of the clouds where you’d never find them again.

You were clueless as to what to say, not wanting to give in to this odd domesticity he was portraying and actually be nice to him, but you also didn’t want to risk it and be rude either. He was an unpredictable creature at nature, confounding and bipolar so it took very little for his switch to flip completely. You’ve witnessed that first hand and it made you incredibly wary.

Joker hummed at you then, blank eyes staring at you expectantly when a few moments of silence passed following his question — you hadn’t really paid attention, his touch leaving you stunned and his fragrance leaving you questioning. He rolled his eyes at you, big hand curling into a fist and playfully knocking at your forehead.

You grimaced at the feeling, body jolting from his touch ever so subtly as his dark voice rasped in your ears once more.

“Uh, hello, anybody home? I asked you a question, it’d be rude not to answer it. You have better manners than that, my dear. Go on, tell me, I’m curious now…” You watched as his tongue quickly flickered out in that weird way it always did, his jaw clicking in the blink of an eye. It was a tick you had noticed fairly quickly after meeting him. He couldn’t help it but it disturbed you nonetheless, an ode to his insanity.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, head feeling fuzzy as you blinked up at him.

He looked at you with straight lips and bored eyes, already expecting a response you were late saying.

“I-um, I’m sorry I was just distracted. I’m fine, thank you for asking. Nothing new has-has really gone on…” You cleared your throat, releasing a steady breath to calm your buzzing nerves. You looked up at him sheepishly, timidly, as he regarded you clinically, like a surgeon trying to dissect a lie.

You could understand his vexation; you yourself were gradually becoming irritated at your lack of attentiveness. Maybe it was because you hadn’t seen him in so long that was throwing you off balance… or maybe because he seemed much handsomer now than he did then. Maybe your loneliness was making him seem much more appealing than he ever was.

Whatever the case may be, you still felt delightfully anxious, a bubbly sick feeling in your tummy that was oddly giddy yet nervous, like you were talking to your crush for the first time. You hated that feeling but could do nothing to deter it.

He smacked his red painted lips, a low displeased hum sounding from the back of his throat, “Mm, distracted, you say? And what are these… distractions, hmm?” His voice was low and clipped, cocking his head at you as he leaned just a little bit closer to you. It was almost a dare to see if you’d avoid the question altogether, his shadow enveloping you in an ironically terrifying way the back of your mind cringed at.

You were unsure of what to say exactly, crippled under his dark gaze and frowned smile as he stared down at you heatedly. His eyes were always so intense and smoldering despite seemingly holding nothing at the same time, blank and emotionless beads sat in the emptiness of inky black pits.

Your lips parted but no words seemed to sound; you were lost entirely in the ebony abyss of his eyes, not sure what to say or how to respond as you were just spewing sentences you yourself barely understood. You were just too busy talking to appease him that you didn’t even listen to a word you said.

“Well, tik tok dearest I don’t have all night.” Joker said numbly, gravelly, staring at you almost irritably for your odd behavior.

Even he seemed to notice your sudden shyness and it was starting to irritate him; you never seemed to have this problem before nor did you ever seem so agreeable. He was greatly familiar with your rude quips and pessimistic sarcasm yet he hadn’t heard a single one out of your mouth tonight.

How odd, not that he was complaining. He preferred you compliant, malleable.

You gulped once more, your gaze flickering down to his flattened red lips then back up to his eyes, hopefully before he noticed the action.

You looked back at him, clearly nervous for no evident reason, “Well I was just thinking about the last time I saw you. It has been a while…” You managed to formulate a legible excuse, voice soft and almost dainty as you looked up at him doe eyed.

You licked your dry lips as you regarded his expression to your statement; it seemed your words flowed easily from the whispers of the heart, ones you weren’t especially keen on sharing yet seemed to share anyway. They just seemed to have spoken themselves before you could stop them… he was just too close, much too close, it was fogging up your ability to think rationally.

His eyes seemed to register your words, brow flicking subtly in interest like you’d caught him off guard — you most likely did as you yourself weren’t even prepared to hear what you just said either.

He stared over your face heatedly, eyes an inky black, prodding with amusement and curiosity yet he just seemed to stare at you. The air shifted then, warmer now, more suffocating, as you felt your heart start to race at the close proximity and eye contact.

You could feel yourself start to panic slightly at the unexpected moment of intimacy you hadn’t meant to initiate, but you were also curious as to what he would say… maybe he’d surprise you. As you said, he was conclusively unpredictable and erratic, always leaving you guessing. Maybe he’d say something a part of you wanted to hear.

He was tall and narrow in the white expanse of your living room, a dark purple blotch stained on cream colored sheets, so out of place and vaguely threatening it made the air feel thick and smothering. You were finding it hard to think clearly with him this close to you, smelling like he did with his proper purple suit and shiny black shoes.

He was more polished today than usual, not so unruly and scraggly as he usually was… you could even make out the muscle sculpted underneath the confines of his purple suit and the way it tailored to his size perfectly and complimentary.

Maybe he tried to look good for you. Maybe just this once.

You couldn’t dwell on that thought however at the sound of Joker’s voice snatching your attention once more.

He seemed to have found your response funny, letting out a wheezy laugh as his smile seemed to stretch across his scarred face for eons. You were too tense to laugh, watching as he did instead, standing idly by in confusion on what could’ve revoked that kind of response out of him (perhaps even slightly offended that he would dare laugh at your showcased vulnerability).

But, you also knew trying to make sense of the Joker’s actions was entirely asinine. His whole being, his whole existence, was made to be senseless and absurd. You’d have to be his crazy to understand his crazy, a level you weren’t quite ready for.

He finally looked at you after his giggles transpired, regarding you with amused eyes and a wide smile.

“Ahh, so what you’re really saying is, you missed me?” He grinned, cocking his head at you animatedly, his yellow stained teeth bright in the dark expanse of his mouth.

You didn’t reply, too stunned he would say such a thing and too frightened by the pumping in your chest and the words caught in your throat. He was bold, brave even, for saying such a heavy thing so simply. You eyed him astounded, opting with your shaky silence as a reply instead.

Joker scoffed at you, rolling his eyes dramatically once more, “Well go on, tell me. Tell me you missed me, say it. It’s not good to, uh, lie to ourselves, is it? Honesty is, and always will be, the best policy.” He grinned sarcastically, his warm hands flinging around his face in a dramatic gesture to emphasize his words, his arms long and not too muscular, adequately thin and yet still capable.

He chuckled darkly, handsomely, now eyeing you in a twisted fashion much different than you did; he wanted to hear you say it, tell him, confess to him, submit to him. And it gave him no greater pleasure than breaking you down to crumbs in his palms… his to use as he pleases and his to do whatever with as he pleases.

But, on this specific matter, he just wanted to hear you say it. He was fully aware of how much of a struggle it would be for you to do so, finding sadistic pleasure in your obvious discomfort.

You gulped again as agnostic revelations pulled at your weak heart once more… had you missed him? Maybe you did, but maybe only in the sense that isolation made you desperate for any form of contact, maybe only in the sense that loneliness made you crave connection. Sure, you’d say you missed him, you’d say you missed him the same way seclusion made you miss anybody, the same way an uprooted flower would miss its green pastures.

However, had you missed him specifically? To be honest, you didn’t want to dig too hard for the answer, entirely too afraid you’d unearth the truth you purposefully buried deep in the dirt a long time ago. Your mind was fragile enough already, deteriorating slowly and gradually the longer you denied and embraced your oddly infatuated companionship with the man in front of you.

You were sure that if you epiphanized to any serious truths you werent sure you wanted to admit your mind would atrophy into a numb, lifeless thing hanging onto the remembrance of Jokers smiling face, left rotting with the harsh witness marks of his perverse adoration.

You blinked at him, mouth going dry and fingertips pulsing as you mumbled out what you only could, “Maybe I did…”

Yes, still the truth — enough so as to satisfy him — but not the whole truth you wouldn’t dare say out loud, not even in the uncertainty of your mind where Joker lurked in the darkest and brightest corners of, easily susceptible to your every thought and feeling.

You couldn’t take that risk of him knowing you inside and out. You needed at least something to yourself, something not shared with him even if it was your own darkest thoughts and desires.

Joker hummed delightfully at your response, giddy at your honesty and the way it made his stomach flutter with black-winged bats.

His eyes closed shut and he seemed to burst into a fit of elated giggles that had his foot stomping on the ground. He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed, laughed so much it disturbed you yet you found yourself blushing anyway.

How pathetic could you be? So enamored with the same man you loathed entirely.

Joker seemed to gather his wits after a moment, a grin still on his white face as he approached you once more, but this time much, much closer than before.

“Oh, oh isn’t that just sweet. You missed me, did you? That’s just what I wanted to hear.” He almost growled possessively, his limber arms quickly wrapping around the lower curve of your waist, hastily pulling you into his sturdy chest with a delectable purring noise that shook through his ribs and reverberated onto the palms of your hands.

Your own breath escaped you in a gasp as your hands smacked into him, breathless and shocked at the sudden contact and closeness. You were quite unprepared for this, your heart racing in your ears and your breaths warm and heavy from such close contact after not having any for so long.

As soon as you touched him and he touched you it felt like something inside of you burst, flooded your internal systems with a need so violent you couldn’t pull away no matter how much your frail mind told you to do so.

You welcomed the embrace naturally, disregarding any logical thought as a soft exhale left your shaky lips. Over time you had learned to smother out your inner sagacity until it was just a dull ache in the back of your skull you could easily ignore.

You welcomed the warmth of his chest and the feel of his foreign embrace, enjoyed it even after a month of not a single touch or sound from another human. You really were so brainwashed beyond your own understanding. You sought him out yet desperately wanted to resist him; you wanted him to hold you and appease you yet you wanted him to leave, leave forever and never come back.

Still, you found yourself melting into him against your volition with a stuttering breath, muscles tense as you still considered letting go but knowing you weren’t going to. You felt comforted and safe in the absence of space between your bodies, something contradictory and confusing as he was very, very dangerous and most likely bound to hurt you with any wrong move you made in your shared future.

You were still sane enough to acknowledge at least that…

Again, you smothered that flame of rationality burning in the back of your head and didn’t bother denying him, mind going blank and empty as your manicured fingers tightened around the folds of his jacket. You exhaled with a soft tremble on your breath, slowly looked up at him with parted lips and darkened eyes.

He looked down at you all the same, eyes delectable and merry yet with carefully concealed undertones of something darker, something evil that resounded brightly in the darkness of his eyes. Maybe a flame of his own he was embracing rather than ignoring, something more sinisterly amatory you didn’t dare question any further as he went to lay his down on your shoulder.

“Ahhh, you smell sweet. Deliciously sweet. You wear perfume just for me? Aren’t you a doll.” He chuckled huskily at his own statement, voice muffled and gravelly like stones on rough pavement. He set his head into the crook of your neck, his cold cheek resting on the warmth of your shoulder.

His two hands were snug around your midsection, fingers digging into your skin sharply like you would dare push him away and run out the door. He couldn’t ever let that happen. He needed you here, with him, could never imagine you running away unless you wanted the city to drown in its own blood.

He’d find you of course. He’d always find you even if it meant burning the whole world to do it.

You swallowed thickly as his fingers tightened on you, looking at the plain wall behind him as your hands dug into the velvety fabric of his coat.

This position was oddly intimate yet very much appreciated. He was always a touchy man, never bothered keeping his hands to himself but they were mostly just meaningless touches, touches meant to annoy and distract you, not sweet embraces meant to console you and romance you.

You felt his warm breath caress your neck as a beat of silence passed, buzzing in your ears with the sound of your breaths. It was ticklish and gentle, a pleasant low hum sounding soon after.

You couldn’t help the goosebumps that rose on your skin from the purposeless action, your eyelids fluttering at the pleasant sensation as he breathed once more.

You were completely shrouded in him now; his sickly sweet scent, his hair tickling your jaw, his strong arms wrapped around you, his raggedy breaths soothing the skin of your neck. It was all overwhelming and all encompassing on your senses. All you could feel was him, see him, smell him… it was making your mind drown in its own deranged splendor as thoughts of wisdom and logic seemed to wither away into ash and smoke.

A cruel metaphor simply portrayed for how similar it was to your own real life. Shrouded by him. Controlled by him. All him and only him.

You could feel your sanity literally slipping away from you the longer you tried to rationalize the hunger biting at your stomach. You could feel it sliding down your body and melting at your heels like you were in the dawn of a new age, shedding old skin and starting anew; a catharsis of your own lunacy as you found yourself craving him to be closer, to hold you tighter, to meld himself as one with you so you’d never have to be alone again.

Another beat of silence passed before you spoke once more, something your mind didn’t want to register but your heart seemed eager to scream.

“I wanted to look good for you.” You mumbled quietly in the small space between his ear and your pink painted lips, eyes flickering down to his green hair then back to the wall as the whiteness of it seemed to blur around you so all you could focus on was him, your savior, your capturer, your most abominable admirer; your nightmare living in a daydream.

You don’t know what made you say it, what made you whisper it into the absence of noise, but maybe it was the way he held you against him like he didn’t want to let you go. Maybe it was the way he hummed lowly on the skin of your shoulder pleasantly and soundly, content to stand with you in the center of your white living room and be the only source of comfort and color you could ever have again.

Perhaps it was the sense of belonging you always craved and now felt in the warm crevice between his arms that made you confess it, of that same sense of purpose he had promised you all those months ago.

“Did you now? For me? Well aren’t you a darling.” Joker hissed the word into your cheek, wet lips rubbing against your skin as he picked his head back up upon hearing your voice.

Your eyes closed momentarily at the feel of his lips on you, a burst of tingly sparks pulsing through your entire left side as neediness crept into your palms. You held him tighter when he seperated his head from you, not wanting him to go now, wishing for him to stay, to keep holding you and to never release you into the cavern of cold that was your soulless living room.

His hands stayed where they were much to your enjoyment, his broad chest still pressed against yours as he looked down at you with a dead yet pleasantly satisfied expression. You had been with him long enough to identify the subtle cues in his rather stagnant facial quirks.

He smacked his red lips, releasing a gravelly hum once more as he cocked his head at you. Observing the way you looked up at him with so much… devotion.

It was written all over your face in bold black marker, eyes glistening with vehement devotement that made a wheezy chuckle bubble in his scratchy throat.

He felt ecstatic, warm fuzzy feelings he didn’t know the word for swirling around in his empty stomach and clearing away any cob web stuck to his dark heart.

Yes, yes you were his and you’d always be his no matter what you had to say on the matter. He had decided it a long time ago and will enforce it for the rest of the many lives you’ll suffer through together.

Your head felt fuzzy, eyes heavy and breaths low and lagged as you stared up at him earnestly. You could feel the arousal pulling at your gut, the admiration stirring in your heart as you looked up at him. He was handsome, so handsome even with the scars, even with the paint, even with the villainous degeneracy hidden under the scarred flesh.

You had him, you had him almost as entirely as he had you and you knew it, he knew it… but you could never say it out loud because you fear the repercussions if you ever did. If you ever completely, entirely, unconditionally gave yourself to him in every sense of the word. But, to your dismay, or to your satisfaction, you already did in a lot of ways.

However, admitting it, fundamentally giving yourself to him, you knew that would be the last straw for your dwindling sanity. You were already so severely fragmented, stained with so many cracks and blemishes that just a simple touch would shatter you.

Your mind was all you had left, all that was left of value. Everything else belonged to him. Your soul, your body, your life. But it was really hard to focus on such noble things when he was this close to you; a handsome, devious, shadow glooming over your light and dimming it completely, smelling the way he did and looking at you the way he did with this peculiar act of tenderness.

It did nothing but aid your arousal further, his hard yet gentle touches and intense yet glittering eyes.

Joker regarded you intensely, his own morbid admiration for you leaking through his palms as his left hand started to glide up the curves of your body slowly and meticulously.

He slid it around your waist, his eyes following the motion to gawk at every dip and curve he touched that was masked by your pale green dress. His finger tips pressed into your skin, into your stomach as his palm stretched upwards, feeling you like it was the for the first time, like it was solely done to tease you.

The tingling sensation pulsing through your thighs, tingling pleasurably on your skin underneath his eager hand, it all made your breaths quicken and pulse jump. You stared at him lustfully now, submitting to your own delusion as you found yourself wanting him. Strongly.

Eventually his hand made it to the valley of your breasts but he made no extra moves to touch them directly as he would in the past. He was abnormally patient, not so frantic with his touches almost like he was calculating them, so unlike his usual nature.

His eyes looked at the areas of your chest he didn’t touch though, heavy and dark, stirring with a lust of his own just as intense and passionate as yours as his thumb grazed the skin of your left breast.

Your breath stopped for a moment, eyes boring into his face even though he didn’t look back at you, eager to see what he’d do next. There was a small, very minuscule part of your brain utterly disgusted with yourself for wanting his bloodstained hands on you in the first place.

You did not listen to it, core hot and clenching around nothing as you stared at him, hyper aware of his hand smoothly sliding up your neck now.

A very vulnerable place, exposed to the unforgiving grip of his palm if he so chose to squeeze the life out of you. You didn’t stop him even as that thought crossed your mind, too hypnotized by his essence and touch to deny yourself the luxury of feeling it.

He looked at your face then, black, hungry eyes flickering up to yours as his fingers wrapped around your jaw and pressed harshly into the fat of your cheeks.

You inhaled sharply at the sting, letting out a hiss as your cheeks dug into your teeth.

Still, you found pleasure in the brutality of his touch, fingers digging into his coat so hard the tips of them burned as you stared back boldly into his starved, manic eyes ablaze with something dangerous and predatory.

You felt something similar sitting heavy in the pit of your gut, something untamed and primal that needed him inside you as importantly as you needed food to eat. It was fierce and wild, striking roughly under your skin like whips and rattling like chains for a taste of what only he could give you.

He forced your head back with a gentle push on your cheeks, eyes crackling with the fervor of a black flame as he inched forward… forward… forward, until his scarred mouth was right above your parted lips and his straight nose was tapping against yours.

You breathed heavily now at such close quarters, so pent up and overstimulated you were confused on whether you wanted him or utterly hated him. But with a need so intense it stung your core and shook your soul, with your stomach so tightly wound together and aching, with the space between your thighs pulsing and dripping for something to appease it, you regretfully, indubitably knew your answer.

He was your answer, him and his skilled, frazzled hands and forked tongue; the serpent tempting you to corruption, to rid yourself of any semblance of innocence you had left.

It was the loneliness you told yourself, the loneliness that made you feel such a way for him. Although, it wasn’t loneliness that made you stare up at him like a horny, doting slave bound to his every wish and desire. You made that choice all on your own.

“You know… I always wonder how I found such a sweet thing like you. So lost, so pathetic. I almost pitied you, really I did…” He grunted lowly, voice a gravely, manic hiss that had your skin crawling pleasurably.

You didn’t dare look away from his gaze as his fingers tightened on your cheeks, not even finding yourself capable of being insulted by his words. You were too enraptured by the rasp in his voice, by the way he stared so intensely at you with equal fervor.

He shook your face for emphasis, your cheeks digging into the ridges of your teeth so hard it stung but you made no move to protect yourself.

The pain only soothed you, made you wetter, only made you more greedy for him and his hands, for the sweet release of pain and pleasure only he could bring you. The pain made you feel something, something other than boredom and guilt these white walls seemed to torture you with, something other than self loathing you seemed to be haunted with.

He was the one that made you feel. He was the one that made you feel like you were still living at all, he was the one that made you feel alive.

He looked over your face intensely, as though inquisitively looking for something beyond it. Picking and prodding at the scattered pieces of your brain for something you didn’t know. His jaw was clenched as he dug his fingers harder into your cheeks, holding your face sternly so you couldn’t do anything but look back at him.

You winced at the pressure, yet your thighs pulsed and fingers tensed for more as your gaze bore into his with sparkling, edacious irises.

“But now I got’cha, don’t I? I have you and you belong to me, isn’t that right, honey? Go on, I want you to say it. Say it now…”

You nodded your head barely in acceptance, eyes glued to him as heavy breathed escaped your lips. You were stuck on him, stuck on the sound of his voice and entirely fixated on his words no matter how deluded they sounded.

“Say it!” He demanded with a rough, agitated voice, tone impatient and thunderous with his demeanor suddenly hostile. He thrashed your face back so hard you yelped.

“Ah! Yes, yes, I belong to you.” You repeated as instructed through clenched teeth, staring up at him with fear blown eyes. He seemed to like your answer as the tight grip around your cheeks dulled slightly.

You panted as the sting throbbed in your cheeks, eyes blown wide and teeth clenched yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He looked crazy but smelt so good, acted like a lunatic but maybe only because he was crazy about you. Crazy about you and only you as his reciprocated feelings seemed to be affecting you the same.

You watched him grin then, something insane and diabolical as giggles erupted from the base of his throat once more.

“Yes, you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine, all mine!” He laughed, jiggling your face in his grip as his mouth fell wide open and his scars seemed to stretch and move in the motion of a crazed smile.

You didn’t laugh with him — you never laughed with him — just stared at him with a newfound fright and even brighter yearning, a yearning so powerful that all you could do was stare at his vermilion lips and the jagged scars cut into either side of them.

Once upon a time you heavily disliked them, was rather perturbed by his disfigurement but now… now they didn’t scare you for he wouldn’t be him without them, those same scars that haunted your dreams yet you couldn’t stop fantasizing about.

Joker’s crazed laughter died down after a minute. A quick minute in your perspective because you couldn’t stop looking at his lips, thinking of them finally leaving harsh bite marks into the hollow of your collarbone with blood red paint smeared over the bruises on your soft skin.

It was a tantalizing thought, one he had initiated many times before yet tonight he seemed to be prolonging the agenda. For the first time ever, you were the impatient one, craving his touch to feel you and satisfy that burning bulb of longing shining bright in the pit of your belly.

He looked at you heatedly, dryly, now standing back to his tall, intimidating stature as his hand released your face from its tight grip. You stared back at him unwavering as he slid it down your jaw tentatively until it was around your neck, resting at the base of it.

You swallowed nervously as he stared hard at the area, gloved fingertips pressing into the skin like he was struggling not to strangle you right then and there.

The thought scared you, how easily you presented yourself to him and discarded any self persevering instincts molded into the strings of your DNA over the course of generations. You were going against your very nature letting him touch you like this but you relished in it, let it wash over you like a pool of warm water.

His other hand swiftly came up and to your face, the pad of his thumb softly tracing over the plushness of your parted lips.

You reveled in the soft feeling it arose out of your sensitive body, a breathy sound leaving your chest like the whisper of a breeze between sheer flower petals. Delicate and dainty, rendering you breathless.

Maybe this was what he meant when he said you’d have purpose again, when he’d promised you belonging.

Yes, you’d have purpose in the sense that you had purpose to him, that he needed you in his own sick, self serving ways and everything you could offer him. You’d always have purpose as long as you stood next to him. Purpose to be found when he was buried deep in your heat and cradled in your heart during the cold evenings spent between Egyptian cotton sheets only his lustful animosity could make warm.

Yes, you’d always feel like you belonged as long as you were with him, entrapped in this huge house he graciously gave you with its sickening white walls and disgusting velvety red curtains. Yes, you would always belong to him in the sense that you didn’t have a choice but to be. He has found you and you are now in his clutches, he has found you and you will never be lost again.

You belonged to him. Your heart, happiness, health, and everything else was entirely his. A gruesome sense of belonging twisted in the dire fabrics of his manipulation, intertwined with his body and absent soul. You belonged to him, tethered to him like a ball and chain, a woefully symbiotic bond.

Even now, with his boney hand around your throat so easily capable of draining your life force you didn’t bother trying to save yourself. Your very existence was interlocked with his and had been since he first laid eyes on you. You didn’t have anyone but him to trust, even if that meant trusting him with your own life and death.

He had the power to let you thrive, as he has proved countless times with his endless money and pointless gifts, giving you a life anyone else could so easily live but he had all the capability of destroying it as well. He was the King of your small kingdom and you were nothing but the romantic whim he could just as easily spare, a victim caught in the crossfire of his demented devotion.

Your life was quite literally in his hands and unfortunately for you he had an unfathomable proclivity to ruin anything he touched.

The thought made you feel shame for yourself, knowing how dumb you were being as drops of lucidity dripped down the cracks in your fried brain yet your lust didn’t deter. You had already acknowledged that you were deranged in your own way, so desperate for connection that you’d find it anywhere. It just so happened you found it here, in his sticky trap you’d never escape from for reasons beyond your own capability.

Joker removed the hand that was on your neck to the other side of your face, cradling your cheeks in his hands with a much more gentle touch than was exhibited before.

“Now, let me see a smile… go on, smile for me. I wanna see a great… big… smile.”

He smiled slightly at that, a dry fleeting motion with no real effort behind it, cradling your cheeks in his palms like delicate birds. His thumbs rubbed the corners of your lips then stretched them into a smile for you. You didn’t resist him, loosening your lips as he stretched them so far they cracked.

You ignored the burn, your eyes showed no signs of happiness as a smile usually demonstrated. Just lustful watery things staring up at him pleadingly, begging for him to finish this act of his and relinquish the pain you were starting to feel in your lower regions.

Your muscles were tense, body longing for him to touch it in the places you needed him most, to carve his admiration into the fat of your hips and apex of your thighs so you’d never lose it. You were dirty with his tainted love anyway, too much to care anymore; could never feel clean.

He stared at your smile with a criminal look in his eyes, a cackle scratching at the back of his throat as your fingers tightened even tighter around his jacket until the edges were engulfed in your own warm palms. You fought the desire to yank his lips down to yours, knowing you should never rush him no matter how impatient you were becoming.

“Ah, ah, ah, there we go. Now isn’t that pretty?” He rumbled fiendishly, satisfied now as his thumbs slid down your cheeks in a frowning motion until your lips gradually reset themselves into a line.

You swallowed once more, staring up at him wantonly as his hands slid down to lock onto your upper arms. Sparks burst where he touched you, your lifeless body abuzz with an invigorating feeling only his greedy fingers could make you feel.

You didn’t say a thing, unable to speak, longing for his lips to touch yours and for his lithe hands to familiarize themselves with the smooth skin of your body as he has so many times before.

You couldn’t imagine how desolate you looked now, so wrecked in the pupils of his glowering eyes as he stared down at you with an intensity you easily recognized, an intensity burning with the promise of wrecking you entirely later on.

“Now, what do you say we go and have a little fun, huh? I’d really appreciate it if you’d do me this little favor. You know I hate to make a fuss but, uh, it’s been a…rough… night.” He mumbled sarcastically in remembrance of something you had no clue of, rolling his eyes at himself as his tongue flicked out of his mouth again, his thumbs stroking the skin on your arms in an oddly patient way.

He hummed with his scratchy voice in the tone of a question, staring down at you blankly in expectation of a yes.

You nodded your head dumbly, so consumed with want that all you could see was him, think of him, him, him, him. Him and his devilish gloved hands and long purple fingers that had killed so many yet only seemed to bring you back to life in the harsh and tender touches they spared you. Blood stained hands, hands tainted with grandeur sin and murder that only seemed to exhilarate and enliven you.

Him, him and his red lips that spoke such curses and cruelty yet kissed you so delicately like a golden star dotted in the blanket of a navy blue sky. Him and his body riddled with scars and imperfections hotly intertwined with yours as he conquered you in a way so similar to how the Roman’s stormed the Greeks. Just as powerful, just as influential, just as legacy lasting.

“Okay.” You breathed out softly in acceptance of his words, of your own delusions, already staring at his lips as eagerly as a lifeless carcass only brought to life by his magical kiss; the most twisted tale of Snow White written in any media.

Joker grinned villainously, cackling at your behavior before his hands tightened their hold on you and he was lunging your smaller body towards his in a messy, much awaited kiss that left red paint smeared over your own lips in the same, wicked smile that he had.

How fitting.

⋆˚࿔ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @little-miss-chaoss @ghostslillady @boobaeri @prayingal (I think that’s everyone, hope you enjoy ☺️)

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bullet-prooflove · 1 month ago

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Cherry Lipstick: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gatefleet @tigolebittiez @mckinleysbones @totalstitchlover19

Companion piece to:

Box Breathing - Eddie's been struggling since Christopher left.

Always - You make a promise to Eddie.

Real - Eddie tells you he wants something real.

You’re wearing cherry lipstick, that’s the first thing Eddie notices when he lays eyes on you at the Mayor’s Charity Ball, that and backless black jumpsuit you’re wearing. Your hair falls across one side your face in loose waves as you linger in the doorway.

For a moment it feels like time stands still because truly you are the most breathtaking woman in this place.

It’s the tension in your shoulders that snaps him back to reality, the way your muscles coil as if your waiting for the next attack. He recognises discomfort when he sees it. This isn’t your scene, it isn’t his either. The tuxedo he’s wearing feels too confining, the collar like a noose. He tugs at it as you approach him, hoping for a little relief.

“I hate this.” Are the first words out of your mouth and he smiles, because one of the things he loves about you is the fact you don’t sugarcoat, not with him.

The only reason the two of you are even here is because the Fire Chief wants to show you both off to potential donors. You both tick a couple of boxes when it comes to the LAFD’s diversity program. Him due to his heritage and status as a veteran and you due to your gender. It helps that you’re both easy on the eyes, Chimney had pointed out and you’d given him the middle finger in response.

“I hate it too.” Eddie agrees before he places his hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the bar. “But we promised so…”

You spend the next hour being paraded around by the Fire Chief, peppered with questions by donors that border on offensive, about your ability to stack up against the men you work with, the concessions that have been made because of your gender. This shit it’s nothing new to you, but it is to Eddie, who with every comment grows more livid, When it gets to the point where he’s unable to bite his tongue you take his hand threading your fingers through his in an attempt to alleviate some of the agitation he’s feeling.

“They’re all assholes.” He tells you as you lead him onto the dance floor so that the two of you can get a little space. “Every single one of them.”

“You are not telling me anything new.” You remark as your arms wind around his neck, your fingertips brushing lightly over the dark hair at the bottom of his collar. “It’s like this at every event he coerces me into. I just have to play the good little soldier and take it.”

“What happens if you don’t?” He asks curiously, his hands settling on your hips.

“Then he makes a suggestion that there may be other firehouses may benefit from my expertise.” You reply and Eddie’s grasp on you tightens at the thought of you disappearing from his life like that. The two of you may work different shifts but there’s always a little cross over, sometimes seeing you, even if it is only for a couple of minutes can be the silver lining of an otherwise rainy day.

The music starts to slow switching to an acoustic piano version of Coldplay’s ‘The Scientist’ and Eddie’s cheek comes to rest against yours as he draws you a little closer. You feel so right pressed against him like this, the curves of your body fitting perfectly into the contours of his own. The scent of your perfume floods his senses, something floral with a hint of sensuality, and it dampens down his indignation, filling him with an emotion that he struggles to articulate but feels in the very depths of his soul.

“Selena…” He murmurs, his forehead coming to rest upon yours as he trails off. “I…”

But the words they just won’t come, they stick in his throat like lego bricks as he looks into your eyes helplessly.

“I know.” You whisper, your lips brushing over his. “Trust me Eddie I do.”

Love Eddie? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#eddie diaz #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #911 on abc #911 #911 abc #911 show #edmundo diaz #edmundo eddie diaz

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doodlenoodleboi · 5 months ago

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WELCOME SMALL FANDOM ENJOYERS!

Gonna be writing for my less talked about anime and manga babes maybe even cartoons and other media think of this of a master list of sorts. I will have characters from well known media in here but l it will just be about those characters because we don't get much exclusive material about our boys and possibly girls, they them's as well won't be excluded.

Characters/Shows/ Games/ Media etc... like:

- Shino Aburame - Naruto

- Jack the Ripper - Black Clover

- Characters in General - Hajime no Ippo

- Decim - Death Parade

- Garry - Ib

- Micah Yujin - ERROR143

- Cove - Our Life

- Sal - Sally face

Don't be shy to make a request I do prefer that you don’t it anonymous so that I can tag you maybe even become friends!

I’m not saying that I will exclusively make content for that purpose, but I will make a lot of my content based off of that since I cannot find that type of content!

I’m almost willing to write for every fandom and every character. If I’ve not watched the show or consumed the media, I’ll try my best to do research on it! Or even watch the show or consume media. Who knows I just might find my new hyper fixation!

Updates: I ALSO WRITE FOR POC PEOPLE & I WANTED EVERYONE TO KNOW THAT AS ONE SO DON’T BE SHY.

English isn’t my first languages guys so there might be a lot of typos.

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angeleris-artist · 24 days ago

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Eulogy from a fan

MCR has been my favourite band for 20 years now. Maybe I’m weird, but I love their music to the point where I have trouble just putting on one of their songs casually or placing one of their songs on a playlist with multiple artists. I like to listen to their albums in full, or at least have a rotation going specifically of just their vast and varied music. I adore just about all music, and they’re the only artist I do this with.

When I first fell in love with MCR—and I fell for them hard—they were a group of five: Gerard, Frank, Ray, Mikey, and Bob. 14-year-old me was absolutely crazy about all of them. I thought they were the coolest people in music, and any small piece of legit information about any of them got me so excited.

Before social media was standard, everything I learned about them I learned from interviews and performance footage. I’ve always remembered Bob as that silly and immensely talented blond guy in the group who was the only one not from New Jersey (Chicago). They did so many group interviews together, and behind-the-scenes music video specials for Fuse, and Bob was always smiling and laughing with the rest of them. They were clearly a family of many talents, and Bob got to finally showcase what he was capable of on The Black Parade.

There is no understating how memorable and standout the drums are on The Black Parade. I don’t know the technical terminology and I’m definitely not a music student, but the drums on that album hit me in the heart, especially on Welcome to the Black Parade. Bob clearly knew what he was doing, loved what he was doing, and as far as the rest of us know, the only reason he wasn’t with My Chemical Romance to the end was because of issues with his wrists.

I loved Bob’s work so much, I went to the trouble of learning which songs on Danger Days had kept his contributions; not surprisingly, they were all my favourites on the album (Na Na Na, Bulletproof Heart, The Only Hope for Me is You, Party Poison, and Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back (my number one fav from DD)). I didn’t hear Conventional Weapons until after they’d broken up completely, but again every song was a banger and again Bob’s work was excellent.

I saw them live twice when Bob was in the band, but the only time I saw all five of them together on stage was in December 2005 (during their TBP tour, at least one of the band members was taking a break for health reasons when I saw them, but I don’t remember who). I’ll never forget how excited I was that first time I saw them, and I’ll never forget how much love I had for all five of them.

I’m not going to speculate about what happened. This is meant to be a respectful message about how much Bob meant to me as a fan during the height of MCR’s career. I’m writing all this knowing as much as the rest of the fan base about his passing, which isn’t much. I read that disgusting announcement by TMZ, same as all of you, and it made me so angry.

Within the first hour of the announcement of his passing, there were already (presumably AI-generated) compilation videos of Bob on YouTube. This is the only reason I’m not bothering to put a video together myself, I can’t compete with robots, so instead I’m here to say that Bob Bryar was and always will be one of the best drummers of the 2000s era of music, and whether you want him to be or not, he is iconic.

I was so sad when I heard he wasn’t in the band anymore, and I’m sad now. He deserved so much better, at the very least he deserved love and support, as we all do.

Rest In Peace Bob.

#my chemical romance #my chem #mcr #bob bryar #2000s emo

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mediumgayitalian · 10 months ago

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“Oh, gods.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, gods.”

Nico scowls, wrenching just eyes away from Will’s poorly-covered grin and shaking shoulders.

It’s not that bad. It isn’t.

Sure, the complete lack of lighting except Greek fire torches makes the cabin look like a little piece of the Underworld, right here on the surface. But that’s comforting. Honestly. Nico knows the Underworld. It’s — familiar.

And, yeah. It would, probably, be pertinent to have some furniture, or something. At least somewhere for him to store his clothes, because he has more than one set of those now, and maybe a shelf, or something. And, admittedly, the obsidian altar could take up a little less space than it currently does.

But it’s not that bad.

“Are those. Coffin shaped beds.”

The tone of Will’s voice is unlike he’s ever heard it. He turns back to face him, slowly, and finds him biting his fist, hard, every muscle of his body tense as live wire.

“I was twelve godsdamn years old,” Nico snaps. “Forgive me if interior design wasn’t my passion.”

Solace loses it.

In his defense, not that Nico is too worried about defending him, he does appear to try very hard to not lose it. When the first giggle slips out of his lips, he clamps his jaw shut tighter. When his whole body begins to shake with the force of repressing his laughter, he curls inward, as if making himself smaller might reduce the chance of a lapse in control.

But then he glances back inside and looks, really looks, at the dreary, stone walls, the lone skeletons standing guard, and the plush, teakwood black coffin bunk beds, and he collapses to the floor.

“I’m going to open a chasm beneath you,” Nico threatens. “You are going to fall and crack your spine into a million pieces on the bank of the Styx, rotting there with every other forgotten hope.”

“You are a Black Parade lyric personified,” Will wheezes.

Nico doesn’t know what that means, so he kicks him. Unfortunately, he only laughs harder.

“I mean it, Solace. It’s a long way down to the Underworld. You will spend the entire fall petrified with the knowledge that nothing can save you.”

For added effect, Nico makes the floor under the medic’s body shake, makes the tip of a skeleton hand peek out from the earth.

Ironically, this stops Will’s laughter, but not for the reason Nico was aiming for.

“Hey!” A bright blue flipflop-clad foot darts out and collides With Nico’s ankle, sending him sprawling. “I said no spooky magic for the next two months! Put that skeleton away!”

“Fuck off, Solace! It’s barely half a bone! You are so annoying!”

“That’s my specialty.” Will pushes himself upright. He waits until Nico sits up, too, so he can catch his eye before his face splits into a dazzling grin. Actual sparkles seem to flicker beside his face. “And you are ever so easy to annoy.”

Nico stares, unimpressed.

“Anyways.” Will coughs. “You can’t stay here, Neeks —”

“Don’t call me that.”

“— it’s straight-up too depressing.” He peers inside. “It’s also cold, and, like…borderline unliveable? So. As your doctor, I can’t allow it.”

“You’re a medic,” Nico says, raising an eyebrow, “first of all, not a doctor. Second of all, you can’t tell me what to do. Third of all — where am I supposed to sleep? The woods?”

“Hm. Good question.”

Will gets to his feet, brushing the dirt off his shorts and offering Nico a hand. After a second of hesitation, he takes it, allowing Will to haul him up.

“C’mon!”

Nico snatches his hand away, face burning. (Gods. Why does Will have to be so…touchy-feely? And why does it always do weird things to Nico’s stomach?) But it hardly takes a look over Will’s shoulder before Nico’s feet are following after him, without his permission.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, my dad’s kind of a hoe,” Will says matter-of-factly. Nico chokes. Will’s grin widens. “And our cabin was built with that in mind. I know we’ve got an extra bunk or two for ya. Hurry up!”

This…cannot be allowed. Nico doesn’t have a ton of Camp Half-Blood experience, or anything, but as far as he knows, Hermes is the only cabin that can really do that. He doesn’t want to incur the wrath of Apollo, or whatever, by staying in his cabin uninvited.

Well. Will’s inviting him, technically. And there’s a confidence to his offer, like maybe this isn’t the first time he’s done it.

“What if I don’t want to live in your stupid sunshine-y cabin,” Nico grumbles, trying to cover up his nerves. “Holding hands and singing about how much I love being alive isn’t really my cup of tea.”

Will snorts. “Oh, di Angelo,” he says dramatically, shaking his head, “you are in for a world of discovery. Welcome to the Cabin Apollo. Take your shoes off at the door and remember that Kayla bites.”

———

Living in the Apollo cabin is strange.

Four days in, and Nico is only just starting to get used to it. He’s not entirely unused to sharing space with people — he’s had two sisters — but the Apollo kids argue like they enjoy doing it. One minute, Will and Kayla will be screaming at each other at the top of their lungs about touching each other’s shit, then they’re teaming up to pull Gracie off Yan’s face for the exact same argument, only now they offer sage advice on respecting boundaries and compromising. It’s bizarre.

(Austin is pretty chill, actually. Nico has noticed him starting quite a few fights — it was he, in fact, who moved Will’s shit and then gracefully framed Kayla — but he has a very powerful eyebrow raise and a very powerful image as Unproblematic. He has quickly become Nico’s favourite.)

He’s only just barely beginning to understand how they work together, and the struggle comes in because everything is so chaotic. When Nico spent time with Hazel in New Rome, she was in the barracks. He never really had to worry about squabbling over counter space in the bathroom with her, because she had her own little toiletry caddie like everyone else, and bathrooms were public. With Bianca — well. There’s no one alive who knows this about her, but she was bossy. She was sweet and wonderful and self-sacrificing and brave and kind and the centre of Nico’s life, but by the gods, did she take her authority as a big sister seriously. She ordered Nico around all the time. He never had to worry much about when he would have the chance to use the bathroom they shared at the Lotus, or who got the T.V. remote, or who go to sit on the bus instead of standing, because he was not the one deciding. He could stick his tongue out and whine all he wanted, but she was boss. He knew that.

The Apollo kids are not like that.

As well as Nico can figure, it’s kind of a free-for-all. You want first shower? Either wake up the earliest — a strategy only Will every manages to employ with any success — or manage to jab an elbow in someone’s rib and sprint. You want whoever’s humming to shut the hell up so you can sleep? Make sure your threats are quick and believable, or just straight up start throwing shit until they finally stop. You want the coveted middle of the bench spot at breakfast? Well, tough shit on that one, actually. Nico has yet to make that one happen for himself.

He won’t admit it, but he has kind of learned to enjoy it. It’s annoying, and the Apollo siblings do indeed sing at all hours of the day (although the content usually skews more towards diss tracks and delighted insults, if not straight-up curses), and it is so godsdamn bright in there, seriously, is it a gimmick or what, but there’s something to be said about the fact that he’s so surrounded by people and chaos that he hasn’t even had the chance to feel lonely. Not even at night, panting to himself after a nasty nightmare, because all it takes is a particularly loud snore from Will one bunk down to remember where he is. To remember that he’s safe — by demigod standards, at least.

But, still.

He kind of misses his privacy.

“Will,” he whispers urgently, on his fifteenth day of rooming with the Apollo weirdos.

The medic hums noncommittally, attention very focused on the test tube in front of him. Nico has been fighting the urge to try and launch a piece of dust inside it for forty minutes, just to make him explode.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Sounds good, Nico.”

Nico narrows his eyes. “You’re ignoring me.”

“Uh-huh. Agreed.”

“I can say anything I want right now.”

“Sure. Maybe double check with Austin.”

“…I’m going to put a colony of ants in your pillowcase.”

“Good idea.”

“Then I’m going to douse your hair products in gasoline and set them aflame.”

“Baller.”

“After that I’m gonna read your super secret diary to the entirety of camp at singalong tonight.”

“You betcha.”

“And then I’m going to shadow travel to Russia.”

Will blinks, frowning. “Hey, no shadow-travelling. What’s this I hear about shadow-travelling?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “Nothing, stupid. You were just ignoring me.”

Will smiles guiltily. “Aw, I’m sorry, Neeks. Got focused on this. I’m finished in twenty, then I’m all yours?”

“…Don’t call me Neeks,” Nico grumbles, furious with himself for how quick he’s relented under wide blue puppy-dog eyes.

“Sorry, Neeks.”

Huffing at Will’s quiet laughter, Nico slides off the nurse’s station counter and wanders around the empty infirmary. Things have luckily finally cooled down in here, nearly three weeks after the end of the Giant War. Some of the exhaustion has faded from Will’s features now that he’s had time to sleep properly.

Not that Nico has noticed, or anything.

“Okay,” Will says a few minutes later, holding his hands up protectively in front of his geeky little setup. “I just gotta do this last step, so long as I calculated it right, it should be fine…” He squeezes a drop of something into the liquid bubbling over the burner, freezing immediately. One, two, three seconds pass and nothing happens, so Will relaxes, sighing in relief and turning to face Nico fully. “Okay, we’re good. What was it you wanted to —”

The text tube contents explode in his face, dousing him in slimey green goo.

Nico bursts out laughing.

“Great,” Will says darkly, swiping the stuff from his eyes. “The one day I don’t wear goggles. Great.”

Nico gasps, sides aching. “Oh my gods —”

“Feel free to help, di Angelo.”

“— you look like a cartoon! Your face!”

It takes Will twelve cloths and seven whole minutes to clean himself and the nurse’s station off of the goo. Nico cackles at him the whole time, and tastefully does not mention the many globs of goo that remain caked in his hair.

“Whenever you’re done.”

Will is very, very bad at being stern when he doesn’t really mean it. And he doesn’t really mean it now, because every time he tries to glare at Nico, his mouth twitches.

“I’m good,” Nico finally wheezes, forcing his face back to normal. “I’m good, I’m good.”

He very pointedly does not look at Will’s hair.

“Dick,” Will huffs, fondness bleeding into his tone. “What did you want?”

He must notice the change in tone at his asking, because he clears the bench fully, hoisting himself on top of it and patting the spot next to him. Nico hesitates for half a second, then crawls up, sitting criss cross applesauce, knees touching.

“I need to move back to my cabin,” he manages, finally.

Will’s face betrays no judgement or emotion. “Oh?”

“Yes.” He picks at a loose thread in his jeans. “I need — space.”

The thread loosens, allowing Nico to tug on it. A hole begins to unravel along the seam as he pulls and pulls and pulls. He stops himself before it gets too wide, tearing the thread off and winding it around his fingers.

“I can tell everyone to tone it down,” Will offers softly, eyebrows creased. “We’ll be more quiet, we’ll —”

Nico places a hand on his knee, cutting off his sentence. “It’s not about that, I promise. You guys have been great.”

A wounded look still pulls at Will’s strong features, as much as he visibly tries to pull his face back to something more supportive. “It’s not?”

“No, no. It’s just —” He frowns, trying to articulate the tangled mess of his thoughts. “I have my own cabin.”

“So?”

“And I can’t stay in yours forever.”

“I mean, you could.”

“Chiron’s been giving me looks, Will.”

“So what! I’ll — write you a doctor’s note, or something!”

Nico snorts. “A doctor’s note letting me sleep in your cabin?”

Will nods fervently, although he seems to acknowledge the ridiculousness of his suggestion, if the grin on his face is any indication. “Yes! For medical reasons, you know.” He mimes writing. “‘Patient’s cabin is dank and sad. To avoid bouts of misery, patient must sleep in the presence of the coolest and best and prettiest and most uplifting people in camp.’”

“Hm. Not sure Chiron’s gonna buy that last part. Not sure I buy that last part, actually.”

“Hey.”

Nico dodges Will’s shove, chuckling.

“Seriously, though, Will. This was never a long term solution, right?”

“I know. You’re cabin just — sucks so bad, man. No offense.”

“I take great offense to that, actually. My cabin is art.”

“Sure, Eddie Cullen.”

“I don’t know who that is, so that’s a horrible insult.”

“Travesty, honestly.”

Outside the open infirmary windows, Nico can hear distant, triumphant screaming, laughter, and the clang of metal. Today’s a good day. The weather’s balmier than usual, for late August, and some of the gloom that’s hung over everyone’s head for the bast few weeks seems to have lifted.

“You can’t go back to your cabin like it is,” Will says into the silence, startling Nico, “but —” he grins when Nico begins to protest, holding up his hand. “We can definitely change it up.”

He slides off the bench, botching his landing and almost sprawling on the floor. He holds a dramatic hand out to Nico when he rights himself. Nico ignores it, rolling his eyes and getting to his feet by himself.

“C’mon,” Will says, grabbing his hand anyway. Sparks shoot up Nico’s arm. “We need to go ask Chiron for the van keys and approximately five hundred dollars.”

———

Three hours is too fucking long to be in a vehicle. Especially when Will is driving, because all he does is play nonstop country music and let everybody cut in front of him.

“I’m driving us back,” Nico informs him as they (finally) get out of the stupid van, snatching the keys from his hands.

Will shrugs. “Sure.”

Nico had expected more of a fight, honestly. But he supposes neither of them are legally allowed to drive, age-wise, and besides, Nico technically has seventy years of driving experience on Will.

(…The Lotus had a racetrack.

Nico was very, very good at it.)

“What is this place, anyway?”

“This place,” Will says grandly, throwing an arm over his shoulders, “is essentially the mortal version of the Labyrinth, minus, you know, the soul-sucking terror.”

“Okay. All that’s telling me is that you have horrible ideas and we should leave immediately.”

Will rolls his eyes. “It’s a furniture store.”

“Well, then —” he punches Will’s shoulder, huffing when he only laughs. “Say that, then!”

“But then what would I do with all the drama in my heart?”

“Choke on it, hopefully!”

Ikea is weird.

Since Will did not tell him what the plan was, he didn’t draw up any plans. Luckily, Will has the dimensions of his cabin — although where he got them, Nico does not ask — so they spend an hour or so in the cafe drawing out a plan.

“You need more than two beds, Neeks.”

“Uh, no I don’t. Unless my father has something very important to announce to me, I need a bed for me, and a bed for Hazel.”

“What if I want to sleep over?”

“You can sleep on the porch.”

Mostly, they wander around the sets. Nico isn’t really sure what he wants his cabin to look like — he has to remind himself that yes, actually, he cares about the space he’ll be spending at least the next three years of his life in. It’s a startling reality, to have control over his own space. He must’ve had some say in his childhood bedroom, but he has no memory of it. He spent the most time in his and Bianca’s room at the Lotus, but that was already furnished when they got there, and besides, it only felt like they were there for less than a year. It always felt like a hotel room, never his room. Westminster was no different. His room in his father’s palace had already been designed, too. In fact he’d based his cabin on it.

What does Nico want his bedroom to look like, without someone else deciding for him?

“I’m not getting a fucking Lightning McQueen bed, Solace.”

“But it would be so sick! And look — it’s got little cubbies!”

“I’m going to ditch you, and shadow travel back to camp,” Nico threatens. “And I have the van keys, so you’ll be stuck here for real.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Will looks at him sternly, hands on hips. “No shadow travelling for you, Death Breath. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fade into nothing on my watch.”

“I’m joking,” Nico says, exasperated, but cannot deny the warmth that fills him up at Will’s concern.

In the end, he decides on a pretty normal bed. It’s bigger than Will’s bunk (“Or anyone else’s bed,” Will grumbles, “you lucky asshole.”), but not ridiculously designed. He picks a similar size for Hazel, only the frame is white, not black, and the bedspread that comes with it is a soft, coral pink that he knows she will like.

“Wanna see if they’ve got a Mythomagic bedspread for yours?” Will teases.

That would be the coolest thing ever in the entire world, Nico thinks, and is so embarrassed that he shoves Will, shrieking, into a giant basket of pillows for making him think it.

“Obviously I don’t want that.”

“You are such a turd! I’ll get you, di Angelo!”

He does not. Nico is way too sneaky for him, and after the fifth time Nico manages to give him the slip, he gives up, sulking in a display for a bedroom of a nine year old girl.

“Fitting,” Nico teases, gesturing to the princess wallpaper. “You drama queen.”

“Buzz off.”

Next, they look for furniture. It’s pretty easy — Nico doesn’t need much, and he’s not too concern with cut or style or anything. He quickly picks out two dressers, one to match Hazel’s bed frame, and one to match his, and then a couple bookshelves.

Four hours into their trip, Nico is exhausted. They have a three hour drive ahead of them, they’ve been out all day, and he wants to go home.

But Will stops him before they go get all the boxes for their furniture.

“This is still pretty bare bones,” he says quietly, then grins at his own accidental pun. Nico shoots him a venomous look, warning him against making it more obvious, and for once he actually listens. “You know, we’re still under budget. We’ve got around $200 left — we can get a motel, stay the night, then we don’t have to drive back right away. And tomorrow, maybe we can check out some other stores, look for smaller decorations and stuff. And if we don’t have to drive back tonight, we’ve maybe got another hour in here, if you wanted to get a couple more pieces.”

Nico opens his mouth to refuse — that’s way too much effort to spend on one person’s cabin, c’mon — then pauses, thinking about it.

Chiron hadn’t even thought about it before handing them the money. Will had barely gotten the words out before he’d started counting out the bills.

“I want you to make a home here,” the centaur had said, touching his hand. There was a pain in his kind eyes, stopping any protests. “I made a mistake, Nico, the first time you came here. In another life, you felt welcome enough to stay the whole time. Take what you need.”

What does he need? What does home look like, to him?

“There was a beanbag chair, in our room at the Lotus,” he says, pushing the words past the lump in his throat. “Me and Bianca used to fight over it.” His voice shakes. A tear gathers at the corner of his eye, and he blinks it back. “It wasn’t real fighting. When I called mercy she’d — scoop me up and throw me on it and squish in after me, and we’d sit together and play video games. Or read. She liked to read.”

Will squeezes his trembling hands. “We can get a beanbag chair.”

“And I — don’t like the blackout curtains. The dark makes me think of — the pit.”

“Okay. They sell lotsa lamps here, too. Might be nicer than the Greek fire.”

Nico nods. There’s — more, far more ideas, now, flooding his brain; Hazel crowding over him on a rug-covered floor, shrieking as he teases her about Frank; a desk tucked in the corner where Will sits, mouthing along to his textbooks as Nico sharpens his sword; Jason running his fingers along rows of books on a big, cluttered shelf; Reyna with her fist curled around her mouth, studying a chess board across from him, hair shining under the natural light from the window.

He can have that. He can have that.

Thankfully, all their stuff fits in the back of the van. Despite his insistence earlier, Nico hands Will the keys, and he drives around until he finds a shitty motel with a vacancy sign flashing out front. He pulls into the farthest corner of the parking lot, killing the engine, then waits.

“You okay?”

Nico shrugs. “I’m…not sure.”

“That’s okay,” Will assures, pressing a fleeting touch to his shoulder. Nico grabs his wrist before he moves away, tugging down his hand and linking their fingers together.

For once, it doesn’t make him feel all sparky. The warmth of Will’s hands is grounding, and so is the gentle squeeze, the smile he feels pointed in his direction.

“C’mon. Let’s check in and sleep, huh?”

Nico’s exhaustion compounds in the walk from the car to the lobby, so by the time Will is speaking quietly to the host, he’s half asleep, leaning on Will’s shoulder. He vaguely feels it when Will shifts his weight, sliding a hand around his waist to hold him better. He blinks and they’re standing in front of a door.

“Almost there, Death Boy,” he murmurs. “Hold on a sec.”

It takes him six separate tries to make the keycard work. He gets huffy when Nico snickers tiredly at him.

“Finally, yeesh.”

He guides Nico in, dropping the backpack he brought somewhere near the door. As soon as the bed is within Nico’s sights, he makes a beeline, barely remembering to shuck his shoes and jacket.

“Please do not sleep in your jeans.”

“Mmmfuck off,” Nico groans, already sliding under the covers. He’ll regret it in the morning, but whatever.

“Goober.” Callused hands brush through his hair, resting lightly on his forehead. “Goodnight, Nico.”

Nico’s out before he can even think to respond.

———

He wakes up, in the middle of the night, scream caught in his throat and heart pounding in his ears. The air smells like smoke and fear. The rushing of the Phlegethon is so loud it’s overpowering.

A loud snore knocks him back to reality.

Crawling desperately towards the source of the sound, he hangs over the bed, eyes adjusting rapidly to the dark to see a curled lump on the floor, head resting on his own hands. A quick glance behind him confirms the other half of the bed has been left untouched.

“Stupid,” he mumbles, tiny smile chasing away the last of his fear.

He tugs the blankets off the mattress, pulls off the two pillows, and joins his dumbass, selfless friend on the floor.

———

“Question,” Will asks, swallowing the last of their disgustingly delicious greasefest of a breakfast. “Were you alive when Walmart was invented?”

“I was alive before your great grandmother was.”

“No, I mean — were you out and kickin’. Have you strolled the endless aisles of corporate soullessness, basking in the wonder of American overconsumerism?”

“…You’re such a weird, particular person.”

Will looks delighted. “You’re a Walmart newbie!”

He pulls into the dead, cracked parking lot way too happily for this hour in the morning. Nico would even say he takes the nearest exit to get to the store gleefully. He is embarrassed for him.

Walmart is…underwhelming.

As stupid as it is, Will had hyped it up so much that Nico was almost a little excited. It just looked like any other basic superstore. Will, for whatever reason, seemed delighted by that fact.

“I do not like this store,” he explained when Nico asked, expression not matching his words, “it just means so very much to me that you are joining me in the misery of having experienced it.”

They spend more time than they mean to just dicking around. At one point they nearly get thrown out by management, because Will finds a pair of NERF guns that some child dug out of its packaging and no words need to be spoken. They gear up and scamper off, hunting each other through fluorescent-lights hell.

“Please just get your shit and leave,” says the very tired looking manager, and they have the good gall to at least appear embarrassed as they mumble, “Yes, ma’am.”

It doesn’t take long when they have their head on straight. They get some fairy lights, a couple cool posters, dorky little trinkets that Nico probably doesn’t need, per se, but what was he supposed to do, leave the little plastic crow skeleton behind?

Unlikely.

With his own money, Will buys several cans of paint and a CD. He explains neither of these purchases. The look on his face gets steadily more infuriating as they make their way through the line, and Nico really, truly considers leaving him behind.

The purchase of the CD becomes very obvious very quickly. Even though Nico is driving, and therefore Nico should get music control, Will pouts and pleads until Nico gives in and lets him play his stupid country album. He justifies his decision in his own brain by noticing the radiance of Will’s smile as he belts out the words, badly, at the top of his lungs. He then spends the rest of the drive back to camp convincing himself not to be embarrassed for having said thoughts.

They get back to camp about lunch time, and Will destroys any attempt for a subtle reentry by whistling the second they cross the property line.

“Austin! Kayla!” he hollers, making Nico jump. “Come help us unload!”

“We coulda done it ourselves,” Nico grumbles.

Will pats his head condescendingly. “It has been twenty-four long, long hours since I’ve bosses my siblings around, Neeks. I need this.”

It does go by quite a bit quicker with Austin and Kayla’s help. Lou Ellen, Cecil, Yan, and Gracie come to help, too, but Gracie’s too little to carry much more than a small desk lamp. Instead, they lay down the biggest box — Nico’s bed frame — and let her climb on top of it, carrying her like she’s a queen atop a throne back to Nico’s cabin. She has the time of her life, giggling to herself like a madwoman.

By the time everything’s unloaded, a couple hours have passed, and the Hades cabin looks like a clusterfuck.

“Maybe you stay in Apollo a couple more nights,” Will suggests.

“Might have to,” Nico agrees. Will looks inordinately pleased with himself.

All in all, it takes about two days to disassemble the old furniture, get rid of it, and start putting together the new stuff. Will helps for most of it, but he has a few shifts in the infirmary, so Nico ends up trying to do a fair bit on his own.

“May the wrath of Zeus come down upon this fucking piece of shit, no good, poorly designed garbage-looking idiotic mother fuc —”

“Maybe time for a break from furniture assembling?” suggests a voice, accompanied by a quick knock in the open door. Will leans on the doorframe, grinning, box propped up on his hip.

“Will, thank the gods,” Nico sighs, relieved. He angrily shakes a tool in his direction. “Allen wrenches are fucking useless. I’m three seconds away from throwing this through the window.”

“Definitely time for a switch, then.”

Will’s smile is wide and crinkles his eyes. He’s got dimples, too, Nico is now noticing, and then very rapidly un-noticing then because gods above that is a dangerous path.

“Did you and Rachel get into another prank war?” he asks, praying the flush on his cheeks goes away.

Will glances down at his paint-spattered clothes. “Nah, this is just my painting outfit. Why ruin more than one set of clothes, you know?” He sets down the box in the middle of the room, then heads for the half-built furniture sprawled all throughout the cabin, tugging it all towards the middle. Nico inches towards the box, curious, and finds it full of dozens of paint cans and brushes, including the ones he got at Walmart.

“I didn’t know you painted.”

He flashes another grin in Nico’s direction. This one has a little mischief to it, a little teasing. His stomach swoops.

“Gotta have at least one artistic talent or my dad would disown me. Help me tape down this tarp, will you?”

It takes them twenty minutes to prep the room, protecting the floor and the furniture. Once everything is ready, Will jogs over to the CD player he gave Nico a few days ago, flicking through the stack of CDs and choosing one at random. Soft opera music begins to float around the cabin.

“Okay,” he begins, clapping his hands, “first we need a base coat. Get the white paint and the rollers.”

It takes them the rest of the day, painting until dinner, then waiting past sunset for it to dry. Nico follows Will back to his cabin that night — he wouldn’t let him sleep around the paint fumes — and the two of them return the next morning, re-donning their paint-spattered clothes. Will braids his hair, this time, tucking the little pigtails behind a kerchief. It makes Nico smile every time he looks at him.

As much as he’s in painting clothes, Nico doesn’t really do much of the painting. He stays in the centre of the room, half assembling furniture, half watching Will bring his walls to life with more colours than he’s ever seen in one place.

Will doesn’t ask what Nico wants him to paint in his murals. Instead, Nico watches as the streets of Venice begin to unfold on one of the walls, bright and blue and exactly as he remembers, even though he knows for a fact Will has never been. The shining fruit of his stepmother’s garden is next, with a notable absence of the pomegranate tree, and then the hills of New Rome, the sunflower field in rural New York Nico used to visit, the Chinese mountainscape from the first big shadow travelling jump he ever made. Even the poplar forests of the Underworld, looking much kinder and livelier in Will’s rendition than in real life, with Mrs. O’Leary and Cerberus chasing each other through the flickering leaves. Beautiful, colourful, breathtaking scenes; Nico’s favourite places, Nico’s many homes.

“I get a lot of dreams,” Will admits, dragging a smear of rich purple near the ceiling. “You’re in a lot of them. These are the places you’re smiling, the most.”

“They’re beautiful, Will.” Nico’s throat is drier than any desert he’s ever been to. “Gods, they’re more beautiful here than they are in real life.”

“Liar,” Will teases, although his smile is shy.

Nico has never seen him smile like that. He’s seen a lot more of Will in these past few days, actually; his softness, his kindness, his love.

He has only knows Will for a little over a month, he thinks. But Will loves him. That much is obvious.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

His eyes are still trained on his work. He is on his tiptoes on a step stool, one leg extended precariously, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. The curve of his brush is careful, meticulous. Only the best for his friends, for Nico. That’s Will.

“Hey,” Nico says again, more urgently. He steps forward, wrapping his fingers around his wrist.

“Just a sec, Neeks, as soon as I’m done we can —”

Nico pulls until he loses his balance, falling into Nico’s arms. He stares into wide, blue blue eyes, for one second, two, then presses their lips together. Will’s squeak of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, hands sliding up his arms to cup his face, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh,” he sighs, eyelashes ticking Nico’s cheeks as they flutter close. “Oh.”

He melts into Nico’s hold. There’s a thunk and a crinkle as his paintbrush falls from his loose fingers, splattering onto the tarp, and paint-wet hands tangle into his hair. Nico finds he doesn’t mind.

“You love me,” he murmurs in between breaths, lips brushing Will’s with every word.

“Yes,” Will breathes. He kisses Nico again, and again. “A lot.”

“Good.” He’s not sure if it’s the paint fumes making him lightheaded, or the odd, slightly uncomfortable position, or the intoxicating, delirious feel of Will’s warm skin. He’s not sure if he cares. “Good.”

It’s not quite an I-love-you-too. The words won’t form on his tongue, so instead he tightens his hold, sending them that way, and presses closer, closer, closer.

Will smiles into the kiss.

He understands just fine.

#i could write an essay about how i think they’re dynamic would be immediately post three days in the infirmary #also i fit SO MANY of my personal headcanons in here hell yeah #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #nico/will #will/nico #gently falling in love #love #i’m tagging it bc. will loves so clearly in this one it kills me a little #fic #my writing #longpost

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ab4eva · 1 year ago

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‘Ain’t That Loving You Baby’

Summary: Reader is out of sorts all day - grumpy, petulant, rude and just plain bitchy. Elvis takes it upon himself to set her straight.

Warnings: NFSW 18+, spanking, non-con spanking, established relationship, time period related ideas about marriage/relationships, copious use of pet names, use of the term “daddy”, fingering, aftercare, fluff. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Authors note: Y’all, sometimes inspiration for a fic strikes in the most unexpected of ways, as with this one. I know this isn’t everyone’s cuppa, so if I’ve tagged you and you aren’t into it, apologies and please just keep right on scrolling. Now please enjoy one of my top Elvis fantasies that I will write in as many different ways as humanly possible until the day I die.

Word count: 3.6k

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it - why you were so out of sorts today. One minute you were close to tears, feeling sensitive and tender if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way or seemed the least bit careless with you. The next minute you were blowing up at some poor member of the Memphis Mafia, Vernon or even Elvis himself. You were grumpy, combative, and just generally in a very bad mood. It was as if a black cloud were hanging over your head, following your every step, raining on your own personal parade just to piss you off. The worst part was you knew you were being a brat but you were powerless to stop it. You felt itchy and irritated, on edge from the moment you stepped out the front doors of Graceland that morning to run your errands.

It didn’t help that when you returned, Elvis and the boys were lounging in the living room, making a right mess of things - beer bottles littering every surface, ash trays full to the brim with cigar ash, dirty plates covering the floor - it looked like a literal bomb had gone off. You’d just cleaned the entire house yesterday from top to bottom. Elvis had begged you to hire a housekeeper after you’d gotten married, but you were old fashioned, you saw it as the wife’s job to keep a clean house. And so you did…until all of these beastly men came and messed it up again. You surveyed the mess, a look of displeasure coloring your pretty face, your hands clenched into tight fists. Your heart pounded as you dug your fingernails into the soft flesh of your palm and tried very hard not to scream.

“Oh hey Y/N,” Red said lazily, the first of them to notice you standing in the doorway. “These cookies are damn delicious.” Your eyes zeroed in on his hand and you saw he held one of your freshly baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, the ones you’d painstakingly made dozens of last night. They were meant for the cookie exchange your book club was having tomorrow. Your eyes slowly surveyed the rest of the men in the living room, all of them perched here and there on the furniture or the floor… and all of them with cookies in their hands. The big platter heaped with cookies you had carefully placed on top of the fridge now sat almost empty in the middle of the coffee table. Your eyes found Elvis’s as you inhaled sharply and gave him a look that could kill. He had the good grace to look abashed as he quickly dropped the cookie he was holding, standing up slowly from where he sat on the couch as he moved towards you, holding both hands in front of him in a gesture meant to placate you but it only enraged you further.

“Now baby, we didn’t mean to eat all these here cookies, but you know they’re my favorite and I-I-I couldn’t resist. And I had to share with the guys, otherwise what kind of host would I be?” His blue eyes were sparkling with something close to amusement and his voice dripped honey, soft and low, soothing. He knew the look you were giving him, knew he had to tread carefully.

“Elvis…baby,” you said in a dangerous and mocking whisper, “those cookies were for my book club.” You spat the words out through gritted teeth, barely containing your rage. The thing is, you were usually so easygoing, so even-keeled, the very definition of hospitable to guests in your home. Normally, this wouldn’t even phase you. But today? It made you so angry you could barely speak. Poor Jerry had the unfortunate thought at that moment to try and smooth the situation over by offering to clean up the mess they’d made only to have you snap at him (“Don’t bother! None of you had the bright idea to even think before turning my living room into a pigsty!”) as you stomped out of the room.

Things didn’t end there as your rampage continued for the rest of the day, cutting down anyone and anything daring to cross your path. Vernon made the mistake of asking you about a shopping bill for some new dresses you purchased last week, innocently wanting to know the total so he could add it to the monthly expense account. You almost wrung his neck - the sheer audacity of the man! The Colonel came sweeping in cheerily in the late afternoon, trying to pull one of his old carney tricks on you, thinking it would lighten your mood. It had the opposite effect and you told him off so completely that even Elvis had to chuckle at it with a bemused smile. But the final straw came that evening, as you and Elvis sat peacefully (for his part, at least) in the living room, quietly reading after a rather tense dinner. You made some snide, off the cuff remark aimed at the way your husband’s business was being run and in an instant, you knew you’d stepped over the line, pushed Elvis past the limit of what he’s willing to take.

As soon as the words fly out of your mouth you wish you could pull them back in, gather the broken pieces of them and keep them inside. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying to his face, realizing your mistake too late, realizing your bad mood has landed you here, in uncharted territory. Only once before had you taken things too far - two weeks after your wedding - Elvis had stormed out of the house in a barely suppressed rage only to return the next morning, acting as if nothing had even happened. You see his body still and his blue eyes widen in surprise before they darken, anger and annoyance flashing across his face before being replaced with a look of willful determination. You know that look, it’s the one he gets when he has an idea in his head, and like a dog with a bone, won’t let go until he gets what he wants. Your heart speeds up in your chest, pounding almost painfully, you feel a little lightheaded and your mouth goes dry. You swallow thickly, opening your mouth to apologize, to take back the words you’ve already said, anything at all to stop this train from hurtling off the cliff. “Elvis, I-,” the words start to tumble from your mouth in a rush before he cuts you off angrily.

“That’s enough!” he yells, his voice booming loud and firm, your ears ringing with the force of it. “Now listen here, girl, I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but that’s. Enough.” His voice is now dangerously low as he punctuates each word with a stab of his finger in your direction, his gold rings glittering wildly in the soft light of the room. He stands abruptly and strides towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly and holding you there. You struggle against him, beating his solid chest with your closed fists like a child, not wanting to be held.

“Lemme go…let me go!” you practically scream in his face. Something inside you refuses to be comforted in this moment, you feel as if he’s suffocating you. You don’t want him to touch you, don’t want him near you. And yet, it’s all you want, to be here, in his arms. His deliciously musky scent fills your nostrils as he presses your head into his shirt in an attempt to calm you. His chest is heaving with restrained emotion and his wiry chest hairs tickle your nose through his unbuttoned collar. Confusion swirls in your brain, you’re too upset to sort through the emotions that have been tormenting you all day as you thrash against him. His lip curls up in an annoyed smirk as he grabs your flailing fists, pinning them to your side as his jaw clenches, his strong arms vise-like as he clutches you tightly to his chest.

“Now, you’re gonna tell me why ya got a bee in your britches, darlin. Why ya been a goddamn brat all goddamn day… or I’m gonna make ya tell me,” he commands, his voice rough and low. His eyes search yours and his nostrils flair slightly as he breathes heavily, trying to keep you in check as you still struggle against him. You can see the vein in his neck, the one that drives you wild, popping out - which means he’s excited or angry - or both.

“I’d like to see you try,” you spit at him scornfully, your bright eyes challenging him, your lip turning up into a slight sneer as you wriggle some more.

“Don’t test me, little one. I think someone needs an attitude adjustment and I’m just the one to give it to ya.” He squeezes you tighter in his arms as you squirm, still trying to break free, and suddenly you’re having a little trouble breathing. You stop moving for a moment and his grip loosens just a little as you gulp in a breath of air. “As your husband, it’s my job to set you right when you’re misbehaving. So I’m gonna ask ya again, darlin - why are ya so outta sorts today?”

You stare at him, at a loss for words. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s gotten into you. It’s just a bad day. You remember waking up and feeling fine, maybe a little tired. Elvis was already gone, his side of the bed cold and empty. He’d been distracted with contract negotiations when you found him in the kitchen, already eating breakfast. Without you. You had wanted to tell him a story about something that happened yesterday that made you think of him. But just as you were about to he was up and out for a meeting, without ever kissing you good morning. Or goodbye. All of these little things, you suddenly realize, subconsciously added up to you feeling neglected and uncared for by him. They had curled inside your belly without you knowing, sending sad thoughts to your brain all day long. You bite your lip as it all comes rushing in and you feel yourself close to tears.

You can’t tell him these things. They’re all too silly, too small, too insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. You just stare at him, your chest heaving, your eyes silently pleading with him to understand as a tear slips down your cheek unbidden. He softens for a moment, a dozen different thoughts flashing across his readable face. He gently wipes your tear with his thumb and presses a kiss to your cheek where it fell. Then he nods once, as if making up his mind about something. He releases you, grabbing your wrist again, practically dragging you over to the big, comfy chair at the edge of the living room. You go rather willingly, unsure of what his plan is. His other hand settles on the back of your neck, gently, as he starts to push you down over the back of the chair. You suddenly understand that something you have no control over is about to happen and you start to fight him again. But he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as he keeps pushing your head down until you are bent almost in two over the back of the chair. If his iron grip on you didn’t entirely prevent you from moving, his strong, lean body standing behind you and pressing you into the chair does.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll have to tie you down.” His voice in your ear is breathy, somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Don’t think I won’t, honey. You’ve been ornery all day and you don’t get a say in what happens now, ya hear me? Just remember, this is for your own good. And I love you.” You stop moving, knowing he’ll do whatever he deems necessary to see this through. He releases his grip on you and steps to the side, his left arm settling heavily across your back to hold you down as he rucks your short dress up around your hips. You feel him run a hand across your round ass, cupping it and squeezing softly. You hear what can only be described as a delighted breath escaping his lips behind you, the soft huff of a chuckle, his ribcage expanding against your arm as he breathes deeply. The pressure as he grips your ass gets harder and harder before he suddenly stops and his cool fingers toy with the edge of your panties around your waist before he unceremoniously yanks them down to your ankles.

“Last chance, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, his tone stern as he pins you to the chair. You start to squirm again, panic rising in your chest. He’s about to spank you. He…he’s never done that before. Not even for fun. Your body starts to tremble and you shake your head, refusing to speak. You feel him raise his right hand and a ghost of a breeze whispers across your bare bottom. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, your heart banging painfully in your chest, preparing as best you know how. You haven’t been spanked since you were a little girl and there’s something wrong, and slightly exciting, about it.

He delivers the first slap to your bottom with a firm, open palm, the impact of it echoing throughout the living room, the only other noise that can be heard is the ticking of a clock, your gasp and Elvis’s heavy breathing. You inhale sharply at the sting of it, but it isn’t as terrible as you were expecting and it dissipates quickly. You let out the breath you’d been holding, if this is all it is you can handle it. All is quiet and still behind you, and you wonder if that’s it…until you feel him lean down to speak in your ear again.

“That was just a warm up, little girl, ain’t gonna go that easy on ya for the rest of ‘em,” he murmurs, and you hear the love in his stern voice as you try and process what he’s saying. The rest of them? That was going easy? You start to wiggle, trying to break free once again and realize the whimpering noise filling the room is coming from your mouth. Before you can get too worked up he swats you again, twice in quick succession, a little harder than before.

“Ow!” you yell, incensed by your situation, kicking your feet a little. “That hurt!” You spit out through gritted teeth, angry now. “Elvis Aaron Presley, you let me go this instant!” Your demands are met with an amused laugh, and you let out a frustrated growl, trying and failing to twist out of his grasp.

“I see I haven’t sorted you out yet, honey. Still got some of that brattiness left in ya that needs to be broken. Your choice, little girl.” Elvis lets a small laugh slip, his eyes on your body as he slowly and deliberately brings his hand down on your ass again. It’s strong and forceful, but not cruel. It leaves you breathless, speechless. Finally the stinging has permeated your skin and refuses to leave. It’s starting to be uncomfortable and you can tell that if he doesn’t quit soon you’re going to have a hard time sitting tomorrow.

“You’ve been petulant, rude, acting like a damn child all day. And that’s not the woman I know and love, the woman I married. No wife of mine is gonna act that like that and get away with it - not to my friends, not to my father, and especially not to me. Do you understand?” His hand gently cups you as he lectures, rubbing softly over what must be your quickly reddening ass. You hiss and grip the the pillow in front of you. “Answer me, girl. Do you understand?”

You’re not done pouting…if he thinks he can break you, sort you out, punish you - let him try. You stay willfully silent, refusing to speak. You hear him sigh as he removes his hand from you and you brace yourself for another round.

“Have it your way, darlin’…I’m gonna give you six more and if you’re still in a state, then we’re gonna have to have a serious talk, you and me," Elvis says, suddenly quiet and solemn and your heart drops in your chest. Maybe this isn’t some game he’s playing? You didn’t realize it was as important as he’s now letting on. You know you were a total bitch today and you do regret your words and actions… You cry out as he spanks you again without warning, his palm landing with more force than he’s given you so far. He continues and the spanking is relentless, but there's also something almost hypnotic about it. It feels like his hand is on your skin forever, but before you know it, it's almost over. And unexpectedly you realize the last couple of swats have sent lightening straight to your core, your nipples are tight buds rubbing deliciously against the coarse fabric of the chair through your thin dress and you’re surprised to feel slickness gathering on your thighs. You don’t know when your cries turned to breathy moans but he stops abruptly as he hears you, still two spankings left to give.

You’re breathing heavily, still clutching the decorative pillow adorning the chair as you clench around nothing, surprising yourself and Elvis as an obscene squelching noise echoes across the now quiet living room. You let out a breathless laugh, flushing a deep red, thankful he can’t see the embarrassment written across your face. You feel Elvis laughing silently as well, quiet little snorts as he tries and fails to keep from giggling.

“Well now, this is a development I wasn’t expecting,” he murmurs in your ear, leaning over you, his warm breath floating across your cheek. You turn your face towards his, your glassy eyes trying to focus on him as you blink slowly. “Now that it seems I’ve sorted you out, what kind of daddy would I be if I didn’t also take care of my baby?” His right hand squeezes your bottom lightly as his left arm finally releases you and his hand slips underneath your hips, his long, cool fingers gently sliding up your soaking folds. Your breath hitches at his touch, letting out a whimper as he reaches your aching clit, circling it deftly with calloused fingers, once, twice, before dipping two of them into your wet heat.

“Goddamn, mama, so needy for me? Maybe I oughta spank ya more often,” he says breathlessly, his voice taut with desire. You know your husband well - it’s the way he sounds when his cock is hard and straining against his pants, aching to be set free. He’s probably already starting to leak, you think dimly, and the thought has you fluttering around him.

“Oh…” you manage to breathe out as he starts to pump his fingers into you agonizingly slow, his thumb finding your clit and applying light pressure. You rock your hips, already so close to the edge you can almost taste it. His right hand smacks your ass hard and you jolt forward, the feeling of his fingers inside you and his punishing hand on your backside has you starting to whine, unable to stop. He speeds up the movement of his hand, curling his digits just so into that sensitive and spongy part of you just as he delivers the final slap to your ass that has you clenching tightly around his fingers nestled inside you, coming harder than you have in a while, your high-pitched whine turning silent as you stop breathing for a moment. He groans above you and you feel him shaking slightly as he bends over your body - you know it’s taking everything in him to hold it together. After a few moments, he slowly releases you, helping you stand and your legs immediately buckle underneath you. Elvis grabs you under your arms to try and keep you from falling but you’re both so weak with spent energy and desire - yours fulfilled, his aching - that you both tumble to the ground in a heap.

"There. All sorted out, sweetheart?" Elvis smiles down at you as your head rests against his shoulder, his arm encircling your waist. His voice is rough but tender as he smoothes the hair back from your face. "How did daddy do?" he asks, a smirk pulling his lush lips up into a lopsided grin. You blink dazedly, trying to form a coherent thought.

“Daddy?” you finally say, rolling the unfamiliar word around on your tongue. “Hmm, I could get used to that, I think.” You smile softly as your hand reaches up to cup his face, your thumb brushing the scratchy stubble across his jaw as your eyes turn serious. “I am sorry, Elvis. For all of it,” you whisper, blinking back tears.

“Shh, little one, I know,” he says, kissing your forehead softly and pulling you closer into himself, cradling you on his chest as your hand nestles in his chest hair, right above his heart that beats only for you.

And at book club the next day, when you’re settled on a mountain of pillows, no one even bats an eye.

Tags - I don’t have a general tag list so I’m just tagging some lovies who have enjoyed my previous fics: @jelliedonut @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @butlersxbirdy @missmaywemeetagain @headfullofpresley @powerofelvis @notstefaniepresley @amydarcimarie @prompted-wordsmith @dkayfixates @sillybookmarks @melancholicbutterflies @thatbanditqueen @eliseinmemphis @godlypresley @ccab @richardslady121 @rjmartin11 @claire-elvisgirl @literally-just-elvis-fics

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #elvis x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x reader #elvis imagine #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #ain’t that loving you baby #written by ab4eva

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honestlyboringperson · 4 months ago

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Persona 5 AU anyone? No? Just me? That’s fine.

Anyways, welcome to an AU that’s been bouncing around my head for nearly a year now! It was inspired by @/chrisrin’s take on the MCYT x Persona series as well as @/scruffyturtle’s ACAU! Go check ‘em out!

Team B.E.S.T.

The Scottage + Gem

Fairy Fort

Magical Mountain + Cub

More Information is under the cut!

Grian - “Ace” - The Sun Arcana - Lafayette/Eris

Grian is a college student working for a degree in architecture. He lives with in roommate Mumbo and does journalling and photography as a hobby. For some odd reason however, he can’t seem to remember anything about his past beyond simply going to college, doing a part time job, and spending time with his cousin and friends. This is because Grian isn’t really human. In this AU, the Watchers take the role of Yaldaboath, and created Grian to begin the mental shutdown cases to scare people into looking for someone to look towards. In this case, The Watcher Cult (Called the Pupils) for the Watchers to take control. During his creation, false memories were implanted in certain people in the Pupils for Grian to more seamlessly appear. But unbeknownst to them, the Velvet Room interfered and erased Grian’s memories of his purpose.

Anyways, onto the personas, Grian’s persona is Lafayette, a key figure in the American Revolutionary War and the French Revolution. In both wars, he was known to lead his armies in decisive battles of the war to secure their victory. Even today, he’s celebrated as a hero in both France and in the US. This fits in with canon Grian’s habit of rebelling against any governmental entity that’s in the Hermitcraft server (although he is currently the government) l

His Ultimate persona is Eris, the Greek goddess of chaos and strife. She was the instigator of the Trojan war, where she threw at apple at Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena. She stated that it was for the “fairest goddess” and one thing led to another, and several kingdoms are now at war with each other. Wow, starting a war for shits and giggles? That sounds like Grian!

Jimmy - “Sheriff” - The Fool Arcana - Black Bart/Baldr

Grian’s cousin and charmingly unlucky, Jimmy is often the target of teasing. He’s the one to egg Grian on to actually go to class instead of just doing the online assignments. He’s personally seeking a degree in education, and is a stickler for the rules he agrees with. Unbeknownst to him, he was a victim of the Pupils and one of the people that had false memories implanted in him. He’s extremely excited about being a phantom thief, but his joyous excitement will be tested through the story.

His Persona is Black Bart, an American Outlaw who is known for the poetic messages he left behind after two of his stagecoach robberies. He is considered a gentleman bandit with a flair for style and sophistication. He brandished a shotgun, but was noted to never fire it during his robberies. He was famed to the point there is an annual parade in Redwood Valley, California where there is a Black Bart Parade where he is played and portrayed as a stereotypical Old West Villain.

Anyways, Baldr is Jimmy’s Ultimate Persona. Baldr is a Norse god, and was well loved by everyone in the Aesir. He had a prophetic dream where everything is destroyed and gets terrified. His mother then makes everything in existence to personally promise her they won’t hurt him, rendering him near indestructible. But there was one thing that didn’t promise his mother; mistletoe. Loki kills Baldr when the other gods made a game where they throw countless weapons at the newly indestructible Baldr where he throws a spear made of mistletoe at him. He was the metaphorical “canary in the mine” due to his death being the first domino that trigger Ragnarok. Baldr only returns from the dead after Ragnarok throughly destroys everything.

Impulse - “Rook” - The Hierophant Arcana - Wayland/Hephaestus

Impulse owns a small prop weapons company where he forges and creates prop weapons in his own garage. He is coined the “dad” of the group, but would let a stupid scheme play out if he thinks it’s going to be funny. Unknown to anyone but his close friends (Skizz, Gem, and Pearl), but Impulse has a criminal record. He once worked under the one of the biggest mafia families in the country, and he was caught by the police after his teammates from the mafia abandoned him and used him to distract the cops. Ever since then, Impulse has been secretly trying to locate his former teammates to enact revenge on them.

Wayland is Impulse’s persona. Wayland was a blacksmith who was enslaved under a king. He had revenge on the king by killing both his sons and built wings to escape the king. Afterwards, he supplied weapons to several other people in myths and stories such as Charlemagne and his paladin as well as Beowulf as their weapons maker. Impulse is an advocate for burying the hatchet after using the hatchet to brutally destroy those who wronged him.

Impulse’s Ultimate Persona is Hephaestus, the Greek god of the forge and blacksmiths. After being thrown off Mount Olympus, he swore revenge on Hera. He enacted said revenge by trapping her on top of a golden throne that made her unable to get up. Not only in this story, but also in tales such as Aphrodite’s affair, he is noted to be very vengeful and will not yield unless his demands are reached.

Martyn - “Knave” - The Judgement Arcana - Atlantis/Judas

Martyn is a stagehand in the local theatre known for his friendly and amiable demeanour. However, under that cheery demeanour is a burning desire for revenge. Martyn’s parents were devout worshippers of the Watchers and worked under the Pupils. He was subjected to several grievances due to his parents volunteering him for the Pupil’s experiments and abuses. Ever since he’s escaped, he has focused on destroying the cult. He’s been working as a grey hat hacker to clients with varying levels of morality to get money and further his research on the cult.

Martyn is the navigator of the team with his persona Atlantis. Atlantis was a city that was sunk beneath the sea for being too greedy. It was noted to possess technology that surpassed the technology of times and even to this day, it’s still being searched for. The people were of divine descent, and lost their humility as they became more human after each generation.

Martyn’s ultimate persona is Judas. Judas was one of the original disciples for the Big J, and sold out him out for 30 pieces of silver. Martyn’s story in this AU revolves around his grudge against the Pupils and the Watchers, so his persona is someone who betrayed a religious figurehead.

Mumbo - “Vamp” - The Hermit Arcana - Galileo/Thoth

Mumbo is Grian’s roommate and a self proclaimed “spoon”. He is working towards a degree in Computer Science and is often found tinkering with old technology in his room, often to the point him and Grian step on loose screws and pieces of plastic on a weekly basis. Much like Jimmy, he had false memories of Grian implanted in him, which would come into conflict when the origins of Grian is revealed. This was because the main reason he joined the Phantom Thieves was out of concern for Grian. According to him, the day he turned 18 is when his signature moustache just grew spontaneously.

Mumbo’s persona is Galileo, the father of modern science and the scientific method. His studies were considered blasphemous against the church and he was sentenced to house arrest. Even though he was imprisoned, he still had faith in his discoveries and continued his studies within the confines of his house,

His Ultimate Persona is Thoth, the Egyptian God of the moon, wisdom, knowledge, writing, hieroglyphs, and judgement. He’s associated with Hermes and due to the connection, created the epithet Trismegestus. He is someone who solves his issues with diplomacy and reason instead of pure power and strength.

#PERSONA x MCYT AU #Hermitcraft #Hermitcraft au #Grian #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #Mumbo jumbo #impulsesv #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #life series #third life #last life #double life #limited life #secret life

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in-my-feels-probably · 1 year ago

Note

Sirius x pureblood!reader inspired by ivy by Taylor swift where reader’s parents r extremely against sirius because of his reputation

Ivy

Request: Sirius x pureblood!reader inspired by ivy by Taylor swift where reader’s parents r extremely against sirius because of his reputation

and: sirius black x pureblood!slytherin!reader where they have known each other since they were younger but drifted for obvious reasons. the drift causes resentment in each side which leads to snarky comments and lots of sexual tension in their later hogwarts years lol. eventually they get into an argument or something and the reader insists she is the same person she was when they were younger where as sirius is like no ur an uptight b. anyway this leads to sirius almost challenging her to prove herself to him and so even tho she is freaked out when he shows up outside the slytherin common room one night and says they are sneaking out to see a muggle concert she has no choice but to oblige. it ends up being an amazing night for both of them and they realized the love they had for each other as children truly never died.

Hi! I’m so sorry it took me so long to get to these requests, and I hope it’s alright I combined them. They worked really well together. Ivy is one of my favorites by Taylor, and it was so fun writing this based on that song.

Also, the reader isn’t actually a pureblood, just raised by a pureblood family. It just worked out easier for me to write this that way, hope that’s alright, too. Anyways, thank you again for being patient! I hope you enjoy!

(Warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of Sirius’s home life, insults, guilt, let me know if i missed anything)

—

How's one to know?

I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones

In a faith-forgotten land

You should have known what you had with Sirius was never going to last.

Growing up as the daughter of two prominent pureblood wizards in high society, there was certain expectations of you to follow in their footsteps. Except, you weren’t exactly pureblood yourself. You were just a baby when you were orphaned by the beginning of the war, and your parents just so happen to not be able to have children themselves. And—although you were the child of two halfbloods—they thought if they took you in young enough, it wouldn’t really matter. They’d raise you as your own, and you’d be no different than the rest of the pureblood children.

But there were whispers.

They were never confirmed by anyone, but your family could still hear them. Whispers of your true birth—which meant that all your life, you had to be on your best behavior. And that was quite hard to be on when Sirius Black was your best friend. At least, he was your best friend.

You weren’t sure what he was to you now.

You were very close in your first few years at Hogwarts. Even when you were sorted into Slytherin, he overlooked it. Although he had his opinions, he didn’t look at you any differently—just like you didn’t look at him any differently when he was sorted into Gryffindor. You were always by his side, even when your parents hated it, so what did he have to judge you for? If you could overlook all his flaws and caveats, he would welcome yours.

It was no secret that your parents hated Sirius. While they had a certain respect for Walburga and Orion—who seemed to like you—they just couldn’t stomach Sirius. Regulus, they liked. He was a good boy, and he never got into trouble or brought shame upon his family.

Sirius was another story.

But you never cared. You didn’t buy into the blood purity prejudice parade that your parents and their friends tried to sell you.

But, unlike Sirius, you weren’t so loud about your distaste for it. Despite wanting to stand up to your parents about it, you couldn’t. There was already a lot depending on you, and you were too afraid to disrupt the small sense of normalcy you had in your life. Letting it go was too much change, and you didn’t much like change.

There was a time in Sirius’s life where he found your reserved manner charming. It was one of your cute little traits that made you who you were.

There was one evening when you received mail from your parents at dinner, and he came over and snatched it out of your hands before you could stop him. He was joking of course, but as he read over it, his face fell.

“This is the third letter in a month your Mother has sent telling you to stay away from me,” he mused, a sad smile on his face. “They really hate me.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d had a conversation like this, and there wasn’t much you could do to ease his pain. All you could do was take his hands in yours, squeezing them tight.

“I’m sorry, Sirius. They’re set in their ways, there’s nothing I can do to change that. But you know I don’t hate you. I never will. And I’ll never let them stop me from seeing you. You’re my best friend, and I’ll never let them change that. One of these days, I’ll muster up the courage to tell them that to their faces.”

He just shook his head, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he changed the subject. “It’s alright, darling. We’ve got plenty of time to piss off your Mother and mine until we actually need to do something about it.”

But as the war came closer, and it was time to start making bold choices, he grew tired of always waiting for you to speak up. There wasn’t much you could do about it, either. You loved him more than pretty much anyone else in your life, but even that love couldn’t squander the fear you felt when being with him meant breaking too many rules.

Slowly but surely, you started losing your best friend.

Your relationship came to a standstill the first evening back to term after Sirius had spent his second entire summer locked up in his house. He couldn’t see anyone, most definitely not you. Neither of your parents would have allowed it—punishment for Sirius, and a regulation for you.

“You could have owled,” he teased when you found each other after dinner, but you could see the hint of sincerity in his eyes.

“You know my Mother never would have allowed it, and your Mother never would have let you read it even if she did, Sirius.”

He sighed in frustration. “For once, I just wish you’d stand up to her.”

“Is that so?” You asked, pulling him into a corner away from prying eyes. “You know as well as I do why I can’t do that. I told you, one day I’ll figure it out. But you can’t ask me to do it now. I’m not brave like you—”

“You are brave like me. It’s a wonder you weren’t sorted into Gryffindor,” he laughed, but you could see the sadness in his eyes.

You moved to wrap your arms around his waist, settling your cheek against his chest. You could feel him heave a breath, but he wrapped his arms around your shoulders anyway. You stood in silence together for a moment longer, gently swaying back and forth before you spoke.

“I’m sick of arguing with you over this,” you murmured into his chest. “I really fucking am.”

Sirius gripped you tighter. He felt like letting you go meant he was doing far more than just physically letting you go. It was more than that—it was letting you leave him. And he wasn’t sure he could stomach that just yet. But he knew…you both did. He’d released his grip a long time ago. Anything now was futile, like grasping for straws.

Still, he held you tight against him. He would allow himself this. He didn’t have to let you go just yet.

“Me too, love. Me too.”

In from the snow

Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow

Tarnished but so grand

How unfortunate that the time you were most cross with each other was the time you found each other the most attractive.

It was ridiculous, really—how pretty he was.

He grew into himself over the years, confidence quite literally radiating off him. He had some attractive friends too—who were generally friendly with you—but none of them in your opinion held a candle to Sirius. There was just something about him. And while Sirius showed interest in other girls, he just couldn’t seem to shake you.

By Fifth Year, you were in a quarreling stage of your relationship.

You’d had many nights like the one you had after dinner, and they hadn’t all been so cordial. There wasn’t two people in the whole of Hogwarts more stubborn than the two of you. And you found many reasons to butt heads like rams.

It was just who you were to each other now.

No longer best friends, but people who knew too much about each other. People who knew all the right ways to piss the other one off. You know all of each other's likes and dislikes—anything that made the other tick.

In his absence, you grew more sure of yourself. Less afraid to speak out about things that bothered you, and less afraid to stand up to those who had something to say about you. Recently, Sirius had been trying his luck with you. He couldn’t help himself. Pissing you off and seeing your reaction was like a drug to him, and he was hooked.

“Look at you…practically fuming,” he smirked when he messed with your cauldron in Potions. “It’s kinda hot.”

“So mature, aren’t you?” You snapped, shooing him away from the table.

He snickered as he walked back to his own work station, and he left you alone for the rest of class. You spent the remaining time trying to fix what he had ruined. By the time the period was over, you were seeing red. Sirius casually strolled out the door behind his friends, and you marched after him in a fury. You grabbed him by the back of his cloak, spinning him around.

“What the fuck is your problem, Black? What did I ever do to you?”

“What did you ever do to me?” He asked sharply, before taking a breath and forcing himself to relax. “When did you get so uptight, love?”

He tried to turn to walk away, but you grabbed his forearm, yanking him back toward you. You held him tight, your fingers making indentations on his skin. He looked down slowly, carefully watching where your body was meeting his. You took a breath, easing your grip once you realized just how close to him you had gotten. His friends carefully watched a few feet away, silent as they waited for Sirius to speak.

You cleared your throat, running your thumb along his reddened skin before dropping his arm. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to grab you that hard.”

He could barely hear you from how quiet you were speaking. He just shook his head, looking at you with curious eyes. He knew he had overstepped, but was too proud to say anything. So he just shrugged you off, rubbing at his arm.

“You’ve got claws…shame you didn’t use them when I needed them.”

He turned around and left before you could get out another word.

But I don't, I just sit here and wait

Grieving for the living

You weren’t speaking by the time you found out Sirius had run away from home.

It broke your heart when you found out. You may have been one of the only people in the world who understood what he was going through, down to the exact same rhetoric your parents would use to try and convince you to be good children—and the punishments they’d dole out when you didn’t listen. You felt nothing but guilt, knowing he needed someone to save him…and you weren’t there.

Instead, he had to save himself.

But more than anything, you grieved for him. Not for his life, but for the one you could have had with him. When you were kids, you thought you’d be best friends forever. Side by side, always there when the other needed them.

But now?

Now he was having to make a new life for himself. He had new best friends by his side, who took better care of him than you ever could have. And you grieved that missed opportunity.

You missed him.

You figured it wouldn’t take much—to take him back into your life. All he had to do was ask, if he even still wanted that. You’d had your share of fighting, and would much rather go back to being strangers. That was much easier than passing him in the halls every day and wishing he was someone else to you.

Clover blooms in the fields

Spring breaks loose, the time is near

What would he do if he found us out?

Crescent moon, coast is clear

Spring breaks loose, but so does fear

He's gonna burn this house to the ground

You had one night separating all those days of fighting.

You weren’t even sure how it happened. You’d had a particularly bad day, and you weren’t in the mood for your regularly scheduled spat with Sirius. You’d skipped all of your classes you had with him, and he of course had taken notice.

He found you down by the Black Lake, where you’d go to get some peace and quiet. You could hear the leaves crunching under his boots, turning around to see him coming down the hill. You sighed, putting your head in your hands.

“Not in the mood today, Sirius,” you said over your shoulder. “Go home…please.”

He shook his head, coming to sit down next to you. “No—no, I don’t think I will.”

You didn’t have it in you to fight with him. Clearly, he had noticed your absence. That was something, wasn’t it? It was quiet for a moment as you watched the water from the lake lap onto the shore, before you felt a warm hand on your knee. You looked over to see Sirius gazing down at you, a mild look of concern on his face.

“Not gonna fight me for sitting down? Not gonna shove my hand off your knee?”

You shrugged, shaking your head. “You can do whatever you want with your hands. I don’t care.”

Sirius smiled to himself, knocking his shoulder with yours. He didn’t move his hand, instead tracing his thumb absentmindedly back and forth along the curve of your knee as he spoke.

“You weren’t in class. It’s not like you to break the rules—”

“I break plenty of rules,” you snapped, feeling your skin heat underneath his palm. “But how would you know? You barely talk to me anymore.”

He let out a laugh, a giddy feeling spreading in his chest. “I know you well enough, Y/N. And I know you don’t break the rules. Too uptight, maybe.”

“Or too scared,” you retorted, slapping his hand. “But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

He let out a laugh, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Merlin, you really are a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one,” you said without hesitation.

Sirius seemed surprise for a moment, not expecting your retort. But after a moment—in his usual fashion—he grinned at your snark, turning to face the shoreline. You turned as well, watching the light glisten on the water as the sun began to set behind the trees. With Sirius so close to you, you couldn’t help but ponder the life you had once had with him. It wasn’t that long ago that you’d find yourself shoulder to shoulder with him, trying to choke down the butterflies in your throat as his skin brushed yours.

“Do you remember when we were kids?” You finally managed to say, letting out a breath. “When we were little, and you owled me after your Mother had punished you? It was the first summer she wouldn’t let you leave Grimmauld Place.”

Sirius stiffened next to you, clenching his jaw. But after a moment, he gave you a slight nod of acknowledgement.

“I had barely learned how to use the Floo on my own, but I knew it was my only way to get to you. I managed to sneak out before my parents found out, and I came to you as quickly as I could. I found you out in the gardens behind the house. Do you remember what you said to me?”

It took him a long while to speak. He didn’t dare look at you, keeping his eyes on the lake as you waited for him to speak.

“The ivy grows thick here,” he finally said, the slightest waver in his voice. “Mother can’t find us.”

You nodded, brushing your knee against his. “That’s right. I sat with you in that garden all night. And, Merlin, I was scared out of my mind. I knew I was in for a world of trouble when I got back home to my parents, but I didn’t care. That didn’t matter to me. All that mattered was you. I came for you…I always came for you.”

You suddenly felt a burning anger brewing in your chest, and you pushed Sirius away. You quickly stood up, leaving him bewildered in the grass next to you. He followed you up, managing to catch your wrist before you could march back up the hill.

“Calm down!” He shouted, his grip unrelenting. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

You scoffed, a dark chuckle pulled from your chest. “You wanna know why I wasn’t in class? Because I didn’t want to see you.”

Sirius stuttered, unable to form a response. He watched as angry tears clouded your eyes, but you quickly wiped them with the heels of your palms before they could fall. You took a grounding breath, watching him stare helplessly back at you.

“There it is…that’s the look. I didn’t want to see those eyes staring back at me, looking at me like I’m the one who changed. Like I’m the one who suddenly decided to abandon you and choose the wrong side. I never did that, Sirius. Why do you treat me like I did? I’ve always tried so hard to be a good friend to you, even when it would get me nowhere good. You’re the one who changed, not me. And you can’t handle the fact that I’m not like you—that I can’t bring myself to be as bold as you.”

He shook his head as he stepped closer, his voice assertive and stern. “I never said that—”

“You didn’t have to!” You spat, ripping your arm out of his hold. “That look in your eye is enough.”

You turned away, running your hand down your face. Grief and anguish bubbled in your throat, burning your esophagus as you choked down a sob. You wouldn’t cry in front of him. He didn’t deserve your tears. It was quiet for a moment, the only sound coming from the lapping of the Black Lake and the ragged breaths coming from you both. You turned back to him, ignoring the ache in your chest when you saw his pained expression. He was standing so still—like if either of you moved, you’d both crumble, and there’d be no one left to pick up the pieces to put you back together.

“I’m still me, Sirius,” you managed to say, your voice sincere. “Why can’t you see that?”

Sirius looked at you for a long while. You shifted under his gaze, debating bolting up the hill before he could catch you. But then, he stepped closer. He gently reached up, running his thumb along your cheek. You sharply inhaled, waiting for him to speak. His voice was soft—forgiving.

“I’ll believe it when I see it…all you have to do is show me.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of your head, quickly walking back up the hill before you could even get your feet to move.

Oh, I can't

Stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows

You didn’t see Sirius the entire weekend.

Granted, you mostly stuck to your dorm, but you didn’t even see him at meals. He was either sneaking food, or waiting for you to leave until he sat down for his dinner. You almost could have thanked him for it.

It was an indescribable feeling—thinking about Sirius.

Your night at the lake had certainly given you a lot to think about, and it often overwhelmed you. You tried your best to distract yourself, never letting your thoughts of him creep in for too long. Sirius—in usual Sirius fashion—eventually forced you to confront him, at least once he finally forced himself to confront you first.

You were by the window in one of your secret hideouts when an owl came to the window with a note in its grip. You raised a brow in confusion, plucking it from the bird and watching as he flew back into the night sky. How did anyone know where you were, or how to find you? You immediately recognized the handwriting as you unraveled the small piece of parchment, almost in disbelief as you read the words.

It read,

Y/N,

I’m starting to believe you…but it’s time you showed me. Prove me wrong, darling. I very much want to be wrong. Meet me in the corridor in front of your Common Room in ten minutes, and don’t let anyone else see you. You say you always come to me—so come. Please.

Yours,

Sirius

You chuckled to yourself in disbelief. He was so formal, even doing something as simple as sending a note. That was just part of his upbringing, you supposed. He never did anything without a little style. You shook your head, crumpling the note and shoving it into your pocket as you stood up. The Slytherin Common Room was at least a ten minute walk from your hideout, and you figured Sirius had already started walking to meet you there.

You wasted an entire minute with your feet planted on the floor before you finally forced yourself to move—and then you were really moving. What am I doing? What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t shake the question, thinking it the rest of the way to the corridor when you turned the corner, running straight into Sirius’s chest.

“Shit,” you mumbled, steadying yourself by holding onto the wall.

Sirius grinned, reaching a hand out to steady you. “What took you so long? I was beginning to think you’d stood me up.”

“I don’t see why we had to meet out here,” you said, motioning around to the dungeons. “You knew where I was—and I won’t ask you how you knew that, although it’s a bit concerning. But you knew where I was, so why not just come to me? Or ask me to come to you?”

He shrugged, looking around. “Maybe I wanted to see what your life is like down here. Maybe I wanted to see what mine could have been.”

You nearly laughed. Sirius had come from all the way up in the mighty Gryffindor Tower to the depths of the castle to see you, all the way down in the dungeons where the Slytherin Common Room resided. The very air was colder, the Black Lake seeming to loom over the windows.

You watched as he looked around, leaning against the wall yourself. “Is that important to you—me being down here? Why I’m down here, and why you’re not?”

Sirius tore his gaze from the castle walls to look at you, his face contemplative. He spoke after a short while, his voice soft.

“No,” he finally decided, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I thought it was, but now it seems…minuscule.”

You smiled to yourself. “Big word, Sirius. Did your fancy education teach you that one? You know—the same one I had?”

He chuckled, watching you with curious eyes. Finally, he pulled his hand out of his pocket, along with two pieces of paper. He held them out for you to take.

“My cousin Andromeda got these for me,” he grinned as you read over them. “She can’t use them anymore, and she figured I would want to. David Bowie is coming to London tonight. He’s a muggle musician—”

You snickered, nodding. “I know who he is, Sirius. You forget which one of us isn’t actually a pureblood. I know my parents don’t let me do much, but I do know some things. Like how Bowie is actually a wizard, but chooses not to practice.”

Sirius’s eyes widened. “What? How do you know that?”

“Remus told me,” you shrugged, laughing when his eyes opened even wider. “I have Charms with him. He’s smart, he knows things. I figured I’d have the best chance making it through the class with him close by. I do actually talk to people in your House other than you, you know. Is that so surprising?”

“He’s never mentioned you,” he murmured, looking a little bewildered.

“So? Are you jealous?” You joked, but by the way the corner of his mouth quirked, you were beginning to think he actually was. “Enough small talk, then. Why are you here, Sirius? What do you want?”

Sirius seemed to snap back into himself, his grin returning as you passed him back the tickets. He slid them in his pocket, turning his attention back to you.

“You’re coming with me.”

It was your turn to look bewildered. You stuttered, shaking your head frantically as his grin widened. He was enjoying watching you squirm, that much was clear.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, darling—live a little,” he mused, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “You have nothing to worry about, I’ve got it all taken care of. You just have to come with me.”

“And why would I do that?” You asked, shrugging his arm off your shoulders.

Sirius’s grin widened. “Because—you have to. You can’t say no.”

You shook your head, scoffing. “Why not?”

Sirius sighed, stepping closer and placing both his hands on your shoulders. He held you steady, looking you in the eye as he spoke.

“I want to be wrong about you, I really do. I won’t lie and say I haven’t missed you, because I have. I really have. We used to get in so much trouble together. And, lucky for you, I’ve pretty much perfected the art of evading trouble. Really, I’ve got quite the knack for it.”

“I’m waiting for the point, Sirius,” you said, looking towards the Common Room door. “I’m tired, and you’re making me stand out here in the cold.”

“It’s not my fault it’s dark and dingy down here,” he mused, jumping back and laughing when you tried and failed to swat at his arm.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a modified map of the Hogwarts grounds. He turned away from you as he murmured something you couldn’t quite catch, turning back around to show you the now open map. Your eyes widened as you watched pieces of the map move on the page, unable to stifle your shock when you found both your names printed just in front of the Slytherin Common Room door.

“What—what is this?”

“I’m putting a lot of trust in you here, so don’t tell Remus or James that I showed you this,” he said, taking the map from your hands. “But this is our map. It’s enchanted, clearly. We’ve been working on it for years. It shows us every secret passageway we’ve found to get in and out of Hogwarts, and it tells us where everyone is so we never get caught if someone is coming. It’s how I found you tonight.”

“Invasion of privacy, don’t you think?” You asked, but you were too enamored by the map to really care.

You heard him chuckle, looking up to see him grinning at you. “Don’t flatter yourself, darling. This is the first time I’ve looked for you on it. You’re not that interesting.”

You glared up at him, placing your hands on your hips. “You’ve got twenty seconds and I’m going inside. And I’ll let you know in the morning whether or not I’m going to hex you for this.”

Sirius smiled, looking at you with a glint in his eye you hadn’t seen in a long while—at least directed at you. There was a feeling so distant but familiar brewing in his chest, and he pushed you one last time to listen to him. He had to try.

“There’s that fire in you. It’s time to use it. You say you haven’t changed? You say you’re still the same girl I’ve always known? Prove it. You say you always come for me? Then come. I’ve got the map, and I can get us out of the castle to the concert and back without anyone even noticing we were gone. All you have to do is come with me. Trust me, just this once. And I’ll get on my hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness if you show me the girl I knew isn’t truly gone. Come with me, and I promise I’ll make it up to you—for however long it takes. I’ll change.”

He reached for your hands, taking them in his. You let out a sharp breath, but you didn’t pull away as he looked at you with soft eyes.

“Or…you can go through that door and up to your room, and I’ll leave you alone. No more teasing, no more snarky remarks, no more late night talks—nothing. This’ll be it. I won’t come find you…I’ll let you go.”

You could feel your chest tighten as he spoke. It sounded so final, and it was making your head spin. The thought of Sirius truly leaving you alone and never talking to you again made you want to crawl into a pit and never come out.

You couldn’t quite tell why.

You’d done nothing the last few months but argue and bicker, always bitter over the choices the other was making. It was clear to anyone on the outside watching you both that you hadn’t been the same for a long time. In a way, Sirius was right—you had changed. For the better? That was up for you to decide. But he had changed, too. And you were starting to think you had been wrong about him. Maybe he had changed for the better, and he was trying to show you.

“But know that I don’t want that,” he murmured as he squeezed your hands, pulling you from your thoughts. “Not at all. I want you back. I want you to come with me. Just say you will. Please.”

It was now or never. He watched with a look of hope on his face as you opened and closed your mouth a few times, struggling to find the right words to say.

Finally, you let out a breath, squeezing his hands. “Okay…okay, I’m in. Let’s go.”

Sirius couldn’t have grinned wider. It actually looked like it hurt, how hard he was smiling. The little laugh he let out was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile, too.

He squeezed your hand in his, and whisked you off down the corridor before you had the chance to protest.

So yeah, it's a fire

It's a goddamn blaze in the dark

And you started it

You started it

So yeah, it's a war

It's the goddamn fight of my life

And you started it

You started it

After a very confusing path of twists and turns, a couple Floo’s, and a very sketchy bus you had to sneak your way onto, you found yourself standing shoulder to shoulder with Sirius in a large crowd of people, waiting for the concert to start. It was loud and chaotic, a cloud of smoke hanging in the air. Sirius—of course—was adding to it, a cigarette in his hand.

You looked around, a feeling of unease settling in your stomach. There was so many people. So many strangers, and it was all a bit overwhelming.

Not only that, you couldn’t shake the feeling that at any second, someone was going to find you and bust you. Someone was going to tell your parents that you had snuck out of school—with Sirius of all people—and you were going to face the punishment of a lifetime. Someone was going to spread the word that you were out with the most popular blood traitor in the country, and you were going to put both him and you at risk, all because you couldn’t let him let you go.

Sirius must have noticed your look of concern, because he nudged you in the side, bending down to you ear so you could hear him. “What is it, love? Nervous?”

“No,” you shook your head, though you knew you weren’t convincing anyone with that look on your face. “It’s just—really crowded in here. And loud.”

Sirius nodded, giving you a warm smile. You were being so brave. It made his chest flutter, and he didn’t quite know what to do with that feeling. He pulled you toward him and placed you in front of him, letting his arms wrap around your shoulders. Your back was to his chest, a comforting warmth coming off him.

“This alright?” He asked, running his thumb along your arm.

You nodded, smiling to yourself. You didn’t have much time to sit in the feeling, because the house lights went down, and the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. You could feel Sirius shaking with excitement behind you, letting out whoops and shouts as the stage lit up. You looked over your shoulder up at him, smiling at the look of pure joy on his face.

The whole concert went by in a blur.

You sang along to the songs you knew, swaying along to the music as you watched. It was an entrancing performance, but it didn’t hold a candle to the concert Sirius was putting on behind you.

He knew every single word, buzzing with excitement. He couldn’t keep still, jostling you around as he kept you close and away from the ruckus of the crowd. It was adorable, you had to admit. He bent down every once in a while, checking in on you and making sure you were alright. During the slow songs, he swayed with you back and forth, laughing when you stumbled over his feet.

As you slowly filed out of the building amongst the crowd after the show ended, Sirius kept a tight grip on your hand to make sure you didn’t get seperated. You couldn’t deny the buzz that went through you every time he squeezed your hand, having to take a breath every once in a while to calm yourself. When you finally made it back on the street, Sirius was quick to bring you along the winding path that brought you back to the castle.

You barely had time for small talk, having to rush to get back to the dungeons. You had hardly spoken at all until you found yourself back in front of your Common Room door, a silence throughout the castle—except for the portraits on the wall, who Sirius threatened to hex if they didn’t keep quiet.

You turned to Sirius, a small smile on your face. “Happy now?”

He chuckled, nodding. “You have no idea.”

“I think you had more fun than anyone else in that crowd,” you mused, taking a seat on the step that led up to the door. “But maybe that’s because you were all I could really hear. Singing isn’t one of your talents, Black.”

Sirius placed a dramatic hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Hey! I’ll have you know it is one of my many talents. You were lucky enough to witness it.”

You chuckled, a comfortable silence falling over you both. This was good. This felt familiar. Bickering in the way lifelong friends do, not friends who are teetering over the edge of never speaking again. You were afraid of what going with him tonight was going to do to you both, but this was good—it was worth it.

In a very unusual turn of events, Sirius was—for once—having trouble finding the right words to say.

There was so much he wanted to say—so much he needed to say—and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to. There was peace between the two of you. A calm that was rare, and he was too afraid to disturb it.

You were smiling at him.

A genuine smile, and he would have rather been caught a thousand times than see it fall. So he didn’t speak. He just offered you a hand, helping you up from the step.

“You should get some sleep,” he said quietly, stepping back once you were settled. “If we stay out here any longer we might actually get caught by a Prefect, and I know you’ll punish me far more than they would.”

You chuckled, nodding. You didn’t want him to go. You found yourself wanting to come up with random topics, just so he could stay and keep talking to you. But instead, you walked up to the top of the steps, stopping just in front of the door. You looked over your shoulder, smiling once more down at him.

“Goodnight, Sirius.”

He smiled back, turning to leave. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

And now I'm covered

In you

One thing you had forgotten about Sirius was how much he likes to sleep in.

You found yourself looking for him at breakfast in the morning, before you remembered how late you had gotten back to the castle. Sirius was absolutely not a morning person, and he certainly would have been in bed all morning into the early afternoon.

You had to swallow your nerves, taking calming breaths as you ate your food. He’d come to you when he was ready. He certainly had the means to with the map.

All you had to do was wait.

And sure enough, he found you once again down by the Black Lake. You could hear him coming, snickering at the obnoxious tune he was whistling as he came to sit next to you. You looked over at him, raising a brow as he gave you a grin.

“It’s two in the afternoon, Sirius.”

“I’ve been busy,” he shrugged, letting his knee rest against yours. “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never good—” You joked, but he was quick to interrupt you before you could turn the conversation.

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

You could feel your heartbeat quicken, swallowing hard. You forced yourself to remain calm, swallowing your nerves. Of course you had been thinking about him, too. But you waited for him to speak, letting him go first.

“I’ve decided that you were right,” he admitted, locking eyes with you. “I am different. But so are you—and I think that’s a good thing. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.”

“And what prompted this decision—last night?” You asked, your voice soft.

He shook his head. “Last night was just the trigger, I guess. I think I had been noticing signs for a long time, and I just didn’t know what to do about it. Lucky for me, you’re too stubborn to let me be wrong.”

You couldn’t help but smile. With a breath of courage, you took his hand, fiddling with one of his rings.

“I’ve decided something, too.”

He grinned, watching as you twisted the ring around his finger. “Oh, you have?”

“Yes, yes I have.”

“And what is that?” He asked, leaning closer ever so slightly.

“I’ve decided that the next time my Mother sends me another semi-threatening letter full of veiled threats that she tries to cover up with hints of love, I’ll at least consider telling her to piss off. And—assuming you're ever mentioned in that letter—I’ve decided I’ll tell her to piss off about that, too.”

Sirius stilled, grabbing onto the hand you were using to twist his ring. “Are you serious?”

He deserved a little teasing, after all the things he had said to you over the years. He was just as stubborn as you were, but you weren’t going to let him get away with it all without a little taunting—even if the sight of his smile directed at you made you want to forget about everything and forgive him completely. You chuckled, nodding.

“What’s she gonna do? Disown me? She’s spent her whole life keeping my birth a secret, I highly doubt she’d risk all that effort just to get me to stop talking to you. Which—and I’m just assuming, here—you’ve decided you want to do, right? Keep talking to me?”

And then Sirius did something you hadn’t seen him do more than once or twice in all the years you had known him.

He blushed.

Flushed cheeks and all, turning his face away so that you couldn’t see him. He chuckled to himself, turning back to you after a heavy sigh. He hooked an arm around your shoulders, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Yes, you dickhead. Of course I do,” he said, his voice muffled into your hair.

You smiled to yourself. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but turn around in his hold and wrap your arms around his waist. You really couldn’t help it.

Sirius was all consuming.

Once you got stuck on him, it was practically impossible to shake him off. He was like the ivy that grew along the patch of walls in the far corner of his backyard. You could hide in him forever. He could keep you completely safe and away—at least that’s what it used to feel like.

And, Merlin, you wanted it to feel like that again.

“Good,” you smiled into his chest, pulling away to look up at him. “So, when can I expect you on your hands and knees begging for my forgiveness?”

“Piss off.”

—

A/N - Hi! I’m so sorry this took so long, once I started writing I just kept going and it got a little out of hand. This is kinda long, so hopefully that makes up for the obscene amount of time it took me to post this. I hope this is what you were looking for! I really enjoyed writing this, so thank you for sending the request in :)

#harry potter #marauders #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black angst #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #the marauders #marauders x you #taylor swift #ivy

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localemofreak · 1 month ago

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I’m sorry (not really) but this needs to be said in the MCR fandom- I love every single member, no matter where you come from, but seriously I think this needs to be told.

‼️WARNING: SMALL RANT ABOUT MCR AND THE LONG LIVE THE BLACK PARADE TOUR‼️

I’m sorry but like, I have seen SO MANY people complain and be so ungrateful about this new MCR tour, and it’s genuinely driving me nuts.

(Btw this is copied and pasted from a little rant I made on discord)

Tbh I have seen A LOT of people complaining about the pricing of the tour tickets, and I understand that they were definitely super expensive but like, idk if people realize that literally MCR does not control the prices of tickets, at all- literally the venues do, so they have zero say in the prices- and none of the money goes to them anyway, it goes to the greedy ass venues, and the only money they get is from merch, it’s literally the same with every band- small or big, they get NO money from the tickets, only merch- that’s why bands are always like “please buy merch” bc that’s where they get their money from.. also MCR isn’t a small band anymore like they were back in the day- tickets are obviously gonna be pricey, that’s sadly how the world and economy works.

And I’m aware most of the rage was from the fact of bots buying and reselling tickets for thousands of bucks- is there things they could have done to prevent lots of bots from buying tickets? Most likely, but still- no matter what, it was going to sell out asap, and tickets were gonna be expensive no matter what- MCR cannot control that, it is not their fault. They are a big band, with millions of fans worldwide- they are going to take the easier route obviously with selling tickets, but I’m not denying that you can’t be upset- you have every right to be, but bots buying tickets is NOT the bands fault, so don’t blame them for something they literally can’t control.

And people saying they keep “teasing mcr5 but don’t give any mcr5 shit”, I’m sorry- but they have literally NEVER teased mcr5.. we just have fun as fans and suspect something new and out of the usual MCR related automatically equals MCR5.. but literally the band has never even mentioned, spoke, hinted, teased- ANYTHING about a new album..

And I’m sorry but I dislike these people who are like “if they aren’t gonna do a full tour for ALL fans, they might as well not do a tour at all-“ IM SORRY BUT I WANT TO SEE THEM.. I’m sorry for the fans overseas, but literally- there is people in North America that want to see them, so just because YOU can’t see them.. doesn’t mean the American and Canadian fans shouldn’t get the opportunities to see them. This will be my first ever MCR show I have ever seen and I’ve been a fan for YEARS- and i am so grateful and lucky to be able to see them, but just because they chose to do one section of planet earth (and they will definitely tour more after this, come on- just look at Gerard at WWWY.. is that really the face of a man who never wants to tour again??- MCR is going to do more tours.) doesn’t mean that those people shouldn’t get the opportunity to see them, y’all will still get your clips, y’all will get your photos- even if it was only a European tour, I wouldn’t be complaining about not being able to go, them touring only a small part of one continent in my opinion is better than no tour at all.

All I can really say is, let’s just let it cook- obviously they have things in store for us all, let’s keep the complaining down yk?- because I’m just happy that they are touring once again, no matter where the tour is. I’m just happy we get to see them again.

“They should have given people more time to prepare to buy tickets” Yeah 100% I agree, they should have definitely gave us a warning to save money up, but the people complaining about the tour in its entirety.. like, maybe they want to stay in North America to be close to family??- maybe they have other projects??.. and also maybe it is probably something to bring up the American people after everything went to fucking shit obviously with the election- I think people just need to be glad they are actually doing something instead of complaining and saying they shouldn’t tour at all, because no matter where they tour- fans are not gonna be able to see them, and some fans are, that’s how the world works- and complaining isn’t going to fix anything, in fact- it could cause MCR to either pause or stop the tour altogether in fear of being cancelled or controversy, literally they do not control the prices of tickets or what people do with the tickets- including bots, so don’t go blaming them for something they literally CANT CONTROL.

And honestly, I’m sorry but people shouldn’t be complaining about it being a basically only United States tour- like with everything going on in this country, it was the perfect time- because literally I think a lot of people needed a distraction from all the fucked up shit that’s happening over here.. and MCR is an American band with American members, so it’s obviously effecting them as well- so I really think this is a perfect and good thing for American MCR fans rn.

ALSO people saying “they don’t care” um.. they literally have enough money to retire and live the rest of their lives without doing shit if they wanted too.. they are literally taking time out of THEIR LIVES instead to go tour around and preform for fans, when they could literally just stay at home and raise their kids. THEY DONT HAVE TO DO THIS, this is literally a blessing that they are still touring, because they literally don’t have too, but they CHOOSE TO PERFORM- because they care about the fans, new and old. They want people to be able to experience seeing them live, because they are aware of the impact they make on people’s lives- and tbh, I think they are still VERY humble people compared to their level of fame- they still take pics with fans when asked, sign autographs, all that shit when literally they don’t have too- they still stay down to earth and give fans stuff when they literally don’t have too. So just because they aren’t going to your country, or you can’t get tickets- doesn’t mean nobody else is allowed to have fun and see them. And it’s obvious, they literally have more in store for us all- so people shouldn’t rush to conclusions and be like “oh but they are leaving out the rest of the fans!” No they aren’t.. trust me- they aren’t, they remember you guys, but right now they are doing this- and that’s completely fine, because it’s THEIR BAND, THEIR SONGS, AND THEIR TIME.

So right now, all I can say is- let’s just please stop complaining, because it won’t fix anything.. let’s just be happy that we are actually getting something from them. Please. You are allowed to be upset, but half of the things people are upset about- are completely out of the band’s control.. so don’t go blaming them- when genuinely, don’t they have to do jackshit.

And you guys are 100% allowed to be upset, sad, frustrated, angry- FEEL WHATEVER U WANT TO FEEL.. but literally my chemical romance owes nobody ANYTHING.. they are choosing to do this tour for the fans, when literally they don’t have too. So let’s just be grateful for what we are getting.

(Btw I am not saying that people are ‘too broke’ or hating, or anything like that- I’m just saying, instead of complaining because it literally won’t do anything- I’m just being honest here, we should be happy that MCR is at least still around touring, giving updates, things like that etc- when they literally don’t have too.)

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nikkento-writes · 3 months ago

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Chapter 2 - Someone New

I can be a little much, I overthink, I scared you off, my spiral begins right on cue. I wonder if I’ll ever find someone new.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter (coming soon)

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~8.3k

cw: switching POVs (2nd person for reader, third person for Nanami), angst, fluff, alcohol consumption, explicit language

Summary: Nanami normally likes to keep to himself during vacation, preferring not to forge any needless bonds with people he’ll never meet again. But a silly encounter at a bar leads him to find an unlikely vacation buddy at Crystal Shores.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the love and support on this so far! I also appreciate your patience with this. I’ve been very busy with work and my personal life, so I haven’t had much time to write. I’m slowly but surely making my way through! This story is very dear to my heart, so I appreciate you taking the time to read it. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

Nanami arrives to his destination after sunset, when the last boat of the day finally docks. He’s in his typical work attire, having completed an early morning mission right before his departure. Tan blazer with matching slacks, a spotted tie akin to leopard print, mahogany brown dress shoes. He’s aware how severely overdressed he is for this type of environment, more apparent now as he traverses through the delicate sand, collecting more and more of the beach with each step of his oxfords. Despite his serious demeanor, Nanami couldn’t be more ecstatic to finally be here. As his feet grow heavy with the diamond dust leading to Crystal Shores, the burden of reality that weighs hefty on his shoulders is gradually lifted. Finally, he gets to indulge in this temporary escape for the next few days.

Since the devastating attack on Christmas Eve six months ago, an event they’re now referring to as The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, tensions within the Jujutsu community have been high. Nanami’s former upperclassman, Suguru Geto, launched this attack in an attempt to carry out his diabolical plan of eradicating humans and non-curse users from the earth. That night, Nanami performed four consecutive black flashes, a record that’s impressive on paper, though in all honestly, Nanami is tired. He usually plans a summer trip annually, ever since he returned to Jujutsu Sorcery. With all the activity happening recently, he’s in dire need for a vacation now more than ever. Satoru Gojo, a teacher at Jujutsu High and Nanami’s senior (though he doesn’t act it) has already begun his recruitment to build a strong class of first years. He suspects the white-haired idiot is going to enlist him to help these kids at some point, so he’s mentally preparing himself for that. And while Nanami has already gotten accustomed to taking the youthful Takuma Ino under his wing, he’s not sure how well he’ll fair with sorcerers that are even younger.

Sorcerers, especially those associated with both Tokyo and Kyoto Jujutsu High, remain vigilant in order to protect the students, who were targeted for recruitment to carry out Geto’s plan. While dealing with the aftermath, they continue to actively scout young sorcerers, though Nanami is against it, believing children shouldn’t be subjected to this tragic world. He can’t help thinking about his old classmate Yu Haibara, whose life was taken from him too suddenly and too quickly. It wasn’t fair then, and it isn’t fair now, expecting children to take on the considerable responsibility of saving the world from the hidden evil that plagues it. Training them to kill and preparing them to be killed for the sake of humanity. All of it is cruel and unfair, for adults and especially for these kids. However, Nanami doesn’t have much of a say in the matters of Jujutsu High, so he makes a personal vow to himself to do what he can: protect and help others who need it. This power is a blessing and a curse; he might as well use it for good.

Crystal Shores is surrounded by a vast garden of native plants and trees, creating the ideal canopy of green above him. The path leading to the lobby is lit up with torches, the flames waving in the gentle breeze. Every staff member on his way to the check-in desk greets him, their smiles welcoming and genuine. He’s read plenty about this world-class resort, about its breathtaking beaches, five-star service, and their highly-rated amenities. As a self-proclaimed foodie, the part he’s particularly excited for is the local cuisine the island is famous for. Somehow, he managed to secure a reservation at their only Michelin-rated restaurant, having gotten lucky at the time he booked his hotel. Aside from that, Nanami is most looking forward to some much-needed rest and relaxation, whether it be by the pool or by the sea. He’s certain he’ll be in perfect harmony wherever he is here at this resort.

When he approaches the front desk, he realizes his tan blazer is damp from the choppy waters on the way here, so he removes it, folding neatly over his arm. His skin is tacky with perspiration from the day’s travel, the styling gel in his hair worn off, stray strands sticking to his forehead. He’s left his own trail of sand behind him, some of it still mingled with the fabric of his socks. Despite his unusually disheveled state, Nanami couldn’t be more thrilled to be here. He nods at the woman behind the counter, greeting her. “Hello. I’m here to check in.”

Jasmine, according to her nametag, responds cheerfully. “Welcome to the Crystal Shores, sir! We are so excited to have you! Your name please?”

He gives it, trying to inconspicuously tap the rest of the debris from his shoes to no avail. As Jasmine types on her keyboard, a different staff member, a young man with a genial face, approaches him to offer a crisp glass of fruit-infused water. Another soon arrives to drape a floral necklace around his collar. Nanami already feels at peace and he hasn’t even been officially checked in yet.

“Alright Mr. Nanami!” Jasmine claps her hands once, beaming at him. “We’ve got you on the seventh floor, room 727, all the way down the hall, farthest from the elevator per your request. And, of course, with the beachside view. How many keys will you be needing?”

“It’s just me,” he answers, downing the rest of his drink. “So one is fine.”

Jasmine tips her head a bit, seemingly intrigued by this information. “Will your partner be joining us later on during your stay or…?”

Nanami narrows his eyes at her, though she can’t tell through his tinted glasses. What an odd question, he thinks to himself. Still, he answers it, his hackles raised slightly. “I don’t have a partner.”

“Oh! My apologies, I didn’t mean to assume. I was only thinking that if you did have a partner, there’s a couples mixer we like to host on Friday nights down in Event Hall D.” She rummages through a stack of papers, eventually pulling out a flyer with a schedule of events taking place throughout the week. “Our singles mixers are on Monday nights, so you won’t be able to make that. However, if you do happen to meet someone during your stay here, it’s a wonderful little party with all-you-can-eat hors d’oeuvres and unlimited wine, free of charge for our guests.”

He takes the paper, looking at it skeptically. Even he can admit that the words “all-you-can-eat” and “unlimited” are enticing enough to have his curiosity piqued. “Will they let me in if I’m alone?”

“Unfortunately, it is a couples mixers, so the minimum requirement is that you are part of a couple. But who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone while you’re here. They don’t call this the ‘Island of Passion’ for nothing.” Jasmine’s professional smile doesn’t waver, though Nanami can tell the cogs are turning in her brain. For what, he’s not sure, and quite frankly, he doesn’t want to know given the direction this conversation is going.

Nanami doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t do dating. It’s a vow he made to himself ever since he returned to Jujutsu Sorcery. Involving another person in his already risky world is complicated, adding love into the mix makes it all the more dangerous. It wouldn’t be fair to himself or to his potential partner to invest in a life together that can be so quickly destroyed every time he fights a new demon or curse. He constantly puts his life on the line without question, and when he has nobody but himself to think about, it makes this job that much easier. A partner would only distract him, force him to think twice before running into battle, make him weak. It’s better this way.

This mindset, however, doesn’t stop him from the occasional fling, especially during his temporary escapes from reality. In this particular case, the alluring promise of endless appetizers is also an added bonus.

He stuffs the flyer in his pocket, not saying anything more about it. “Thank you,” he mutters, no longer suspicious of Jasmine, who only seems to want to push this agenda of finding romance on this so-called “Island of Passion”. Nanami uses all the willpower he has to resist gagging from the ridiculous nickname.

Upstairs on the seventh floor, Nanami rolls his luggage all the way down to Room 727, relieved to finally be settled in. His stomach gurgles, hungry after not having a proper meal all day. He does a quick refresh in the bathroom, not bothering to change out of his dress shirt and slacks. Though, he does remove his spotted tie, not trying to look too much like a man on business rather than a man on vacation.

Just as he’s about to leave his room, his phone buzzes in his pocket. As soon as he sees who’s calling, he immediately rejects it. When it vibrates a second time as he halfway down the corridor, he groans, answering it reluctantly. “I told you to call twice for emergencies.”

“This is an emergency!” Gojo yells into the phone. There’s the distinct sound of background chatter on the other line, as if he’s at a bar, which he most likely is on a Wednesday night in Tokyo. “I thought you were dead!”

Nanami clenches his jaw, restraining from unleashing his wrath on this idiot he unfortunately considers a friend. “Why would you think that?”

“You never responded to my texts!”

A vein throbs in his forehead. “When do I ever respond to your texts?”

Gojo ignores that. “Shoko was worried about you too, Nanamin. Right? Right?!”

Ieiri’s languid voice comes in quietly amidst the chaos. “We wanted to make sure you got there safely.”

The tension in his shoulders ease, knowing this is coming from a good place, at least on Ieiri’s end. He’s convinced Gojo called just to annoy him. Sighing, he responds, “I’m fine.”

“Good. Go and enjoy yourself. We’ve got everything handled here.” For someone as laid-back and seemingly uninterested as Ieiri, she is surprisingly perceptive. Her tone is gentle, reassuring. “Not that you need reminding.” She adds the last part in, her smirk audible through the phone, trying not to give away Nanami’s secret concerns.

He’d be lying to himself if he said a small part of him isn’t worried. As much as he’s trying to remove himself from work while on vacation, there’s always going to be that fear lingering in the back of his mind. What if there’s another attack in Tokyo while he’s not there? What if something happens to his peers? Ieiri, Ino, Ijichi, and yes, even that blubbering idiot Gojo, who he usually doesn’t worry about because he’s that confident in his power. Still, what if?

“Thank you, Ieiri,” he says, genuinely meaning it. Her words don’t completely eliminate his apprehension, though for the time-being, he’s alleviated.

“What about me, Nanamin?! I’m the one who called you first! Shoko didn’t even want to bother you!” He can tell by the whining that Gojo is at that point of the night where he’s on a sugar rush from popping unlimited candied cherries and chugging mocktails courtesy of flirtatious bartenders. And the sooner Nanami placates this nuisance, the sooner he can get off the line to eat dinner.

Through gritted teeth, Nanami murmurs, “Thank you for checking in, Gojo.”

Gojo laughs, appeased. “You’re welcome buddy!”

“And don’t call me again.”

“But – ”

Before he gets another word out, Nanami hangs up the call with a pleased grin on his face, continuing his path to dinner in peace.

~~~

It’s been almost an hour now since you watched the beautiful sunset from the balcony of your hotel room. You’ve been going back and forth with yourself about what you should do for dinner, ultimately deciding to venture out to explore the hotel’s top-notch restaurants. Staying in and ordering room service was the second option, though the thought of eating alone in a room that already feels too big for one makes you depressed. On the other hand, the idea of dining solo gives you a sense of dread that you aren’t proud of.

There’s nothing wrong with having a dinner date all by yourself. People do it all the time. However, you’re ashamed to admit that when you see that, you make up sad stories in your head about why they’re alone. An elderly man slowly eating his split pea soup, who recently lost his wife after fifty lovely years together. A middle-aged salaryman scarfing down a bowl of ramen because he’s on a business trip. A young women all alone, cutting her steak into smaller pieces, wishing she had a partner to share it with.

For goodness sake, why do you do this? It’s unfair to make these assumptions about strangers, who are perfectly content having a meal without a companion. It’s never crossed your mind that people rather be alone than not, only because you could never imagine choosing that for yourself. You’re so used to clinging to someone to prevent the loneliness you’ve always feared throughout life. Your parents, your childhood best friend Kim, and worst of all, Jun. Because of this, you were willing to ignore the warning signs of your failing relationship with your ex. As long as you had somebody, anybody, things would we okay, right?

Nope. Wrong. Very wrong.

You’ve changed outfits four times since you decided to dine at one of the restaurants on the first level. Anything you can do to keep avoiding the most mundane activity of eating dinner alone. You glare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, giving yourself a pathetic little peptalk. Come on. Just go down there and eat something. It’s not a big deal!

Before you can psyche yourself out any further, you leave the room in a sundress, one of many that you packed for this trip, and make your way down the hall towards the elevators.

Nighttime at the Crystal Shores has the lobby buzzing with activity. Some vacationers are dressed to the nines, ready to go out and party at the local hot spots. Others are in comfortable clothes, lounging on couches with colorful drinks in their hands. You’re aware that the resort is home to at least ten different restaurants, so you scope out the front desk, hoping to ask somebody what they suggest for a casual meal, nothing too fancy but satisfying.

Jasmine, the poor woman you unloaded your relationship woes to just hours ago, catches your eye. She greets you like an old friend, beckoning you over and calling out your name. “I was hoping to see you again!”

You approach her hesitantly like a dog with their tail between their legs, still embarrassed about before. “I’m so sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to trauma dump on you like that.”

She waves it off. “No need to apologize! I’m sorry about all the lovey-dovey décor in there.”

“No, please don’t be,” you insist. “It was…it was actually really nice. Please tell the staff thank you.”

She smiles brightly at you, nodding. “I will. Anyways, I forgot to mention to you about our weekly mixers here at the resort.” She slides a piece of paper out from one of the piles on her desk, handing it to you. “Mondays are our singles mixers, so you won’t be able to make that. Fridays, we host a couples mixer. All-you-can-eat appetizers and wine, free of charge for our lovely guests.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she doesn’t let you, holding up her hand and continuing. “And yes, I know I said couples. But if you just so happen to meet someone until then, you should definitely go!”

Huffing out a laugh, you say, “Jasmine, you know better than I do that your guests here are already couples. I’m not going to be meeting anyone.”

She shakes her head adamantly. “That’s not true! Between you and me, I have checked-in several eligible bachelors today. You’re on the ‘Island of Passion’! You never know, your new love could be waiting for you down the hall.” Her eyes twinkle, as if she’s using you as reference to write a cliché romance novel in her head.

Aside from how bizarre this all is, especially coming from a staff member you only just met, you find her eagerness to mend your broken heart endearing. You know it’s not going to happen the way she wishes it would, though. Tapping your finger to your chin, you pretend to show consideration for whatever story she’s trying to manifest. “The free wine does sound enticing. That doesn’t really matter though, since my ex is paying for everything while I’m here.”

Her jaw drops, enthralled by this new information. “Really?! Everything?”

You nod, a satisfied grin on your face. “Everything.”

Excited, Jasmine flexes her fingers, directing her attention back to the computer screen, typing away vigorously on her keyboard. “In that case, let me see what activities I can squeeze you into. We’ve got cooking classes, paddleboard yoga, spa treatments…I see you’ve already got a few things scheduled. Great! Oh! How about wine-tasting at a private estate? Hiking on a mountain with a waterfall? You’re sure to meet sexy singles there!”

Before she gets even more carried away than she already is, you hold up a hand, politely stopping her. “Jasmine, while I really appreciate your,” you stall, trying to find the correct word for it, “involvement in this, I don’t think I’m ready to mingle with people yet.”

“But – ”

“Actually, I know I’m not ready,” you reiterate, making your point final.

After some obvious disappointment, she resigns from her little fantasy. “I understand. I’m sorry for meddling so much. When you told me your situation, I really wanted to help. And if helping you meet someone is all I can do from behind this desk, then I figured I should just go for it.”

You smile warmly at her. “Thank you for the concern, but I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

Jasmine’s meddling, while well-intentioned, is indeed unwarranted. Maybe if this were in reality and not on this stunning island vacation, you’d be annoyed, even offended by her intervention. But this is paradise, where nothing goes wrong, and you’re just another guest passing through. In a few days, you’ll check-out and Jasmine will forget all about you and your sorry situation. No harm in finding comfort over this tiny morsel of camaraderie with a staff member who’s already invested in your love life, or the lack thereof.

Not wanting to continue the topic any further, you change the subject. “Anyways, I’m starving. Is there a place for me to grab a bite to eat? Something comforting, nothing too fancy.”

“Yes!” Back to professional mode, Jasmine points you in the right direction. “Bruno’s Bistro has excellent food and tonight, they have one of the island’s beloved local bands performing. I highly recommend.”

“Bruno’s. Got it. Thank you!”

You follow her instructions, taking the short walk to Bruno’s, where you can already hear the live music playing as you approach the entrance. A hostess wearing a polo button-up with a palm tree pattern greets you. “Welcome to Bruno’s! How can we help you?”

“I’d like a table for one, please.” Saying it out loud brings back the dread in your chest about dining alone, but you stand your ground, determined to conquer this ridiculous fear once and for all.

“Unfortunately, all our tables are occupied at the moment,” she regretfully informs you. “The Bario Brothers are performing tonight, so we don’t expect any availability until an hour from now, when they’re done. I’m so sorry.”

You start to think to yourself that maybe it would have been better to order room-service. Before you can turn around to leave disappointed, the hostess adds, “We have plenty of seating at the bar! You won’t be able to see the Bario Brothers from there, but you can certainly still hear them. And you can order the full menu there. Would you like to do that?”

Relieved, you agree and follow her inside towards the bar, where there is ample seating for you to choose from. You opt for the bar stool in the middle, four seats to the right of an older couple finishing up their meal.

“Enjoy!” the hostess says, leaving you with the young bartender who’s currently pouring a guava-pink cocktail into two highball glasses. Jin, according to his nametag, acknowledges you with a nod and a smile, carefully garnishing his concoctions with mint leaves. “Good evening. I’ll be with you in just a second.”

You think to yourself at how fitting his name for his profession and how ironically similar it is to your ex, Jun. As usual, he comes creeping back into your mind like a never-ending itch lodged in the tiniest, unreachable corner of your brain. Maybe you’re the one keeping him in there, finding parts of him in every single thing you do, every different place you go, always feeling sorry for yourself. Lost in this reverie, you watch Jin place the drink onto a tray on the other end of the bar, where he signals for a waiter in the same palm tree patterned polo to pick it up. He lifts it up gracefully in one hand, heading into the dining area, ready to serve a beautiful couple who’s enjoying the soothing tunes of the Bario Brothers. Fingers entwined beneath the table, taking subtle glances at one another until they both meet each other’s gaze. They hold it there for a second, smiling like they’re sharing a private joke without having to verbally communicate it. It’s moments like this, where nothing spectacular is really happening, surrounded by noise and strangers. And yet, they feel like the only two people in the world because they’re so in love.

“Hello? Miss?”

You snap out of it, Jin waving a hand in front of you to bring you back from your trance. It seems he’s been in front of you long enough to have a concerned look on his face.

Embarrassed, you apologize, giving him your full attention. “I’m sorry. I spaced out for a second. It’s been a long day.”

His expression relaxes, relieved to finally hear a response from you. “I’m sure. Are you visiting from far away?”

You tell him where you’re from, to which he responds, “Oh lovely! I’m visiting family there next year. Have you lived there your whole life?” He pours you a glass of ice-cold water, sliding it towards you.

Taking a sip, you answer, “I have. But I actually just moved.”

“Where to?”

Something about his pleasant and genial demeanor puts you at ease, so you’re honest with him, telling him where you’re now residing as of a week ago, right before you left for this trip.

“How fun! I’ve always wanted to visit there. The food, the fashion, the culture.”

“Yeah,” you agree with him. “I’m excited.”

The couple to the left leaves, bidding farewell to Jin, who waves goodbye to them as he grabs the generous tip they left for him and puts it in the tip jar beside the register. Focusing back on you, he asks, “So what made you leave? School? Work?”

You could easily lie. Not even that, you could withhold the entire truth, keep your answers simple and uncomplicated. However, at this point, you decide to be an open book. Similar to with Jasmine, you feed off this feeling of telling your story to a kind soul who’s willing to listen. “Yeah, it’s for work. That and a breakup.”

You hold back a laugh at the way his eyes widen at this, yearning to know more. But he keeps his reaction tame. “Well, good riddance. Everyone deserves a fresh start, right?”

Thankful he doesn’t push it, you smile at him, nodding. “You’re right.”

He holds your gaze for a split-second longer, showing his solidary to you, before he points you to the menu. “Anyways, can I get you started with any drinks? We’ve got a wide variety of signature cocktails to choose from.”

Remembering the pretty drink from earlier, you ask, “What’s the one you just made? The pink one?”

“Ah! That’s the Guava Goddess. It’s guava nectar we make fresh each morning mixed with the island’s signature rum and a squeeze of citrus. It’s our most popular drink here.”

Sold by his mouthwatering description, you say, “That sounds perfect. I’ll take one of those.”

“Sounds good. How about some food?”

Too hungry and impatient to look through the options, you ask, “What do you recommend?”

“Well, if you’re looking to a try a few different things off our menu, I’d recommend Polly’s Paradise Platter. It’s basically a sampler of our three most popular dishes.” He taps on his fingers, listing each item’s description from memory. “The juiciest sliders made with grass-fed beef, topped with grilled pineapple, all in a freshly baked mini taro bun. Deep fried spring rolls perfectly crispy on the outside and super flavorful and meaty on the inside. And our special veggie fritters made of several types of root vegetables we grow right here at the resort, in the Cornucopia Garden. It’s paired beautifully with our sweet chili sauce, which is also made in-house. It’ll leave you happy and full, I can assure you that.”

You swallow the drool pooling on your tongue, more ravenous now that he’s described the food so vividly. “I’ll take that too!”

“Excellent! Charging to the room or would you like me to open a tab?”

“Room charge is fine. Room 703,” you tell him, pleased that this is actually going on your ex’s bill instead of yours. With that in mind, you add, “Also, make that two Guava Goddesses. I’m feeling extra thirsty tonight.”

Jin gives you a sly wink. “Coming right up.”

It’s empty at the bar now, though you can tell from the ambient noise behind you how packed it is in the dining area. People let out cheers for the Bario Brothers, who strum their guitars expertly while they croon into the microphone, harmonizing with one another in perfect pitch. Jin begins making your cocktails, his hands fluid and graceful as he works his magic.

“So, who’s Polly?” you ask, thinking about the name of the appetizer platter you ordered.

He grins, generously measuring three shots of rum into a cocktail shaker. “Well, as you know, this restaurant is called Bruno’s Bistro. Polly is Bruno’s beloved wife, who inspired all of his recipes. They grew up together right here on the island and got separated when he went overseas to work as a chef. They wrote love letters to each other every day until they were finally reunited back home, where he opened his own restaurant. Now, they live in a private estate up in the mountains. They visit sometimes to see how things are going, but their son is the one who’s taken over almost everything, and he’s great. Next year, they’ll be celebrating fifty wonderful years together, so we’re going to have a big party for both the staff and the guests.” He pours in the nectar next, eye-balling it, before covering it with the lid, ready to mix. “Pretty sweet, huh?”

“Very sweet,” you mimic him, watching him shake the bottle, not knowing what else to say. You think of Jasmine calling this place the “Island of Passion”, which you scoff at. If it is, with love hiding in every little nook and cranny this place has to offer, who’s to say that you’re even capable of receiving it? Maybe you’re not meant to be in love. Maybe it’s not in the cards for you to grow old with somebody, to spend the rest of your life by someone’s side. Why bother looking for love when there’s no guarantee that you’ll attain it, sustain it? You were with Jun for five years only for him to fall in love with somebody else. And while your track record isn’t very long, it basically yields a 100% fail rate. Might as well quit now.

You’re too busy sulking to notice Jin has pushed two attractive cocktails into your line of vision. “Your Guava Goddesses.” He holds up his own glass filled with water towards you. “To fresh starts.”

His tiny toast gives you a small glimmer of hope. You grab one of your cocktails to cheers him. “To fresh starts.”

You take a big swig of your drink, enjoying the bitter taste of liquor balanced by the sweet tartness of the guava and citrus. Another couple arrives, sitting three stools away from you, canoodling each other shamelessly. And that little ray of hope suddenly fades away, once again convinced that you’ll never love again.

Jin is busy with the canoodling customers, so you spare him from listening to your tiresome misery the deeper you get into your cocktails. You should have known that alcohol, a depressant, would sour your mood further, especially as a light-weight. Thankfully, your food arrives when you’re halfway through your second Guava Goddess, so you stuff your mouth with delicious sliders and fritters to stop yourself from using another unsuspecting staff member as your temporary therapist.

Polly’s Paradise Platter lives up to Jin’s high praise of it. Each item satisfies your hunger and leaves you craving more of it until you’re happily stuffed, about a third of the platter left for you to take back to room. You’re feeling better now that you have food in you to soak up the liquor that was sending you into a spiral. Now, you’re enjoying yourself, listening to the live music, which is wrapping up soon, and chatting to Jin about other restaurants to check out at the resort.

Suddenly, a young woman plops into the seat beside you, dressed stylishly in a white jumpsuit with a bejeweled plastic tiara on her head that displays the word Bride. She crosses her arms, grunting loudly, clearly upset.

Not wanting to pry, you avoid her, picking at the last melting ice cube in your drink. She lets out another groan, swiveling in her chair to face you entirely. “Do I look like an idiot right now?”

Startled, you immediately respond, “No, of course not.”

She bites her lip, eyes watering, holding back tears. “Then why is everyone treating me like I’m a fucking idiot?!”

Jin tries to step in to intervene, though you shoot him glance, telepathically telling him that you’ve got this handled. Leaning in closer, you talk to her calmly. “What happened?”

She takes a deep breath, smelling faintly of liquor. “I’m so sick and tired of everything. I’m ready for this whole wedding to be over with. I just want to marry Kai so we can start our lives together already. Everything else is stupid.”

A tear streams down one of her eyes and you hand her a napkin to wipe it. She does carefully, making sure not to mess up her makeup. “I’m pretty sure Lin and Jen hate each other and I know they’re not trying to show it for my sake, but they don’t even talk. This romper is so fucking annoying because I have to strip completely naked just to take a fucking piss. And dinner was four hours ago and nobody brought any snacks, so I’m going to be fucking starving while we’re dancing at the club! This sucks!”

You look at your plate of leftovers, then back at her, presenting her the only solace you can offer her at this time. “Do you want the rest of my food?

She stares at you, contemplating your bizarre suggestion. “Are you serious?”

“I promise it’s clean,” you mention, worried she’ll start yelling at you at how gross this is. “I did double-dip in the sauce, so maybe don’t use that.”

She cracks a smile, some of the stress on her face easing as she pulls the platter towards her, grabbing the last slider. “Thank you. You’re a real life-saver.”

You relax now that her wrath has subsided. “I was already finished anyways, so it’s really no big deal.”

Through a mouthful of food, she muffles, “You’re being a better friend to me than my bridesmaids right now."

“That’s not true,” you say, attempting to mend whatever drama is brewing between strangers. “They took you here, right? That seems really nice to me.”

She nods, biting into a spring roll, bits of the wrapper flying off. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

A blonde-haired man in a blue dress shirt and tinted spectacles takes the empty seat on the other side of the bar. You notice him from your peripheral as you chat with the crying bride-to-be. Still, you continue your pep talk. “Sure, Jen and Lin might hate each other, but they’re not trying to ruin your party. Maybe them not talking is better than them fighting.” It’s weird talking about these people like you know them, but you continue to roll with it, hoping to console her.

She nods, listening to you intently, stuffing the rest of the burger in her mouth. “Yeah, I can tell they’re doing their best.”

“Rompers are super annoying, but you know what? You look incredible. You’re going to be the star at the club tonight.”

She sniffles, giggling at the compliment. “I’d like that.”

“And you know what the best part is? Sure, all of this is overwhelming right now, but you get to spend the rest of your life with Kai. That’s all the matters, right?” You smile at her, hoping whatever you’re saying is resonating. In the background, Jin greets the handsome man with the glasses, offering him a menu.

The entire platter finished now, she smiles back at you. “Yeah. I love him so much.”

You ignore the pang of jealously in your chest as you hand her one more napkin to wipe her mouth, covered in crumbs.

Crisis averted, she lets out a sigh of relief. “I feel so much better. Thank you. I’m Kali by the way,” she introduces herself, offering her hand, oily from your leftovers. You do the same, grinning at her. As if just realizing something, she smacks her forehead with her palm. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She glances down at the empty plate, giving you a guilty look. “You were probably saving all this food for someone else, weren’t you? I’m the worst!”

You laugh, waving your hands at her in reassurance. “Don’t be sorry! I wasn’t saving that for anyone. I was only going to bring it back to the room with me.”

She props her elbow up on the counter, resting her chin on her palm. “Are you here on vacation? Or business?”

“Vacation.”

“Are you here with your boyfriend? Girlfriend? Husband? Wife?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I’m here alone.”

A brow quirks as she studies you intently. “By choice?”

“Well…no,” you admit nervously. “But there’s nothing wrong with vacationing solo!”

“I’m not saying there is!” Kali explains. “I figured an angel like you would definitely be with someone.”

The truth is on the tip of your tongue. You managed the whole dinner without mentioning it to anyone else, and you’re proud of yourself for that. Now you’ve made another new friend and think that maybe she’d be willing to offer you some comfort too. You swallow thickly, admitting, “I was supposed to be here with my boyfriend, but then he broke up with me. Now he’s paying for this vacation we had already planned as a way to make up for it.” You let out a chuckle, knowing it sounds ridiculous.

Kali stares at you, dumbfounded and unsure how to respond. Jin, who’s been in-and-out of earshot this whole time, happens to catch this and joins in. “Are you serious? Your ex is paying for your entire vacation?” By the looks of it, he’s making an old-fashioned for the attractive fellow, who thankfully doesn’t seem to be aware of your conversation.

You nod, confirming it. “Yup. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

Jin shrugs, pouring the amber liquid into a rocks glass, topping it off with a candied cherry. “Definitely not. You get a paid vacation and you don’t have to deal with a loser boyfriend? Good riddance.” His words he said to you earlier are said with more conviction this time.

“Jun isn’t a loser,” you argue, coming to his defense on instinct. “He…he fell out of love with me and fell in love with someone else. It happens.”

“Jun?! His name is Jun?! I’m even more ashamed to have a name so similar to his!” He groans in exaggerated outrage, leaving to serve his drink to the customer.

Kali comes out of her shock to hold your hand in both of hers, a soft expression on her face. “The bartender is right. Good riddance. I don’t know you and I obviously don’t know this ex of yours. If it was so easy for him to fall out of love, maybe it isn’t meant to be. And if it is, he’ll find his way back to you. But at the end of the day, you should be with someone who can’t even stand the thought of ever being without you.” She squeezes you gently, her gaze filled with earnest.

“What if I never meet anyone who feels that way about me?” You swallow thickly, blinking away the tears starting to well in your eyes. “What if I’m meant to be alone?”

Her look of earnest turns into determination. “If you want to be alone, then there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. People live their lives happy being single, and that’s great! But if you want love, you will find it. It may not be now, it may not even be soon. But it’ll happen, I promise you.”

You want to deny her, tell her that she can’t make promises like this because she doesn’t know what the future holds for you. Nobody does, not even yourself. But there’s so much tenacity in her voice that makes you actually believe it. You keep teetering on gaining hope and losing it all at the sight of a happy couple fondling each other in one corner of the bar. Maybe this time, with this new support from Kali, Jin, and Jasmine, you’ll make the effort to keep it. “Okay,” you answer, squeezing her back. “If you say so.”

Kali grins. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s find you another man!” She glances around, searching until her eyes land on the gentleman minding his own business, the stout glass of whiskey tipped to his lips. Spotting him, she leans in close, barely whispering. “This guy’s a little grumpy looking, but we’re going to change that.”

It takes you a split-second too late to catch her drift. Horrified, you try to stop her. “Kali, wait, don’t – ”

“You there!” She points directly at him. “Blond man in glasses!”

You hide your face behind your hands, cheeks scorching hot, mortified. Peeking through your fingers, you watch his head turn towards you, confused by this stranger addressing him so blatantly.

“What’s your name?”

Hesitant, he responds, “Nanami,” taking a sip of his whiskey.

“Nanami. Are you single?”

He chokes on his alcohol, quickly retrieving a napkin to wipe his mouth dry from the sputtering.

Kali claps her hands once. “I’ll take that as a yes! Well, you’re in luck good sir! My dear friend here is also single and is very ready to mingle. Are you interested? I bet she’s a real firecracker in bed – ”

Using physical force now, you grab onto Kali’s shoulders and turn her to face you, interrupting whatever nonsense she’s going to spew out next. “Okay Kali, that’s enough!” You mouth a guilty I’m sorry to him before returning your attention to your friend. “Please stop.”

“But why? He’s hot!” she whines, not bothering to lower the volume of her voice. You’re too embarrassed to look at Nanami again, certain you hear him choke on his whiskey once more at her bold proclamation.

You tighten your grip on her, desperate to make her shut up. “Kali, I appreciate the help, but I’m not here to look for another man. I’m here to relax, okay? I’m fine. I’m totally fine.”

“What about love – ”

You stop her. “If it happens, it happens. You said it yourself: It may not be now, it may not even be soon. But it’ll happen. So let’s just let it happen. Naturally,” you emphasize.

She opens and closes her mouth, trying to find a way to argue with you, though she can’t, especially now that you’ve recited a line from her very own peptalk. Eventually, she relents, nodding with you in agreement. “Naturally. Got it.” Picking aimlessly at the crumbs on the plate, she adds, “But you think he’s hot right?”

In perfect timing, a woman in a black cocktail dress comes stomping towards you, shouting, “Oh my god, Kali! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” She hauls Kali up to her feet, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, I hope she wasn’t bothering you.”

“Hey!” Kali protests, nudging her bridesmaid with her elbow. “We’re practically besties now!”

You smile at them, relieved and a little sad to see your new bestie go. “Not at all. It was nice meeting you Kali, and congratulations. I hope you and Kai live happily ever after.”

She beams at you, waving goodbye enthusiastically as her friend drags her away out the restaurant with surprising strength.

The Bario Brothers have since left and more people seem to congregate at the bar, so it seems like the perfect time for you to leave. Exhausted from all of tonight’s drama, you reach into your purse for cash, leaving a sizeable tip for Jin, who’s busy tending to the other customers now. You glance over to Nanami, who’s currently immersed in a basket of freshly baked focaccia bread. Hopefully he’s already forgotten, or at least disregarded, the little exchange from earlier.

Back inside your room, you change into pajamas and get ready for bed. When you’re tucked comfortably in the covers, you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the mattress that seems to mold around your body. It’s the most comfortable bed you’ve ever been on, and yet, you find it difficult to fall asleep. Insomnia is another condition you’ve been plagued with post-breakup. The empty space surrounding you is unnerving. You’re so used to having another person beside you, a small sense of security that provided you significant comfort. You never realized how much you needed that until now.

Twenty minutes pass, tossing and turning, switching out pillows, changing positions. Desperate, you get up to walk over to the balcony, opening the sliding door. The natural symphony of paradise outside fills you with ease. You listen to the soothing sound of waves crashing on the shore, the gentle breeze ruffling through the fronds of palm trees. Thankfully, it’s enough to lull you to sleep and by the time the sun rises, you’re relieved to make it to a new day in one piece.

~~~

When Jasmine at the front desk suggested Bruno’s Bistro to Nanami last night, he wasn’t expecting his dinner to be so lively. He’s been so used to keeping to himself during these little trips of his. That’s why it was especially alarming when a random bride-to-be at the bar called out to him, propositioning him to date the woman beside her, who looked absolutely mortified. It shocked him at first, sure. He was eavesdropping on their conversation as soon as he took his seat. While he’s vacationing solo, he likes to people watch as his own form of entertainment, make-up stories in his head or indulge the ones that strangers tell each other out loud. And luckily for him, there was plenty of that just a couple seats away from him.

He found the bachelorette’s insistent interrogation of that poor woman amusing at first, thankful that he wasn’t in the hot seat himself. Then, she revealed her story about her breakup, how her ex is paying for her to be on this vacation as some sort of consolation for breaking her heart. At that, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Nanami is used to being alone, prefers it. For others, it may not be so easy. Although her smile was warm, there was pain behind it, an aura of hopelessness that he’s used to sensing after so many years of dealing with curses who are drawn to energy like that. If they were anywhere else, he’d worry that she’d be an easy target to feed on.

It's because he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he was being called out to until the bride-to-be accurately described him as the “blond man in glasses”. From there, it was all downhill.

Luckily, the heartbroken woman with the pretty smile found a way to stop the madness, even finding the time to mouth a quick apology to him while she subdued the culprit. Normally, Nanami would be annoyed being bothered by strangers; this, however, he didn’t mind.

He smiles to himself as he takes another sip of his coffee, his eyes glued to the same words on the newspaper for the past ten minutes. His mind is replaying last night’s events, wondering if that woman is okay. He’s sure she’s embarrassed, though she seemed to take it in stride. Will he ever run into her again during his stay here? Part of him hopes to, just to make sure she’s enjoying this vacation to the fullest. After all, her shitty ex is the one paying for it all.

“Nanami?”

For the second time on this trip, his name is called out. He folds the newspaper down to see who it is and he’s shocked to find the very woman he had in mind standing in front of him.

“I’m not sure if you remember me from last night,” she starts, hands behind her back, chuckling nervously. “I’m actually hoping you don’t.”

“I do,” he admits, setting aside the paper, giving his full attention.

Her smile slackens a bit, disappointed that he actually does remember. “Okay, well then, I’m here with a peace offering.” She reveals a small bag, holding it out to him. “Consider this my formal apology for last night.”

He takes it, skeptical about what this could possibly be. It seems that she’s waiting for him to open it, so without further ado, he does. The aroma immediately piques his interest, and when he peeks inside, he can’t contain his excitement. “Is this…”

“Yeah, it is,” she answers before he can finish. It’s the famous almond croissant that sells out within minutes of the café opening. There’s countless of articles about this elusive treat, made specially by the resort’s most well-regarded pastry chef, who studied for years in France before returning back to their home island. Nanami had attempted a shot at it first thing this morning, but was met with disappointment when he was told it was all sold out.

Amazed, he asks, “How did you get this? Did you wake up early to stand in line?”

She huffs a laugh. “No. I sort of have this friend at the front desk now, Jasmine. She told me that the pastry chef bakes a special batch just for the staff. When I passed by her this morning, she gave me hers.”

He takes a big whiff of it, inhaling the intoxicating aroma into his bloodstream. “Really? That’s nice of her.”

“Yeah it is.”

There’s that sad smile again, hiding the pain within. He wants to ask her what’s wrong, wants to console her in any way he can. But he knows that would be crossing a line. Besides, why should he care so much for a stranger? Normally, he wouldn’t, so why now? What makes her so special?

He hands her back the bag, shaking his head. “I can’t accept his.”

“What?”

“This croissant is very sought after. I don’t know if you know that,” he explains, holding it even farther from him, refusing to be seduced by the scent. “It wouldn’t be right if I just took it from you.”

She waves him off, taking a step back as if touching it will make it hers again. “Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal. Please just take it.”

“No. I can’t deprive you of this special moment. It might be life-changing.” As much as it pains him, he’s absolutely determined to deny this croissant. He’s that serious about it.

They stare at each other for a split second, not knowing what else to do. Then, she laughs. A real one, genuine and hearty, warm and full. Her smile is even more pure, cheeks rounded, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Okay. If it means that much to you, then why don’t we share it?"

His chest does a strange thing, something he’s not familiar with. He ignores it to respond with a simple, “Fine,” pointing to the seat across from him at this small table. A compromise. Something the both of them can benefit from.

She sits down, taking a few napkins to surround the croissant as she splits it down the middle, giving him the slightly bigger half. “Bon appétit,” she grins, digging in.

Well, Nanami thinks to himself, taking his own bite into his share. It’s even better than he imagined, the dough perfectly flakey, the center sweet and nutty from the marzipan. It fills him with warmth and comfort as he chews it slowly, watching the women across from him do the same. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

#nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami fluff

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catastrophicdisasters · 5 months ago

Text

alright i need to ramble abt TUA s4 somewhere that isn't at someone who doesn't care lmao

putting it under a see more bc a lot of it is based on stuff that's been said in the recent cast interviews and could definitely be considered spoilers

tl;dr: a theory post about who, if anyone, i think is going to die this season (and why, ranked by how narratively coherent i think their death would be, and how it would - or wouldn't - round off their character arc)

emphasis on the "i think", as obviously this is my opinion on what i think would make a satisfying narrative

so, in one of the interviews from today, Robert is asked how he feels about the "kind of sacrifice" at the end of the story, and his response is "yeah there's a kind of death that happens" and to then wax philosophical about physical death vs the kind of death that happens when the memory or the person is gone, and how there's a "kind of passing that happens"

and like, most people are convinced that someone's going to die by the end of the season, myself included, but i've just had another idea Robert really talked AROUND the word death, saying "a kind of death" and "a passing", and with him talking about that 'do you die when you physically die or when nobody alive can remember you' style thing, I'm thinking that maybe someone gets themselves erased from the timelines

so they still EXIST, as theyre not physically dead, but because nobody can remember them, it's still a kind of death (exactly like Robert said)

whether or not that person retains their memories is kind of irrelevant, though them keeping them does make for a more tragically satisfying arc - they gave up their existence to keep their family safe/save the world, and yet none of them will ever look at them with recognition or love again, and will never truly know just what they did for them. i think that could be done really well, as there's a special kind of beauty in a character who is happy to accept their own end in order to protect those they love (also, if i wanted to get super analytical of that, i could draw parallels between that idea and the trailer's choice of song - The End; the opening song of The Black Parade album, the funeral song that kicks off the narrative album with themes such as the life that comes after death-)

now, with that said, i want to go off about who my top choices for death/erasure actually are:

well, first i want to say who i don't think it's going to be, and that's Diego and Lila. and that is because they've set up this little family arc for them via Lila's pregnancy, and right from ep1 it was established that Diego was the most attached to Grace - his mother figure - highlighting the importance of the parental figure in his life. both of them have a strong sense of detachment and independence / not needing anyone else, while actually longing to be part of something, to have a family unit. so with the two of them now being married and having a child together, especially given what Ritu said in an article - that "they are not really communicating and are snapping at each other" - it sets up the perfect arc for them to find their place, together, and forging the family dynamic they both so clearly want.

I could talk more about them (i.e, Diego having multiple instances that make reference to his desire to prove himself to his father, vs Lila collapsing post s2 because she just wanted to know if The Handler - if her mother - ever really loved her), but that's not the point of this post

so working backwards from who i think is least likely (and why, obviously):

Viktor:

- originally i had a big question mark over Viktor, bc ive always kind of struggled to pick up the threads of his arc, but even then i still don't think that death/sacrifice would be narratively satisfying for him? is it possible that he sacrifices himself to save his family? i mean… i guess? he's always been more passive and less confrontational than the others, so even if the opportunity presented itself i feel like someone else would probably beat him to the punch

- BUT, that's still not actually the reason i think it won't be him - it's because i think a more satisfying ending for him would be for him to have everything he was denied in childhood. with him coming out, they've set themselves up really nicely to push an ending for Viktor that has him finding himself, understanding himself, and finally being happy with himself. whether he ends up keeping and accepting his powers or not makes no odds as long as HE makes that choice for himself! let him be surrounded by family/people who love him for who he is, let him choose to live for himself and be happy!

Allison:

- i have a similar problem with Allison that i have with Viktor, in that i don't really know where her arc is going, at least as far as the Hargreeves are concerned. Allison's been pretty clear that her priority is her daughter, getting back to her daughter, protecting her daughter. and now she has her back. and she even has Ray back!

- i've never reeeeally been a fan of redemption through death (though there are exceptions), so the thought of her being the one to die/sacrifice herself to save the rest of the Hargreeves just… doesn't sit right with me. particularly because i'm also fairly sure i read somewhere that Emmy said that Allison is kind of "done" with the Umbrella Academy family stuff, and that she's all about being a mother again, which brings me to my next point;

- Allison dying would actually have more of an emotional impact on Claire and Ray than it would to any of the Umbrellas. and, as nice as Ray is and I'm sure Claire will be, they are not the major characters in this show. they are not the ones we have spent three seasons connecting and sympathizing with. would her death still have impact? of course! but i think that there's too much to resolve (such as the events of s3, the fact that she already feels done with them all) to make her death be tragic and satisfying, and to still wrap up everyone else's arcs and the story as a whole

- her finding a way to accept and love her Umbrella family instead of constantly trying to distance herself from them, and learning to balance the family of herself, Ray, and Claire, with her family within the Umbrellas feels like it would be more satisfying for her than sacrificing herself to save the Umbrellas / the world

- could she still end up sacrificing herself to save Ray/Claire, and that in turn leads to someone else dying? yes, absolutely! or something happens to Claire and she no longers cares about living because she can't lose her daughter again? also yes, but that feels a bit... too dark, even for tua

Klaus:

- i feel a little controversial, putting him so far down the list (he's still placed fourth out of eight, though), but the thing is - with his powers back, he is functionally immortal. at that point, the only way he's dying is if he chooses to die. which could still lead to a satisfying end!! the boy who was scared of the ghosts he saw, who became scared of dying, becoming the man who chooses to die? very tasty potential, there. contrasts very nicely with the fact that he kept bringing himself back to life without even realising

- buuuut, that would conflict with what we've heard so far about Klaus's storyline this season; Klaus becoming a scared-of-everything germaphobe, having to learn "how not to be scared of life", falling back into addiction, and learning new aspects of his powers. i don't really see how all of that would lean into a storyline of him accepting death, ya know? it's a lot to do, with not a lot of time to do it well

- i will say, though, that i do love the idea of him somehow finding Dave in the afterlife, and that being part of helping him to accept death - that he can be reunited with the love of his life (this falls apart, however, when you realise that Dave's actor isn't currently credited for any episodes on imdb. still doesn't mean that he won't be, but... makes it less likely)

Luther:

- i genuinely debated with myself about who gets third slot between Luther and Five, but ultimately decided on Luther (which i'll further explain during Five's section)

- Luther literally has no purpose outside of the Umbrella Academy. in s1, he was defined by his being the only 'true' remaining member of the Academy, and having been sent to the moon for a seemingly pointless mission (and even though we now know that he was sent there to protect Abigail - she's alive now, so that doesn't really need revisting). s2 also had him at a loose end - he was fighting simply because that's all he thought he was good at, he tried to give his relationship with Allison another go once he realised she was alive, only for it to turn out that she's married, and then he was a (frankly, terrible) spotter for Five during the paradox psychosis fiasco. s3 literally had him get kidnapped by the Sparrows without anyone really noticing, and although he did eventual fall in love and gett married to Sloane, she vanished with the resetting of the universe. Sloane, incidentally, also doesn't have her actor listed on imdb as returning for s4

- he doesn't really have a multi-season arc to finish off; in fact, the only consistent facet of his personality is his desire to protect his family and 'do the right thing', whatever that might be

- i feel like for him, a good arc to send him on would be him becoming comfortable in his gorilla-body and maturing into the confident leader that would be expected of a "Number One". but, given the way his character has evolved (or devolved) through the series so far, i don't really see them doing that

- in fact, i think it's much more likely that they kill him simply because they don't know what else to do with him. which, ya know, kind of sucks

- HOWEVER, i do think there is good potential in having the first major leader-like decision that Luther makes - free from the influence of others - being to sacrifice himself to save his family. the one time he stands up and says "no, i've made my decision, and it's time for you all to respect that" while also tying it back to his overwhelming desire to love and protect his family? oh yeah, that'd be some good shit right there

Five:

- my god please just let the old man rest

- so, i think Five is less likely to flat out die than Luther is, but i do think some kind of timeline fuckery is much more likely where Five is concerned

- considering what Adian has already said about Five's arc this season

- "He doesn’t know what his place is in the universe. When he goes on this emotional arc with Lila, for the first time, he feels there is a reason for living." - i honestly think killing him would be an incredibly shitty thing to do. having him finally, finally, find his place in the universe, after getting stuck in the apocalypse at THIRTEEN, where he finds his entire family dead, proceeds to then spend 40 years alone, trying to get back to his family, before being picked up by the Temps, turned into a killer, finally getting back to his family, only to end up stuck back in his teenage body AND having to deal with three weeks of constant apocalypses, to then kill him???? jesus christ that would SUCK. like, i'm aware i have bias because Five is one of my favourites and i think his arc has some insane narrative potential, but i cannot be the only one thinking that if they kill him after all of that it's just going to leave a bitter taste?

- THAT SAID!! that said, i do think that it's likely that he would be the one that ends up getting erased from various timelines in order to save his family

- his whole thing has been about getting back to his family to save them from the apocalypse - to have him find his ultimate purpose being to do exactly that? it makes sense!

- in erasing himself from this timeline in order to save it, his purpose also then becomes founding the Temps Commission, with the intention of preserving the new main timeline that he literally 'died' to create and protect (and considering that they technically exist outside of the timeline, who is to say this isn't all part of Commission Founder Five's master plan anyway? hell, given that the Commission resides in the year 1955, he can go play guitar with Marty McFly and bitch about the perils of time travel while he's there)

- it would also solve the awkward elephant in the room; the fact that as of s4 he looks 18 but is actually in his 60s. he can erase himself from the main timeline, putting himself back into his old man body, and retire in peace knowing he's successfully saved his family and given them a future by also saving the world

- it's so deliciously tragic

Ben:

- oh god okay here we go

- i adore Ben and don't really want him to die, but i'd be lying if i said that his death wouldn't be incredibly satisfying, in the way only a true tragedy can be

- we all know this season is going to be focused on him and how he is going to be the one to cause the apocalypse this time, so it ending with him would make sense

- Blackman (the showrunner) has also said that he "wanted to come full circle with the family relationship". what is the FIRST thing we know about Ben? he's dead

- for the first two seasons, he haunts the narrative in a literal sense by being a ghost that only Klaus can see and so still sort of interacting with things, but considering we don't yet know what the Jennifer Incident is and how it actually affected the Umbrellas moving forwards, it could turn out that he has also been actually haunting the narrative - he's dead but so much has been driven by the nature of his death

- i also just really love the idea that the first thing we learn about Ben is that he's dead, and that also ends up being the last thing we learn about him

- taking it a step further, given that the Ben in the recap was definitely Sparrow Ben, it would be disgustingly, delightfully tragic for the final fate of Sparrow Ben to be the same as that of Umbrella Ben - that nothing any of them did actually mattered, because in the end, Ben was always going to die (can you tell i like a good tragedy)

- also, going far too deep into it (to the point that this isn't so much evidence that Ben is the most likely to die, but just a nice little tie in), parts of Ben's arc very much tie into the narrative of The Black Parade. you know, the MCR album that the song they used in the official trailer came from. The Black Parade, as an album, opens with a funeral song (just like the show opened with a funeral) and then continues to go over The Patient's life after death, the experiences from the afterlife, and even reflecting back on his life. quite fitting for Ben, in a way

- ANYWAY! Sparrow Ben also spent a good chunk of his time in s3 desperately wanting to be part of the Umbrellas, but having no idea how to go about it. the thought of him sharing the fate of Umbrella Ben and therefore becoming just like him, becoming Umbrella Ben? poetic

- there is also my sort-of half-theory, that the reason Ben is being overloaded with the Marigold is that he's actually somehow channeling both versions of Ben, so has twice the amount he should have, thereby destabilising him in some way, and one of the Bens needs to die. but, that doesn't really tie into Jennifer in any way, because that wouldn't have happened in the original/main timeline

- Ben is also the only character to have actually existed as multiple versions of himself in the two timelines - again, it is a perfect tragedy for him to die in both of them. maybe this time they save him from the Jennifer Incident, only for him to choose to sacrifice himself to save them all. ergo, it didn't matter, it didn't matter, he was always going to die

- i really like a well executed tragedy, okay? i also feel like it's one of the few satisfying ways to successfully kill off a character. still hurts like a bitch, but at least it was worth something

okay well, this got sufficiently away from me! kudos to you if you read the whole way through, and i do not blame you in the slightest if you skipped through lmao i also probably missed a few things, and maybe got a few things wrong so uh, whoops on that

tl;dr: probably won't die: Diego, Lila unlikely to die, but possible: Allison, Viktor wouldn't surprise me if they died: Klaus, Luther probably won't die, but might end up erased from the main timeline: Five most likely to die (and would be beautifully tragic): Ben

again again - purely my opinion!! and also what i'd like to see, based on what i personally feel can make a good narrative!

good luck for the 8th brellies <3

#the umbrella academy #tua theory #tua s4 speculation #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #lila pitts #okay yeah this got VERY away from me #but it felt good to just. ramble about my thoughts where someone who cares about tua might see it #there's only so much my friends and partner can take lmfao #i have pre-apologised for the incoming autism event when s4 drops #morgan rambles #morgan speaks

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