#I think it's the last uy cover tho | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fakeloveaskblog · 1 year

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(Hi, me again. Frantically trying to think of ways to stall Oswald.)

I’m going to send a telepathic message to Janus and let them know that Oswald is on his way home and to be ready to go if I’m unable to stall long enough.

Then I’m going to cover the area around Oswald’s car with small easy to miss sharp stones to try and pop a tire as he tries to leave the car park.

If the stones don’t work of if he repair’s the tire and keeps driving then I’ll add a bunch of diversions and make all the traffic lights take forever to go green.

If he decides to walk then I’ll create a farmers market type thing that draws a massive crowd that he either has to walk around or push through. Either way it’ll take a while to navigate. I’ll also every couple seconds or so untie his shoe laces, and shift lampposts a few feet either side so he keeps bumping into them. If all that fails I’ll just create a construction sight for him to unknowingly walk into with a hole in the ground for him to fall in. Not deep enough to break bones or anything but deep enough that he can’t get out without assistance. And have the workers be on break so he’s stuck for at least fifteen minutes.

Glow Eyes

(Loooove how u made a full looney tunes cartoon for him. Reminds me of the chase scenes through a market in james bond films)

Your plan was a total succes. As soon as Oswald turned to drive out of the parking lot a loud sound rang out so loud the birds nearby got startled and flew away. The car rolled a miserable meter before stopping with a wheeze.

Oswald got out and circled his car while letting out a whole compott of swear words. When he saw the popped tire he kicked the wheel several times as if that would help.

He was the type of guy to refuse to ask for help in a store when he couldn't find what he needed. He was the type of guy to "jokingly" cover Remus' mouth if he tried to correct something Os had said. He was the type of guy who would pierce his fingers harder around Remus' inner thigh if he tried to point out where Os was supposed to drive.

So obviously he wasn't going to ask the nearest person for help or call an uber for that matter. His first thought was to try and change the tire by himself before quikly realizing he had overlooked having to uy a new tire.

As a last resort he thought about calling a repair service. He knew there were ads hung up around the entrance to the aquarium so he started to briskly walk towards this. Out of nowhere a lampost appeared literally right in front of him making him hit his nose.

Another long line of swearwords left his lips as he tumbled back. His shoelaces became untied making his stumbling even worse until a untied push from the snail army made him fall down into a deep hole.

Janus got your message and gave a small nod out into nothing to show they'd heard. They'd been mostly standing around and watching as Remus sketched page after page of plans for the painting all while pointing to where Remy should take pictures and which angles.

A few times Remus had looked so weak Janus had literally gotten ready to jump forward in case he fell over. But he had just continued on.

Until he finally closed his sketchbook and sat down, directly in the middle of the road, with his legs pressed closed against his chest. His eyes stared up at the lit lamp in the window.

Why would he have kept it...Did Os still think about...what he'd done....or had it simply been cheaper than buying a new one.

"I feel the same" Remus said "I thought I would-I would overcome something. But I just...I just feel the same"

"To be fair, you haven't actually made the painting yet" Janus replied which managed to get just the slightest hint of a smile from their love.

"You're not the same as you were when you were with him tho" Remy added.

Remus quietly leant his head against their boney shoulder while letting out a long sigh.

"Want a kiss?" Remy asked in just in case.

To their surprise Remus leant up and kissed them. He thought it was a sweet reminder of that he was safe. He was loved.

He always awaited for a flashback but none came. Maybe it just hadn't reached him yet.

He felt Janus' fingertips grace against his and turned his head to meet them in a kiss because it felt so natural. As if he had kissed Janus as many times as he had kissed Remy.

His lips landed at an awkward angle against theirs since they hadn't been fully ready. And it only lasted for a short second anyway. But Janus' face still went red as if it had been their first kiss while they mumbled out some lie about how calm they were.

Janus saw the surprised look on Remus' face as well and knew he still had enough to deal with today.

"Shall we save discussing this till tomorrow?" Janus asked, his voice cracking a bit in the middle because of how flustered he was.

Remus looked away and started to stare down into the concrete "Yeah. Can we go home now?"

#latter half was written now while im getting into a fever #wish me luck #glow eyes #thanks for the ask #sanders sides

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katharaya · 5 years

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Uy, opm Okay pero how about something written with a few lines from "Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig" by December Avenue as a prompt naman (sorry po natuwa kasi may nag anon nung isa)

okay but for real tho, this song is like. prime Drunk Karaoke™ music, just sayin

u didn’t specify a pairing, sooo here’s some one-sided asra/muriel, with mentions of asra/rei. pre-game angst, angst, and more angst.

—

If only you had been able to seethe sadness in your smileThat one morning you did not returnWake up now, so you can finally seeThe sweetness of those times from a yesterday that won’t return

—

“Muri,” Asra’s voice calls out in the dark of the hut. “You awake?”

Muriel turns on the bed, making it creak beneath his weight instead of answering. From his pile of furs and pillows in the corner, Asra’s eyes shine like little moons in the light leaking from the window above the door.

“So,” Asra says, propping himself up on an elbow, “Rei—” Muriel stiffens at the sound of her name, and almost misses the rest of Asra’s sentence, “—asked me to move into the shop.”

A beat.

“… is she leaving.”

“What?” Asra’s hair bounces when he startles, his curls flopping over his forehead. “No, I'm—I’ll be moving in with her.”

Another purposely-obtuse beat.

“… is she sick.”

“No, she’s not,” Asra says, always good-natured, always patient. “She just—asked.”

“Why.”

“Well, because—” Muriel sees Asra’s fingers moving in the moonlight, picking at a stray thread on the corner of one of his many, many pillows. “—'cause we're—y'know—”

Muriel knows. He does. And he’s happy for Asra, truly.

(But being happy for Asra and being happy about it are two very different things.)

“When are you leaving?” Muriel asks, and he hopes Asra does not know how much those words cost him.

Asra flops back down onto the pillows, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight as he grins at him, though Muriel knows Asra can’t see him across the room, hidden by the shadows as he is. Good. It means Muriel doesn’t have to control his face as he listens to the sound of his impending solitude.

“Well, tomorrow, I thought,” Asra says, rolling onto his back, tucking an arm beneath his head. “I’ll start moving my things over bit by bit, and then I’ll spend the night there, but I’ll be coming back here the next few days to get the rest of my stuff.” Asra tilts his head at Muriel and smiles, but Muriel knows the light in Asra’s eyes belongs to someone else. “So you’ll still be seeing a lot of me.”

Muriel grunts, then shifts, earning him a soft whuff from Inanna as she’s roused from her sleep at the foot of the bed. He stills, letting her settle, and tries to imprint the image of Asra’s moonlit smile in his mind, for safekeeping.

“I’m worried about you, though,” Asra continues, voice going soft. (The sound reminds him, strangely, of the sea.) “Will you be okay?”

(Or not so strange. It reminds him of a smaller Asra, a younger Asra, a not-yet-in-love Asra, who only cared about Faust, and mealtimes, and magic, and Muri, Muri, Muri.)

“… yeah.”

“You sure? Maybe—”

“Are you happy?” Muriel asks, before Asra can second-guess himself, before he can put Muriel’s happiness above his own.

“What?”

“Are you happy.”

“I—yes,” Asra says, voice going softer still. It’s the voice of an older Asra, a more-in-love-than-ever Asra. “I'm—I’m really, really happy.”

“Then,” Muriel says, “I am, too.” (It is only half a lie.) “I’ll be fine.”

Muriel closes his eyes, but he can still hear Asra’s smile when he says, “Thanks, Muriel.”

Muriel grunts again. He hears Asra shift, hears the rustling of fabric as Asra settles onto his side with a pillow under his arm, the way he always sleeps.

“Night, Muri.”

He lets it echo in his mind, the words bouncing around until it gets tucked away into his long-term memory with all the other Good night Muri’s from over the years. Night, Muri; Night, Muri; Night, Muri.

It’s the last one he’ll hear for a long while, he thinks. He wants it to last.

“Night,” Muriel says, and hopes morning never comes.

—

It does, of course, and not even a full hour after the sun has cleared the horizon, Asra is already packed and dressed, standing in the open doorway.

“—come back for more of my stuff tomorrow,” he’s saying. Muriel nods, only half listening. Asra looks so bright in the sunlight, Muriel feels like he should cover his eyes. He doesn’t. He looks at Asra and tries to imprint this memory of him, too.

“—should come visit,” Asra continues, turning to look straight at Muriel. “I’m sure Rei would love to have you over.”

Muriel just shrugs. “Maybe,” is all he allows, but Asra smiles anyway like he’d agreed all the same.

(In truth, it’s only a matter of time, and stubbornness. He doesn’t know how to say no, not when it’s Asra.)

“Well, I’ll be off,” Asra says, fitting his scarf closer around his neck. It’s what he’s said pretty much every morning for the past—four? Five? Gods, he doesn’t even know anymore—years, ever since Asra’d started working for Rei’s aunt, before Rei had ever come to Vesuvia and stolen (no, not stolen—had been gifted) his heart. It shouldn’t sound so melancholy, and in truth maybe it really isn't—it’s just Muriel’s ears and his brain and his heart overlaying a string of please don’t go’s that make it sound that way.

“Yeah,” Muriel replies. It’s what he always says, too, but this one (the last one?) feels heavier on his tongue.

Maybe Asra senses it too (of course, of course he does), because his smile turns a little sadder, a little more wistful, and Muriel wants to kick himself for it. Asra should always smile like the world has given him everything he’s ever wanted.

Asra reaches out, places one of his soft, soft hands on Muriel’s very-much-not-soft arm. “Take care,” Asra says. “See you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah.” Muriel touches just the pads of his fingers to Asra’s knuckles, and smiles a little, only a little, only for him. “I’ll be here.”

And Asra smiles back like that’s everything he’s ever wanted.

—

II.

Until the very end of our infinityUntil this heart stops feeling anythingEven if this forever ends somedayI will still wait, all in the name of love

—

Muriel shoulders the door of the hut open and carries Asra inside. Neither of them had spoken a word the whole way back from the Lazaret. In the quiet of their old home, the sound of the sand stuck to Muriel’s boots scraping against the floor with each step is much too loud.

Asra refuses to let Muriel heal his hands. When Muriel reaches for a pot of salve after washing off the blood from the skin of his split knuckles, Asra wrenches his hands away, tucking them close to his chest.

“Leave them.”

“Asra.”

“Leave them,” Asra says, almost a growl, before he slumps over, and says, softer, “please.”

“They’ll scar,” Muriel says. He knows this from experience. Asra shouldn’t have to bear such scars.

“I know,” Asra sighs. “Let them.”

And then Asra gets up, crossing over to the pile of furs and pillows that Muriel never put away, and climbs into it, laying himself down facing the wall, his hands tucked to his chest as if to hide them from a world that would steal what little macabre mementos he has left of her.

Muriel stays awake that night, listening to the dead silence.

(He thinks it would have hurt less to just hear Asra cry outright.)

—

Asra doesn’t move for a solid twelve hours, save for the shallow rise and fall of his breathing, which is the only thing that reassures Muriel that he’s still alive.

And even that, perhaps, is not a certainty; there are many ways to die, and not all of them means the heart stops beating. Alive is sometimes relative thing.

(Muriel would know.)

Late in the afternoon, Muriel kneels down beside the unmoving lump of furs and nudges a plate of eggs forward.

“Eat,” he says.

The lump stirs, a little.

“’M not really hungry, Muri,” Asra mumbles. “Thanks. Maybe later.”

Muriel sighs, and sits, and waits patiently for later.

When later comes, when the sky has gone purple and the eggs have gone cold and the embers in the hearth have dimmed to a dull glow, Asra finally rolls over, blinking when he sees Muriel. His eyes are puffy and dull, but dry, although the wounds on his knuckles are still weeping, shining faintly in the dark twilight.

“Muriel,” Asra rasps out, voice cracked and dry like a desert gone decades without rain. “You’re still here.”

Muriel shrugs. “Where else would I be,” he says.

Asra doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t cry either. He just sighs, eyes closing, and goes back to sleep under Muriel’s watchful eye. There is still ash smearing Asra’s cheek, and a few grains of sand dotting his skin. Muriel reaches out to brush them away, then stops himself, and decides to just let Asra sleep.

Muriel shifts into a more comfortable position, and settles in to watch, and wait.

Morning couldn’t come fast enough.

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fic #asra #muriel #asra x muriel #asriel #katharayawrites #anon asks #i want y'all to know that translating the lyrics takes up like 80% of the writing time #have mercy on me fam #also ive been contemplating writing asra/muriel/rei but idk #whatchu guys think #also if the cut doesn't work then rip im so sorry guys

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