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elizabethemerald · 5 months

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The Child of Lazarus

Master Post

Talia often found herself admiring her Beloved’s dedication. While she personally considered Gotham a foul city that should be burned to the ground and the earth salted, she admired Bruce’s unending battle against the criminal elements of the city. He put his crusade in front of everything in his life, even his own life and health, and sometimes even his own children. Normally she would even admire his dedication to chasing after her, and considered it their own private romance as they danced among the rooftops.

Now she found Bruce’s dedication to chasing her all the more annoying. He would follow her no matter where she was as long as she was in his city, and she absolutely could not risk him following her back to the Child of Lazarus she had found. He would be all too willing to adopt the boy and take him in, permanently taking another child from her. And no doubt ruin what could be the perfect killer if she understood the boy’s skills properly.

It had taken her several weeks to lay a trail out of Gotham and away, to convince her Beloved that she had fulfilled her interest in her city and would not return until the next time she decided to check in on him and her son. Then she had to disappear. She utilized every ounce of her training with the League to vanish as thoroughly as possible and then sneak back into the city. Usually she allowed herself to be seen, to lure Bruce out for their usual confrontation and rooftop liaison, but this time she was all but invisible.

Talia finally made it back to the burned out apartment building where she had first met the Child of Lazarus, Danny. She carefully snuck her way through the building, her approach made all the more difficult by the structural damage. She could barely hear the sound of someone playing on the floor above her as she crept forward.

She had to use some creative climbing skills to get up to that floor, the stairs were completely destroyed. She could only imagine how her child got up and down regularly. Now that she’s closer, Talia could hear what sounds like the child explaining something, and for a second her heart grew colder, that someone had found her boy while she was gone, but she strained her ears and it sounded like he was explaining something to a doll in the way children are want to do.

Talia crept into the room almost completely silently, yet the boy still looked up at her as she entered, his eyes shining with a familiar green light and a wide smile on his face. He waved at her, an old and slightly dirty teddy in his hands. She was about to greet him in turn when something cold and metallic pressed to the back of her head and she heard the whining hum of an energy weapon.

How had another person managed to sneak up on her? She was the daughter of the Demon’s Head! The only small relief was seeing that her boy was unafraid and thus likely knew the mysterious person.

“Jazzy! This is the woman I told you about! She wants to give me a sword!” Danny said, a wide smile on his face as he looked over Talia’s shoulder.

“Who are you and what do you want with my brother?” A harsh, yet young voice said. Talia could read into the voice well enough. The voice belonged to a young woman, scared, and tired, but steady. If Talia had any interest in harming the boy she had no doubt she would not leave the room alive.

“My name is Talia al Ghoul. I found Danny alone on a rooftop some weeks ago, and I was impressed by his skill with stealth. A skill you seem to share. I merely wished to cultivate this talent, to provide for him a safe place, and to prevent those with less savory intentions from harming him.”

Talia didn’t take her eyes off the boy, and saw him watching her just as closely with his head tilted to the side. Once she was finished speaking he glanced to his sister and sent her a small nod. Interesting. Perhaps his hearing was superior to that of a regular human’s and he was listening to her heart beat. A skill that was useless against someone trained by the League of Assassins and had perfect control of her own body, but very useful in the fields she wished to train him in.

She felt more than heard the young woman step back as the pressure from the gun left her head. She also took a few slow steps, keeping her movements clear and controlled. The woman before could easily be called beautiful, red hair that flowed down her back, taller than most men even and built like a fighter. If Talia didn’t know better she would assume the woman was an Amazon. The most important detail Talia can now see is the dedication in this woman’s eyes. More than even her Beloved, this woman is dedicated to her brother. She can see in an instant that she would do anything, even kill for him, and maybe already has.

“I’m sure you want all that just out of the goodness of your heart.” She said derisively.

Now, Talia could lie, with her training from the league she could lie and even the Supers wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. However, this wasn’t like her assassins who had been raised from birth to believe her word to be law, or with young Jason, whose mind was heavily altered from his experience in the Lazarus Pits. She would have to tread carefully at all times with this woman, so it was easier to tell her at least some truths.

“By no means.” Talia allowed her body to relax as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “There is very little goodness left in my heart, long years and a hard world have taken much from me. Perhaps I merely consider the skills two of you already possess, that I wish to cultivate and grow, to be something of a retirement policy. There is no end to the value in training two such capable individuals as yourselves.”

The woman watched her closely, her head tilting slightly to the side, just like her brother, though Talia wasn’t under the impression that she was listening for her heartbeat. However whatever she saw led her to relaxing her shoulders somewhat, though her aim still didn’t waver.

“You are very hard to read. It's like everything about you is focused toward hiding.” She finally said, with a slightly confused tone to her voice.

“Right?” Talia couldn’t stop her eyebrows rising in surprise as Danny floated into the air and darted to his sister’s shoulders, as if gravity were a mere suggestion, one he could simply ignore. “She’s unlike any of the others in the city. I mean, Red Hood is practically screaming how angry, scared and sad he is.”

Talia did her best to retake control over her expression as she took in the information given her. Perhaps Danny and his sister shared some kind of empathic ability? She had no doubts about the veracity of his claims, she knew Jason had always been emotional, and his anger and fear from his death were written into every line of his body. Yet, for some reason, her own emotions were hidden. How fascinating.

“I believe you’re telling me the truth, or at least as much of the truth as I’m going to get without beating it out of you.” Danny’s sister said, finally lowering her weapon, though she didn’t fully relax. “I’m Jasmine. Why would we want any of that? We could stay perfectly happy right here.”

Talia glanced around at the burnt out wreck of a building Danny had been squatting in.

“I could take you away from this… house. I could provide food, clothing, other supplies and just about any training you could wish for. We could leave this city and-”

“NO!” Jasmine said immediately. “Whatever else happens, we can’t leave Gotham.”

Danny had landed next to her and hid partially behind her, his face marred by fear just like hers. Talia narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked quickly between the two? Why? What was so special about Gotham that they were not just defensive, but terrified to leave? Very curious.

“Of course, if you want to stay in the city, then your stealth work would have to be flawless.” Talia said. “The Bat of Gotham keeps a close eye on his city. He doesn’t take kindly to interlopers. Or metas.”

Danny started nodding happily at how defensive Talia’s Beloved was of his city, yet didn’t seem to take into account that he might be excluded because he is a meta, despite flying around his sister’s shoulders. Is there perhaps someone they are running from that they think Bruce will keep from them? These two were just filled with mysteries, she’ll have to send some of her agents out to see what they can discover.

“More important than all of that! When are you going to teach me how to learn a sword?” Danny asked, once again hovering slightly into the air. Jasmine looked at him with fond exasperation.

“Before any sword lessons we need to find some place cleaner to live.” She said, rubbing her brother's head and pulling him in with a one armed hug, though he still hovered a little off the ground.

“I have several safe houses in the city, I’m certain one will be suitable for your needs, if you would like to follow me?” Talia offered, gesturing toward the door she had entered through. The siblings looked to each other for a moment, having a silent conversation that even with her perceptiveness she couldn’t catch, possibly linked to their shared empathic abilities? Then they finally turned to follow her out of the burned apartment building.

#dp x dc #talia al ghul #jazz fenton #danny fenton #deaged danny #Talia wants to train them to best her father and the bat #Jazz wants to sleep without someone trying to kill her or her brother #Danny just wants a sword #Talia also has basically no idea whats going on and trying to make a puzzle with only like half the pieces

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wheels-of-despair · 6 months

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Always Worth It | Ralph Penbury x You | Series Masterlist

I Ralph You Summary: Ralph learns a hip new word he's not too fond of. His lovely wife must act fast and help him un-learn it. Words: 800ish

It was a peaceful night.

There was a slight nip in the air on your evening walk, which made the hot tea and cakes waiting for you upon your return even better. You and Ralph enjoyed your refreshments, then decided that a warm bath would be the perfect end to a perfect autumn day.

After your bath - together, of course, to save both time and water - you'd dried off and put on clean pajamas. The pair of you raced to the library, eager to read another chapter in a novel you'd purchased the week before. It was tempting to keep going each night, but you forced yourselves to take it slow and discuss each chapter together.

You're not sure which one of you enjoyed this more.

Ralph had fascinating insights on absolutely everything, and even after almost a year together, he still couldn't get over the fact that someone wanted to hear them. You could listen to him read a telephone directory, to be honest, but that would be a tragic waste of his creative mind. Your husband was brilliant, and one day, you hoped he'd grow confident enough to acknowledge it.

Which brings us back to that perfect autumn evening; it was peaceful and cozy and full of warm snuggles with the person you loved most in your lovely London home.

Until the telephone rang.

Ralph marked his place in the book he'd been reading aloud - you alternated chapters each night - and handed it to you. He sighed, removed the blanket you'd been sharing from his lap, and reluctantly trudged toward the telephone.

"Hello?"

"RALPH? CAN YOU HEAR ME?" Ralph scrunched up his nose and held the earpiece at a distance. "IT'S VICTORIA! I'M AT A PARTY IN MANCHESTER!"

You could hear every word from your place by the fire, and the party going on in the background as well. You folded your arms on the back of the sofa and rested your chin on them, looking to your husband in amusement.

"Yes, Victoria, I can hear you," he said into the mouthpiece.

"I'VE JUST HEARD THE MOST FABULOUS NEW WORD, AND I HAD TO TELL YOU IMMEDIATELY!"

"What is it, Victoria?" he sighs, giving you a tired look.

"MINNIE SAID HER BOY TOY RALPHED IN THE SHRUBS BECAUSE HE'D HAD TOO MUCH GIGGLE WATER! ISN'T THAT HILARIOUS?"

Ralph furrowed his brow and stared at the telephone in concentration. "She said what?"

"HE RALPHED! IT'S A JAZZY NEW TERM FOR UPCHUCKING! SPEWING! VOMITING! ISN'T THAT HILARIOUS? RALPHING!"

Victoria's shrill laugh filled the room, sending a chill up your spine and ruining the warm and cozy atmosphere. Ralph's face fell.

"Yes, Victoria," he droned.

"DON'T SOUND SO GRUMMY, RALPH!" The people in the background began to cheer, and you could almost see Victoria losing interest in her telephone call. "MUST DASH, IT'S TIME TO GET ZOZZLED! TA-TA!"

The line goes silent, and Ralph hangs up. He turns to you with a look of defeat, and slowly returns to the sofa. He collapses onto the cushions with a sigh, leaning back against the arm to face you. The expression on his face makes your heart sink.

You're going to get Victoria for this.

You place the book on a side table and wiggle your way to him. He holds out an arm, and you slide under it, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

"Do you ever get the sneaking suspicion that perhaps she's making up all of these ridiculous words as she goes? I bet she'll forget half of the nonsense she spouted tonight by tomorrow morning."

Ralph sighs.

"I think we should make up our own words."

You wait a beat, to see if he takes the bait.

"Like what?"

You smile and raise your head to look into his beautiful, wounded eyes. You hate that he still lets Victoria get to him. Luckily, it doesn't take much to fix him, and you plan on always being here to do it.

"I think we'll start by reclaiming Ralph. Do you want to know what Ralph means to me?"

He nods, his big brown eyes shifting from gloomy to curious.

"It now means to love entirely, with one's whole heart and soul."

Ralph smiles the tiniest of smiles.

"Do you approve of this change, Mr. Penbury?"

He thinks for a moment. You can see his spirits rise as his smile widens. "Absolutely," he finally says with a toothy grin.

You go in for a soft, sweet kiss.

"I Ralph you," you whisper against his lips.

Ralph freezes for a moment, and then bursts into a fit of giggles. Your heart soars at the sound and the feeling of his body shaking, and you begin peppering kisses all over his face between words and giggles of your own. "I Ralph you. I Ralph you. I really, really Ralph you."

#writings of despair #ralph is worth it #ralph penbury #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury x reader #ralph timewasters #ralph timewasters x reader #i looked up 20s slang for the halloween fic (coming this weekend!) and then... this was born.

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natasha-in-space · 7 months

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High Enough

Unknown/gn!reader;

For day 1 of Mystictober: favorite character/dance. I will be doing only a handful of these this year around, depending on which promts get me inspired enough to write something! This one's very self-indulgent. I always thought of what would have happened if you got a chance to interact with Unknown in the game. What if he shows up at the party?

"I never would have expected to see someone as mysterious and broody as you in the middle of such a posh event, Mr. Unknown."

You only laughed as your dance partner tightened his hold on your hand in response to your little jab, his cold eyes narrowing at you in a silent warning. A warning that only encouraged you to get ever bolder with your relentless teasing.

It's common knowledge to avoid playing with fire, unless you want to get burned. Alas, you were never good at following this saying. After all, who in their right mind would listen to a complete stranger and go to some remote location with minimum fuss? You didn’t know whether you were really that stupid, naive, or you simply didn’t care about your own life anymore. Perhaps, the truth was somewhere in the middle, as it often was. Either way, your every choice lead you to this very moment: with you now swaying to the soft jazzy melody, a man you met face to face for the very first time as your partner.

And, despite all the glaring red flags, you felt oddly at peace with it.

It was hard to see any red when all your eyes could focus on was this beautifully harsh mint that pulled you in, like an enchanted lake would lure some poor traveler's soul in those old-timey tales you would read as a child.

You knew that you should probably try to notify Seven of the presence of the very same hacker that has been tormenting their organization for days now. You knew that what you were doing right now was stupid at best, and outright dangerous at worst. You knew that this wouldn't end in your favor, regardless of how much fun you were having in the present. But, you also knew that you wouldn't do the right thing here. You had every opportunity to contact Seven and relay all the important info to him, once Unknown contacted you again for the first time a few weeks ago.

Yet, you didn't. You never did. Not even once. Not a single slip of the tongue left your lips about your secret guardian angel who was watching over your every move and word. Or, was he a devil? His smirk was certainly devilish, in the best way possible.

Instead, you indulged in this mysterious man's attention, cryptic messages sent between you two leaving you reading in between the lines, hungry for answers you knew you wouldn't find. You were just a plaything to him. A tool. His eyes. And yet, something about that left your heart fluttering in your chest, much to your own bewilderment and curiosity. You were connected. What you saw, he saw. What you heard, he heard. Something was alluring about knowing that someone was watching over your every move with such precision.

Maybe, you just weren't right in the head.

You brought up the idea of him going to the party as a joke, really. In hindsight, you probably should have known Unknown doesn't do jokes. Despite everything, you were unsure if he would arrive up until the very last moment. That is until you got a message from him. In a classic Unknown fashion, it was something that would surely make chills run up your spine if you were someone of sound mind. Nothing but the short: 'I see you ^^', that left you looking around the ballroom, as if you forgot where you were for a second. He wouldn't reveal himself to you for another 20 minutes or so, pulling you along for a frustrating game of cat and mouse. And, despite you supposedly being in the role of a cat in this game, you never felt more exposed. Much to your disappointment, he didn't let you find him in the end. He came to you instead.

When it came to Unknown, the game was always rigged from the start. He was the one in control, holding all the cards, and he didn't try very hard to hide that from you. In fact, you were pretty sure he found your little games exciting in his own strange twisted way. He enjoyed toying with you, and you played right into his hands every time. Like a good little tool, you were.

His appearance definitely blended well with the party. No one would suspect that the young man the party coordinator chose as their dancing partner for the night was of any threat at all. Truth be told, the moment he finally revealed himself to you fully, you found your breath getting caught up in your throat as you took him in, no physical barriers or mind games stopping you this time around. Unknown wore a captivatingly dark tailcoat adorned with mint patterns, and, if you squinted very hard, you could make out an eye or two between the thin intertwined lines. It was somewhat funny. As if he just couldn't help but make a point of him keeping his eyes on you at all times. The captivating mint accents on his black tailcoat certainly brought out his eyes of the very same odd color, making it that much more easier for you to get lost in them. You wondered if he wore contacts. Such eye color didn't seem natural. Then again, Unknown was always unpredictable, full of mysteries you would never solve, unless he let you. The plain white button-up he wore underneath his tailcoat was unbuttoned at the collar just enough for you to see a slick black choker around his neck. You certainly didn't have any naughty thoughts of hooking your finger under it to pull him closer to you, until he was pressed flush against you. Not even once. His white hair with pinkish ends was messy, not at all styled to look neatly combed like the rest of the guests here, and you couldn't help but marvel at the way his slightly curly locks would sometimes fall over his eyes, making the desire to reach in and brush them aside almost unbearable. He was simply exquisite to look at. A lovely treat for your eyes. Or, was he more like poison? Luring you in with this irresistible facade, only to capture you in his claws once you were too close for comfort?

No matter what he was, you hoped he felt the same way about your party outfit as well. Maybe it was just your wishful thinking, but you swore you caught him occasionally looking you up and down, the intensity in his gaze increasing ever so slightly, as he would then swiftly pull you close in your dance, making your body brush up against his ever so slightly. Judging from the low chuckle that would rumble in his throat whenever he did that, he knew exactly what he was doing to you. So, is that really such a crime to pay him back a little?

"You sure have a lot of sass for someone who's supposed to be so seemingly perfect, party coordinator." Unknown hissed just loud enough for you to hear, suddenly dipping you as you gasped and stared up into his eyes, completely taken aback by this unexpected move. He didn't have to do much to leave you breathless. And you didn't really try to conceal that fact from him. Just as quickly, you were brought right back up, with him now twirling you around, your back pressing up against his chest. His hands playfully slid down your sides, until they gripped onto your hips, leaving you trembling in place, your face suddenly growing too hot for comfort. You barely managed to suppress a choked whimper as his breath ghosted the shell of your ear in such a delicious way. "You're in no position to tease me, Y/N. But, I admire your boldness. Makes it that much more tempting for me to tame you. Oh, but you probably would like that, wouldn't you? That's why you left those bastards in the dust without a second thought. You know your place."

Fuck, what are you even supposed to say to that? In fact, it was becoming difficult for you to even think straight, not with the heat of his body against your back making you feel all hot and bothered. You gulped. "...Is it too early to take you up on that offer of yours?"

Both of you were well aware of what you were referring to. It was the very first message he sent you after you foolishly stepped into Rika's apartment at his request, essentially sealing your fate.

'It'll be really fun from now on. Enjoy your time with everyone. I'll go get you soon.'

Your chin was tickled by a gruff chuckle as his thumb caressed your hip. God, this man was driving you wild. "Patience, dear party coordinator. The end will be the same either way. But, if you do a good job for me... I might consider giving you a reward once that time comes."

"A reward?"

As his chapped lips briefly brushed against your cheek, you could only gasp, trembling in his arms like the silly butterfly you were. Except, this butterfly landed into the spider's web willingly. You wondered what that meant for you.

"I'll personally welcome you to our eternal party. Consider this your personal invitation to paradise, prince/ss."

#mm_mystictober2023 #mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #mm #unknown choi #mystic messenger unknown #saeran choi #unknown x reader #saeran x reader #this man makes me feel some sort of way #this is technically a song fic??? but also not???#high enough by k.flay was playing in the background of me writing this

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7grandmel · 2 months

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Todays rip: 03/03/2024

Super Mario Odyssey Reimagined (Jazz Arrange)

Season 2 Featured on: The Voice's Highest Quality Video Game Rips Also on: Now That's What I Call Quality!

Ripped by Can of Nothing

youtube

Requested by Demopan! (Discord)

Man...can you believe it's been seven whole years since the Nintendo Switch launched? After 2016 felt like one of Nintendo's most quiet, underwhelming years, the hype and release of the Switch was absolutely incredible to see unfold - it felt like a shot in the arm for the entire community at the time, in a way I haven't really seen for any other console launch in my lifetime. Seven year on, a lot of that excitement has obviously petered out - but I still hold a lot of fond memories of it all, not least of which being how it was expressed through SiIvaGunner itself.

There's no real joke, bit, or subversion to Super Mario Odyssey Reimagined (Jazz Arrange) - it is, like snow halation but it shreds and numerous other rips on the channel, exactly as sincere of an arrangement as it says on the tin. Really, the quirkiest part about the rip in this instance is the time it was released in: several months before Super Mario Odyssey itself, and a mere four days after the game and its single known piece of music were revealed. Before we even knew that this would be the theme to Fossil Falls (and the rip itself was originally just titled "Theme of Super Mario Odyssey"), ripper Mellorine had whipped up a full-on arrangement of it in an infectiously fun, breezy, jazz style.

It's a great arrangement all around, a sound not too dissimilar to the jazziness found in games like Super Mario 3D World already, and turns the otherwise grand and dramatic Fossil Falls theme into something far more...celebratory, I suppose! That was at least always the vibe the rip gave me, given its context - as an early Season 2 rip, it felt just as much like a celebration over Super Mario Odyssey's reveal as it did a celebration of SiIvaGunner itself having made it past its one-year anniversary. You'll recall I noted this in Patched Plains Fusion Collab too, there was just something so infectiously FUN about tons of the rips made during this time period, and starting the year off with a look at this brand-new Mario game only made those feelings even more electric. For being made in such a short timeframe, Super Mario Odyssey Reimagined (Jazz Arrange) sounds remarkably official: a wide span of jazz instruments, clever use of percussion and leads in tandem with one another, a lounge-y synth leading the song's trumpet lead along a laid back feel...

It sounds SO official, in fact, that Nintendo themselves fell for it, in an incident which has kept this rip eternally relevant in SiIvaGunner discussion - it may perhaps be the main reason some people know of it to begin with. In a video by Nintendo of Italy covering Super Mario Odyssey's appearance at the in-person event of "Milan Games Week" in late 2017, the company - seemingly by accident - used Super Mario Odyssey Reimagined (Jazz Arrange) as the backing music for the entire video. The video remains up to this day, with no comments section to correct them - meaning SiIvaGunner, through the most bizarre way possible, has now made an official appearance in Nintendo media. And hey, if it's good enough to trick Nintendo into thinking its an official arrangement - then it's good enough for you to give it a listen, seven years later.

Happy birthday, Nintendo Switch!

#todays siivagunner #season 2 #siivagunner #siiva #Can of Nothing #Mellorine #super mario odyssey #super mario #mario odyssey #nintendo switch #mario games #mario music #super mario 64 #arrangement #jazz cover #Youtube #Bandcamp

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knightfire · 3 months

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Since canon Hazbin starts releasing tomorrow, here’s a snippet of something from my au that’s been in the works for waaay too long! We’re way beyond just calling this thing canon divergent now so why worry about what canon does or doesn’t do?

Fic Excerpt: The Great Experiment

The charitible were calling it 'The Great Experiment', much to Alastor's chagrin. There was an ignoble sort of title, he’d thought! In his lifetime, he'd heard it used to describe both the ill-fated alcoholic Prohibition, and the founding of the American government.

Ah, the Prohibition had been a farce the likes of which he'd not seen again until his arrival in Hell itself! It made him nostalgic to think back on those days. The federal government had been a lackluster entity that he'd found too dull to do more than thumb his nose at in passing.

He had far more respect for this jazzy improvisation he found himself part of in the afterlife.

The Princess' "Great Experiment" was something unprecedented in all of Creation, and by his mind, it deserved a name that showed that! Instead, it was saddled with a moniker which brought to mind ineptitude, poor planning, and bets being taken on the side as to how long until it failed. Darling Husker had already assured him that there was much action on that last note, simply because of how outlandish the endeavor was.

Husk was playing both sides but optimistically favoring success. “We’ll be too erased to know better if it goes belly-up,” the chimera had ruefully smirked. “But Dear Hart, playing is the exciting part of any game, not the outcome!”

The way that his husband grinned was ever-beguiling, even as he joked about their final deaths. Neither of them knew what to think of this notion of the Princess’.

The establishment of a neutral visiting space for sainted and sinner souls, hosted in Hell itself, was a notion that even Alastor himself could scarcely have imagined. The Princess insisted that he had been the one to give her the idea, which was further bedeviling!

There were many in Hell who were against the notion, mostly from those in the lower circles. It wasn’t surprising. The Hellborn cared nothing for the inhabitants of Heaven. It was only in the ring of Pride that any beings looked towards the gleaming light of distant Salvation and fruitlessly wished. Not even the Ring Leaders, fallen angels themselves, seemed to have much use for their one-time home. Mortal souls were the ones who seemed to feel the urge to raise their eyes past the Seal, wondering and wanting.

Alastor himself was not immune to that longing. The brief glimpse he’d once had of Maman had somehow made the lack of her in his afterlife both better and worse- and he was one of the few to know a loved one yet endured in Heaven.

Well, perhaps they would not all long fruitlessly, after today. The establishment of the Tellurian Grounds was going to make it possible. There would be visiting hours in Hell. It was a notion so thoroughly humane that only dear Charlie could have dared propose it. This, her first act as Princess Regent, had been announced to a stunned populace a mere week before. Whatever she had done was in motion, and they were all along for the ride. Today, the agents of Heaven would be coming to begin the process to explore making things official, with a holy descent to the Hellscape outside of an Extermination Day.

Doubtless, the pernicious angels would be looking for any reason to deny the thing. It was already a certainty that there would be an attempt from the lower Rings to disrupt the proceedings.

Alastor and Husk had been recruited to ensure things ran smoothly. The Radio Demon's contribution was the influence of his powers and Husk with what the cat demon termed his "ability to herd dumbasses" to keep anything untoward from happening. Alastor couldn’t help but think that it would be marvelous if Husk’s ephemeral Luck chose to bless them today. They truly might need it.

If Heaven denied the establishment of this small, hopeful gesture of peace between the Immortal Spheres, there would be Lucifer to pay.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au #RadioHusk au #hearts proximity au #hazbin hotel husk #husk #Alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x husk #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfic excerpt

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ladyantiheroine · 1 year

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Knight in Rotting Armor (Part II)

Summary: You and R begin your new life together.

Pairing: R x fem!reader

Requested by @kpopgirlbtssvt

Also tagging: @ninebluehearts

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The note was simple and concise, but it hurt to write nonetheless:

Mom and Dad,

This is the last you will hear of me. Just know that I’m okay, I’m safe, and I’m with the love of my life. Don’t mourn me, just keep the others safe.

Love you forever,

Y/N

Your parents would assume that the “love of your life” was Garrett, not the walking corpse your heart had so unexpectedly fallen for. In a way, it was merciful. It had been weeks now, and they likely assumed that both you and your late ex-boyfriend had died out on your picnic. It was much better for them to believe you two had simply sloped, found somewhere else safe to stay, than to know the truth that one of you was dead.

You left the note in the compound door while the guards weren’t looking. By the time they came around to the front, you and R were miles away in one of the cars you stole from the airport. By the time you made it back, your parents had likely already read the note.

As soon as you were back in the airplane, you slumped down on one of the seats and pulled a quilt over top of you. R stood above you, looking down with heavy eyes.

“You…okay…?” he asked

R must have felt guilty. You were leaving behind everything you knew for him. It was a big sacrifice, one perhaps he didn’t feel worthy of.

But you had made the decision. As much as you loved your family, you couldn’t spend the rest of your life behind compound walls. The world was dangerous but at least it was free, and you felt safe knowing one of the dead had your back.

You mustered a small smile and reached over to take R’s hand. The warmth from your flesh flushed into his.

“It’s hard,” you said. “But it was my choice and I made it. It’s scary, but…what good thing didn’t start scary?”

A small hint of a smile crossed R’s face.

You both decided to wait a little longer before taking the car out beyond the airport. The airplane could get claustrophobic after a while, but it was safe to wait out for a bit.

It didn’t take long for a routine to settle in. R was the only one who could leave the plane without fear of getting attacked by the other corpses, so he was the designated scavenger. Every day he’d go out and bring home airplane food or anything else you could eat. Meanwhile, you kept the plane clean and tidy. Swept the floor, wiped down the seats, organized all the trinkets you both had collected. It was simple, but it was nice. And after all the chaos of the apocalypse, the steady routine was welcomed.

At night, when the work was done, you two curled on the floor beneath an old quilt. R’s chilly form didn’t lead to a toasty sleep, but you didn’t mind. Thought strangely, as the weeks past, you noticed that your little space undet the blanket was getting gradually warmer. Perhaps your own body heat was growing and making up for R’s corpse body.

But it wasn’t the only change. R in general seemed…different in the weeks you two lived together. His skin was less gray, his movements quicker, his voice slightly more articulate.

Perhaps you were just seeing things. You were still not used to being in such close proximity to corpses. Maybe things were different than what you were used to expecting.

Things didn’t becomes clear until one evening, you couldn’t sleep. R never slept, so he was more than happy to keep you entertained as the night darkened. He’d found a new vinyl on one of his outings and places it on the spinning machine. The music was soft and jazzy. Your eyes fluttered shut and you swayed back and forth.

“Beautiful,” you said. You stood before him and he watched your sway your hips. “If moonlight had a sound, this would be it.” You reached for his hands, which were warmer than you expected, and you tugged him close.

“Dance with me,” you said.

R would have blused if he could. His eyes widened.

“I…” he said. “Can’t….can’t dance…”

You giggled.

“Me neither,” you said. “Luckily, no one is here. So let’s suck at dancing togeher.”

You pulled him close and placed your hands on his shoulders. R’s hands found your hips and you both swayed to the smooth jazzy tune. Moonlight spilled through the airplane window, alighting the dark cabin in pale light.

You pressed your head to his chest. Everything felt so dreamlike, the wasteland outside so far away.

Then, you thought you heard something. A movement, a flutter deep in R’s ribcage.

You paused and looked up at him. R was looking at you.

“What…?” he said.

You stared at him for a moment, then shook your head.

“Nothing,” you said. “Just…I think I’m ready to sleep.”

R nodded and the two of you retreated to your sleeping spot in the back. R pulled your close to his chest and once again you swore there was something under that tattered t-shirt. R began kissing on top of your head, lips that were so much warmer than they were back when you two first met.

You lifted your face and pressed your lips to his.You melted into each other, kissing and touching and you couldn’t tell how much of the warmth came from you.

Then, you both spoke at the same time,

“I love you.”

You both paused and looked at each other. Not only had you said the same thing, but it was the first full sentence that R had said to you without any stuttering. His words were clear and crips, almost like he was…alive.

“R,” you said. “Did you just…”

“I…” he said. Then, “Yes, I did.”

Your eyes widened. Suddenly, R looked completely different. There was a flush to his cheeks, a light to his eyes. He looked different and yet so much more like himself than he ever had.

You moved your hand to his chest and pressed your palm there. There, beneath your palm, was teh flutter you’d been sensing all evening. A heartbeat.

“R,” you said. “You’re alive…”

R glanced at at your hand and pressed his over it. He looked at you, with complete awe, like you were a miraculous angel sent to rescue him.

“I am,” he said. “It’s…it’s you, Y/N. You did this.”

Your own heart took off in your chest. You pulled R into an embrace, giggling with happiness. A cure. You two had found a cure, a life-changing remedy to the wasteland the world had become.

But right then, in the moonlight, all you cared about the rhythm in your lover’s chest.

#resisting the urge to title it “Knight in Rotting Armor 2: Electric Boogaloo”#warm bodies #r atvist #nicholas hoult #isaac marion

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blushydrangea · 1 year

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Matchmaker Marcia au, part 1

Well, I wasn't going to post this because my writer's block has been making me hate everything I come up with, but @petitmonde asked me to and I delievered <3

AO3 link!

Marcia wouldn't have called herself perceptive before meeting Jasmine. She definitely would now, though, after close to five months of being her roommate and having eaten up everything she taught her about how to tell someone is flirting.

And, if Marcia weren't so perceptive, perhaps she wouldn't have noticed how Bosco's hand brushed over Jasmine's thigh as she reached for the remote. That moment could have easily been avoided, in fact, so easily that there was no way in Heaven Bosco did not do it on purpose.

“We should check out what’s on TLC,” Jasmine told them, always morbidly curious about the dramatic reality shows.

Bosco chuckled at her, gently caressing Jasmine’s waist as she replied. “I guess, but there’s a 98% chance we’re gonna end up on Netflix anyway.”

Marcia turned her gaze away and smiled to herself, looking down at her hands, carefully folded on her lap. She wanted to giggle but bit it back, knowing one of them would probably hear and ask her about it.

It felt like keeping a secret. For hours, even, because the three girls managed to chat their way into the night – not a demanding task when you were in a group with Jasmine and Marcia –, and it was already late when Bosco had to excuse herself and leave with a promise to come back as soon as she could.

She hugged the two of them separately, but lingered almost five seconds longer with her arms wrapped around Jasmine. Marcia smiled again, heat rising to her cheeks and the giggle from before finally making its way into existence.

Jasmine had just closed the door then, smiling brighter than she had smiled all week. One did not need to be perceptive at all in order to notice the blonde's crush on the woman who just walked out, so Marcia had already known for ages and yet politely kept the subject locked somewhere neither of them could reach.

"What are you laughing at?", Jasmine asked her, head tilted slightly to one side.

Time to unlock it, then. Marcia's smile was almost as bright. "Bosco was totally flirting with you!"

Jasmine's reaction was so cartoonish it would've fit perfectly in a sitcom. She coughed, shook her head, widened her eyes and turned purple – all of it in under a minute! Marcia was in the middle of wondering if she should film it when the taller girl finally managed to choke out a sentence. "No, she fucking wasn't!"

Marcia waited for more to come, as she would rarely be done after just one sentence, but the silence quickly got too awkward and she had to find her voice again, unable to contain another giggle. "She totally was, Jazzy! She kept touching your thigh and your waist on purpose, she hugged you for so long and was looking at you with those heart eyes. Y'know, the way I look at pancakes."

She frowned at her own comparison. Jasmine was grimacing, too, but definitely for a different reason.

"You're insane," she proclaimed, throwing herself on the couch and laughing breathlessly. "That's just how Bosco is! She's touchy and expressive, she does it to everyone because flirting is, I don't fucking know, her second nature or something? That's not the point. The point is you're insane, girl."

"Well, I was right there next to the two of you and she didn't do any of that to me! Just you," Marcia shrugged as she sat next to her, smiling when Jasmine laid her head on her lap.

"Duh, you're basically the baby of the house, no one does that to you. And besides, that doesn't prove anything"

"Bullshit! First, I'm older than you, Second, I've hung out with Bosco and Daya together and she didn't do it to her. Or to me, as previously stated–" she quickly added, noticing how Jasmine's eyebrow was arching. "It's just you! And she only looks lovey-dovey around you! She's soooooo flirting, oh my God, she won't even hide it!"

"Was there booze in your juice?" Jasmine deadpanned. Her cheeks had kept the deep shade of cherry red, though, so there was hope she'd come to her senses and accept the unwavering truth.

"Jasmine and Bosco, sitting on a tree —"

"Not this, enough!", Jasmine stood up quickly, as if something bit her. "I'm going to shower and sleep. Goodnight, dumbass, please wake up smarter tomorrow."

Marcia laughed out loud, nodding. She was ready to finally have the couch and the TV for herself after being so right. "Just promise me you'll think about what I said!'

"Fuck you!", came the scream from the bathroom.

Love is funny, Marcia thought, a playful smile still on her lips. I need a blanket.

#matchmaker au #this is so short i hate myself #jasco #marcia

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thedovahcat · 1 year

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Gorillas Getting Judged

Tomorrow's my assessment and I am hella nervous but a little excited but also mostly nervous.

I think I'm as ready as I'll ever possibly be about it and I've been talking about it with my friends about the likelihood of x y z and what may possibly happen and all that

Wuff.. the sooner all this is over the better... even if this is something I've wanted to know about for a long time, it's still very like...anxiety-inducing.

It's just an interview. Not like it's a job or anything. I hope I get a result I'm happy with, some days I still feel like "yeah nothing is probably up with me maybe I did this for nothing" and others I'm very confident about I guess having some sort of disorder going on.

I'd really like a professionals opinion and that's coming up. The only thing I'm terrified of is being written off. But, this maybe won't be the case if I'm doing this independantly of insurance and general doctors and all that...

So...

We'll see!! If it's some INCONCLUSIVE type answer then frankly I don't know what I'll do. What can I do though? Can't keep running to multiple places, cuz then it'll feel like I'm just probing for someone to tell me what I want. And I don't want that, ironically speaking.

I’m still really upset and pissed off that my parents still don’t take things like this seriously, and honestly they may never. Which, is just something I’ll have to deal with. I can’t be open with this kind of stuff about them, can’t talk about it unless it’s only happening to someone else. Minority families are just like that, what can I say? There’s that stigma attached to it like so many other things and mental illness in the family?? Ohoho boy you best get prepared to be yelled at and told off that it’s all fake and nothing you feel is real. No support at all. I’ve talked about this kind of thing before though so, nothing new there. Dad’s still harping on and on about how I better hear the answer I want to hear and I better get my money’s worth because it’s such a rip off etc etc. Like... I’m getting this assessment done without being on a huge waiting list, without paying exorbitant fees- I’m really lucky I can afford something like this for myself to be honest. And I’m in a good position right now to be able to have an assessment done in the first place. So yeah...

Hhhh.. moving along...on top of that, I got all my new computer parts so I've been making a backup of my system but that's taking so long. I have effectively banished myself from computer games so I wish I woulda planned that a bit better. Oh well.. by the weekend I'll have jazzy new parts and a speedier computation machine so.. something to look forward to.

There’s not much else to be said in the meantime, at least until tomorrow perhaps. Hopefully my mind won’t be blown to smithereens and I’ll be feeling OK or better than that. Something positive. It’s been a real emotional and tense week (and it’s only going to be Wednesday). With all the college stuff mounting, I’m just... I’m tired. I want to relax, I want a break, I wanna do stuff I like doing and continue on like normal... But for now I can’t.

Gotta schedule Tato’s dental speaking of which... I’m a bit nervous about that but my mom’s already made an appointment for the other cat so I’m going to see how his appt turns out before taking Tato in for his teeth cleaning. The vet said they were really gnarly (which was surprisingly cuz the previous vet said nothing about this) so I hope it doesn’t come down to like.... a ton of extractions or whatever the case. I’d feel bad and so would my wallet, but hey, gotta do whatever is necessary to keep that boi healthy.

That’s it for now though...

Wish me...luck??? I guess? Thu..mbs up?

#math and gorillas

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burstingsunrise · 2 years

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Hi! I sent you and meg an ask after the uk leg of the tour asking for your luke outfit rankings. I would like to extend the same invitation now that tour is over. So, top 10 luke fits of the take my hand tour?

the way I have been anticipating this ask for weeks and thinking about how much I’d agonize over it, and now the day has finally come!

as always, I appreciate the opportunity to study luke content and discuss it in detail with meg @kaleidoscopeminds and also as always luke has never once looked bad and this was both an incredibly enjoyable and an incredibly challenging task.

01. Austin

am I biased? maybe. but also, do you see him? I love the sunflower design on this shirt and it is so tiny and tight and sheer. AND never obstructed by a jacket, which means we had a fantastic view of the fit of these pants for the whole show in addition to all that bouncing and arm raising! please see these gifs for additional evidence this outfit deserves the highest honor.

02. Minneapolis

the thing about picking favorite luke outfits is that a big part of the equation is simply: how much of luke’s body is visible in the outfit? and in this case, the answer is A Lot. so here it is at #2. i’m not sorry. and it’s even more devastating in action.

03. Blue Vest shows

see above re: how much of luke’s body is visible. also, the blue looks so pretty with his eyes, and when he unbuttons the vest? wow! :) he wore this a lot, but I think my favorite iteration of this outfit is when he paired it with his jazzy blue and orange sneakers. something about luke in sneakers on stage.

04. Dallas (Irving)

he wore the thin black long sleeve quite a bit and it is a favorite of mine overall - the epitome of cozy slutty™. and these pants are so fun for so many reasons. the flair, the plaid pattern, the way they are painted onto his ass, etc. this entire outfit really just bounces so well.

05. Plymouth

a top pick from the original uk list! once again we’ve got a cozy slutty™ situation on top with the stripes, and the purple pants with that particular top is an interesting and lovely choice. plus, you know. purple.

06. Phoenix

The fun dip shirt! I’m a big fan of all these tight little mesh tops he’s been wearing, but this is one of my favorites. the colors are so pretty on him and it is also extremely tiny and tight. did i mention it’s tight? :)

07. London

i am me. the purple suit needs to be on the list. (and i maintain this color is actually the most beautiful on him.)

08. Milan

all the colored suits are gorgeous on him, but something about the deep red, plus the specific cut of this suit, just looks extra incredible. he wore it a few times, but I particularly like it with the simple white shirt under it, and he just looked so beautiful at this show with his makeup and the necklace and the belt, the whole look is perfect.

09. Denver

perhaps an unexpected choice, but there’s just something intriguing about this outfit being so different than pretty much anything else he wore all tour. it’s so comparatively casual, and for some reason that’s really working for me? the stripey shirt, the dangly belt, the jazzy sneakers…i suppose this might also qualify as cozy slutty™. and calum endorses this look too!

10. Berlin

i struggled a lot with deciding which of the silk shirts to showcase. the emerald green one and the pink one were also contenders, but i ended up with this one because i like the full outfit the most. i like the pairing of the neutral colors, and once again I have been seduced by casual sneakers with a fancier outfit.

(This was so hard there are still six other outfits + one of the Pryzm show outfits on my shortlist)

#the thing about this is that there is not ever one single pic #that shows all the reasons a particular outfit is fantastic #sigh life is hard why can't we post 3d holograms on tumblr dot com #i am going to step away from this now before i overthink it and start reorganizing until the end of time #ask #anon #luke hemmings #tmh tour #honorable mentions include ny night 2 pink shirt #houston green shirt #padova suit with the tiny white tank top #chicago with the nude and blue mesh situation #philadelphia with the blue pants and sheer black shirt over a blank tank #boston with the blue tank top under the ass pants suit (and the boa!)#and of course the beloved shredded shirt from the first pryzm show

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allthemusic · 3 months

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Week ending: 3 March 1955

Another single-song week, and we have officially reached March! I've also realised just how many female-led songs we've had recently. I talked about them in last week's post, but it's struck me again, just how many there are at this point - certainly more than there was back in 1952 when the charts were just starting out. Plus, they already seem to be a slightly chirpier, cheerier breed than the class of 1952.

Happy Days and Lonely Nights - Ruby Murray (peaked at No. 6)

More Ruby Murray, I think as I click onto this song - it's not a terrible prospect, but it's not thrilling me, either? I'm not surprised as I click to see that this is a cover, too. Does Ruby just do covers of American songs? She seems to do pretty well with them, so it's obviously a model that works, but I'd love to see what she does when given free rein.

That said, I also do enjoy the intro to this one. It's got my favourite 1950s instrument - old-school electric guitar - plus a bunch of jazzy chords. And imagine my delight when this continues on into the rest of the song! It's jazzy guitar all the way down!!

All this creates quite a jolly vibe, which is interesting, because it's not actually a very happy song. Ruby's supposed to be heart-broken, singing about how "Since the parting of the ways / You took all my happy days / And left me lonely nights". So her love has left her, and now she's lonely - and yet, she doesn't sound particularly sad about it. In fact, the whole song sounds way too chipper and upbeat for the lyrics of the song.

I'm not necessarily complaining, because I really do like the notes the guitar is hitting, and I also appreciate the triplet rhythms. There's something wistful about it, even if it's not properly sad - there's a touch of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, perhaps, in the soaring chords and particular cadences of it.

There's also something rather timeless about it - not because I think it's a classic, or anything, but because it doesn't have an obviously 1950s sound. It's hard to place, and I could imagine an only-slightly re-vamped version doing the numbers in the 1960s or even 1970s or 1980s. It would be on the cheesier end of the pop spectrum, but I could see it.

"You taught me how to love you / Now teach me to forget" is such a mid-00s emo band lyric, and I love it. How melodramatic can you get? Accompanied by the rinky-dink vintage guitar, it's gloriously over-dramatic.

I was roundly bemused by this song. I think its because I tend to listen to music first and lyrics second, so by the time I got to looking at what Ruby was singing, I was already firmly in the "jolly whimsical romp" mood, and found it hard to take the song at its word. Oh well.

Favourite weirdly happy-sad song of the bunch: Happy Days and Lonely Nights

#uk charts #1955 #ruby murray

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sanjosenewshq · 1 year

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Who will win the Week 9 sport on Monday in New Orleans? Mercury Information

Here is how The Baltimore Solar Athletic employees appears to be like on the consequence of Monday night time’s Week 9 sport between the Ravens (5-3) and New Orleans Saints (3-5) on the Caesars Superdome in New Orleans: Jonas Shaffer, reporter Ravens 17, Saints 16: This would possibly sound like Thursday night time’s sport. Ravens, regardless of a protracted laying interval, seemingly wouldn’t have a large receiver, slim finish or again out there. New Orleans will drop two stars as properly, and it would not match properly with the Ravens protection. Lamar Jackson’s jazzy abilities and regular hand ought to be the distinction in his first begin within the Superdome. Mike Preston, columnist Ravens 24, Saints 21: Enjoying the Saints within the Superdome is a tricky job, but it surely appears to be like just like the Ravens are able to go for somewhat run. Quarterback Lamar Jackson is aware of he would not should play “champion ball” each week, and the Saints are having a tough time discovering the No. 1 quarterback after changing James Winston with Andy Dalton. Childs Walker, reporter Crows 27, Saints 20: With a powerful protection, funky working sport and plenty of huge threats, the Saints should not your common 3-5 opponent. However the crows will transfer the ball on the bottom, and their big benefit in particular groups can play its half. They are going to be beating their approach to one other win on their NFC South Center Tour. Ryan McFadden, reporter Ravens 24, Saints 21: With Rashid Bateman out for the season and Mark Andrews up within the air, the Ravens will as soon as once more rely closely on a working sport. Even when Gus Edwards is not taking part in, Baltimore ought to be capable to transfer the ball successfully whereas nonetheless being answerable for the particular groups. CJ Doon, Editor Saints 28, Crows 27: For a crew with a dropping observe document, the Saints are fairly cool. DeMario Davis could also be the perfect midfield participant within the NFL. Working Again Alvin Camara is out of a triple play. Rookie extensive receiver Chris Olave averages about 15 yards per hunt. Defensive Marcus Davenport finishes and Cameron Jordan can cease the run. Security Teran Mathew continues to be a playmaker. Midfielder Andy Dalton performs higher than you suppose. This all provides as much as a critical street take a look at for the Ravens, particularly if they’re lacking Mark Andrews and Gus Edwards. Tim Schwartz, Editor Ravens 30, Saints 20: Perhaps I am too optimistic primarily based on the uneven season the crows have collected to this point, however the Saints aren’t who – which Good, crows had been feeding to run alongside the expanse. Mini Bays will assist, as a result of they have been coping with accidents to a number of key gamers, however assuming Mark Andrews is nice, I do not see New Orleans as a lot of a risk to Baltimore. The Ravens have achieved properly towards quarterbacks who cannot escape a pocket and take off (see: Joe Flacco, Tom Brady, Jacobi Brissett), and whereas Andy Dalton has performed properly since changing into an everyday, he isn’t Fleet. . Working again Alvin Kamara is a nail however the protection will stand tall and Lamar Jackson will most carefully resemble the midfielder we noticed early within the season as a dominant double risk. () Originally published at San Jose News HQ

#San Jose News HQ

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gyujeongfmd · 2 years

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famed verification — actually

summary — gyujeong’s bad habit of instagram stalking leads to an angrier surprise, where he steps out of the sad boy blues. yet, it turns him into a more pathetic fuck writing a song about someone he’s never met before. warnings — none wc — 1839 (not including lyrics)

they say that there are different stages of getting over someone who’s become some sort of morbid, perpetual underlying cause to your inability to see things day to day.

to him, it comes in waves.

first comes sadness. (been there, done that. perhaps, he’s still lingering in this one from time to time). second, comes regret. (maybe it’s the same thing as sadness, and he’s just feeling out different words to excuse his fucking pathetic ass from wallowing in self-pity for any longer). then comes, nostalgia — not the kind that triggers a smile in the fond memories he’s experienced once in a lifetime, no. it’s the kind that sort of pushes him past the edge of processing things coherently like any damn normal human being, making him feel like he’s only a mere shell of who he used to be.

blah blah, and the steps continue. right now, he’s phasing out his newest phase: anger.

anger in the sense that when he’s provoked by a social media post. yeah, he knows, maybe he shouldn’t be logging on like that ex who can’t seem to let things go. nevermind that, and he swears it means nothing. swears it’s anything but a habit how he wakes up at 3’clock where the sun’s not even up, straight to the search bar of instagram to type in the same god damn username each day: slowli_m.

and in some fucked up situation, he feels a sense of comfort, underlying commiseration that she hasn’t posted anything in the past few weeks — maybe, she’s wallowing, even drowning as much as he is now.

that is, until he sees a new post made. something diverges from the usual posts of some sunrise, sunset medley, coffeeshop, random selfie. now, commiseration’s no longer a virtue, and he’s sitting inside a party of one, following the trails from one username to the next — another guy, arms wrapped around her. (she’s giving him the same smile that she gave him a month ago. he’s been confused from the start).

so, that triggers the sudden chain-reaction of how he lands in this situation in the first place because god knows, he’s far too pathetic to send an irrational dm, but he isn’t pathetic enough to draft up another song he swears he’ll send to her even if it doesn’t blast past the speakers through gold star’s hands.

it sounds like anything he’s ever written before. maybe, something too similar to a re-hashed version of a song he’s written years ago, never brought to the scene. but he continues at it with the funky sounds of too many synths going on at once in the house music beat. he swears, it’s far from desperation that causes him to pretend like if he writes the same fucking house beat, maybe she’ll return back to him when the beginnings of the track sound like the background music to some house gathering they went to in the past. or maybe, he’s just clinging on too much to the past trying to salvage something that’s damn near impossible.

he keeps the back pace at a low bpm, sitting through the grooves of the note that piece together a jazzy, undertone. at this point, he can’t focus — obviously indicated by the clutter on his screen that mixes and patches together the percussion lines he starts with the touchpad lighting up neon in the room that stands dark. he keeps it steady, fingers bobbing in tandem with his head that nods with the metronomic clicks of the processing sound. it’s enough of a distraction — he’s merely distracting himself, he tells himself.

but even music doesn’t serve as a distraction when there’s an evident heavier weight hanging on the back of his mind, dictating the motions of why he’s writing this fucking song in the first place.

add that with the underlying funky bass tunes, and being a shell of his old self is merely an understatement. he’s thrown that shit out, pretending like he hasn’t spent the past two weeks, voice drowning in each sad song he’s written, created out of the sheer fact that sleep hasn’t been well to him — it’s all her fault.

today, he’ll pull himself out of the melancholic chords of an off-pitch guitar, stop singing. he’ll revert back to his roots, and then maybe, he’ll find himself again.

or maybe, he’s just trying to be a fucking cliche and ‘get lost in the music’.

it doesn’t help that with each additional layer he adds, he ends up getting lost further — not in the beats or the progressional notes, but the whole insecurity biting in the pit of his stomach, making him fall harder in the resentment and self-pity he’s created for himself. it’s sick, and he barely registers what he’s doing when he’s so far in, adding every effect and different filters to the sounds that turn the track into a fun-house of gimmicks.

somehow, he lands himself back into his roots.

melody hitting a tailspin in how he figures each upward projection of the notes in the backtrack to fit hand in hand, staccato. (it’s always his fall back, always has been. the only thing he knows to do when a cesspool of thoughts whirl rapid fire in his mind).

he’s at least got himself a concept in how he follows through, adding in little notes throughout the song — side thoughts, leaving him to add a quick spin of tongue here and there before the languid tick tick tick’s fall for the chorus. the chorus, he’s already had in mind from the start — a matter-of-fact tone that transcends the sarcasm he’s built up throughout the course of the night. it follows the same back hitch and forth pattern — slowed down, purposely built to hear each word, a safe ground (just in case she doesn’t catch the rest).

there’s a sense of coherency in this song that he matches together like a puzzle, each melody, verse, line. the bridge locking itself to the backtrack — it’s all intertwined, drawn out for easy listening. easy listening contrasting the words he’s biting back and swears she doesn’t wanna hear.

figures, maybe he’s just a sick fuck at this point. finding any easy way to jab in petty remarks, the only way he knows he can make it hurt. (turns out, he’s no sick fuck. he’s just a damn coward hiding behind the lines and rhythmic celebrations of a song that sounds too fucking happy for what he’s getting at). maturing at thirty, and they pin growing apart as the reason for the fracture — in reality, he’s still basking in the jaded pettiness of being twenty-something, growing up not yet.

so, by the time he finds the songs, he needs to find the words to bring together this bitter taste that doesn’t subside no matter how many times he’s told himself to stray away from the bullshit altogether. figures, he needs another release — too much time lends itself to the imagination, and right now he’s already six chapters in the backstory he crafted from that damn picture.

his eyes scan the picture again. he sees her smile, the kind of soft feminine smile, contrasting fully with the unruly hair and wave of smoke in the photo. for a split second, he just focuses on her face — realizes, he’s been staring for god knows how long that the photo starts to move, and he swears he hears her voice telling him to get a grip, move the fuck on.

but he refuses, just as he sees the guy next to her. his cheap hoodie, probably bought on a side-street corner store in hongdae (it makes him hate him more when no logical grown-ass adult in their thirties would be caught dead in hongdae). there’s the supreme hat too (makes another red flag when supreme’s trend died down two years ago.) figures, he’s a lowlife loser, probably one of those so-called up and coming ‘rappers’.

yeah, this pettiness gets him, and he tosses his phone behind him, taking attention to the empty blank pad of his screen. gyujeong gets the motions of the rhythm, freestyling any words that come to fruition when he thinks of the cheap cop-out replacement — he hates her. no, he doesn’t. but he sure does hate the guy next to her.

what was he thinking giving you something with a huge logo the tracks on his soundcloud the channels he subscribes on youtube this match won’t last long.

these are the words he holds together for comfort. a fucking rebound’s not meant to last long, least not when he swears he knows her better than anyone else in the world. temporary relief, what he calls it — one of those fifty day relationships waiting to end. hesitation prevents his fingers from typing in anything else on the screen because the imagination’s already rolling a mile a second, and he’s fallen short of any logic.

they’re dating. he can tell, can tell how the fucking guy’s wrapped so comfortably around her. the picture’s already singed into his mind, and he gives himself the benefit of the doubt: it’s just a stupid song. it’s an innocuous attempt, and he needs her to hear him out.

actually i really wish you guys would break up now not for a while, but officially anyways, he’s not the one

every damn scenario he creates in his head makes him feel physically ill. here’s gyujeong slaving away day after day, fallen short of his own damn mistakes. tissue after tissue, stupid tears — drinking things that taste like shit for the slow reprieve of falling asleep. stupid heartbroken song one after another, hoping maybe someday down the line — five years, ten, twenty, things could be different.

but things aren’t fucking different, and it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it’ll ever be the way his mind reverts to that damn picture on the damn instagram.

don’t even bother checking your texts he’s definitely playing online games you are being used again

the damn picture’s worth a thousand words, and he can already tell, the guy’s a fucking loser (at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself). the type of loser who gives no shits about her, spending hours on end on some multiplayer game before scrambling together the lousy excuse — ‘sorry’. yeah, he’s that type of guy, gyujeong can tell.

but in hindsight, who’s the fucking loser creating backstories for a fuck he’s never met?

he’s excusing himself for a night. writing up a story worth a million more pictures, probably yet to come. bad habits turn into a night creating some happy-go-lucky beat song with the words that don’t match. (it’s his pride on the line, or some warped rational to make himself feel better, feel like he’s moved on).

truth is, he hasn’t moved on. he only wants her, and this unabashed attempt turns into another reason to why he needs a new fucking hobby.

#famedverification

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phrynewrites · 2 years

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Jasmine gonna be like “can’t believe we ended even before we began 😔” and the Universe is just “lol think again”

Jasmine’s like…ok I’ve basically broken my own heart at least 12 times, just by having feelings and doing nothing about them, but now I see that doing something about them is worse because now you know you’re being rejected :( Sigh, guess it’s time to finish off the Bosco chapter of the manuscript.

And meanwhile Bosco’s in their office like…she’s too pretty and now I know she smells like oranges and musk when she’s trying to be flirty so now I can’t look or speak I can only read and write emails or I’ll die

#the inverse is like jazzy baby did you forget that they basically are reading your diary #and have been for the past few weeks #and that they’re probably just embarrassed to have feelings and don’t know what to do about it?#perhaps now you take the lead and reach out to them #go ahead taking the lead isn’t a bad thing! sometimes it pays off! it’s time to learn to put your feelings out there!#and the universe to bosco is like oh my god you’re so dumb you deserve your swollen ankle you moron #literally just keep reading and feeling bad about forgetting how to flirt the minute feelings start to get real #and a relationship is a possibility #the universe in Bosco’s mind is much harsher fjdkfk #asks answered #for anon #jasco love letter au

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photiniainsummer · 3 years

Text

Dancing with the Dark

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: You've taken to lingering around Dark's office late at night when he thinks he's alone with his old jazz standards.

Or so you thought, until one night you find the door open.

You've always wondered what exactly he does behind it...

It's listen to music. Get your mind out of the gutter. ;)

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 6860

Author’s Note: No warnings - this is really all just tooth-rotting, tender, slow build romance. There is dancin' and smoochin', though. 👀 Also posted to AO3!

It wasn’t something you had intended to intrude on. The Manor is big, but not that big, and it just so happens that the quickest route to your bedroom means you have to pass Dark’s office suite. As your nights have gotten later and later, trying to keep tabs on Mark and the poor, scattered egos he’s made and dumped, more and more often have you caught soft, crackling music drifting out from behind your sort-of boss’ heavy office door.

At first, you mostly ignored it, noting it with a small smile and continuing to bed. It’s really none of your business what the shadowy man does in his free time, you figured. Plus, you all manage to live on top of one another, despite the Manor’s size, which puts privacy at a premium - who are you to deny him some when he can get it? But as time has passed and you’ve worked intensely together, the original enmity between you two has turned into a professional respect and eventually, you’d hazard, a friendly banter. At least, such as Dark is willing to joke around.

And so, tempted by your mutual softening, and maybe a little curiosity as to what kind of music your ‘leader’ listens to, you’ve found yourself pausing in your path to bed when you catch him playing a record. At first, you only stopped briefly at the top of the stairs with his office across the landing from you, taking a moment to appreciate a few bars of dreamy jazz. It was peaceful, almost magnetically melodic. But you quickly grew self-conscious in your eavesdropping, and, not wanting to seem nosy (despite the fact you definitely were being nosy), moved along to your room.

You crossed the landing to the bit of wall near his door, next, but kept a keen eye on the stairs behind you in case you needed to make a sudden retreat. For a week or so, you took longer, lingering there at the mouth of the short hallway to his office. You would take in a full song before you got antsy, concerned Dark might get up to make a late-night cup of tea and discover you. Even so, you had found it hard to pull yourself away from the lilting voices of his records - time seemed to slow, for just a little while, and you felt you breathed easier, deeper even, once you were back in your bedroom.

Finally, now, and most nights for the last month, you’ve let yourself truly relax just outside his door. He never leaves, not that you’ve seen, and so you’ve taken to resting in the shadow of the short hallway and letting the hypnotic drags of a brush across a snare, crooning voices over a string quartet wrap around you. Dark’s music is never truly jazzy, never truly swinging, and it soothes you like very little else can these days. It’s steady - you think that’s what’s so appealing about it - drawing you in at the end of a long day for a moment of reprieve, floating outside of time in the gentle shade of this corner of the Manor.

You’ve gotten used to it, to be sure. The sleepy, tripping dance of a horn greets you at the end of each long day spent combing through Mark’s videos, hunting for hints as to his next move. The quiet moments spent letting the gentle jazz unwind some tight thing in your chest have become just as much your routine as they are Dark’s - and you understand why he takes the time. Until you started lingering to listen, you were harder up for time alone than you thought with barely a moment to spend in your own head. Everything was focused on maneuvering around Mark, a seemingly endless game of cat-and-mouse that left you tossing and turning and jittering yourself into an exhausted unconsciousness each night. But now, you fall asleep faster, wake up feeling more rested having actually relaxed before bundling down under your covers. You had found a little corner of peace, thanks to Dark. And, perhaps, thanks to your damned nosiness, as the man himself had called it once.

Only occasionally as you lean against the wallpaper have you allowed yourself to think about the man behind the door. For all your collaboration, Dark is still a mysterious, calculating, and distant figure. It’s by his own making, too. He’s been content to work closely with you planning Mark’s downfall, but keeps his own cards so close to his chest you have to wonder if he can even see them now, so to speak.

Perhaps he knows them well enough not to need to.

You’ve learned not to pry too much about any of the egos’ pasts and what they remember of them, unless you’re just in the mood for awkward, dead-end conversations. Wilford doesn’t seem troubled in the moment, human bouncy ball that he is, but responds vaguely - even for him - before up and disappearing for a few days. Google spouts some kind of technical jargon about his assembly warehouse that you can barely keep up with, then focuses intently on changing the subject. The Host only gives you one of his polite little smiles and reminds you that your futures are ‘of a more pressing nature’ than his past is.

The only one you’ve totally avoided trying to bring up the subject with is Dark. Your first real conversation had edged on it, and his reaction - aura practically blowing all the lightbulbs in the room, crackling copies of himself writhing in rage - had been pretty clearly in the ‘not positive’ camp. You’ve not had the stomach to unnecessarily incite his ire, so most of what you know about him, you’ve put together yourself. A vague understanding of his blended nature, the people he was before, their relationships to Mark… But it’s all guesses and deductive work about people long gone from the plane you inhabit. Grasping at shadows and context clues to paint a portrait of how the being, who deeply dislikes the outsize attention his central role as Mark’s primary ‘villain’ commands, came to be.

Yet, you do know some things about what he’s like. That he doesn’t seem to need to eat or take breaks of any kind. That he’s single-mindedly devoted to stopping Mark in his tracks, and intensely methodical about the whole endeavor. Even when you think you’ve caught him reading something for fun, it turns out to be Mark-adjacent. It’s impressive, you admit, but also why hearing those strains of songs sung long ago, finding him doing something unproductive has captured you so. To think of him taking time for himself, doing nothing but enjoying some music… it simultaneously feels incredibly decadent and comforting. For all his hardworking exterior, there are quiet moments Dark takes to relax. Even more than his music, that soothes something in your heart you didn’t even know was tense.

Plus, good lord. The man listens to croony, moony, love-sick music late at night when the rest of the Manor has retreated to their own separate corners. How could you not melt?

Yet it’s impossible for you not to wonder what exactly he does behind his office door. It’s always firmly shut, and even with the proclivity toward psychic abilities in the Manor’s residents, you can’t completely school the curiosity it inspires. Listening to a couple croon about the stars or something equally cheesy from your spot out in the hall, you’ll often picture him relaxing in one of the high-backed armchairs situated near the heavy fireplace. Maybe he’s shut the door to his workspace proper, allowed himself some wine from the cellar, propped his feet up… Maybe he’s truly relaxing, thinking of something altogether having nothing to do with his work. It’s anachronistic enough to your steadfast image of him to be ridiculous, but you also can’t help but hope it exists in some form, protected behind the dark wood that muffles already-quietly trilling piano keys.

This is why, late one night, you’re stopped in your tracks at the foot of the stairs, already able to hear his music. You’d been just about to pull yourself up the stairs by the handrails, eyes bleary from staring at your screen all day when you’d picked out the dreamy march of brass. You’ve only ever been able to hear his records when you’re standing on the landing - is something wrong? Cautiously, you ascend the tightly winding stairs, your thoughts mirroring the spiraling steps as they scramble, chasing away any haziness.

Reaching the landing, you find dancing firelight spilling out across the thick Persian rug there, Dark’s door cracked shockingly wide. The sight is almost obscene, illuminating the spot that has been your shadowy cocoon. It’s only made more stark by the clarity of the music that lilts through the air. You have the keen, embarrassed feeling that you should not be seeing what you’re seeing, that you’re intruding, infringing on something private - even though all you can see of the office is a little bit of wall just inside the door. Even so, the sudden need to stop this, to preserve something personal, quiet, safe for Dark overtakes you. You’re spurred into action, crossing the space on careful feet. You move to shut the door, to right this obvious wrong, but as your hand takes the old brass knob, the music from within murmurs tender thoughts of lovers embracing after an age apart. Even with your goal so firmly in mind, you can’t stop your eyes from flitting over the sliver of his office the crack in the door reveals.

And, oh, what it reveals.

As if intentionally centered for your view, Dark is, as you’ve imagined countless times, tucked into one of the armchairs near the fire. His suit jacket has been carefully folded and hung over the back of his chair, his starkly white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a bit of the skin at his throat. More is revealed by the tilt of his head as he rests it back in the crook of the armchair’s wings.

You’ve never seen him so… undressed before. You immediately flush, embarrassedly shooing the thought away before it can become anything more than a passing observation. You’re thankful to see that his piercing eyes are gently shut, the breaths he draws steady and quiet. Even his aura is still, nonexistent except for his colorlessness. The dull ring that accompanies him, too, is almost completely silent. Whatever remains is drowned out by the softly crackling gramaphone to his side.

Although you know he doesn’t need to sleep, the tender image of him relaxed enough as to fall into it twists something so totally in your heart that it keeps you there, hand on the doorknob. You know you need to close the door back, and carefully, too, so you don’t pop whatever bubble of peace he’s floating in, but… It’s like having a dragonfly land on the tip of your finger, spotting a deer at the edge of your garden, catching the sun breaking over the horizon and truly beginning to dawn. How can you look away before it ends?

But you’re playing with fire in waiting for this moment to end, and, unfortunately, you get burned.

At least, it feels like you do. Suddenly, Dark’s head comes up, his eyes cracking open, and the cold heat of being caught scalds the back of your neck. You go to close the door, but it’s too late - his black eyes catch yours, and he calls your name. It’s gentle, a distant question, but it still makes your heart sink into some pitiful little depth of your stomach. There’s no way to play this off casually; he sounds truly awake. Either he wasn’t actually sleeping, or you’ve startled him enough to banish any hint of drowsiness from his voice. You’ve ruined this precious little thing, your knowledge of it revealed, and, gosh, you feel miserable for it. But you were called, and so you crack the door a little wider, an apology already on your lips.

“I was just going to shut it for you, I’m sorry,” you offer, quietly, as if trying not to interrupt the music still going at his elbow.

Dark doesn’t immediately respond, watching you with his usually piercing, contrasted eyes. Yet, they’re softer, tired - was he actually sleeping? The gramophone crackles like the low fire nearby. The record playing spins wobblingly, curled with age. The music is even dreamier unfiltered like this, giving the lowly-lit room a hint of unreality. Time seems to stretch between you, and when he finally speaks, his echoing, multi-throated voice only adds to the feeling you’re imagining things.

“...you may come in, if you would like.”

Something has gone horribly wrong. He, or another ego, is dying or has died, you’re certain of it. That, or Mark has figured out your plan to collect them and gotten to one first, maybe Yancy or the Captain, taking them out of the picture or scooping them up for himself. It’s the only obvious explanation your startled mind can offer for seeing Dark so markedly undone - his jacket, his shirt, the door…

Just as quickly, you realize how ridiculous the thought is. Dark wouldn’t look like a rather sleepy cat, cozied up to the fire with his music of choice, much less invite you so casually into his inner sanctum if things had gone to hell. No, there’d be more rending of reality or quick, tense words - a contingency plan thrown into action.

Which means you actually have to deal with being invited into his office late at night, a place you’ve hovered around and imagined for nigh on a month. You force yourself to respond casually, nodding as if this is normal for the two of you as you step over the threshold. He gestures for you to shut the door, and you do, gently putting it to rights before crossing the bookshelf-lined room to join him.

Like you always do. Obviously.

Once near the fire, you can see his aura is beginning to stir once more, the edges of him blurring with compelling darkness. In all the imagining you’d dared to entertain, you have never considered what his face would look like in these moments. His brow is relaxed, his expression open, and though his attention is fully fixed on you, it doesn’t cut through you or hunt for answers. He is merely regarding, the firelight only able to cast dancing shadows across his face for all its warmth. He’s relaxed. Relax-ing .

It’s, again, almost obscene. So much more than you anticipated. It’s one thing to imagine all that you have in theory, a different one to see it in truth, to experience it. And Dark, relaxing, is something you can barely take your eyes off of. He looks so much more like a person, undone after a long day of work, not quite ready to trip off to bed. With his aura so reserved, only mildly undulating at the very edges of him, you could almost dismiss it as a trick of the light, if not for how he absorbs and negates color.

Just a man.

Trying to stay casual, you prop yourself on the chair across from him, chin in hand, and you both watch each other for a moment. Both quiet. Both tired. Except your silence is tinged with subtle awe. At being invited in, at being here, at seeing him this way. It’s like the killer panther that typically stares you down from the shadows giving you a lazy, sun-warmed blink. As much as you try to treat Dark normally, there are moments when you can’t help being amazed - though it’s usually due to his eldritch powers and not him engaging in the simple act of sleeping.

Which begs the question - why leave the door open while he was so indisposed? Mild concern rises again, and you feel compelled to ask.

“Is everything okay…?”

You swear his eyes twinkle, amused. It’s hard to tell with the fire dancing like it is, his face remaining otherwise unchanged. You want to frown, wondering how loud your thoughts have been, but leave it.

“Yes... and no, as always. Nothing has changed, if that is what you mean. There is no need to worry.”

Coming from anyone else, it would be a formality. Your shoulders would stay hunched, your brow might furrow. But when Dark says it, when he speaks more quietly than you think you’ve ever heard him speak, it scatters whatever remaining fears his invitation had kicked up to the wind. You exhale. It is a comfort, but… It doesn’t explain why he invited you in. If you had really ruined his illusion of privacy, would he so readily let you walk over its remnants?

Suddenly, the answer is clear - so simple and obvious as to be startling. You speak before you can question the thought.

“Just want some company?”

Dark continues to watch you, but his gaze loses some of its lethargy. The panther stirs, considering. Weighing. Calculating. Heat rises up your neck ever so slightly - that will teach you to jump to conclusions.

But then he hums and gives an affirming nod. He gestures to the seat you’re leaning on. “Again, if you would like…”

Is that hesitancy?

You really feel like you’re dreaming as you settle across from him. He just wants company. He hesitated. He couldn’t even ask for it. Notably distant Dark, who never joins the rest of you for meals, for after-dinner drinks, who you rarely ever see outside his office… wants company. Although the chair’s winged back curls around you and radiates warmth absorbed from the fire, you find it difficult to relax as he continues to, turning his black-and-white gaze to the fire. Does he want conversation? Comfortable silence? How are you meant to parse what he’s wanting against the background of how surreal it is that you’re actually here?

But little things remind you that this is very much happening - the heat of the nearby fire, the music’s volume being slightly louder than you’d imagined. Although, you remind yourself, you’ve been hearing it muffled by heavy wood until now. It’s still relatively soft, just clearer up close. Your eyes fall to the gramophone piping it out. You’ve seen it in passing, but it registered about as much as the carved wooden globe on the mantle - furniture, meant as a finishing touch for the room. It looks like a true antique, though, its curved neck and ornate mouth lovingly maintained, polished to a shine apart from a few inevitable age spots. It’s close enough to Dark for him to operate without getting up, records tidily shelved underneath.

Your eyes edge back to the man seated so nearby. His slowly awakening aura is gently tugging at your attention, but he himself pays you no mind. That relieves you, somewhat, a silent answer to what his idea of ‘company’ is.

You realize, then, that you’ve never simply existed with him before. Throughout your time at the Manor, you two have only ever been in each other’s company to work or exchange information. There’s always been a goal, something to focus on, to accomplish. But now… there’s nothing. Nothing to do but exist.

Why does that suddenly feel so hard?

You must be thinking rather loudly, because Dark’s gaze slides leisurely from the flames onto you. He tilts his head, but not in that strange drifting motion it sometimes does, gravitating to some sick angle of its own accord. No, he’s just curious. You smile sheepishly, wondering if all your mental spinning has disturbed his peace, made him second-guess inviting you in.

“Too loud?”

Another amused flicker in his colorless eyes. “No louder than usual.”

So tired Dark has jokes , apparently. You give him a look. “Not exactly comforting.”

“To be fair, they are much quieter than when you arrived.” It’s almost a compliment - at least he’s not calling you loud anymore. Letting that be a comfort, you attempt to relax back into the chair. It, like the rest of the Manor’s furniture, feels straight out of a period drama with none of the damage of age. It’s still as soft as it was whenever Dark crafted this bubble of reality.

“It’s hard when you can’t control it - like I have noise cancelling headphones and can’t hear myself or anyone else.”

He hums. “You do not need to explain it to me.” Ouch. You look to the fire, taking the inside of your cheek between your teeth. When will you learn to keep your foot out of your mouth? Dark senses the sudden silence and mildly clears his throat. “I mean… Only to say that I understand you do not have the same ability. I do not hold it against you.”

His voice still has that quietness to it, a low, gentle undercurrent. It’s practically an apology, how he chooses his words. You shift, rubbing your finger joints with your other hand. You’ve been told it looks like hand-wringing, but it soothes you and the soreness there. “I think you saw it differently, when I first got here,” you hazard, just as quiet as you look back to him. Dark is watching you evenly, but something shifts in his brow as he recalls that first day. How different your tones had been, how differently you’d approached the other. You’re only feet from where that first conversation took place, and yet…

“...much was different, then,” he murmurs. “I was, perhaps… harsher than I should have been. I was unaccustomed to the sensation, not at my best.” He seems to stop himself there, closing something that was edging open before looking back to the fire. “I have grown used to it. The sound of your thoughts does not trouble me, but you have also improved at closing your mind. It is impressive, for someone unlike the rest of us.”

Good lord, maybe he actually is dying. You don’t think you’ve heard so many kind words from the man in all your months of living together. His gaze stays fixed on the flames, even as you stare at him, a little stunned. Silence draws out between you, filled only by tonight’s accompaniment. Yet, it doesn’t spark with nervous energy or prickle in pointed coldness. It crackles like ancient records warped with time, old oak burning to warm a place apart from the rest of existence. You settle deeper into the armchair, eyes turning from the shadow you’re keeping company.

He only barely catches your pleased little smile, finding it hard to look at you for too long.

From then on, Dark leaves the door open for you, although cracked much less wide than before. When you call it a night, you make your way through the Manor to your seat near his fire instead of right to bed. Although the weather of the world still reaches you, the place Dark maintains is always just slightly colder, so the fire’s warmth is never unwelcome. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you sit together in silence, but regardless of how chatty either of you feel, there’s always music curling underneath the moment. Dark doesn’t sleep like he did the first night, but he always has his coat off and that softer turn to his eyes by the time you arrive. It’s strange, at first, to see him switch so much between his work and leisure personas, and at first you wonder why he’s not always so relaxed. Surely things would be less tense.

And then you remember Wilford’s incessant gunfire, Google’s underlying objective, the weight of his very existence. Without his steady, cool glare, the Manor would be full of bullet holes, and they’d all probably be dead with Mark free to break reality to his whim. If Dark wasn’t so tightly wound, everything would come undone.

So you enjoy - scratch that. You let him be how he is, in each moment, without comparison. Sure, it’s nice to talk to Dark when he isn’t grinding out words from between his teeth, and seeing him undone has removed whatever distance might have remained between you, but to say you enjoy him…

Christ. Who are you kidding - you really enjoy him.

It really happens without you noticing, and it almost drives you nuts with how cliche it all is. Things just build up - he has a pillow placed in your chair just so for your lower back, you pull the smallest of smiles of him with a well-put observation (and find that his eyes crinkle the same way the other egos’ do) - until one night he asks you to dance.

He’s not quite so blunt as that about it, but it’s essentially what happens. You’re sitting together, having fallen into one of those comfortably quiet moments when a song comes on that you recognize. Not from your time lingering around Dark’s door, but from before you came to the Manor, vague memories welling up of a ballroom dancing class in undergrad you’d taken for fun full of sore toes and sweaty hands. You laugh, suddenly, startled at just how far away that moment feels. You try to cover it with your hand, but you continue to chuckle as something about the ridiculousness of it gets to you, and Dark watches you with some mix of amusement and concern. There’s a little of that predator’s intentionality there - searching for answers. You shake your head as you calm, dropping your hand but still smiling.

“Just… I know this song.”

“Oh?” Read: Continue.

“Well, I… Back in my first year at university, I... well, I signed up for this ballroom dancing unit. This was one of the songs we used, I think.” Dark inclines his head as something changes in his gaze. Your last little aftershock of laughter passes and you settle back into watching the fire lick at its grate, content to let it lie. But Dark continues to watch you. Feeling him still staring, you look back - very little of that soft turn to his eyes remains. He is a man focused. “What?” you eventually ask, shifting under his stare.

“I did not know you danced.”

You fluster, then, scoffing at the idea, eyes falling to the carpet between you. “I… don’t. Unless you count slow dancing, I guess. It was just the one class. Forever ago.”

He’s not content, fixated. But quiet. Considering. Weighing. Then…

“Would you like to?”

You look back quickly enough that you wonder if his aura pulled at you in tandem with your surprise. “Wh. I… Now?”

He nods, slowly. You just stare, trying to process the idea and coming up with no clear thoughts. Then he does something funny - he actually shifts under your scrutiny, gaze flickering away for the briefest of moments before returning to you. That alone is enough to stun you further, Dark looking practically shy, but he explains. “In my day, I was an avid dancer. I enjoyed little else outside of… work. I can show you how.”

You momentarily wonder which of his past lives he means before you find yourself nodding in agreement. Even if you hadn’t wanted to, this is… new. Dark offering so much at such little gain to himself, unfurling those cards from so close to his chest. Refusing now might mean they would never come away again.

“Can you?” Your voice is surprisingly dry, distant, but Dark doesn’t seem to notice, focused on the task now at hand. On you. He only nods and rises from his chair in a smooth motion before offering you a hand.

From experience, you know he leeches color from whatever he touches, even things in his vicinity if his aura is expansive and active enough. Yet, you’ve never had reason to make direct contact, and so you still watch in minor surprise as your hand loses its luster and gains a black-and-white cast when you take his. “It isn’t permanent,” he explains as you stand to join him. “It’s only… plants, that can’t handle it.” He sounds mildly embarrassed, and it clicks why you’ve never seen him in the Host’s garden. The future-sighted ego had probably barred him from the place years ago.

“Oh,” you reply lamely, and he ducks his head somewhat before leading you to the more open space between your chairs and the outer office door. There, he turns smoothly and you’re in position, having used his hold on your hand to subtly guide you closer. Your other hand lands on his upper arm, almost at his shoulder, and he gently shifts his elbow under yours to guide it to rest on top, near his collar. His own hand comes to rest higher on your back than you remember from class, almost on your shoulder blade.

It feels so proper, how you stand, how he holds you… Against the age-old music set to guide you and the Manor’s unchanged decor, you can almost see who he was before - the swish of a beaded skirt, the creak of a heavy cane - but then he speaks, heavy with shadow, and all you know is the darkness in your arms, here and now.

“Just a simple step. You remember a waltz?” You nod - did we dance this close together back then? “Good. Then you know to follow me. Stay relaxed...”

The idea of relaxing flies out of your mind the minute he guides you backward. All your mental energy is focused on not laughing in pure nervous surprise as he seems to get closer and closer before your muscle memory manages to kick in and you’re stepping back with him. You’re slightly out of sync, and he slows just so to catch up with you before he brings you back up to the pace of the song. “Relax,” he murmurs, dipping his head so much closer to yours than feels decent as he speaks, as if sharing a secret. “I have you.”

You certainly do, you think, immediately glad you’ve been practicing keeping your mind closed more often. With all the time you were spending with Dark in his off-hours, you had felt it was only fair that you didn’t overload him any further. That extra practice is coming in handy now as your thoughts swirl behind the dam you imagine holds them back from the general psychic public - your dance partner in particular.

True to his word, Dark keeps it simple, guiding you slowly around the open space, easily turning you in lazy patterns across the floor. And thank goodness for that - anything more complicated and you wouldn’t be able to balance it with how hyper-aware you are of everywhere the two of you touch, the feeling of his firm shoulder and crisp dress shirt under your hand, the skin of his palm against yours - softer than you’d imagined, with calluses inside his first finger from years of pen-writing.

All the same little anxieties bubble up, long-forgotten but haunting you now with a vengeance. Are you gripping him too tightly? Are you anticipating his movements too much? Is your hand getting sweaty, or is that normal? Can he hear you breathing funny? You’ve thankfully settled into a comfortable angle of faces, yours turned slightly to the left and down, eyes fixed firmly on the curve of his shoulder. You don’t think you could trust yourself to make eye contact just now. You can’t say how exactly Dark’s face is turned, though, so focused on keeping your eyes where they are and your thoughts in check that you haven’t looked - nor do you hear him speaking your name until he squeezes you ever so slightly.

You turn, bidden, and you’re practically nose to nose. His stark eyes are already watching you when you meet them, and it steals whatever shallow breath was in your lungs. Up close, you would think you would be able to discern a hint of color in his irises, find that they were really a dark, dark brown. But they are truly, completely black. And they watch you so carefully, thoughtfully, with barely any room to breathe between you.

Your face must betray how the proximity startles you, because you get treated to another of his small, almost imperceptible smiles. Up close. You can see how it pulls at his eyes, and you’re thankful now that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I… Yes?”

“You’re quiet,” he explains, after a beat.

“Do you… typically talk, dancing like this?” When did your throat get so dry? Dark chuckles, low and only for a moment.

“You can... But I was referring to your thoughts.” Uh oh.

“Oh…?” You try to sound normal, mildly interested instead of panicked, already floundering for what to say. Dark’s eyes flicker across your face, and you feel horribly exposed. As if, through the underbrush, you’ve just caught the gleam of a predator’s gaze.

“The closer you are, the more clearly I hear them. Yet…” He pauses, turning you past a low table. “I can barely hear you at all.” Then his voice grows softer, somehow, and your throat feels like it’s never known water. “Where did you go?”

“I…” You swallow fruitlessly, dropping your gaze back to his shoulder, to safety. What can you say to explain the sudden, obvious gap without blurting oh, it’s nothing, I only just realized I’ve been falling in love with you for the past couple of months when you asked me to dance and now I’m trying not to lose it while you hold me. “I’ve… been practicing,” you try. It’s the truth, at least. But you still can’t meet his eyes, though you feel them keenly observing you. “Didn’t… Didn’t want to be shouting at you, from, well... this close.”

He’s quiet then, focusing on sweeping you steadily around the room. The song has changed, your pace slowing somewhat to match the new one, and he takes the chance to guide you through a slightly more complicated step, jettisoning words in favor of taking you through a lazy spin before you fall back into the same step as before. You think you might have dodged a bullet as you settle into the movement, your gentle contact not so new and mind-reeling as it was when you started. But then he speaks, and the echo of his voice almost covers his words for how low it is.

“I… enjoy hearing your thoughts. Hearing you.” Dark’s hand holds yours more firmly as the one on your back brings you close to his chest. He’s practically cradling you against him, and you turn your face towards his in the moment to keep from being trapped looking away. You’ve never seen him make the face he’s wearing now - so serious, brow pulled just slightly, intent, yet that searching intensity has faded. Earnest . “I… I enjoy you. Unless you want your privacy, you are free to… be open with me. If you would like,” he's quick to add, his signature phrase that feels so much like as you wish.

You’re grateful he brings you to an easy stop, even as the music continues behind you because dancing has become beyond your grasp. Your eyes flicker across his shadowed face, mind scrambling as the dam you imagine creaks dangerously within. How much is too much? You hunt for clues in his expression, his face betraying so damn little like always, but then - then - his eyes flicker ever so briefly to your lips, and your eyes perceive a slightly darker shade of gray unfurling across his cheeks.

So you let go.

You don’t drown him in it, of course, but you allow your mind to open slowly once more. He inhales a forcibly steady breath, eyes searching yours once more as he processes, weighs, and finally draws you completely into him, head turning just so to finally fit your lips together in a kiss that feels like crisp, refreshing relief and wood smoke under a winter moon. You breathe in, feeling how cool he is to the touch, how steady he is under your hands, your kiss, even as his aura constantly roils.

Dark drops your hand to cradle your head and draw you further in, your arm finds its way around his broad back. His lips leave yours and you’re already starting to imagine your next kiss before he interrupts and gives it to you, a low sound in his throat and his hand bringing a tilt to your head that makes you incredibly thankful for how he’s holding you up. You kiss, and kiss, parting and rejoining in soft pecks and long presses that make the old standards you’ve bonded over sound like both the truest truths and palest lies.

Eventually, though, he withdraws, letting you catch your breath, soothing you with small kisses trailing from your lips to your jaw and back toward the joint of it and your neck. He’s adoring and unhurried - though the farther down his lips descend, the less air you can properly draw in. He slows on the softer skin there, hand still supporting your head where you tipped it back for him, and inhales gently as if he, too, needs to be steadied. His voice is a distant rumble, as much in your head as it is spoken. “Is my music really so moony...?”

It’s so sudden, your thoughts laid bare against the hint of his insecurity. A laugh bubbles up and out of you, breathless waves shaking your body. You only hold onto him tighter, and he squeezes you back in turn. You can feel him really smiling down against your neck, the pull of his lips and rounding of his cheeks evident against your sensitive skin. Why had you even tried to hide?

“The fact that you could sing any of them while gazing longingly at the stars should answer your question,” you tease, and he’s laughing with you, settling into just holding you close. “...but I like it. It’s romantic.”

“It was not my original intent, but...what wonderful results,” he murmurs, kissing your throat once more before coming back up, letting you catch your breath properly. How does he make the cheesiest things sound good?

“Mine either,” you admit. His brow quirks above warm eyes.

“No? What, then, was your intent in imagining how I chose to relax?” he asks, a wicked tease coloring his tone. You blink, and then heat rises up the back of your neck, your ears burn. He knew?? The whole time?????

“You could…” Your voice is distant as Dark draws the back of his hand softly across your cheek, fingers trailing the blush rising there. His eyes dip to follow it, watching it unfurl under your skin with the most damnably amused smile you’ve ever seen him wear. Damn him. Damn him, of course he knew!

“You should know doors can do very little to stop me…” You groan miserably. “But I liked it. It was romantic,” he continues, echoing you. It has such buried mirth that it only serves to embarrass you further, so you worm your arms against his chest, trying to push him off. He only chuckles that deep chuckle and holds you closer, lips pressing to your temple. “And so kind of you to want to protect me and my little moment… Did I really look so deliciously undressed...”

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” And here he had been playing coy this whole time! Letting you just dangle all your most embarrassing thoughts for anyone to see! You continue to struggle against him, if only to register your complaint. “You’ve completely ruined this, I hope you’re happy, you insufferable--” He dips and catches your lips again, humming and silencing your insults with his kiss. For all your indignant protesting, it’s impossible not to melt against him, your hands that tried to push him away stilling against his chest before sliding up to meet behind his neck. When he finally breaks your embrace, you huff softly. “I can’t believe you.”

He’s smiling, but sobers slightly as you hold each other, his eyes just taking you in. “...it was a comfort to me, to know I was not alone in my affection… despite all my hesitation in admitting it. I did say I enjoy hearing you for a reason, lamb.”

You’re melting, but then your nose wrinkles. “Lamb?” Dark tilts his head.

“Pet?”

“Why all the animal names?”

It’s his turn to huff, then. “It seems I am not as skilled as Wilford when it comes to terms of endearment.” Your nose wrinkles further, the rotating cast of gushy names the mustachioed man throws around only making you wince with laughter.

“Please, no, I know you can do better than those.”

Dark puffs up a little at that, somehow pleased by the implication. “I’ll have to put my mind to it when I’m fresh, then. But for now…” He draws back, taking your hand into his, the other sliding up your back and into position. “Shall we?”

“Gladly,” you murmur, and he leads you in an altogether different dance.

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #ego fanfiction #darkiplier x reader #darkiplier #mad market pliers ramblings

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