tipsyon-tea

[tipsyon-tea]

Holidays are over

Back to full time work ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა

May or may not disappear off the face of the planet, we'll see how the new position goes!

[tipsyon-tea]

Cage the Wilds (Chapter 1)

Summary: You had learned the hard way that some secrets were best left buried, but when the phantoms of your childhood appear once more wearing smiling masks and circus clothes, you fear you may make the same mistakes all over.

Content Warnings: Mentions of blood and death

So often you have the same dream, twisted from memories long left behind.

You lay still in the darkness as the wind whispers through the canopy. Shivering and cold, cocooned by leaves and sticks smelling of damp rot and earth. Your hands are numb beneath the knitted gloves, clasped over each other as you wait and watch with the warnings of those who know better echoing in your head: don't ever light a fire near the woods. The only warmth in the bitter winter is the light that flickers far ahead of you. Dancing off shapes that don't make sense, twisting in ways the trees never did.

Sometimes, nothing happens. You lay frozen and still, until the fire dies and the darkness rolls in, and you start awake in bed in a cold sweat, the distant embers still burned into your retina.

In other dreams, they come. Gathering to the flames like deities of the night, no two shapes the same, but always seven. They circle and prowl, moving without grace or restraint. In those dreams, the flames seem to grow brighter. Rising and curling until the warmth licks your hands and you realise with a start that you are sitting amongst them. Holding your breath as they click and cheer in jubilee around the stone circle. One of the seven always sits next to you. His giant, lumbering form stoops with the weight of his knowledge. He is the only one amongst them who speaks in a way you can understand, plucking threads of the darkness to weave with the hope of embers into stories you never quite remember. You drift off against his side, and when you awake, you are met with the silence of the room and an unbearable sense of loss. A longing for the wilds and the simplicity of a time where magic was real.

Then there are dreams you don't remember. The ones you don't want to. They draw from things you wish would remain buried, filled with blood and screams and empty eyes of a face you loved.

Those are the dreams that remind you why you live far above the ground. In a gated box of concrete, metal and glass that locks from the outside. The woods are a distant concept, from so high up, visible from your little roost in a towering birdcage.

For the first time in years, something had been different.

You rested your head on your palm as you stared through the steam curling off your mug. Unseeing. Picking aimlessly at the sides of the table where the chipboard had started to flake. You already knew what had changed. You already knew why. The cold sweat had faded, the embers pushed safely back into the corners of your mind, but his face lingered. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot. The silent dread as something found your silent vigil.

The dreams where the creatures found you were few and far between, but the face of the thing that found you this time had been different. Filled with a too-wide grin that shone like the moon. Three long, curved horns that tapered into soundless bells and eyes that reflected the dancing flames. Its claws had been too large. Too close. Reaching into your hiding place as you laid in petrified silence.

“There is no turning back,” it had said in a voice coated with tar, dripping from its teeth. “There is nowhere left to run.”

You never saw how it ended. Whether the nightmarish rendition took you to join the circle of the campfire or dragged you deeper into the shadow of the woods. Instead, you woke feeling as if you had stopped breathing altogether. Heart lurching like the ground had tipped out from under you.

The sun hadn’t yet risen when you did. Its pale, delphinium blue barely touching the shadows of the horizon.

Now, hours later and on your second mug of the morning, it bled fire across the clouds, threatening the eyes of any who dared gaze upon it. You groaned, watching your heavy breath stir the surface of your drink. Some nature infommercial droned on in the background, set to a channel that played documentaries more often than it did the fresh miseries of the news. Better for your sanity, that way. There was always something going on in the world, and knowing about it seemed to make no difference at all. You tuned in just as the interviewer on screen asked a particular question, listening with some interest to the answer.

“I've always had a fascination with them,” the researcher said. Sporting a good-natured laugh while the footage that played on the screen showed an animal most wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. “It can be quite dangerous, trying to get close enough to make proper observations. We've had a few close calls out on the field, but their deadliness is what makes them such an interesting group to study.”

“Have you ever been bitten by one before?” the host asked, and before any answer could be made, the screen turned black with a quiet click. Your own, glossy reflection stared back at you, one arm raised with the remote. You looked tired, even from afar.

It doesn't matter. Your eyes slid shut as your head dropped back into your hands. You already knew it would make no difference. Bitten or not, people were drawn to the damndest of things, and by this point you should be twice shy. Yet the red ticket still sat in your bag, somewhere on the counter. A gift that wasn't covered in blood—small mercies—but the colour of it.

It was more civilised than the mangled carcasses they used to leave outside your window, at least. A hoarse laugh disturbs the steam above your drink as you realise, of all things, you were still considering going. Insane or curious enough to want to see what a circus of made of monsters would be like.

By the time the cup was nothing but bitter dregs, you were no closer to a decision. Whether you wanted to court that darkness beyond your understanding—and suffer for it all over again. Most dangerous and exotic things that people loved weren't capable of that feeling in return. They didn't follow you back to your home, leaving claw marks in strange places and bloodied gifts for you to find. Watching you from the shadows with eyes that shone like…

Cats. You pulled a face at the unhelpful tangent, leaving the table to rinse your cup in the sink. Yes, cats do technically fit that bill, but they don't kill people. Not unless you counted the larger ones…

The distinction became harder and harder to see.

You set the porcelain down on the rack, reaching for the towel to dry your hands, already dressed and ready as your thoughts drifted restlessly. Inhuman. He was one of them. Draped in red and gold finery, ruffles that framed his tearful mask, but there was no mistaking the strangeness in his eyes. The awareness, sharp and prickling, that settled in your bones the moment you made the mistake of extending your hand. It wasn't the sort of feeling you could mistake.

You had no idea what you looked like in that moment. What sort of face you made as you realised he was one of them. His eyes had shone like shards of pyrite, a fathomless black behind the strange material covering his features. He had still taken your hand, both taller than you expected, and somehow smaller than your memories provided. You'd been too stunned to say much after that.

You grabbed your bag and locked the deadbolt of your unit, restless as you took the elevator down to the common grounds. Pavement curved around the flower beds and trimmed shrubs, hiding none of the same secrets you once knew. You checked your bag for your phone. Keys and wallet, glimpsing the red ticket tucked into one of the corners.

His smile returned to you from the night before, warped to match that of your dream. You were still lost as to why he didn't attack you in the late night of the shop. Whether the ticket was gratitude for your help, or an apology for his trick with the lights—lurking in the dark while you feared he had returned to settle some perceived slight. He'd been so civil afterwards. Smiling and treating you with the sort of reverent attention that was hard to miss, and you had decided against calling him out.

They always did seem more comfortable in the dark.

You took the usual route, through streets that had more cracked gutters than pavement, full of gardens in varying degrees of disarray. Some resembled junkyards more than a place of residence. Others were a tangle of weeds and overgrown grass, fewer still showing signs of maintenance. Regular mowing and a lushness that came with irrigation. You paused at one in particular. A chicken wire fence with patches of grass struggling to survive. The earth that had been scratched bare, and its clucking residents, usually a comfort from the old memories of home, were nowhere to be found. You pushed down the pervasive sense of unease and continued onto the main street, pausing at the sight that greeted you.

He stood out like a sore thumb. Lithe and tall, dressed in satin green and gold trim. Black patterned hearts caught the light and tricked the eye as he waved little slips of paper at passersbys, and you watched the people dodge around him, struck by the absurdity of it all. Hiding in plain sight. Is the whole circus full of them?

The embers tucked away seemed to flare brighter. Thoughts swimming to the surface that you'd rather leave buried. You weren't part of those woods—you never would be—but you could never fully escape the envy of things that were. You weren't sure why these ones had decided to come here. Curious of humans perhaps, in the same way they had been drawn to the flames. Or perhaps a necessity. No where left to run.

The figure in green seemed to be able to talk, which made things easier. He turned as you made your way down his side of the street, radiating all the practised charm of those supermarket volunteers haranguing visitors at the entrance. “Care to visit the circus?" His voice was smoother than Pierrot's, anything uncanny easily explained as the hollow echo of his mask. "I'll bet you'll be surprised ♪ Here, take a flyer!”

“Thanks…”

He pushed the paper into your hands, and a glance confirmed it was identical to every other one you'd seen around. When you looked back up the menacing grin had grown wider, and the performer seemed to notice at once that you had stopped, rather than continuing on. Hard to say whether it's part of the act. He doesn't seem quite as friendly.

“Something you're curious about, little one?”

Much like Pierrot, his mask conformed to whatever features lay beneath. Lips shifting as he spoke, but never changing from that smile, as though he were merely mimicking words.

“I was just thinking that your masks are interesting,” you said. You'd never been able to tell if it was a reflective membrane that made their eyes glint like sunlight through stained glass, or something else entirely. “I haven't seen anything like it before—is it makeup?”

He hummed, considering you, then dipped into a bow that brought his strange features shockingly close. That uneasy awareness settled on your skin like oil, urging you to run. “Asking a performer about his mask? What a bold little monster. Are you really sure you want to know what's underneath~?”

“I wouldn't ask you to take it off,” you said automatically. His eyes were close enough to see how the viridian green floated above the black, glinting like lamplight. Despite the strange undercurrent of his tone, you didn't pull back. Not just yet, when you didn't know if you'd get another chance to observe them in the bright light of day. Perhaps you could put your curiosity to bed once and for all. “I figure it's not something you show to random people. I just haven't met a travelling circus before… What made you want to join?”

He raised a brow, and there was a sliver of comfort in the fact he seemed to be just as puzzled by you, his head tilting at an angle that seemed more natural than his expression.

“Why? Little one, what's not to love about the circus? ♪”

“You tell me,” you said, ignoring the surreallness of the situation. “We haven't had one visit town before. Although I'm not much a fan of… loud sounds.” The screaming. You'd never get the screaming out of your head. “Is it very noisy?”

His eyes seemed to narrow with the widening of his smile, that prickling awareness at the back of your neck growing stronger. “Hm… in places. Some do so love to cause a stir. But I much prefer the stories told by the silence. Isn't it much more fun, looking for the things that people don't say?”

“...you're very good at not answering questions.”

“Heh!" He brought a hand to his mouth as he straightened, and a tension that you hadn't realised you were holding eased. "What a sharp tongue. But it wouldn't do for me to give away too much~ Unless... you were to obtain a special ticket."

He was sounding more and more like a car salesman the longer you talked to him. "I'm okay, thank you-"

"Oh don't fret. It's nothing sinister. All you need to do is happen across someone offering a pink ticket, and be sure to accept ♪ We're running a very special promotion."

Your smile slipped, losing an unexpected foothold in your understanding of the situation. Another puzzle. He was watching you carefully. Just as intently as you were trying to understand him.

“A pink ticket?” You remembered Pierrot's face when you showed it to him, something sharp and unusually hostile in his expression. Indeed, counterfeit. He had said, giving you no choice in the matter. I would not want you to encounter trouble at the entrance. This one's smile looked like the definition of it. “I... did receive one of those. I thought it might have been fake.”

“Oh! You got one already?" You grew more certain. Nothing good could come of the glee that crept into his tone, voice dropping to a velvety purr as he regarded you more closely. "Wonderful~ That does make things so much more fun.”

“Fun how, exactly?”

He brought a finger to his lips. “That's a secret.”

It was perplexing. The entire situation. Monsters in jester caps handing out tickets veiled in threats. It was nothing so simple as a campfire in the woods—then again, maybe that had never been simple. You'd only been too young to grasp what was beyond your understanding.

“I see. Well... thank you, for entertaining my curiosity.” That sharp curve widened across his smile again. The one that said he found your words particularly amusing. “And excuse my manners. What was your name?”

His bow felt mocking, somehow. “I'm the Harlequin.”

A moniker. Or perhaps something different—the monsters in the woods had never talked of names. Nor had they ever asked for yours. “That's a role, not a name.”

“So many questions~ Are you that taken by me?”

Still dodging them. “Just curious how the circus works, but I won't pester you any longer. I have to get to work myself.”

“Of course.” He stepped aside, and the hand at his smiling mouth spoke more of hunger than joy, when his eyes were curved up into that crescent glint. “By all means, don't let me keep you.”

“Good luck with your flyering-”

You moved past him, thoughts already turning to what exactly Pierrot had said, only for your heart to leap into your throat. Sharp-tipped claws sunk into your arm, just above the elbow. Tugging you back as a warm breath met the side of your neck. His chuckle low near your ear. “Do be sure to visit soon, little one ♪ I look forward to seeing what your experience will be like~”

He didn't stop you as you jerked away, hand flying to your throat to cover the warm flush that spread like a contagion.

Too close. He had been far too close to your neck for a creature with teeth meant for tearing through bone and sinew. You couldn't get your heart to slow. Your body insisting on oxygen it didn't need, because if you had to run, it would already be far too late.

“Until we meet again ♪” Harlequin sung, and you could still feel the prick of those long-fingered claws he waved at you. You couldn't collect your thoughts. There was no response that felt adequate when the busy street didn't feel half as safe, phantoms moving in the shadows of alleys.

“Yeah,” you said, finally gathering yourself to leave. Properly this time. With your wits about you. “...bye.”

Harlequin laughed, and he seemed to like the way you found it hard not to look back as you hurried off to work.

I usually go back over old stuff and edit things obsessively, so if I make any changes I'll leave a note. Thanks for reading!

Still getting the hang of second person pov, since it's meant to be—*checks notes*—"not a defined character".

...

//tosses notes

I'm not sure I understand how reader-insert works, hahahah.

The dividers are by @darthsuki , TFC belongs to @nekoboydreams . I had this all written up and ready to go when that ask came out about what Harlequin would do if the MC said they still had the pink ticket, which was great because I had based this off a similar premise (´▽)>

[tipsyon-tea]

Broken Bells (Harlequin x Reader)

A/N: A small scene about sneaking up on Harlequin. I am not well practiced with the second person pov, but this idea didn't fit any characters that I have. That being said, it's so weird writing without a set personality?? How do you know what a reasonable response is??

I did have an idea for an extended interaction with Pierrot intervening at the end, but that would probably have doubled the length, and I still have other stuff to write lol. If I do get the motivation in future, I might do a part two.

TFC of course belongs to @nekoboydreams , and all the wonderful info he has provided about the characters.

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He was there again. Not near enough to the shops to get in any sort of trouble from the business owners, but sticking out like a sore thumb between you and your destination. It was perfectly reasonable for him to be there. The other circus members did their flyering all over town. It was just curious that Harlequin had picked this street after discovering you worked there.

You watched him wave the little paper slips at passersbys. An invisible line seemed to surround him following where he went, and whether by conscious choice or not, no one had any interest in crossing it.

You turned back on the building you'd passed, finding the rear lane where everyone stored their bins and discarded rubbish. Some drunks must have taken up residence the night before, and you ignored whatever was crawling around in a split-open bag as you found the street opening closest to Harlequin.

He always seemed to have an eye on the surroundings. You doubted there was much that didn't go unnoticed, but maybe you were being a little vain thinking he was angled towards the direction you usually came from. Either way, if he was going to make a habit of lurking around your workplace, you might as well have some fun with it.

You waited a moment for him to spot whoever his next target would be, and you failed to hide a grin as you crept along the wall towards him. They're just sitting there like… little baubles. I can see why cats always want to have a go at the Christmas tree.

Inching close enough at last, you reached out, tapping one of the bells dangling off the end of Harlequin's colourful hat, blinking when it only gave you a hollow little tink.

He snapped his head so quickly towards you that it could have smacked you in the face had you been standing any closer. You stumbled back with a laugh, and the sharpness in his gaze eased to amusement as he registered your presence. Shame, there had been something thrilling in his momentary annoyance. None of the intensity cloaked by his sticky charm.

“Your bells don't work,” you said, beating him to the punch. Your disappointment at the lack of sound was more than made up for by having caught him off guard, his hand half raised towards his hat as if to prevent it from being pulled off. He raised a non-existent eyebrow, covering the motion with some needless adjustment to the headpiece, brushing clawed fingers through his hair.

“How bold. Trying to catch my attention, are we?” You would have rolled your eyes at his theatrics with the usual disregard, but he was quick to step forward. Closer than usual, ignoring the fact you were both on a busy street. The issue with having snuck along the wall, as successful as it had been, was that when you stepped away in surprise, it pressed firmly into your back. “Alright. You have it now, my dear. What entertainment can I provide for my captive audience?"

You snorted, although the sound came out weaker than you intended, rattled when he raised an arm to block your path towards the coffee shop. It may have been preemptive to think he wouldn't try anything on a busy street, his unnatural eyes narrowed in amusement.

“Nothing really,” you said. It wasn't as if he were blocking you on both sides, but his gaze tracked as you edged towards the open exit. “Though, isn't it a bit strange for a clown to have bells that don't work?”

His smile widened, and you had the sinking feeling of a mouse that just stepped into a mousetrap. He didn't dignify the comment with a direct response, instead leaning down until you could hear your pulse in your ears. “If you're going to insult me, dear-” He caught your arm when you tried to sidestep, claws sharp through the fabric as he held you just long enough to hear his whispered response. “-I am going to assume you want me to find a way to keep your mouth shut.”

Shit. You froze, aware of his hand on you as much as you were the passing traffic, breath caught in your throat. You hadn't expected him to get this close. Not when they were given enough trouble just flyering—actively cornering a passerby against the wall would have the police called. And yet, on this particular occasion, no one seemed to care. He stepped away before they could change their minds, your heart still in your throat as you tried to figure out how serious he was being. He hadn't done that before. Actively touched you. Kept you in place with anything more than playful words and gestures, although he seemed to like the impact it was having.

You remembered to breathe, trying to ignore the feeling of phantom claws against your arm. “Touchy about being called a clown, huh.”

“You think so?” He tilted his head, the bells swinging silently on either side of his amused expression. “You looked like you wanted a reaction out of me, dear. Was the one I provided not enough? Or perhaps you were hoping for… more.”

You weren't getting anywhere, brushing off the part of your arm where he'd grabbed you. Telling him your intentions was only going to provide further ammunition, so taking a deep breath you straightened yourself up, informing him in no uncertain terms that you were going to work. He didn't stop you, but his dark laugh seemed to follow you further than it had any right to.

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Thank you for reading! If anyone has ideas for other short scenes, feel free to leave a comment, I'd love more ideas to write ("≧∇≦)

[tipsyon-tea]

After the Puppet Show (Harlequin x OC)

Okay, so this was somewhere in the vicinity of chapter 3 or 4 of a story that I had planned, but the scene refused to leave my head until I had given it the proper attention (yes, fuck you very much, Harlequin).

Please heed the warnings below, as this one leans pretty heavily into the game themes. It's based on a route where the MC (currently an OC, but may change to reader pov later on), visits Harlequin's tent after eating the circus food.

Content warnings: drugging, manipulation, predatory behavior

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Standing at the back of Harlequin's tent as his story concluded, her head felt less like spinning wheels and more like the sticky cotton floss that so many of the circus stalls sold. The air was too warm, or maybe she was cold—maybe it was all the other way round. Her eyes slipped shut, pressing a hand to her head as her brow furrowed. Am I getting sick?

"Thank you! Thank you, little monsters!" Harlequin called out to his departing audience, his voice carrying that same theatrical lilt she'd heard when he'd confronted her on the street. She let the chatter fall around her like water, focused on taking deep breaths in as the crowd's energy faded. She felt... strange. Like she should be happy. Like the world was warm and underwater, but none of that was normal.

It wasn't right. That was all she could think, as the heat crept up her neck and she was too aware of her every breath. In and out, praying that it wouldn't become worse, that the soft trembling didn't turn to shaking and nausea.

Health code violations. Memories of the news hit her with sickening clarity, and she wanted to throw up whatever she had eaten earlier. Get it out of her system before its full effects could come in. Fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck.

The tent hadn't felt stifling when she'd entered, but now the air seemed thick, almost syrupy, as she watched the other file out, afraid to move and make it worse. It was quieter. A blessing or a curse that no one exiting the tent had seemed to notice.

"I'm glad you came to see my show," a voice remarked, and it took Miette a moment for her to register Harlequin's scheming tone. A second longer still to place that it was directed at her. She raised her head. The heart patterns on his costume seemed to shift and dance in the light that haloed him, and the verdant glint of his eyes mesmerising in a way they hadn't been before. "I was hoping you'd be watching."

"It was… good," Miette said slowly, trying not to make it obvious. She needed to get out. Call a taxi home. Come collect her car in the morning, if she was well enough.

He hummed, seemingly pleased as he brought the sharp claws to his mouth, smiling like a off-colour cheshire. "Yeah, it's a pretty old story from the circus. It's a tradition to tell it on certain nights..."

She found herself staring at the way his mask moved, more than his words. Losing her trail of thought in the momentary fascination. How does it do that?

"Oh!” She blinked at his remark, the unease returning as soon as he stepped closer. “I see you're wearing my gift! That makes me so excited!"

Why? She followed his gaze to where the green pin glittered against her collar. She'd forgotten she was still wearing it. The morning felt so far away, and she was too warm. Breath shaky as she tried to hide the fact from him.

"It’s… nice." The stumble in her voice surprised her. She grimaced as the knowledge settled like a heavy stone in her stomach.

"It looks good on you," he said, irrespective of her lapse. He was still talking, and she really didn't have the bandwidth to process it. The air swam around her, saturated with green, and her gaze blurred at the tremor in her hands. "Almost... too intimate. Did you like it? Or are you trying to tease me-?"

"I'm not okay,” she said abruptly. Her voice sounded hoarse, even to her. His insinuative words registered, but catalogued and dismissed. His attentions were flattering, but he wasn't aware yet. He wouldn't know to be concerned. “I'm not… there's some wrong.”

The world was so much more. Brighter. Like someone had mixed being drunk on stage with too much coffee.

His head tilted, the shadows across his expression darker with the way the glittering stage lights shone behind him, the glare in her vision was sharper than it should be. “Not feeling well… ah. I do wonder.”

She froze at the edge of his clawed glove against her neck, nearly jerking away as he leaned in. It took a moment to register his focused expression. His touch was too invasive to be anything but suggestive, and yet too intent. She felt dizzy as the cold clawtips came to rest under her jaw, against her pulse, and she had to remember to breathe before it got any worse. Carefully, connivingly, his other hand crept across her chin, tilting it upwards. She would have been more cognisant of the change, more opposed to his blatant gestures, if the slight movement wasn't making the whole tent spin.

“Fluttering like a bird,” Harlequin said quietly, and his sharp smile was distinctly pleased. “How delightful! You look magnificent, darling. Out of breath for me already, and I've barely touched you…”

Fucking hell. She tore back with a snarl, stumbling and catching the tent wall as the movement disagreed with her spinning thoughts. So much for his concern.

“Don’t,” she strained, and there was plenty else she wished she had the fortitude to spit at him. Like what the hell was his problem, for one. “This is not- I'm not…” she had to take a deep breath, fighting through a strange cascade of warmth. “-well.”

He spread his hands, his smile as wide as ever as he took a step back. “Oh, don't take me so seriously! It took me a moment to realise, tenacious little thing that you are, but your heartbeat is much too quick.” His smile crept higher, and the walls of the tent seemed so much smaller. “How I would love to claim it my doing, but you're much too clever for that now, aren't you? Perchance, did you have anything to eat before my show?”

Some distant part worried that she was putting too much weight on the tent wall as she parsed his words. Worried whether the heavy fabric might topple down on them if she pulled too hard. His question took longer to register than it should, forcing her hazy mind to focus.

"The… food. I did. It was..." Different. Even a circus of horrors had fairy floss, but the blue had tasted different from pink and- fuck, tell me I wasn’t roofied by fairy floss. That was taking the theme too far. She pressed the other palm to her forehead, like she could hold herself together with the pressure alone, but she was still no closer to knowing if she was too hot or too cold.

“Ah! So you did,” Harlequin crooned. “And for you to come to my tent…” He must have seen something in the glare she shot him, and his smile didn't falter; not in the least—if anything it grew wider—but he didn't finish whatever thought he was having. “Well, it's nothing to worry yourself over, Madame. Just some ill-spirited guests spreading the cheer around the circus. I thought those pesky health inspectors shut them all down, but…” He brought his hand to his chin in contemplation, slitted eyes curving up. “You seem to be one of the… fortuitous few.”

This didn’t feel fortuitous. Not in the least. She frowned as she tried to wrap her tongue around that response, but her mind was moving so much quicker than she could get her body to cooperate with. “The food…? No. I need-”

A hospital. Somewhere that could test whatever the hell was in her system. Give her something before it got any worse. She struggled to pull out her phone with one hand, trembling fingers tapping all the wrong numbers on the homescreen. She nearly dropped it when she fumbled, before a green-fingered glove appeared in her view to hold it steady.

“There's nothing to worry about, Madame.” Her skin crawled with the awareness of his proximity, leaning back into the tent wall as he loomed over. He wasn't taking the device from her, not yet, but he was… close. “I have seen it before in a number of attendees. Nothing wrong with them, mind you. They can get rather noisy, but who are we to stop our guests from enjoying the festivities?"

She took a deep breath, only for it to catch when she realised it was full of whatever complex scent he wore. Something rich and dark that smelled devastatingly nice. She changed her mind, taking shallow breaths as she closed her eyes against the wooziness. “You know what it is?” she said faintly.

“Nothing harmful,” he assured, which said nothing at all. “Something to make people looser with money, perhaps. Tell me, what exactly are you feeling right now? I am rather curious as to the effects."

She opened her eyes and finally hit the right combination to unlock her phone, silently swearing to change the code later, since he had so obviously seen. No sooner had she selected the phone icon than her screen clicked off. The roof of the tent stared up from the reflection on the black screen, framed by the clawed, green-fingered glove holding it steady. Miette saw one of his fingers laying surreptitiously over the power button, and yet... She wasn't sure who she intended to call in the first place. A taxi, maybe.

“Are you able to hear me, ma’am?”

Her gaze flickered up and she realised she hadn't retained at all what he had said. Harlequin had a strange smile. One side lifted higher with his raised brow, as if he found her incomprehension a peculiar delight.

She was still figuring out whether to ask him what he said or why he had turned off her phone, when the device disappeared completely from her grasp. She found it in his hand. Turning over idly as he considered her instinctive reaction.

“Hey-!”

“Aha, there we go.”

She was already reaching for it when he met her halfway, closing what little distance there was until she was forced in the other direction, stumbling back against the tent wall. His smile was much too close, the green in his eyes tracking her expressions.

“Best not to call someone when you struggle even to respond to me, don't you think?” He made a show of slipping her phone back into the bag slung over her shoulder, but didn't give her the distance back after. His hand continued around the curve of her waist and she tensed, forgetting to breathe as he tried to coax her from the green tent wall. “Shall I provide you somewhere to rest, until you're in a better state, Madame? Surely you don't want to be seen like this, stumbling around the circus. I can only imagine your mortification…” Though his flash of amusement said he didn't consider it a bad thing.

Absolutely fucking not. On all counts. Her head was working perfectly fine, despite the heavy fog, and going anywhere alone with him was the worst possible outcome.

“‘m fine,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut against a wave of dizziness. She was aware of his gentle insistence on shifting her balance towards him. That was easier to understand than his words.

She dropped to the ground, for lack of a better solution. Harlequin half tried to catch her in his surprise but she shoved that away, landing heavily into the tent fabric with the breath knocked out of her. As soon as she was down she knew it had been the better choice. The foam floor wasn't clean, but she didn't care about that. It was easier to think when she wasn't investing half her efforts into staying upright. When his eyes and scent weren't overwhelming whatever little focus she had left.

“'ll stay here,” she breathed, staring down at the checkered mat and the mismatched patterns on his shoes. It relieved her of some of the spinning. Let her think how she was going to get out of this without becoming another girl on the news. She could text someone. Scream. Call an ambulance. Fight him off, maybe. None of that seemed like a proper solution.

Harlequin lowered himself slowly. Crouching to her level, until he balanced on the heel of his boots and his hands rested clearly within her sights.

“Interesting~” His voice floated over her, and she dragged her head up to gauge his shadow-cast grin. “You're more aware than you let on, aren't you?” One of his green-fingered hands reached outwards and she flinched. There was little else she could go to move back as he grasped below her jaw, tilting her head. Examining her properly underneath the light. “I'm curious. What exactly did you imagine I was to do, my dear? Take you somewhere and have my wicked way?” His touch followed when she tried to jerk her head away, guiding her back to his poisonous, nauseating words. “Defile you, heart and soul, until my name is engraved on your tongue?”

No. Or was it yes, that was exactly what she expected, when he spoke with a smile full of terrible things? Some fearful, rasping plea rose at the back of her throat, and his touch gentled at whatever he saw.

He tapped against the side of her jaw, perhaps to check her reaction. To know she was still there, listening, transfixed by equal measures of horror and suffocating uncertainty. He chuckled, leaning in until his breath was a whisper against her ear, and his poisonously sweet scent seeped into every part of her awareness. “Either way, you'll choose me over that silly Pierrot, dear one. And when you do, I'll make sure there's no part of you left for him to claim~♪"

"Shhh, dear one. No need for that. I told you not to take me so seriously.” Her gaze flashed with anger at that, easier to glare than articulate the growing pool of things she wanted to call him out on. The hand at her jaw softened to the prickling touch of claws at her throat. She shivered, and he seemed satisfied with that, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “What would be the fun in having you like this? You'll come to be sooner or later, driven by a desire that consumes you from the inside out. Or perhaps... hmm, we'll see~”

♤⋅•⋅♡⊰∙∘༓☆༓∘∙⊱♡⋅•⋅♤

[tipsyon-tea]

Ray ☆

[tipsyon-tea]

Seconded! This fic is my comfort food while waiting for the demo (≧▽≦)

It's beautifully written, and Veil always does an amazing job at bringing characters to life ♡

Hello!

I wrote a little fanfic for A Seat at the Table, an upcoming game by very talented artist @quieteeks! I just got through the first chunk, so I thought I would share. I’m really pleased with myself for sticking to it! And I’m very, very excited for when the demo arrives.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63177982/chapters/161806402

[tipsyon-tea]

Well, it's no Broken Colours, but Homicipher has taken up residence in my prefrontal and its inhabitants are demanding release.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

She lost her heart somewhere in that dark, winding maze, and somehow, somehow, she's going get it back—even if it means she has to take on every threat of the otherworld with a still-bleeding hole in her chest.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

The ringing of a phone startles her from the stupor. Loud and abrasive, like a jittery metal bar. She hates the sound. Hates the sound so much. It echoes at the back of her eyes, dragging her into thoughts of endless ruined mornings, and her hand shoots out to knock the handle off its perch.

She meant to grab it, used to nimble fingers that would manage such a task. When she cracks an eye open she sees her hand is mottled. The ends dark and stiff, skin like tar beneath the nails. All she's managed to do is knock the top part of the device onto the ground, but at least it makes the wretched sound stop. 

The crackling voice that emerges in its place is barely loud enough to hear. She strains her ears. Willing herself to listen through a head full of cotton, since more than anything else in the world right now, she knows it never rings twice.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64557085/chapters/165799915

[tipsyon-tea]

[tipsyon-tea]

Me making a dead dove wh comic she will never share: this really isn't ic but I HAVEEEE to get the idea out

Me after reading ao3 dead dove fic: ok I suddenly feel a lot better about my characterization actually

[tipsyon-tea]

Blind Spot - Deleted Scenes - Ch 6

Chapter 6 was excruciating. It was meant to be a chance for the Damon and the MC to open up more, but no matter what I tried I wasn't happy with it. I ended up with endless scenes of them having meaningful conversations in the rain that didn't fit the development of the relationship. Eventually I gave up and let the MC do as she pleased.

Technically spoilers for the main story, but the final draft ended up completely different, so also not. I'd be interested to know from people who've read the main chapter which version they prefer.

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

The rain crashed against the world around them, falling in rivulets off the roof of the pavilion onto leafy garden beds. It was everywhere. Sheets of water lashed the city in rolling waves, leaving the air with a chill unsuited to the summer. 

“Can I see?” Damon spoke quietly, his body angled towards her as they sat side by side on the stone picnic table. His much longer legs were bent towards her, crowding close enough to feel a phantom warmth, but never quite touching. She frowned and curled her obsidian tipped claws between her knees, trying to push back the itch underneath her nails. The tension like a second skin that wanted to twist and shape her bones into something unrecognisable.

 “You want to know what my hands look like,” she said, frowning as she considered it. It wasn't so much what he thought of her abilities—she didn't care about that. If he was repulsed, that made everything easier. The issue was the feeling that she was giving away her advantage. Losing the element of surprise, as irrational as it was. The nervous, uncertain energy continued to radiate off him and he hadn’t looked away once since joining her under the shelter. Her neck prickled under the scrutiny, hairs raised around her nape.

He's not a threat, she had to remind herself. He wasn't about to attack her, though she was less worried about that, and more about the possibility he’d try to make a move. 

“You don't have to show me,” he said, waving his hands. She tried not to twitch at the sudden movement. “I was just curious-” He calmed down enough to fiddle with the ends of his hair instead, glancing to and from, “-since it seems like something you struggle to control.”

She withheld the urge to ask why he was sitting so close to her if he knew that. “It's more present when I'm nervous,” she said instead, curling her fingers inside the pockets around her waist.

“You're nervous?”

That’s not it. Her mouth formed a thin line as she looked over the railing of the pavilion into the rainswept gardens. Nervous was for things you wanted to do well at. This was closer to wariness. Apprehension. “I guess.”

Her skin crawled under his stare, squirming with uncertainty as to what came next. She staunchly avoided looking at him, so she could only draw from her periphery if he made any sort of movement. 

“I'm… nervous as well,” he said softly. 

That didn't help. If anything, the edge of anxiety that radiated off him made it worse. Taking a breath, she tried to ward off the lingering malignance. “You want to see what my hand looks like,” she reiterated, not convinced it was a good idea. He'd been the one to ask though, and she didn't see why she should say no. She should show at least a token of trust. 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she withdrew the hand closest to him. Turning it over to show him the claws seeped in deep purple. He paused, breath caught in his throat as he stared. Reaching out only to hesitate, and she saw his eyes flicker to her for guidance. Perhaps trying to read the frown on her face. 

“I think they're beautiful,” he said quietly. Like he knew the ice was liable to crack. 

Her fingers twitched, lip curling back, but his hands still hovered. Inches from clasping her own. She managed to keep the change restrained, fingers bleeding darker in colour, but it barely scratched the surface of their actual form. She pressed her lips shut to hide the sharpening teeth.

Nothing about this was pretty, unless he was deluded. Everything was a snarling mix of uncertainty and conflicting instincts, no peace brought by the rain to sooth her. There was no point taking the first step if she despised how it had to end-

He seemed to decide she was okay with it, and both his palms wrapped around the sides of her claws to cradle her hand. They were warm and soft. Shorter than hers—how he didn't fear her she didn't know—but gentle. His thumbs brushed soothingly along the sides, and she had to force the deep breaths through her teeth.

This couldn't be all he wanted.

“I-Is, uhm, is it always this close to the surface?” he spoke again, stumbling more than she expected. She glanced up to see why and actually took in his expression—even through the monochrome shadow of the clouds, she could see the nervous flush of his cheeks. He could be sick or upset or infatuated for all she knew of an expression like that. The idea he could look at her—claws out like she was ready to attack him—and be enamoured seemed the most absurd. 

“It’s more present when I'm nervous,” she said, voice rough. True of most Huevari like her. It was a sign any sane person would take as meaning ‘back off’, but he either had no clue of the threat or chose to ignore it, giving her hand a soft squeeze.

”You don't have to be nervous,” he said, sounding twice as uncertain as she felt. He traced small circles against her palm, which made the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. “I like you and… I want you to know that something like this would never change that.” 

Not the problem- She tried not to bristle, reminding herself the point was to make it work, not send him conflicting messages. The sentiment behind it was nice. Sweet. Probably romantic in any other scenario—except she didn't care what he thought of it. Her concern was everything to do with how far he would push her. 

“What do you mean by ‘like’?”

“Huh-?” He glanced up, reddening under the scrutiny. “C-can you explain that a bit more?” 

“Like, in what… sense.” She frowned, struggling to put the thing that had evaded her this whole time into words. “Whether you meant my personality. Or the idea of dating. Or if you meant you liked how I looked, or a casual sort of thing…” 

Her head spun with thoughts of what his intentions were. What he wanted out of this if she said yes. How he'd feel when he found she had nothing but issues to offer. She probably imagined the way his grip tightened around her palm. 

“I… don't mind answering, but-” Looking up, she was in fact correct. His shadowed eyes seemed darker than usual, gazing down at her with a gravity that seemed more appropriate for the issue he’d been ignoring. “Please, can you just-” He struggled for what to say, holding her hand tighter between his own. “Tell me what it is you're thinking first? Anything? I want to know if I'm doing this right.”

Her mouth opened, then shut again as she tried to pin down anything that would actually make sense. “Give me a moment,” she said, taking a deep breath in. Out of interest, she tugged her hand back, wondering if he’d let go. His grip only tightened, far more noticeably than it had before. Making it clear he was keeping it in his grasp. 

She found she didn't mind. The rain drummed against the tiles of the pavilion, filling the silence with the patter of water against leafy fronds. She could sense his agitation growing as her non-response stretched, but he remained dutifully silent. Which was arguably worse than if he interrupted her. 

“I guess, I…” She spoke, simply to ease herself into it. His thumbs pressed into her palm to hold it in place, and she let her fingers curl over, the sharpened edge of her nails grazing against his much softer flesh. “I have a lot of thoughts. Too many. They keep assassinating each other over which one gets to go first.”

“Take your time,” he said softly, and her tentative grin fell as he ignored her attempt at injecting some humour. Her gaze flickered from their hands to the fabric covering his chest, wondering how many shapes would be in one diagonal row across his shirt, and what was wrong with her to take this long over a single question. 

“You asked what I’m thinking. Right.” She needed to take a breath to recover her thoughts, eyes shifting several different places as she turned the words over in her mouth. “I just- I guess I don’t know what you want out of this. What it is you like about me, your idea of dating. If you just liked how I looked, or if this is a more casual sort of thing…” 

She risked looking up to see his expression, surprised when she saw his frown had disappeared completely. He stared down at his lap with wide eyes instead, taking a moment to digest his own thoughts. 

“I see… I suppose you're right. I wasn't very clear.” He glanced up at her, this time with a softer smile. Moving slowly, he tugged her hand closer towards him. 

She stiffened, her other claws scraping grooves in the stone table when he brought her captured hand up to his face, staring at her over the top of her serrated fingers. 

“I like everything about you,” he said, his breath warm against her skin as his eyes creased up with the smile their hands hid. “The more I discover, the more I like. And as for dating…” He looked bashful for a moment, glancing away. “It’s uhm, definitely not casual. What I want is the opposite of that.”

Vague, again. 

But if he was looking for something serious, that was a start at least. She felt her stomach was all twisted in knots with the turn their conversation had taken. Tense in a way that wasn't entirely bad, but it didn't help her with fighting back the claws on her fingers. 

“Right,” she said. He looked at her with wide, imploring eyes as he tightened his grip around her hand, like his whole world would fall apart depending on what she said next. “I guess, the ‘opposite of casual’ fits pretty well for me too.” 

She managed a strained laugh, and this time he laughed along, the sound of it soft against the lessening rain. She glanced out across the gardens to see the onslaught had eased to a steady patter.

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

[tipsyon-tea]

Blind Spot - Deleted Scenes - Ch 5

I think this one was written prior to me actually starting chapter 5, as a kind of idea I had floating around in my head. Of course when I actually started writing the chapter it went off the rails in a different direction, so it never got used.

Damon and Blind Spot MC at the park.

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

“So how come you like me anyway?” 

Damon seemed to process that for a moment, eyes wide. He looked like there was a lot he had to say, but couldn't wrap his head around the words, trying a couple times before he finally spoke. “Is there... a reason you ask?”

Maybe she was being too blunt, but it had been annoying her for long enough. Her sister's words about being lovesick and desperate were still bouncing around in her head, and it wasn't like either of those things were necessarily bad, but something about it irked her. “I can't figure out why you want to spend time with me.”

He jolted, looking for a moment like he would reach out to shake her. It was only when her stance shifted abruptly that he thought better if it, casting his gaze down at his shoes. “Uhm. I guess, It was the night we first met.” His raised hand reached across his chest instead, clenching his other arm. “Maybe- it didn't seem like much to you, but… I was in a really bad place that night, and talking with you really cheered me up.”

Nope. That didn't help. In any other case maybe it would add up, but it didn't explain why her sister seemed to think he was so head-over-heels. It was suspicious. “So, if anyone else had been nice to you, you would’ve felt the same?” 

He looked taken aback, and slightly hurt as his knuckles started to whiten. “I think you're overestimating how many people would be kind to someone like me.” 

She raised a brow. For the first time since the night they met, his expression fell into something bitter and resentful. She'd gotten so used to his nervous smiles and quiet laughs, she'd almost forgotten he could make a face like that. 

“Most people barely acknowledge I exist,” he said, looking away from her. “If they do, it's only because they have to, or they think I'm a threat. To most of the world I'm just… invisible.” The wind played around them, starting to pick up more now that the storm clouds had thickened. He finally looked back at her, seeming frustrated and tired with the world. “So it means a lot to me that you wanted to help. More than you know.” 

So that was why? It hadn’t occurred to her that most other people would see his size and colour as something to be wary of. Even though he was gentle, others probably didn’t see it that way. It didn't make sense to her why people ignored him though. 

“Maybe we should get you a cat bell,” she mused. 

Damon blinked, looking at her for a beat. “Pardon?” 

“Oh. I was just thinking—I bet people would notice you more if you didn't walk so quietly. And! It'll save you from getting punched by sneaking up on the wrong person.”

Her, namely.

He looked like he didn't know what to make of her words, but that was his fault. She hadn't expected him to launch into a depressing rundown of his life that she had no idea how to respond to.

“Or we could… I dunno, put squeaky toys in your shoes?”

“I would rather not,” he said faintly.

“But it would be funny,” she insisted, rocking back on her heels with a grin. “It would be ‘squeak squeak squeak’ whenever you walk, or ‘squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak!’ if you're trying to walk fast.” 

He looked at her in disbelief, and if he'd been trying to have a serious conversation it was ruined by his lips twitching up to match hers. “You have a weird way of trying to cheer people up.”

“Just saying. If you're tired of being ignored then that can be changed.” 

He finally laughed, his eyes crinkled up with his grin, shaking his head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind as long as I can have your attention.”

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

[tipsyon-tea]

When I find a yandere character I like I always end up making an OC with the specific purpose of making the yandere suffer

Like, I love u skrunkly stalker boy but I'm gonna make you cry with my oc I'm sorry they're not gonna love you

[tipsyon-tea]

Blind Spot - Deleted Scenes - Ch 4

Every time I have chapter with heavy dialogue, I swear it gets re-written at least half a dozen times. This one was a fun version to write, but one side was too emotive, while Damon was too collected. It might be possible if they knew each other better, but the final version ended up having both of them be much more guarded.

Minor spoilers for the main story. For those who haven't read it, Blind Spot MC drops by Damon's shop to ask a favour.

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

More importantly, how the hell was she going to explain why she just so happened to be at his store right after he dropped in to grab something he forgot? She tried to picture the opposite. Visiting the convenience store on her day off, and he just so happened to appear as she was trying to leave. To ask her on a date, no less. 

Yeah, no. She covered her face. There was no way. It was one coincidence too many. A mockery of common sense.

Let's just wait for him to leave. She kept to her corner of the store, taking a deep breath and having it settle in her chest before letting go. She was getting worked up over nothing. She'd come back another day, or wait for him to visit the store on his own. Monday wouldn't happen, but her sister was probably right on that front. She was rushing things. Too preoccupied with whether her sister's new partner might be a potential threat to accept that maybe her sister knew what she was doing.

Certainly more so than she did-

“Hello...?”

Her eyes flew open, snapping to his voice at the other end of the shelf. Damon stood with a curious expression on his face, one hand in his coat while the other held an expensive-looking camera. He blinked at her sudden movement, seeming to pick his words carefully.

“I thought it was you,” he said, watching her thoughts run a mile a minute. “Are you here for something?” 

I'm here for you. Hell no. No way she could say that. Why did she think this was a good idea? It was so awkward. 

“Kind of?” She looked down at the bouquets in front of her, the colours reminding her of craggy hills and autumn. She liked flowers, but not enough to buy them. That much seemed abundantly clear after Thursday. “I… thought you might've been working today.” 

She tried very hard not to look at him, stuffing her hands in the pouch of her sleeveless hoodie. She hadn't been planning to go anywhere except her sister's place, and she was certainly dressed the part.

There was no reason for her to be nervous, she reasoned. If he got the wrong idea then that would actually solve a great deal. She could wash her hands of him. He wouldn't show up again at the store, and there were always other opportunities to meet her sister's new side piece.

“So you came to see me?”

She couldn't read his response at all. His eyes were slightly wider, but he kept his face neutral, aside from the slight twist of his lips to the side. Like he was thinking, evaluating her. She didn't like how unsettled it made her.

“Technically... yes,” she said. She felt her claws sharpen as the back of her neck prickled. He was looking at her so intently. The small nook of the store was well hidden, not that she was worried about being backed into a corner. Not for the usual reasons, at least. Her gaze trailed back to him, weighing up the size difference. “How'd you even spot me back here?” 

“I saw you when I came in,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly. The shadows around his eyes weren’t as bad as the other day, but they were still pronounced, as if he hadn’t been getting enough sleep. “I was going to say hi earlier, but…” His expression was sweet, a bit too much so, his front canines peeking out. “It was cute watching you try to hide from me like that.”

“Hide?” Hide? She stared at him a beat, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

She didn't hide. Was he trying to pick a fight? It wasn't her fault any sane person would be ringing alarm bells after a random person they met showed up at their shop. Except—he saw her when he came in. He knew she wasn't following him.

...gods, she was an idiot. Even if she was glad to avoid the misunderstanding, she wanted to take a swing at him just to show she wasn't hiding because she was scared. She covered her face with a groan. 

How dare he call it cute.

“You know what- fine,” she said. “But this is the third time you've almost snuck up on me. Are you doing it on purpose?” 

“Huh?” He acted like he didn't understand the cause of her anger, despite the suppressed smile playing around his lips. “I just walk quietly. Are you sure you aren't the one distracted?” 

She wanted to punch him.  Her lips curled back over her teeth, bared in something that would have been a vicious grin if her hands weren’t still covering her mouth. If he was trying to rile her up it was working, but he wasn't going to like the consequences if he pushed too far. 

“Says the one leaving secret notes in books,” she said accusingly. “Play it off all you want. You’re sneakier than you pretend not to be.”  

He tilted his head, red eyes wide with an indistinct emotion. After a moment he stepped closer, trying to peer around her hands as she reared back in surprise. 

“So you got my note?” he said. 

It was a new feeling, being so agitated and yet unthreatened. Maybe she didn't mind it as much as she put on. She couldn't feel the usual itch in her fingers. Her cheeks were warm, rather than burning underneath the markings.

“You're doing this on purpose,” she accused. 

His eyes crinkled up with his smile. “Maybe. I didn't think you'd get so defensive about it.”

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

[tipsyon-tea]

Deleted Scenes - Ch 3

Once upon a time, I was actually planning to timeskip the first few days of Blind Spot. The fun parts are always later in the story after all, so it seemed only sensible. Unfortunately for me, I made an OC that was so violently opposed to casual flings that I ended up needing to properly flesh things out. Otherwise it didn't make sense why Damon wasn't told to bugger off when he first started hanging around too much.

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

Damon was at the store the next afternoon, talking about a long shift and not having time to cook. There was… something about seeing the same brand of frozen microwave meals that she always bought that niggled at her, or maybe it was just the way he stared. It wasn’t like the store had a huge variety.

She scanned through his purchases with an even expression. Polite. She wasn’t an idiot, as much as her sister insisted she was. Someone showing up for the second night in a row–for microwave meals they could buy for less at a chain store–felt like a pretence.

“It would be nice to eat out some time, but it’s awkward without anyone else to-”

Her fingers twitched at his words and she was grateful for the icy coat that caused it to slip through her grasp onto the floor. 

“Sorry, just a moment!” She ducked under the counter to pick it up as her face twisted into an involuntary grimace. That was a setup. A fucking obvious one. An invitation for her to say ‘oh yes! Why don’t I go with you~’ 

The thought made her bristle. Hackles raised, as if she were responding to a threat rather than a tentative, well-intentioned offer. 

Calm down. She took a deep breath, halfway through an apology about dropping his item and getting him a new one as she started to rise to her feet. Too quickly. Distracted by irritation and her own mistake. Her head caught on the edge of the counter.

“Fuck!” She dropped it again.

Several other choice terms flashed through her mind that she bit back, letting out a high pitched groan instead, still leaning as she clutched the back of her head. Goddammit. Shit. Fucking counter. Fucking Rasmus. He should be here now, talking to bloody customers. But no. Too hungover from his party. At least she had an excuse to look pissy and upset now. A painful one.

“Are you alright?” His worried voice came across the counter, a hand in mid-air as if he were about to reach for her. Well at least he had the good sense to drop his earlier line of conversation after that. She thumped the ruined packet back on the counter, rubbing the small lump as she said she’d get him another one. 

He followed. Because of course he did. It took a great deal to bite her tongue when he stuck like a shadow to her side, following her to the frozen section. She tried not to show it, but his presence behind her was unsettling. The awareness of his height advantage. The fact she could barely hear him move at all.  Before she could so much as reach for the fridge door, he did, grabbing the replacement item and turning back to her with a smile that he probably intended to be sweet. “...thanks,” she chirped, feeling her fingers twitch again. Tell me next time if you’re going to get it yourself.

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

As a sidenote, so much of the story relies on Damon meeting the story MC at the exact time he does, otherwise she would have been completely disengaged. Him stalking her would have ended with either him getting rejected and giving up, or her finding out. And since the latter will always end with one of them dead, I wanted to avoid that, hahah

[tipsyon-tea]

Blind Spot - Deleted Scenes - Ch 2

Much of chapter 2 was originally meant to be in DG's POV, but got rewritten and changed. I still have the wips, just be warned that the scene plays out slightly different from the final draft.

For those who haven't read the main fic, this is an altered take on DG trying to scare an MC that can see in the dark.

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

She was a difficult one to get a read on. It wasn't that DG didn't trust his friend’s judgement, but he did wonder if Chewy had gone off the deep end, talking about her being all shy and sweet.  

His expression fell as the two eerie discs of light appeared in the storeroom, slowly rising up to a standing height. Cat eyes. It wasn't much use turning the lights off if the shortstack could see in the dark. He liked it more when they were uncertain, calling out in the dark. She had been such a jumpy little thing before, all flustered and out of sorts over a joke, but this silence wasn't nervous. He knew what it felt like when prey was getting ready for a counterattack.

He briefly considered how far he could take it. Whether it would be worth calling her bluff. His hand resting thoughtfully on the handle to the door, knowing if he closed it he'd be cutting off that night vision of hers. It would disadvantage him as well, but he was willing to bet he had far more experience fighting in dark places.

He was still at work though. Damon might get antsy if he messed with her too much anyway.

He flicked the light back on, laughing to himself when she startled at the brightness. A muttered curse reaching his ears as the broom clattered to the floor. Cute that she thought using it would have helped her. He wanted to see what sort of face she’d make when he ripped off that precious sense of security. Though unfortunately for him, it made things easier for Damon if she still had that on. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed, putting on a false air of cheer as he crossed the room to grab the dustpan and brush off the shelf. He watched her blink a couple times, her gaze narrowed as she finally cleared them of the spots. “I couldn’t resist~ I was hoping you’d have a more interesting reaction, but I guess you’re not all that bothered by the dark.”

“...how do you figure?” She looked over at him, sounding confused, only to stiffen when she saw him approach. How precious. Her gaze flickered to the arm he had partially hidden, and he made no effort to hide his grin as he tucked it further out of sight. 

He came to a stop, grinning at her wary expression. He recognised that look. The apprehension mixed with uncertainty, waiting to see what he did next. He liked it on her. Despite being so jumpy, he got the feeling she wasn’t a total pushover, which was a shame. It'd have been easier to work with her if she was.

“You got cat eyes,” he said, tapping the side of his head. He grinned when she realised. 

“Oh, right.” She raised a hand to her eye, touching the markings on her cheek. It was lamentable that she already knew his toy gun was fake from before. He wanted to see how she reacted, backed into a corner and begging for her life. 

“Ah well, guess I'll have to find another way of messing with you.” He pulled a dustpan and brush from behind his back, waving it at her with a teasing grin. He wasn't sure how she'd managed to smash a singular coffee jar, but the shelves behind her did seem to be for loose stock.

“By making me jump for it?” 

He chuckled. Not that he hadn't considered it. It was just more fun to see her confusion as he walked past her, kneeling down to begin sweeping up the mess. “That's an option,” he agreed with a chuckle. “It was cute you thought the broom was going to save you.”

“It was a solid Plan B,” she said, not sounding impressed.

He could feel her stare on his back, but paid it no mind. There was a beaten up box nearby that he grabbed, folding over the flaps to hold the glass and coffee from the dustpan. "Whatever you say, doll-"

“Oi, dumbass!” The echoing voice of her coworker cut him off, and his eyes narrowed with displeasure. Rasmus, he’d said his name was. DG wasn't a fan. “What’s taking so long?!”

“Fuck me. Here we go,” she muttered. Her grip tightened around the broom, stomping over to the door to poke her head out, and DG had no shame in letting his gaze roam down the view he got. Those pants were certainly doing her favours, and he was no Damon, but he was tempted to take a photo for his best friend’s viewing purposes. “Give me a minute! I’m cleaning up!”

“Cleaning up what?!” The prick’s voice was getting closer. DG decided he may as well. It took all of two seconds to open the camera and click the button, grinning to himself as they continued their shouting match. He typed in a quick message for his dear old buddy, attaching the image before he clicked off the phone. 

[Final delivery for the night~]

“The roller door is open. You’ve got the lights out even though I keep telling you to keep them on-!” Rasmus stopped when he arrived in the doorway, doing a double take as he spotted DG. “And what is he still doing here?!”

“He's helping me clean up the coffee,” she said sourly, leaning against the frame. DG watched with interest as her demeanour shifted, much less of that forced politeness showing. “It got knocked over when I was grabbing the cereal box.”

“Just helping out.” DG finished sweeping up the second pile they had, dumping it into their makeshift bin. “The lights were on me. And your co-worker helped me out, so I’m returning the favour.”

“Don’t cover for her,” Rasmus said, shooting a glare sideways. She waited until his eyes were trained back on DG before throwing her hands up in inarticulate frustration. DG would’ve felt sorry for her, if it wasn’t also hilarious to watch her lose her shit.

“You can go,” she said to DG, stomping back into the room to continue sweeping up the grains of coffee. “It’s my mess, so I’ll deal with it. Thanks for the help though.”

“...aren’t you meant to be watching the store or something?” DG said, grinning at the fuming Rasmus.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re closed. And if your job is done then you’re welcome to leave.”

DG shrugged. There wasn’t any particular reason he should stay. He wasn’t about to stick around for the sake of Damon’s crush. “Sure thing, bud. I’ve loaded it onto your stacker truck, so all you have to do is drive it into its place.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The coworker was clearly not over DG’s earlier prank. Honestly, some people needed to loosen up.

“Well, it was certainly a pleasure doing business with you,” DG said, shooting a wink at the girl over his shoulder as he headed for the door. Rasmus followed him out, closing the roller door almost as soon as DG was outside. DG gave it a bit, but he didn’t hear any shouting start up again, so with a shrug he closed the doors to the van and hopped in the front.

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[tipsyon-tea]

I’d divorce him too lmao

[tipsyon-tea]

Figured I should make use of this crusty old blog and crosspost some work! Not that I have much apart from my Broken Colors fic, but if you enjoy stories where the MC can and will fight back, then you you're welcome to check it out (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

Inspiration of course is from the fantastic game by BlasticHeart and HolySchnitzel.

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

“It was like a treasure hunt,” the cashier said, her cute little incisors peeking out as she held open a torn bag of the gold-wrapped coins. She must have picked it up during their search, Damon realised. He hadn't noticed. The markings under her eyes shifted with her smile. "I’ll have to throw the stock out anyway. May as well enjoy the contents.

He looked down at the foil-wrapped chocolate, unable to believe it until his fingers brushed against them and he felt his heart surge in his chest.

“Thank you so much,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. "And please… be careful at this hour."

"Sure I will!" The cashier surprised him by laughing, and those teeth of hers seemed sharper than before as she looked at him with grinning eyes. "You watch your back too."