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e-dubbc11 · 3 days

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Trivia Night

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader (wife)

Warnings: Some swear words, little violent, nothing major though, sexual reference, fluffy bunnies and unicorns

Word Count: 4.5K-ish

Summary: Trivia night at one of your favorite bars with your favorite people. Billy is late and you have to fill his spot with someone no one else is really fond of, especially Frank and Ginger

A/N: This one has been done for a few days but life got in the way of me putting it out. Finally had some time. Part of the Gingerverse. I’ll put the collection HERE. I haven’t written for them in awhile and I’ve missed it so this was fun. I hope you like it!

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

With music playing in the background, you sat at the bar with your friends staring at the beer in front of you. Poured perfectly, the high white foam piled high in the glass but not too high and melding into the citrusy white ale underneath.

It was a blend of orange, lemon and lime peel with a hint of spice from Grains of Paradise which was a rare pepper from West-Africa and considered an aphrodisiac.

Your head was full of little factoids and knowledge which is why Ginger thought it would be fun to do a trivia night at one of your favorite bars and it was also another way for Frank and Ginger to continue their “friendly” competition with each other.

The bar held a trivia contest every Thursday night and you were finally able to get everyone together for a fun night out. Of course, Frank and Maria were there, along with Ginger and another friend from work, Jules. You were just waiting for Billy to show up and complete your two teams of three but he was, once again, held up at work.

“Where’s your husband, kid? If he doesn’t get here soon, you’re gonna need another teammate so I can beat Ginger fair and square.” Said Frank.

“Keep talkin’ shit, Frank. We’ll see who answers more questions.” Ginger replied with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t know where he is. He promised he would be here but they’re starting soon.” You said with a worried look on your face.

You were going to have to find an alternate teammate.

The foam from the head of your beer touched the tip of your nose as you took a sip. The bright wheat ale was refreshing as it cooled and coated your throat. The bubbles tickled the inside of your nose as you set the beer back down onto the bar and the coaster underneath your glass was slightly damp from the condensation.

Searching the bar one more time for Billy, your eyes spotted a familiar face. The last time you had seen him was at your birthday party a few years ago before Billy had told you how he really felt about you. He was also the reason Billy almost left that night because you were dancing with him.

It was Lucas.

“Hey stranger!” He said, as he went in for a hug. “How are you?!”

Nervously, you replied, “I’m good, Lucas, really good. How have you been? It’s been a little while. You still working for Billy?”

He nodded. “Yep, actually he was still there when I left a little while ago.”

Glancing at your watch, you replied, “Yeah he’s supposed to be here for trivia time so our team is one player short at the moment.”

He took a sip from his beer bottle and a sly smile stretched across his face as he said, “I can fill in for him until he gets here.”

Both Frank and Ginger were staring at you, they glanced at each other and then turned their gaze back to you, well, back to Lucas. They both had a look of mistrust on their faces, narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. You loved how protective they were of you but it’s a public place with an old co-worker, what was going to happen?

As you pulled the barstool up, you said with an innocent smile, “Hey guys! Frank you know Lucas.” You said pointing in between the two of them. And turning to Ginger, you said, “Yeah, remember he was at my birthday party before I left Anvil.”

Still with her eyes narrowed, she replied, “Uh huh, yeah I think I remember. Silver Springs guy, right?”

Lucas nodded.

Ginger pulled him over to the barstools and said, “Alright stud, get comfortable, you’re gonna fill in until Billy gets here. You better be smart too, I’m not losin’ to Frank.”

Frank smirked at her. “We’ll see, Ginger.”

You turned to Lucas and said, “They’re a TAD competitive with each other. It’s comical to watch.”

“Oh I can’t wait.” He replied.

**********

Billy was always in awe of how smart you are. He even went as far as saying you should try out for Jeopardy. A lot of nights after the two of you had dinner, you would turn it on while you were cleaning up in the kitchen.

“The answer is…This element has the highest atomic number that occurs naturally.” Said the host.

You said, “What is Uranium?”

“This Russian author wrote War and Peace.”

Again, you replied with the correct question, “Who is Tolstoy?”

“Located in Jordan, this ancient city is known for its rock-cut architecture.”

“What is Petra?” You said.

“What is Citizen Kane?”

“Who was Winston Churchill?”

“What is a Life of Service?”

“Who is Victor Hugo?”

With his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, Billy stood at the sink washing the pots and pans with a smirk on his face and a towel draped over his shoulder. He’d hand them off for you to dry as you rattled off question after question.

“You’re amazing, my love.” He had told you. “You really should try out, I’m serious.”

“I’m not that smart, Billy. There are so many more people out there smarter than me.” You said.

After drying his hands off on the towel, he pulled you in by your waist, your body was flush with his, and his hands were still warm from the hot water from the faucet. Billy tilted your chin up with his long slender fingers so you were looking into his onyx colored eyes, smiling that perfect smile at you. That smile could get you to do pretty much anything. It was your kryptonite…in a good way.

“Why do you doubt yourself so much, sweet girl?” Asked Billy in a silvery tone.

Glancing down at his arms wrapped tightly around you, you replied with a shrug, “I dunno. I guess I’ve always had that feeling that I’m not good enough. Plus, I’m highly competitive so if I don’t win, I feel like a loser.” You said with a slight smile.

“You and me both, baby.” Said Billy. “Our kids are gonna be in trouble.” He said with a wink.

You laughed as he gently pressed his lips to yours. They tasted like the bittersweet piece of chocolate he had after dinner.

“Will you do something for me, beautiful? Just think about it? I wouldn’t blow smoke up your ass and tell you you’re good enough when you’re not. You know that.” Said Billy.

You snaked your arms around his neck and gently raked your nails against his scalp. His raven colored hair glided through your fingers as you kissed him again. Slipping his tongue between your lips, his kisses became hungrier as you angled your head so he could kiss up and down your neck.

“Not fair, handsome. That’s called coercion when you kiss me like that.” You said as warmth spread across your cheeks and chest.

“Does that mean you’ll think about it?” He asked, brushing his knuckles against your cheek.

You rolled your eyes playfully at him as he stood in front of you smiling like a Cheshire cat. Billy knew exactly what he was doing.

“Ok, you win Billy. I’ll think about it.” You said, biting back a smile.

He replied, “That’s all I ask, my love.”

**********

You were sitting in between Lucas and Ginger. Frank, Maria and Jules looked very ready to answer some questions and before you knew it, the contest had started. Billy had promised he would be here but he was late and the game had started without him. Unsure of the rules, you didn’t even know if he could jump in when he got there.

Billy worked harder than anyone you’ve ever met. You couldn’t fault him for wanting to be the best, fighting to stay on top, and be the best security detail in the city. Sometimes he broke his promises which most of the time you let go but this one hit a little differently.

It was upsetting. You just wanted to have some fun with him and he was missing it but you were determined to have a good time anyway.

You were on fire tonight though. There wasn’t a question you didn’t answer correctly even when it wasn’t your turn.

“How many moons does Neptune have?” Your host asked.

You answered confidently, “Fourteen.”

“What is the fear of flowers called?” They asked.

“Anthophobia.” You replied.

“How many staircases are located in Hogwarts?” Their voice sounded frustrated because they couldn’t stump you.

You answered with a sly smile, “142.”

With his arm touching yours, Lucas leaned in and whispered, “How do you know all of this stuff, y/n?”

“Oh, just stuff I picked up here and there.” You replied.

You thought Lucas was harmless, but Ginger and Frank felt otherwise. In between their score keeping with each other, you swear they were silently communicating about how close Lucas was to you and keeping an extra close eye on him to make sure he didn’t try anything.

“He’s a little too close to you, don’t you think?” Said Ginger, in your ear.

Looking down at her leg and yours, they were practically touching so you replied, “Well the barstools are really close together. What am I supposed to do? Sit in your lap?”

“I’d say he still has a thing for you.” Ginger whispered, almost glaring at Lucas.

You whispered back, “Ok, well I NEVER had a thing for him. Also I’m very much in love with my husband.”

“I know that…just…well just watch his hands. I don’t trust him and neither does Frank.” She said.

You glanced over at Frank. He looked as if he could spit nails. “Yes, I can see that.” You replied. “I’ll be on high alert. Ready to do some Kung-Fu Panda if I need to.”

Ginger started to laugh and sing a verse from Kung Fu Fighting while Frank rolled his eyes and Maria chuckled.

While this was going on, you became hyper aware of how much Lucas was drinking and gradually inching closer to you. He looked like he was feeling pretty good and it was starting to make you a little uncomfortable but you tried to ignore him.

After a little while, it was break time. Time to stretch your legs, run to the bathroom, have a snack…whatever you felt like doing for a few minutes before the second round started. Frank and Ginger were arguing who had answered more questions correctly between the two of them.

There was the team score and then their personal scores that they kept track of. It was hard not to laugh when they would go back and forth and get under each other’s skin. Both of them, however, kept a close eye on you but mostly they were watching Lucas.

Maria caught the two of them eyeing you like a hawk.

“What are you two glaring at over here? Or maybe I should ask, WHO are you two glaring at over here?” She asked.

Without taking his eyes away from you, Frank replied, “We’re watching to see if Lucas makes any moves on y/n. I know he still has a thing for her, I feel it.”

Maria folded her arms across her body and playfully rolled her eyes.

“Baby, I’m sure y/n can take care of herself. Being with Billy all this time, I’m sure she’s learned a thing or two about defending herself if Lucas is stupid enough to try anything.” She said.

Ginger jumped in, “Yeah but it’s not just us, right? She looks a little uncomfortable talking to him.”

In an unsure tone, Maria replied, “I mean, I guess maybe a little bit.”

You finally saw the familiar face you had been waiting for all night to arrive. Scanning the bar, Billy’s dark brown eyes locked with yours and a wide smile stretched across his lips as he rushed toward you. Without realizing what you were doing, you walked away from Lucas and started walking toward Billy.

Excusing himself, he worked his way through the sea of people until you were close enough for him to touch. You crashed against his chest and melted into his embrace. Billy brushed your hair over your shoulder, snaked his arms around you, and held you while he apologized over and over again.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, sweet girl. I’m sorry.” Whispered Billy against the top of your head.

For a brief moment, you had forgotten how angry you were with him that he was late, yet again, and smiled against his chest while listening to the rapid beating of his heart.

“You’re VERY late, Billy. I had to find someone to fill in for you.” You said.

Billy glanced around the bar before he asked, “Who did you get on short notice, my love?”

Just as you were about to answer, Lucas said, “Me…she got me to fill in for you. Finally done at the office, huh Mr. Russo?”

Billy narrowed his eyes and gave Lucas a devilish smile before he answered, “Yeah…I am. Well I’m here now so you can take off.”

A cunning smile stretched across Lucas’s face as he replied, “Actually, I just asked the person in charge and there aren’t any substitutions after the game has started so it looks like you’ll just have to sit and watch, Mr. Russo. Your wife is…” He paused to stare at you. “She’s amazing. You know how smart she is?”

Billy replied with gnashed teeth, “I do, Lucas. Yes, MY wife is incredibly smart.”

“Oh, well I guess you do know then. They’re about to start, y/n. I’ll see you back at our seats.” He said.

Billy glared at Lucas as he walked back to his seat then turned back to talk to you. His body was stiff and the muscles in his shoulders tensed while his knuckles showed white as he clenched his fist.

“I don’t like the way he’s looking at you.” He hissed.

You rolled your eyes a little.

“Baby, you never like the way any man looks at me.” You said, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Yeah, well I know Frankie and Ginger feel the same way.” Said Billy.

“They texted you, huh?” You asked.

Billy nodded, his lips pressed into a straight line. You could tell he was furious.

“Well maybe you should have done a better job of trying to get here on time, Billy.” You said, turning on your heels and walking back to your seat.

He called out after you, “Sweet girl, I said I was sorry!”

“You’ve been sorry a lot lately, Billy. Maybe this will teach you a lesson.” You said.

You knew how Billy could be, how jealous he gets, and how possessive he is of you but he had been disappointing you more often lately because of work. He had been canceling dates, coming home late, and missing dinner. Maybe this was a tough lesson he needed to learn.

Ginger stopped you before you could get back to your seat.

“Awesome, Billy’s here! We can ditch the dummy, he doesn’t know anything anyway.” She said.

You started to shake your head back and forth and replied, “We can’t, Ginger…guy in charge said we can’t swap out. So we’re stuck with him for two more rounds.”

Frank walked up behind you.

“I’m ahead by one, Ginger. They’re gettin’ ready to start round two.” He said.

“They won’t let Billy play because he showed up late.” She said.

“What?! So you’re stuck with him for two more rounds? That’ll teach Bill to be late, yeah?” Said Frank.

Lucas was sitting in his seat, drinking his beer with a smug look on his face. You knew he was trying to make Billy jealous and it didn’t take much to get Billy’s blood to boil. The scorching glare he directed at Lucas could probably be felt by the entire bar as he sipped his bourbon.

But they were starting the second round and you directed your concentration to answering the questions and not toward Billy. In between questions, Lucas would lean in and whisper things to you like “You’re doing great.” And “That one was really hard, how did you even know that?” It was really making your stomach turn but you didn’t want to be rude. You made it through round two and only had to make it through one more round.

“I got five questions right that round, Frank. You forgot to mark that last one down.” Said Ginger.

“No I didn’t, Ginger. It’s that one right there.” Frank said, pointing down at his scrap paper.

“Well, my paper says I have one more.” She said.

“Then you’re cheating.” He said.

Ginger’s jaw dropped open. “I am NOT cheating and I am deeply insulted that you would even think that. I can beat you fair and square.”

Maria interjected, “Baby, I think you did forget one.”

“Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?” Frank said, looking at her fondly with a smirk on his face.

Meanwhile, a few feet down from where Frank and Ginger were “discussing” their totals, you were trying to reassure Billy that Lucas wasn’t going to try anything and there was only one more round left before it was over.

“There’s only one more round left and then we can go home, ok?” You said.

Lightly brushing his beard with your thumb, you smiled warmly at him and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before returning to your seat.

Billy nodded and tried to smile at you but you could tell he was still angry and jealous.

Round three questions were a little more difficult…

“How many noses does a slug have?” They asked.

Deep in thought but distracted at the same time, you blurted out the first number that came to mind.

“Four?” You replied in an unsure tone.

“Four is correct!” They said, excitedly.

“What are baby rabbits called?”

“Kits.”

“Who painted ‘Girl with the Pearl Earring?’”

“Vermeer”

“What 1949 science fiction book by author George Orwell describes a dystopian world in the future?”

“Twenty-Twenty-Fo—oh wait, sorry…I mean, 1984.” You said with a wide grin.

Billy chuckled a little at that one but his smile disappeared when he saw Lucas inch closer to whisper something in your ear.

“And she’s funny too.” He said, placing a hand on your knee and squeezing.

Your body immediately tensed and your face tightened as well. You could actually feel the color leaving your face and Billy could tell something was wrong.

You looked over at him, silently telling him that you didn’t like what was happening. Lucas slowly moved his hand up your thigh while looking over at Billy. Your body temperature started to rise and your heart started to race.

Earlier, you thought maybe Lucas was just being extra friendly because it had been awhile since you had seen him last but now you realized that he must still be upset because you left the night of your birthday party with Billy and not him.

“Take your hand off of me, Lucas.” You said through gnashed teeth.

His touch made your skin crawl.

“Don’t make a scene, pretty girl. We have to finish the game.” He whispered.

Billy got up from his barstool and started to walk over toward you but not before you planted your left leg and kicked Lucas’s barstool out from under him with your right. He was leaning forward when his stool disappeared from under him so his face smashed against the bar and he landed on the floor clutching his nose, yelling out in pain.

Looking down, you noticed blood dripping from in between his fingers while he weaved a string of profanities as he tried to get the bleeding to stop.

When he looked up at you, his face was flushed with rage as you smiled kindly, clutched your imaginary pearls and in a patronizing voice, asked, “Oh my goodness, Lucas! Are you alright? Did you lose your balance?” Then in a low voice only he could hear, you whispered, “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me ever again. We’re never going to happen so get over it. I’m married to your boss, dipshit. Although, after this I’m guessing he won’t be your boss for much longer.” You said with a devilish smile.

Ginger was trying to cover her mouth so no one would see her laughing but she was doing a terrible job. “Holy shit, where did you learn to do that?!” She asked in a surprised tone.

“My husband taught me.” You said loud enough for Billy to hear.

Billy winked at you, sending delightful shivers up and down your spine. He handed Lucas a bar napkin and growled in his face, “You’re FIRED and don’t you EVER come near my wife again. She knows how to do a lot more than just kick barstools, asshole.”

You heard Maria’s voice behind you, “See Frank, I told you she could take care of herself.”

“Time to go, Lucas. Let’s go.” Said Frank, pulling him to his feet and walking him toward the door and holding him by his shirt.

“I knew he would try somethin’ sooner or later! I hate to say I told ya so buuuuut…” Said Ginger with a wide smile.

Billy took your hand in his and gently brushed your cheek with the other. A look of concern washed over his face as he continued to look you over to make sure you were alright.

“You ok, sweet girl?” He asked.

“I’m fine, baby. I’m fine. You see what I did? Huh?” You asked with raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

He let out a little laugh and pulled you flush to him. Billy inhaled sharply and exhaled forcefully; feeling the tension leave his body, you wrapped your arms tightly around his back and you could feel the smirk play across his lips against the top of your head.

“I did and I gotta say it made me a little hard.” He purred as a tremor of pleasure went straight to your core. “All jokes aside, I’m gonna try to make more time for us and for our friends. I know I’ve been really busy lately. I’m so sorry, baby.”

With your body molded against his, your eyes closed in relief as his long slender fingers danced up and down your back. Nothing felt better than being in Billy’s embrace.

“That would really mean a lot to me, my love. I know how hard you work but you deserve to relax and have fun too.” You said, smiling against his chest.

As his gazed raked over you, Billy’s eyes were like pools of dark chocolate, rich and sweet. They were warm, inviting and begging for your forgiveness. He really was sorry. You felt it in the way he held you, the way he looked at you, and as his lips gently pressed against yours, you felt it in the way he kissed you.

“I’ll learn one of these days, sweet girl.” Said Billy as he kissed your forehead.

You replied with a subtle smile, “We have all the time in the world, handsome.”

Ginger interrupted the kiss between you and Billy.

“Well since you took out our teammate, how are we gonna finish the game now?” She asked. “Our TEAM obviously won because you have a ridiculous amount of information stored in that big brain of yours BUT, I need to finish round three against Frank.”

Ginger looked around at the group, wondering if any of you had an idea of how to finish up trivia night.

“Well, I know my beautiful wife has stacks of trivia cards all over the place at home so we could all go there for a couple more drinks, more trivia, and I can properly introduce myself to Jules…” Said Billy, extending his hand for her to shake. “Hi…I’m Billy. I’m y/n’s dumbass husband and she ended up in a bar fight because I was late.”

Jules laughed and started to blush, extended her hand to shake Billy’s, and said, “You’re right, y/n. He really does have a smile that will melt your insides. I don’t know how you can stay mad at him with a smile like that.”

“He definitely has an unfair advantage, that’s for sure.” You replied. “And I did not get into a bar fight, Billy.”

“Hey, he left the bar with a broken nose because of you, did he not?” Said Billy with a wink.

You bit back a smile as you narrowed your eyes at him and shook your head. It really was hard to stay mad at him…you loved him so much.

“Alright then…to the house of Russo! Let’s finish this, Castle!” Exclaimed Ginger.

“Lead the way, Ginger.” Said Frank, ushering her to go ahead of him.

Billy leaned in close and whispered, “Can we do a lightning round and get everyone to go home quicker? I’m still turned on from watching you bash Lucas’s face against the bar.”

A blur of a smile played across your lips as you replied, “OK number one…gravity did that to Lucas’s face, not me, and two…I’ll see what I can do about the lightning round. I love you, Billy.”

He quickly cupped your cheeks and his lips collided with yours. Sweeping your lower lip, Billy’s tongue parted your lips to twist and knot with yours. The taste of vanilla from the bourbon lingered on his tongue as warmth spread across your chest and his hands ran up and down the curves and hollows of your body.

All was forgiven.

Walking together arm in arm, you and Billy headed for home with your friends, talking about your day, and talking about what he missed from trivia night. You weren’t looking at him but you could feel his eyes on you and smell the remnants of his spicy cologne on his jacket. It was all so familiar and comfortable as his body was a warm cradle for yours while you laughed with each other all the way home.

Billy tried his best to learn from his mistakes and he hated to disappoint you because he knows what that feels like. To wait for someone, hoping they’ll show up and they never do. He never wanted to do that to you.

That fear of abandonment was still strong even after all this time, after all of the “I love you’s,” after the forever promises to each other, it was still there. Billy may never get over it but you would always be there for him in whatever way he needed you to be.

The perfection he strived for in your relationship was unattainable, nobody is perfect but it didn’t stop him from trying, learning what not to do, and it was ok to have these teachable moments like tonight. He took it all in and he would be better next time, you had no doubt about that.

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialend @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @aoi-targaryen

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @ittybxttykxttytxtty @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #billy russo x female reader #the gingerverse

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newbtheveryawesomeandkindanewby · 15 hours

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As I’m sure you know, Hazbin Hotel’s central character is the princess of Hell, Charlie Morningstar. A lot of people have said a lot of things about her, but I’m here to touch on a subject that doesn’t get brought up much: her title.

Part 1: What does “Princess of Hell” really mean?

When most people think of princesses, they tend to imagine Disney ones. Fancy dresses, animal sidekicks, singing a lot, all that jazz. Charlie tends to engage in musical numbers, and she does have a few marketable pets, but her wardrobe is severely lacking. Clothes are an excellent way to signify a character’s job and status. If you put a character in a big sparkly dress, everybody looking at them will go “yep, that’s a princess.” So far, Charlie’s never worn one of those. Her main outfit is the suit-bow tie combo that Medrano just loves, making her feel like every other demon in the crowd.

Okay, maybe Earth and Hell are different in this regard. (Heh, that’d be a first.) Maybe high-status demons don’t wear fancy clothes! Except we’re forgetting one detail: the Goetias. They also use titles like “prince” and stuff, and they’re always dressed to impress! The one exception to this is Octavia, but that’s most likely because of her teenage angst, a trait Charlie doesn’t share.

While we’re talking about the Goetias, there’s another thing worth bringing up. As previously stated, they tend to use royal titles. Stolas is a prince, and he’s supposedly one of the less important ones! Stella’s a royal of some flavor, and that might not have even been through marriage! Compounding on this, the Deadly Sins are all stated to be the king/queen of their respective sin! Or have we forgotten Miss Queen Bee’s antics? With all these royals running around kissing and/or shooting each other, Charlie is once again lost in a crowd of standard Tumblrized monsters.

So maybe her royal title isn’t the important part. Maybe what really matters is that she’s Lucifer’s kid. Makes sense, right? Well, no. The purpose of an heir is to take control of their parental figure’s assets (Hell, in our case) after said parental figure kicks the bucket. This doesn’t work here, since Lucifer’s immortal! He sure ain’t goin’ anywhere! Historically, princesses were mostly just used as bargaining chips to marry off to other kingdoms in exchange for stuff. That really doesn’t work here, because in this show there are no other kingdoms! You really think the ruling powers in Heaven are gonna want their kids marrying some demon?

So now that we’ve established that the title ‘Princess of Hell’ is virtually meaningless, we reach my second point: why even have it?

Part 2: Why even have it?

As any good English teacher will tell you, everything within a story was done for a reason. Yet, Charlie being a princess serves no narrative purpose. She never uses her title to get what she wants, and everyone around her treats her exactly the same way they’d treat any other demon. You could say it was to introduce Lucifer more organically into the story, but there’s other ways to do that.

One of the many, many aspects of storytelling that Medrano struggles with is the act of killing your darlings. What that means is, if something in your story isn’t doing much and thus has no reason to exist, get rid of it, no matter how much you like it. Viv’s inability to do this is the reason everything she writes has so damn many characters, and by extension why almost none of them are remotely interesting. A character being the Devil’s daughter sounds interesting, but if the writers can’t make it interesting, they shouldn’t do it.

So, why did Viv make Charlie a princess? Here’s my theory; writers want their main characters to be relatable to general audiences, and Viv must’ve forgotten that general audiences aren’t composed of upper-class white women whose every need and want is supplied by their affluent parents. To the rest of us, such a character risks invoking that very worst of writing tropes. I won’t type it right here, but it has seven letters and sounds like hairy stew.

#anti vivziepop #hazbin hotel critical #anti hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel criticism #anti charlie morningstar

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milk-tea-sakura · 1 day

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𝓒𝔀: 𝓕𝓮𝓶! 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻, 𝓷𝓸 𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓨/𝓷 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓸𝓯 '𝔂𝓸𝓾'. 𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯!

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 754

𝓔𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮: 2 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓼 58 𝓼𝓮𝓬

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Changbin was known for his rapping skills, fiery passion, and sharp wit. He helped Chan carry the weight of Stray kids on his shoulders, but his heart had remained partially hidden from the world.

That was until he met you. You were a vibrant soul with an infectious smile, you had unwittingly captured Changbin’s heart. You had been friends for months, but Changbin had held back his true feelings for you, unsure of how to approach the situation. However, fate had other plans.

“Hey Changbin! What’s up, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You ask with a bit of excitement in your voice.

Changbin’s heart fluttered at the sound of your voice. He turned around to see your radiant smile. “Hey, I’ve been great. Just prepping for our next comeback. You know how chaotic things get.”

“Yeah, it gets chaotic. My group goes through the same thing.” You reply

Changbin nodded, his gaze lingering on your face. “Ah, that’s right. You’re an Idol too. I forget about that sometimes. It must be really tough for you though. Juggling promotions, performances, and just keeping up with all the chaos. Especially since people expect more from female groups.”

“You should know just as well as I do by now, we just go with the flow.” You answer

Changbin lets out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the hallway. “You’re right. We’ve seen our fair share of ups and downs in this industry. Sometimes I wonder how we keep our sanctity intact.”

“Friends and sleep are how I manage to do everything.”

“Ah, sleep. The precious thing we never get enough of,” Changbin replied with a weary yet playful tone. “I rely on it just as much as our fandom relies on our songs. And friends? Well, they’re the real MVPs. They keep us grounded.”

You nod “Hey, how have you been doing with all the chaos? I know sometimes you forget to check in on yourself.” You ask.

Changbin's expression softened at your concern. “Honestly? It’s been a rollercoaster ride, but I try to not let it get to me much. I’ve realized that taking care of myself is just as important as taking care of the group. It’s a constant battle, balancing being the strong one everyone depends on and also remembering that I’m human too.” You nod your head in agreement “It’s very important to remember that… Do you have this afternoon off?”

Changbin looked at his phone to check his schedule. “As a matter of fact, I do have this afternoon off. Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to go somewhere that’s not our place of work to talk with each other, to catch up.” You reply

Changbin’s face lights up with a warm smile. “Sounds perfect! I could use some time away from all the hustle and bustle. So, where would you like to go? Somewhere quiet or someplace with a bit more action?”

“Somewhere quiet, for sure.” You answer.

“Alright then, how about we head to my favorite cafe? It’s a small, cozy place tucked away in a quiet alley. They have the best coffee, and it's perfect for some peaceful conversation.” Changbin suggested with a contented smile.

“Alright, I’m down. I’ll pay unless you want to.” You state feverishly

“I’ll pay! It’ll be my treat, dear.” Changbin replied with a chuckle, playfully bumping his shoulder against yours. “After all, I wouldn’t dare make such a captivating woman pay for her own refreshments.”

“Dear? Captivating?” You repeat back with a bit of shock.

Changbin chuckled, a hint of bashfulness creeping onto his cheeks. “Ah, you know me. I’ve always had a tendency to say things without filtering them properly. But yeah, you’re captivating, and I mean it. Your energy, your passion, everything about you captivates me.”

“So, you like me?” You ask teasingly

Changbin blushed even more, his voice tinged with a hint of playfulness. “Don’t tease me. You already know I do. But just to reaffirm, yes, I like you. A lot.”

You pause for a second, “I like you too.” You mumble slightly.

Changbin’s heart skipped a beat as he processed your words. A bashful smile spread across his face, and a light blush dusted on his cheeks. “You do?” He asks softly, a mix of surprise and joy in his voice.

“Mhm, how could I not? You’re a very easy person to fall in love with.” You reply. “Now, can we go get that coffee?”

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clevenhq · 1 day

Note

Hi,

About emo!gale, could we have a bit of friendly gale and protective bucky? At a party perhaps or when they are hanging out?

All love your AUs, they are so nice 😊

dude this has been in my inbox for WEEKS!! i’m so sorry it’s taken me so long… finals and whatnot for hs students yk

anyway!!! here is your request below the cut :)

—

Fridays are Gale’s favourite. A promise of days to let go laid out in front of him, stumble back to his house giggling in the dead of the night. He loves the weekends; who doesn’t?

John hates them. Well, he isn’t about to complain about two days off of school, but he’s given a whole new task from the second the final bell rings on a Friday. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his boyfriend and won’t moan and groan about taking care of him, it’s just… his decisions.

Currently, John is leaning against a counter at another house party that he was invited to. Gale was invited to, people just expect that John is going to be there. How Gale gets invited when he hardly talks at school? He’s not entirely sure on that fact.

Maybe it’s the glint in Gale’s blue eyes, one that hints at mischief in the best way possible. Just his gaze is able to do wonders on men and women alike, he would know, John is victim of it. There’s never a dull moment in his time with Gale. They’re always together, a package deal. If someone requests one of them, they should know that the other will show up, too.

Gale is talking to another person a few feet in front of him, enthusiastically and a bit overexcited. There’s a red solo cup in his left hand, and by the way he’s flailing it around as he speaks, it’s probably empty.

The flashing colours around them don’t phase John anymore. They used to, but since Gale managed to drag him to so many outings, he’s grown accustomed to them. Before, ever when he didn’t have more than one drink, just the lights alone would have him waking up with a migraine.

John can’t quite hear him, but he can feel the rumble of Gale’s voice against the blaring pop music. His eyes have been trailing around the room, spotting people he knows making out with someone he doesn’t recognize. He hates the atmosphere of parties. But if they help Gale be at ease, however that works, he’ll support him and tolerate the events.

His boyfriend is talking to guy, he notices. A guy who’s taller than Gale, perhaps even taller than John. Gale is rattling on about who knows what, he’s had more than a few drinks and he gets to rambling while drunk.

He turns his head to observe the scene in front of him. There’s a clear intention in the guy’s hazy eyes, John doesn’t blame him. It’s Gale. He’ll give it another minute before he scoops Gale up into his arms and either takes him home, or to a different part of whoever’s house this is. Maybe into the washrooms to get Gale to wind down for a bit.

Just as he’s about to move from his spot against the wall, the guy is stepping closer and bringing a hand lowly to rest on Gale’s hip. John is shocked still, he’s dealt with people getting touchy with Gale in the past, but nothing that intimate. A few too-long rubs up his arms, girls wrapping their arms around his neck and shoulders. They’re in high school, and John will not be letting some guy touch up on his boyfriend.

Not to mention, Gale’s smile is faltering at a rapid rate as his thumb traces circles into the exposed skin. His steps are heavy and borderline stomping. John completely bypasses the guy Gale is talking to in favour of draping his arm across Gale’s shoulders.

“Hey, Buck,” John mumbles and rests his head atop of Gale’s. He feels Gale laugh underneath him, and grins as well.

“Hi, baby.” Gale’s nose is pressed into his neck and he breathes John in, sweat and jealousy. The hand has dropped back to the guy’s side.

John cocks an eyebrow at him. “Who’s this?” He purposely drags his eyes up and down his figure, nothing below judgemental.

“I’m Charlie,” he greets, looking awfully more sober than he was not even a minute ago. John doesn’t take his hand when he reaches it out for him to shake. Charlie looks like he knows what he did, and has the courtesy to look embarrassed and shameful.

John merely hums, barely acknowledging his presence before he looks back to Gale. “I’m feeling tired, are you ready to go home?”

Gale bites his lip to hide his smile. He looks at Charlie, who has the expression of a kicked puppy, one that he shouldn’t have for getting caught hitting on John’s boyfriend. He sets his cup down on the floor, empty as he’d suspected.

“Yeah, there’s always tomorrow.” Gale spares Charlie a glance. “Sorry, Charlie. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, sure,” is what the awkward reply is, then they’re walking away.

John’s arm still curled around Gale possessively, he lets it fall to where Charlie’s hand had been and slips the tips of his fingers under Gale’s shirt. “You okay?” he asks and places a kiss to Gale’s head.

He opens the door and lets Gale walk out first.

“Yeah, now I am. Thanks, Bucky,” Gale says and laces his fingers with John’s behind his back. “Didn’t think that you’d be so pissed at a guy for some heavy petting like that.”

John scoffs at him. “Of course I would be! Nobody gets to touch my boyfriend like that except me,” he grumbles and tightens his grip on Gale’s waist slightly.

“And I wouldn’t want anyone else to.” Gale tilts his head up and pecks John on his cheek, then a deeper kiss to his lips. And as John goes to place his hand on Gale’s jaw, the car door opens.

#masters of the air #buck x bucky #mota #clegan #gale buck cleven #john bucky egan #mota fanfic #my writing #clevenhqfic #emo!gale #hs au

34 notes · View notes

merakiui · 2 hours

Text

angel/angler.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, stalking, non-con, non-consensual photography, chikan/groping (train molestation), obsession, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, violence, blood, death (or is it??), azul's insecurities and low self-esteem, azul’s not-so-subtle breeding kink, implied disordered eating, reader's height isn't described, but it's written that azul is taller note - to obsess is to hunger like an angler from the deep sea. living his entire life in pitch-black solitude, entranced by an angel's halo; his only purpose is to find the body that will become his lifeline and, one day, his cemetery.

entry 1: 18 April, 20XX.

For anonymity’s sake, I’ve chosen to write using a vague pronoun. Additionally, this diary will be a record of my thoughts so that I can keep my mind and senses intact. In my youth, I was prone to terrible fits of self-destructive rage, and as a result they suggested I write my feelings down to prevent any outbursts. I’m not very physical towards others. Rather, it was the harm I posed to myself that fostered concern.

But this space isn’t for my own views on myself. It’s about someone else.

I have a confession: I’ve fallen in love with you from the train, and I’ve been in love with you for the four months I’ve come to know you.

You wear perfectly pressed suits, heels of a modest height, tights, and pencil skirts that cut just at your knees. I want to touch you, but if I do you might stop wearing skirts altogether and then I’ll never see your legs again. I suppose trousers aren’t so unattractive. They’re appealing in their own right. Everything looks good on you, though. (Nothing would look even better.)

You work in an office building. I’m not sure which floor, but I’ll know soon enough. I wanted to follow you inside, but there’s a security guard in the lobby. He always greets you, and you always smile and chat with him. You’re a kind person, so I let this pass without incident. But I can’t lie to these pages and say it’s not troublesome when I watch his gaze linger longer than it needs to.

I’d kill him, but then they’d employ a new guard and you’d make friends with him because you’re so kind. I don’t admire kind people. Rather, I find kindness to be a double-edged blade (Is that the correct phrasing? It’s different in my hometown. We say kindness is like pufferfish—harmless until it’s provoked and then it becomes poisonous). It’s not that I look down on kind people. I just think you shouldn’t be so quick to befriend the world in its entirety.

After plenty of observation, I’ve learned that you often leave your building to get lunch by yourself. This is what you’ve eaten in the week:

Monday - A salad at a popular café. Iced tea because it was a sunny day. A tiny cheesecake for dessert. It was blueberry.

Tuesday - A wrap of some kind. Chicken? Or was it vegetarian? Sweet potato fries. Water.

Wednesday - You didn’t leave your building. Were you at work today?

Thursday - Another salad. Water. Same café. No tiny cheesecake.

Friday - You went to lunch with that guard. I only remember my irritation and so I’m afraid I can’t make note of your meal for today. He looks at you like an obsessed puppy waiting for its owner to give it attention. I want to pluck his eyes from his sockets so he’ll never look at you in that way again.

You lead a healthy lifestyle, but I can’t help wondering if you’re eating well. Did someone say something about your figure? I’ll eviscerate them for you and then they can see how much it hurts when unnecessary scrutiny is thrown around.

It’s quite late. I want to sleep, but thinking about you has my body wide-awake. I wonder if your mouth tastes like the moonlight shining in through my window. I wonder if your body is soft like mine… Of course it is. A silly, irrational thought. You’re much warmer than me. This is just a theory. I’ve yet to feel and confirm for myself. I will in the foreseeable future.

Before we part ways, I want you to know that I’m not very good at cooking. I’ve picked up a few books and hope to learn. I’m going to practice so that I can feed you better meals one day. Salads are the worst. Fried chicken is the true meal of heaven. I’m certain you would share this sentiment.

If I were to be condemned to a last meal like those serial killers on death row, I’d ask for fried chicken. Knowing you, you’re too good to kill anyone. In this hypothetical, supposing you’re a heinous criminal, your last meal would be something healthy. Do you even like those salads, or are you forcing yourself because you must? I understand calorie-counting well enough, but if there’s one thing to enjoy in life it should be food.

I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. I ought to take my own advice.

Oh. I’m starting to grip my pen with more force and the lines have become shaky. I usually break my writing utensils if my focus strays. I’ll stop here for today. Ink is a pain to clean.

AA.

The morning rush is your greatest enemy.

Jack Howl, the lobby’s security, has suggested giving you a ride on numerous occasions. “It’s part of the reason I got my license,” he explained once, “so that I can protect those who work in this building from the rush. Not like you have to accept my offer. It’s just…convenient for both of us. Again, I don’t care what you do.”

(He does. You see through his gruff surface.)

According to him, the morning and night rushes bring out the worst kinds of characters.

But isn’t that everywhere? you think as you peer out the window, watching the city come into clarity.

Like every morning, the train car is more crowded than a sardine tin. You’re used to being pressed up against other commuters, pinned to the window or between people. You’re flattered to know someone’s concerned, but nothing has happened yet. And why would it? It’s bright outside. No one would dare do something during the day. At least, not in a crowded area where anyone could see and hear.

I wonder what I should have for dinner. I still need to go shopping. My fridge is way too empty, you think, sighing. And I need to follow up with that one author. They’ve yet to get back to me about my edits. Perhaps we should meet in the office instead of through video call… And I also need to finalize that other style sheet after the last round of editing. And then another conference… There was something else. Was I scheduled to have lunch with an author? Or was that next week? I should check before—

The train shudders as it slides into the station. Someone brushes against you from behind. Their hand is pressed against the window just near your head. They steady themselves, their body so close to yours you can hear their staggered breathing.

“Ah. S-Sorry…”

It’s next week, right? I really should check once I get to my stop. This is going to eat me alive all day.

“Mhm,” you hum, waving dismissively.

The stranger standing behind you peels his hand away from the window. A sweaty palm print is left in its wake.

“We will be approaching the next stop shortly.”

Just one more and you’ll be getting off.

A pair of bright eyes blinks back at you in the reflection, watching the city just as you are.

entry 5: 22 April, 20XX.

I’m not a social person by any means. If I can avoid crowds, I usually do. An introvert’s paradise is best spent in the comfort of their own room, after all. But if you prefer outdoor dates I can become extroverted for your sake. There are lots of things I’m willing to do for your sake.

Which is why I’ve forced myself to tolerate the train. I loathe it. It’s cramped and uncomfortable. Most days I’m not even near you, and so all I can do is stare longingly from afar. I content myself with imaginary scenarios like in the books you edit. I’ve mentioned it sparsely in this diary, but you’re a brilliant editor. Most of the novels you work on aren’t exactly my taste, but there’s something to appreciate about them. Reading through them knowing your very eyes pored over these pages dozens of times before publication… I admire your work. Immense time and effort goes into all professions, especially ones that involve meticulous touches.

With this discussion of careers, you might wonder what I do for a living. I manage my own restaurant chain off-site. It must be shocking news for you to realize: your secret admirer is actually quite successful.

If I’m not able to provide an adequate life—no, more than that. If I cannot drown you in all of life’s luxuries, I should sooner throw myself on the beach and let this soft, wriggling body of mine dry out than settle for the barest of minimums. You deserve only the finest.

In fact, I have a room in my home dedicated to you. A private office in which you can write and edit in peace. It’s furnished with everything you’d ever need. I hope to gift it to you one day.

Remote work is very relaxing. (You’ll know this once you try it here.) When you’re boss, you work your own schedule. That’s why I’m able to fit our secret meetings into my weekly itinerary.

Today’s meeting was quite fortuitous. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Mostly because I was finally given the opportunity to be close to you. So close, in fact, that you didn’t even notice when I slid my phone under your skirt to take a few photos. Your undergarments are unexpectedly plain. Truthfully, I’m somewhat disappointed. I was hoping to learn your lingerie preferences. At the very least, I know your tights are sheer enough to show me the color of your panties.

I consider myself a connoisseur of many things, and I’ve done enough interior decorating in my time to become well-accustomed to color palettes. A fool would say your panties are red, but they’re actually maroon.

That same fool wouldn’t take another breath after glimpsing such a private side of you.

If you must know, my dear, I am excessively avaricious when it comes to the things I like. I have always been this way. I am a collector. A hoarder of secrets. I refuse to let others touch or take the things that belong to me, especially when they are wholly undeserving…

I’ve broken another pen. Thankfully, the mess wasn’t so extreme. Not-so-thankfully, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Ah. Right. Trains.

Today I rode the train, and I was standing right behind you. You were looking out the window, lost in your thoughts, and so you didn’t notice me. You must have seen my reflection, but I wear a mask and a hooded sweatshirt when I go outside. Perhaps it’s a touch embarrassing to admit, but I am very self-conscious of the way I look. Firstly, my eyes are too tired. I’ve read that many people are not fond of eyes with dark circles under them. Secondly, my face is average—unworthy of your love by my lofty standards. My hair never cooperates. My smiles never fit properly. My skin is too pale. My eyes are too blue and my pupils are abnormal. My weight is just a few kilograms above the average. I will work hard to bring it back down for your sake and for my own so that it won’t show. I prefer a slim waist, so I must stomach all manner of healthy foods for the weekend. What a pity… Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could eat whatever you wanted without having to worry about caloric intake and numbers on a scale?

That aside, there are times in which my glasses sit crooked on my face and it’s a horrifying thought to imagine I walk around looking like that! As if I’ve rolled right out of bed with no regard for my appearance whatsoever!

Perhaps the both of us share one similarity. We are vain creatures who care too much about how we present ourselves to others.

Thus, I conceal myself so that you won’t judge me harshly should you look upon me. Not like you’d do that. You were so immersed in your head that you hardly paid any attention to your surroundings. You should be more careful. What if something were to happen and I wasn’t there to protect you?

The train stuttered to a halt at the first stop, and some fool bumped into me. I should thank them because I got to brush against you. You gasped softly. I watched your breath fog the window. I placed my hand just above your head and apologized softly, and you weren’t bothered in the slightest. Oh, how I envy your carefree nature.

As a result of that stranger’s mishap, I’ve learned something new. You wear perfume. Even with my mask, I could smell it. Strong and flowery, overwhelmingly sweet. Maybe you prefer these scents? I’m more partial to mature scents, but I admit there’s a certain charm to the scents you wear. I wish I knew the exact brand. There are dozens of perfumes with the same notes as the ones I picked up, but none can compare to the one you use. I want to be able to hold the bottle knowing it’s your favorite.

I’ve prattled enough. With the length of my entries, you’d assume I was this chatty beyond the page. I’m not. I only say as much as I think is necessary.

Once again, I’m having trouble falling asleep. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m looking through the photos I snapped and the outline of your lips against your panties is lovely. I’m sure you’re just as soft and sweet inside as you are on the outside. If only I could experience it right now. My hand can’t replicate the softness or the wetness or the way you’ll probably clamp down when we finally make love.

I can only fantasize for now. What a pain.

AA.

“It’s going to rain today,” Jack tells you the minute you step through the lift doors into the lobby. He stands straight like a soldier, his shoulders squared and features set into something serious.

“Looks like it, huh?” You glance at the darkening sky outside, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Hopefully it rains after I get home. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I’ll drive you.” He falls into step beside you. “It’s dark out and the station is—”

“It’s only five minutes away. I’ll be fine. I take this way all the time.”

Jack’s lip twitches into a grim frown. The beginnings of a sharp, pearly-white canine flashes at you as his mouth curls. “Fine,” he concedes with a huff. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck and looks elsewhere. “Do what you want. I’m not forcing you or anything.”

You smile at him. “You’re very considerate, Jack. I appreciate the concern.”

He’s like a puppy. It’s really sweet.

“W-Wha—who said anything about concern?” His face is growing warmer by the second, thawing his external ice.

“I’ll be okay. It’s not even that dark out either.”

“Still…” He sighs and cards his hand through his hair. “You haven’t noticed anything weird lately, have you?”

“Anything weird?” You furrow your brows, suddenly confused.

“On your way home. Nothing out of the ordinary? It’s the same every day?”

“Mostly, yeah. Why? Did something happen?”

“No. Just wondering…” Jack looks past you then, searching for something you can’t seem to see. “You sure you don’t want a ride? I can walk you to the station. Protect you if anything or anyone—”

You force yourself to laugh. “Come on. You’re trying to scare me on purpose. This is because I told you I’m editing a horror novel, isn’t it?”

Jack doesn’t share in your humor. Instead, his frown tightens on his face.

“While I’m grateful you want to help, I really don’t want to put that on you. It’s not your job to chauffeur me around. I’d feel bad if I made you do that. So thank you, but I’ll have to decline.”

You turn swiftly on your heel before he can protest, striding out the door into the gloomy night.

When is it going to be summer? It’s way too chilly.

You burrow into your jacket as you beeline for the station. A brisk breeze blows through busy city streets. Even though there are still people out and about, it feels strangely desolate.

Jack’s heart was in the right place, but did he really have to phrase it like that?

You wrap your arms around yourself and hurry along. Your steps are in time with your pounding heart. A cold sweat beads along your forehead.

Relax. It’s nothing to get worked up over. I’m fine.

Crunch.

You whirl around, clutching your bag between your arms. There’s no one in sight. The city seems eerily quiet tonight.

Stop scaring yourself. Nothing’s there.

No, it’s not something that could make that sound—a noise akin to a footstep. That belongs to someone.

Is someone following you?

You aren’t going to wait around and find out. Now you’re jogging the rest of the way, your heels clicking against the pavement. Your breath comes in shaky heaves, and by the time you finally step into the station’s blinding fluorescents, adrenaline still vibrating through your veins, you notice the time.

My train—it’s already here! Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!

You rush through the station in a flurry, and the relief is tangible once you’re safe and sound inside the train car. You squirm through the throng of late-night commuters towards the window.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me,” you murmur as you navigate the crowded space.

You make it to the window just as the doors slide shut. Moments later, the train squeaks into motion.

I worked up such a sweat. I can’t believe I got so frazzled over something as small as a snapped twig…or whatever that was. It wasn’t a footstep. And if it was, it was probably my own.

You shake your head at your reflection.

Look at me, losing my mind all because I let someone’s words get to my head.

The stranger standing behind you sighs alongside you. You’re about to turn around, but it’s their hands on your waist that stop you. Your blood freezes. Your spine goes rigid.

“Excuse me? Um… C-Can I help you?”

You gasp, horrified, as the hands creep higher until they’re wrapped around your chest. The stranger squeezes almost curiously. Their breath catches on an eager hitch. You peer helplessly at the window. Two blue eyes blink back.

“Wait… Hold on—”

“It’s okay.” A man’s voice. Sweet and silky-smooth. A reassuring whisper. Only you can hear it with this invasively close proximity. It might as well be a drop in the ocean that is the rickety din of the train on the rails. You reach to grab his arms, hoping to pry him off. “I’m not going to hurt you. As long as you’re quiet…”

“No, you can’t. Please, sir. S-Stop… Don’t touch there.” Your fingers curl around his wrists. You squirm against him, your brain blanking.

This can’t be happening… There’s just no way…

Something stiff prods at your ass from behind. You yelp softly when he rubs himself against you. You try to catch sight of his features when you crane your neck, but all you get is a faceful of a dark hoodie. He’s tall enough to block you from the other passengers, his body caging yours against the window. One hand slides away from your chest to slip under your skirt. He gropes at your inner thigh; his fingers draw dangerously close to private territory.

“Sir—”

He inhales a dreamy breath. “Perfect,” he babbles, his words muffled by his mask. “So perfect. Warm… And soft. Just as I thought.”

There’s nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re trapped here with this fiend until you get off at your stop.

“We will be approaching the stop shortly,” the woman on the intercom says, but it doesn’t give you the relief you’re after.

Three more stops and then you’ll be at yours. Three more. Three. Your stop might as well be years away.

Two fingers trace the outline of your pussy through your panties. You’re grateful you’re wearing tights.

His breathing is heavy. He’s mumbling filth in your ear. You hardly register it over the static in your brain.

Gross. So gross. Stop it. Please stop. I don’t want this.

A whine bubbles low in your throat when he presses down against your clit. He caresses you through the fabric of your panties. You slump against the window with your palms on the glass. Your heart is in your throat. You feel sick and dizzy. It’s too hot in here. Everything is spinning. Your heart is picking up its pace. Your hands are starting to shake.

And there’s nowhere to go. No amount of begging will stop him. He’s all over you, pressed impossibly close—so close you think he’s trying to fuse his body to yours, becoming one mutual unit.

You want to scream, but you can’t find your voice. You can’t do anything. You can’t even think.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, twining his fingers around your trembling ones. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmh, no… No—stop. P-Please, sir, please stop.” You shudder against him, and a choked, broken sob rattles through your ribs.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. His other circles your tender, sensitive clit, and the contact elicits a whimper from you. “Even though you’re making the cutest sounds? Aah, I wanna be inside you so badly… I’m sure it’s even softer there.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard that your teeth pierce the skin. A thin ribbon of blood dribbles down your chin. You refuse to give him that satisfaction. Even though your attempt to snuff your voice is successful, your body doesn’t seem to agree. It shakes in fear and arousal. When he presses against your panties next, he feels the growing damp spot.

That’s just a natural reaction, right? I’m not actually aroused by this. There’s no way!

Just when you think he might pursue further, he pulls back. His hips are still flush to your ass. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric. It’s gross and demoralizing. You’re nothing but a doll for him to get off to. Less than a person.

The train glides to a halt and the doors open. People exit and enter in a busy fashion. You stare out the window at your blurred surroundings.

When the train eases back into motion, you realize tears are welling in your eyes. They don’t fall. Not yet.

It isn’t until you get off at your stop, sprint the rest of the way home, hurry up into your apartment, and lock the door that the horror of it all finally catches up to you. You collapse to your knees and wail like you’ve just lost something precious—something you’ll never be able to get back.

You’ve never felt more dirty before.

entry 36: 4 May, 20XX.

I did it. I finally did it.

My hand is shaking; I’m so happy. No, I’m more than happy. I’m absolutely overjoyed!

You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m terribly envious. I suppose that’s why I could muster the confidence to touch you and hold you… Your body is so soft against mine. Every inch of you is beautiful. I wish I could have felt beneath your shirt, lifted your bra to see your bare breasts in the window’s reflection. This is quite the shameless admission. Even I, despite admiring you for so long, am loath to admit it.

You mesmerize me. I’m already flustered just thinking about the way your hand fit in mine when I held it… And you were aroused! I was so close to such a precious area, and you were wet for me and only me. I feel so overwhelmed. It’s a dream come true. You’re such an angel. My angel.

My dear, darling angel, I’m sorry for startling you. That was the only way, you see, and certain circumstances led me to that point. You must understand.

To be unfiltered about it, it was annoying seeing that security guard pester you. I had the strongest urge to kill him, but that’s not something you can do on a whim. Murder is like running a business, in a way. One misstep, a bad investment or a sliver of evidence left behind, and it might spell the end.

That’s besides the point. It’s hardly worth the time.

Regrettably, while on the train into the city, I noticed you were wearing trousers today. I was right. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime event. A pity. Your legs in those sheer tights is a vision to behold. Luckily, I have enough pictures to satisfy the craving to see you in them. When you live with me, I’ll buy plenty of tights for you to wear around the house. That way you won’t have to worry if I rip them.

That aside, you’ve started looking over your shoulder more. You talked to that security guard longer than you normally do. It’s irritating. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

I don’t want to be childish. I understand you’re stressed and nervous. Anyone would be. That’s normal. But I’m not going to hurt you. I even told you those exact words! I’m certain you would have calmed down if you could see my face. Unfortunately, I’m not very blessed in that department. I assure you my personality is far prettier…despite the ugly truths I’ve penned here.

But then those don’t matter when it comes to love. Even in love, couples are supposed to recognize and accept each other’s flaws. So it’s fine if I’m an ugly person. It’s fine if I’m a devil or something grotesque from the deepest trench in the sea. At least, in spite of such darkness, your halo will continue to light the way and I will always be lured in by your luminosity.

I can’t do much of anything right now and that has led me to feel increasingly itchy. I want to feel you again. Smell you. Touch you. I’d like to taste you next time. Part your legs or tear your skirt off and indulge in the space you keep hidden from me. I want to sink into your depths and know the shape of you just as you twist yourself to take the shape of me.

It’s just not enough. I desire more of you.

AA.

entry 40: 8 May, 20XX.

It’s been a few days. You haven’t taken the train since. Now you’re driven to and from work by that pest. I was overcome with such frustration yesterday that I slammed my hands down upon my desk and fractured my wrist. For the time being, until my wrist heals, I must wear this unsightly stabilizer-brace-thing and write carefully with my non-dominant hand. I like to consider myself ambidextrous, if only because it’s a talent I’m sure will impress you, as you seem to surround yourself with successful, talented people, but I must admit my lettering is rather…subpar.

It’s not as neat as I hoped it would be. Something to practice while my wrist heals, I suppose.

There’s only so much strain I can take, my angel. Are you really so afraid of me that you’ve chosen to rely on someone else to protect you? If it was funny, I’d laugh. But it’s not. It’s annoying. Must I chain you up by the throat so that you won’t run away? Must I cuff our wrists together so that neither of us can part ways? What must I do to ensure you’ll never leave me?

Every day I spend in solitude, you grow closer to everyone but me. It’s infuriating.

However, there are always silvers of hope to be found and exploited in misfortune. As a businessman, I know this well enough.

I can plan around this. I’ve taken a few photos of your house at every angle. It’s important to think ahead when making a calculated risk.

When you go to kidnap the love of your life, you must dress appropriately, no? Now should I wear a formal suit or something casual?

I have some time and plenty to look forward to.

AA.

Like always, early as usual, Jack is waiting for you below your apartment. You see his car from the window and light up at once.

It’s been two months since the incident on the train. Jack insisted you go to the police when you confided in him a week after the fact. But what could they do? A story isn’t evidence. Evidence is evidence. So to combat that, you’ve avoided public transport altogether. Jack drives you to and from work and anywhere else you need to go. You never knew him very well before this mess, and you regret not starting a friendship sooner. He’s everything you need right now: a friend, a listener, and someone you can trust and rely on.

Like always, he unlocks the door so you can put your things in the back. “It’s my turn to treat for lunch today, so let’s go somewhere you like.”

You shut the door and open the passenger side, sliding in seamlessly.

“There’s no need for that.”

Your heart skips. Your breath stumbles in your lungs. Your body tenses.

You finally look at the driver.

He’s wearing what appears to be an expensive collared shirt with a tie, but the top half is covered by the soft hoodie he’s thrown on over it. He has a mask like before, but there’s no denying his eyes. Bright and blue, deep and deceptive like the ocean, they blink back at you.

The door locks with a click.

You throw yourself at it in a useless effort to escape. The masked stranger seizes your wrist. You scream.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I-It’s only me! I won’t hurt you.” He tugs his mask down to his chin so that you can see the wobbly smile on his face. “Please don’t be scared…”

“Let go of me, you pervert!” You rip your arm free and reach for the door once more. “What the hell are you doing here?! W-Where’s Jack? Why are you—”

You choke around the rest of your words when he wraps his arms around you and yanks you over the seat towards him. You kick out like a deranged animal, breathing heavy and frantic, your eyes darting to and fro. The stranger manages to manhandle you into a chokehold despite the struggle. With his arm wrapped around your neck, he grabs a plastic water bottle with his free hand. Clumsily, he unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

“I’m sorry for being so rough, but I need you to drink this. Can you do that for me? Drink all of it.” As he says this, he tips the bottle and the strange liquid fills your mouth. You fight against his hold, doing everything you can to resist. He tightens his grip on you, dragging your body closer to his. “Swallow it, or I’ll slit your throat.”

Against your will, very shakily, you gulp down the solution. It tastes bitter and vile like medicine. A little salty.

“I didn’t want to frighten you, my angel, but this is the only way you’ll listen.” He swipes the tear threatening to spill from your eye. “You don’t have to cry. I’ll take you home and keep you safe. Just drink the rest of this and take a nap until we get there. That’s it. You’re almost done. I know it’s disgusting, but you have to drink it all, my love.”

“Why…” you sputter, coughing. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” He blinks at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because I love you.”

You can’t understand the logic there. You don’t want to.

Slumping against the seat, boneless and disturbed, you tremble when he leans over to buckle you in. And you continue to do so until you’re pulled into sleep.

Two blue eyes follow you in your dreams, sticking to your body like old gum under a school desk. In sleep, you feel his hands on you—clinging and cloying like tentacles and the stench of brine, all-enveloping.

entry 179: 24 September, 20XX.

Summer is winding to a close. The last few vestiges of warmth are slipping away. Today’s weather was crisp. Autumn is approaching.

It’s been a difficult few months. I’ve catalogued my process in the time you’ve spent with me, locked away in our bedroom. I must keep you chained to the bed for the time being. It’s long enough to lead into the bathroom. Until I can trust you, this is the arrangement at present.

They’re still searching for you, albeit not as frantically and frequently. I hope they assume you’ve met some grisly end so that I can finally shelve that anxiety and move on with my life. While I’m relieved it wasn’t as messy as I thought it’d be, I’m just a touch disheartened. I would have loved to watch the light fade from that guard’s eyes.

But that just wasn’t feasible or smart. Besides, what else am I to use my current fortune for, if not the props needed for that day? You call it kidnapping, and while that term is technically true I prefer something sweeter. A reunion of sorts.

There’s nothing of note to discuss. You haven’t accepted your new home or me yet, so I will continue to wait. I can be patient. I must be if this relationship is going to work (and it will).

I don’t particularly believe in soulmates. Rather, I find the concept to be foolish. Fate does not dictate an entire life. It is the decisions you make along the way that shape your paths. Just like in my favorite board game. I’d like to play it with you. Although I must admit I already know how our life goes. I have a few routes in mind.

You look at me with such scalding contempt when I imply we ought to start a family, and even though I’ve been victim to that look so many times it doesn’t burn any less. You just can’t see how good this is for you yet.

What else are we to do with our time if not use it to fill quiet halls with the pitter-patter of tiny feet? I have a few names in mind, but for now we’ll take it one day at a time. I’m a patient man despite my temper.

AA.

entry 257: 11 December, 20XX.

Exciting news! Though it may seem small, we’ve reached an understanding. Or so I suspect. You’re not so averse to me anymore. In fact, we take baths together, eat meals together, watch TV together, play board games together… There are so many things we do together as a couple and so, despite the encroaching winter frost, my days have become warmer! Just last night you allowed me to sleep beside you on our bed, and I held you close and you kissed me and I felt like the luckiest man alive.

Finally! Genuine progress!

I won’t delude myself and say that you may finally love me in the way I love you, but a start is a start. I admit I couldn’t help myself. I returned your kiss tenfold, all over your face, down the column of your throat to your collarbone. I was gentle and careful. I didn’t rush.

I like to play experienced in all fields, but even I can’t act perfectly. How should I describe our first time without all of the shameless vulgarity? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Sex is sex no matter how you try to embellish it. Filthy and imperfect, sweaty and sticky, more effort and exercise than I realized.

You pulled me in close, pursued my mouth with the same want in mine, and it was more cathartic than anything I’ve ever known. Oh, to be kissed by the love of your life! I wasn’t aware such joy existed.

You palmed me through my pajamas and told me you wanted a family—that the idea of raising a little one was perfectly charming. I admit it’s an alluring thought I’ve had long before you lived with me. I’ve always thought you would look very enchanting while pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Even though it isn’t official yet, it doesn’t hurt to call myself your husband. In my mind and heart, we’re married. It may not seem so to you yet, but it will be.

Back to the matter at hand. Hearing that you wanted a child with me made me happy. I can’t remember if I cried. I must have because you pulled me in close and you, lying beneath me, wiped at my face and told me you wanted me to give you a child. And who am I if not the most doting, most benevolent husband? I’d do anything for you.

This must be what a predator feels when they tear into prey: a rapture so absolute and all-consuming that it covers their brain like a cotton shroud and renders every other action a hazy instinct.

It was a blur even though I was sure I moved slowly. Clothes weren’t exactly shucked. They were in the way and we had a singular goal, far too focused to remove them completely. Thus, they were pulled up, down, to the side, in whichever way provided easiest access. I closed my hands around your breasts and they feel so much softer without the obstruction of clothes.

Perhaps, rather than humans, we’re just anglerfish. Hungry for each other, using the other, a voracious relationship full of mutual benefits. If I could, I’d love to live inside you. I want nothing more than to press myself close enough to feel your heart beat alongside mine. To feel rushing blood. To turn myself inside-out just to satisfy you. Give you every little thing I can offer—brain and body—and we’d cleave through sunless waters as one, together forever.

The word ‘love’ is not large enough to truly encapsulate all that I feel for you.

My forehead pressed to yours. You kissed me once. I felt sloppy. I was sloppy. Inexperienced. We both are. Your hand wrapped around me. I told you it was okay, to do it at your own pace, to tell me if it hurts. But you kissed my every anxiety away, and in just a few strokes we were connected. Perhaps I died then and I’m still dead now.

Maybe I’m writing this from the moon or the deep, dark sea. Maybe all of this is just a long dream and I’m not even human. Maybe I’m the anglerfish stuck to your side, latched on with my sharp teeth, our lives forever intertwined. You taste of fruit and blood and every beautifully painful thing in this world.

For the first time in the many months we’ve lived together, you called me by my name. You gasped it as you curled your legs around my waist and clung to my chest, your arms draped over my neck, nails in my back. You chanted it like a song. I must have done the same with yours.

However, no amount of carnal euphoria can change the fact that I still have my reservations about unchaining you.

A deliberation for another day. It’s time to cook dinner. I’ve improved lots in the time we’ve known each other. You help around the kitchen as well. Harmless things like stirring batter or mixing a salad. I can’t trust you with actual food prep for reasons I’m sure are obvious and understandable. I try to create balanced meal plans. Now that I’m no longer eating alone and surviving off of misery, I want to show you that I’m both a great chef and a conscientious eater.

AA.

You watch the seasons shift outside the bedroom window and there’s nothing you can do.

You live life chained like a prisoner and there’s nothing you can do.

You eat off paper plates with the same utensils made for toddlers and there’s nothing you can do.

You let the same man whose touch was once so covetous pet you all over with his hands and mouth and there’s nothing you can do.

You’re stuck here forever and there’s nothing you can do.

There are highs higher than the clouds and then there are lows lower than the sea. You oscillate between these temperaments, a body thrown around on rocky waves. How you’ve yet to sink and drown for good, you’re not sure.

Today’s low has brought Azul to his knees. You stand over him, gripping the knife in a shaky hold. Chopped vegetables scatter in a rainbow on the floor. He had been chopping them so methodically, so wrapped up in pleasant conversation with you, that he hadn’t been expecting the retaliation. The blade is freshly sharpened. The perfect weapon. The perfect opportunity. Freedom just after this final hurdle.

Freedom that comes with its burdens—with a child and the law and the media and… And then what? A life of loneliness. A life spent working through mountains of trauma. A life in which you can never look at the train again.

Two blue eyes blink up at you. For the first time, Azul looks scared and weak—a small, pitiful thing. For the first time, you have him trapped beneath your thumb.

You want to bring the knife down and put an end to these cyclical days. You want to crush his spirits in the same way he crushed yours. You want him to know pain so brutal it rots him from the inside.

But you can’t. You want to and in an ideal scenario devoid of fear you would. But you can’t.

You dig your heel palms into your eyes and sob. “I can’t! I’m sorry. I… I can’t do it!”

Azul deflates with a deep sigh. “Oh… Oh, my angel, it’s all right. I forgive you. You’re just a little confused. A little emotional—I get it. We all have emotional moments. I’m not upset.”

“But I—I almost… I was going to—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t, my love, and that’s what matters.”

He beckons you to his height; you lower to your knees. The knife is still clutched in your hands. He looks between it and you, as if weighing which is more dangerous. Volatile emotions or a blade. Maybe both.

Azul wraps his arms around you and rubs your back consolingly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

You sniffle, but the tears won’t stop flowing. “Still… I almost did such a horrible thing to you. I could’ve hurt you—k-killed you!”

“My dear, it’s okay.” He kisses the top of your head, tucking you beneath his chin. “I forgive you.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle. “You do?”

“I do. I always will.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Angel—”

You turn the sharpened point inwards and slam it into his side, just below his rib. It pierces through soft flesh. You pull away just in time to see hurt and betrayal flash across his face, hot like the tears you’re now drying.

Shakily, his movements unsteady, he reaches for the handle. His fingers dance across it, assessing the reality of the situation. You stabbed him. You did it.

He hisses through his teeth when he tears it out. Blood spatters the kitchen floor in a brilliant, vermillion arc. Azul, knife in hand, staggers to his feet and lunges.

You stumble away in a blind panic.

“How dare you…” He clutches his side with one hand while the other slashes through the air. You narrowly dodge before the knife can slice your arm. Blood seeps through Azul’s shirt, staining his palm red. His expression is twisted in a dark concoction of agony and anger. “I’ve shown you nothing but love and care… I’ve been nothing but patient. I’ve done everything! You were beginning to warm up to me—to this life—our life! I was wrong to trust you. Get back here—”

“You’re crazy! You assaulted me, kidnapped me, threatened me! Do you really think I’d love you after all of that?!” You yelp when his slick, blood-stained fingers wrap around your wrist to drag you down. “Stop! Let go of me!”

You elbow him in the ribs, which causes a shockwave of pain to travel through him, and it gives you enough time to wriggle free. Ripping your arm from his hold, you try to get away when he, aiming to subdue you, grabs hold of your ankle next. You feel the blade sink into your calf before you see it. A terrible cry frays your throat, torn from the depths of your chest like a flower pried from the soil.

“If I’m going to die…” He flops to his knees, wheezing. “If I’m going to die, you’ll die with me.”

“Like hell I will!” you hiss through your teeth, thrashing wildly.

Stupidly, you pull the knife from where it’s wedged in. Blood spurts from the wound, trickling down your leg in a thick, steady stream. You wince and limp towards the door. Closer… You’re almost there.

Azul reaches out with a bloodied hand, his expression utterly shattered. “Wait… Don’t go any further. Please… I need you. We need each other. My angel, my love, please don’t go!”

You tear your eyes away. He’s a monster. You’ll never sympathize with him.

Just before you can get to the front door, Azul picks himself up and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down and your head hits the floor with a harsh smack. You see stars. The ceiling spins above you. You try to get up, crawl away, escape—whatever it takes to lose him—but he clings to your side, holding tight. His blood is warm and wet against your shirt. The pain in your calf is sparking up your leg, joining the ache at the back of your head in duet.

Pressed so closely, the flow of blood slows. Your shirt soaks up what the rest of his already drenched shirt can’t hold.

You watch the ceiling. The light looks like a halo; it shines brightly. Azul blinks up at you, hopelessly, sickly enthralled. The tip of the knife prods at your stomach. If it pierces, you don’t feel it. You’re sore all over. Bruises are already beginning to bloom.

At the bottom of the sea, clothed in frigid darkness, there is no sense of direction.

That’s the sweetest relief while you wade into unconsciousness with a parasitic angler.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #tw: noncon touching #tw: noncon #tw: chikan #n/sfw #tw: stalking

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kcrabb88 · 1 day

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In the Spill of the Dawn

It was a wildly busy May and I've spent the first part of June sick, but! I couldn't let Barricade Day(s) pass without marking the occasion, so here is a little drabble I wrote (which will eventually be added to Ao3). I hope you enjoy!

Against the fall of the velvet night, Enjolras considers the dawn.

In the depths of the black sky, he feels it coming. The dawn. The sleeping sun, somewhere below the horizon, has awoken. The fractured blue of morning twilight starts peeking out beyond the barricade. The breeze blows cool around him, and he tugs his tattered coat tighter around his shoulders.

The sun woke.

But despite the ever-burning hope in his chest, he knows the city won’t.

It has before. It will again.

But not today.

So, he watches the slow spill of the dawn. For how long he couldn’t say. However long it takes.

The golden glow slowly dissolves the darkness. It shows him pieces of the barricade that were swallowed by the night. The chipped and battered wood. The black smear of gunpowder. Like their forebears, the things they used to make it are things they could find. Chairs. Tables. Nailed together planks and torn-up paving stones. He spies a carriage wheel.

As that glow spreads, it lights up the faces of his friends. Joly and Bossuet asleep in a tucked-away corner—the only ones to actually follow his order to rest. Combeferre and Feuilly talking quietly together. Feuilly has lost his coat. Combeferre is cleaning his pistol so he has something to do with his hands. Courfeyrac stands with Marius near the main door to the Corinthe with his arm around Marius’ shoulders. Somehow, some way, a smile plays at his lips. Grantaire is ... well he’s lost sight of Grantaire. He must still be in the cafe.

Prouvaire and Bahorel are ...

Enjolras stomach sinks.

That’s right.

They’re gone.

He allows the grief to gut him for a moment.

But only a moment.

From his place at the top of the barricade with the coming dawn, Enjolras chooses to imagine Bahorel and Prouvaire alive. He chooses to see them at the edge of this temporary safe place laughing together. He hears Bahorel’s deep-belly laugher in his ear. The flutter of Prouvaire’s medieval sleeves catch in the morning breeze.

While he breathes, they are alive.

While people hope, they are alive.

While the sun rises and the stars spin silver against the heavens, they are alive.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. As long as the tomorrows keeping coming, they are alive.

He doesn’t need a god, a religion, to know that.

That faith is enough.

The breath in his own lungs is but a temporary thing. He knows that. They are, according to his reconnaissance, one of the last—if not the last—barricade standing.

They are not getting out.

Taking that truth unto himself is one thing.

Telling the others is something else.

He has never much considered the million tiny things that keep his body going—that has always been Combeferre and Joly’s line of work. Now, in the pause before the plunge into their final stand, he feels every pulse and prick. The beat of his heart. The scratch of his sweaty shirt. The hang of his hair that’s fallen loose from its tie. The exertion-ache in his legs. The warmth of his hands and feet. The way his chest rises and falls without him having to spare a thought.

All of it.

The fall of boot heels on the rickety makeshift walkway alerts him to a familiar presence. He knows the step. The feel of his friend behind him.

“I’m guessing we’re not getting what we hoped for this morning, huh?” Courfeyrac asks. “It’s quiet.”

Before he turns around, Enjolras manages the sudden tears in his eyes. They’re not even grief, exactly—that's too simple. They’re the too-much of it all. His body, this vessel, has never felt enough to contain the everything of him. They will die for something, all of them, but oh, how he longed for his friends to see the future. To be the future.

Even in the grave, they will shine.

He knows that.

Enjolras tucks a strand of hair behind his ear as he turns around. There’s no use in lying, and that would be disrespectful regardless. His friends know what they’re doing here, want to be here, as much as he does.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Hmm.” Courfeyrac’s face tightens, but the gleam of courage in his eyes remains. “I thought so.”

Enjolras puts an arm around Courfeyrac’s shoulders. As the minutes slip past, Courfeyrac’s arm finds its way around Enjolras’ waist, and together, they watch night give way to day.

Night always, always gives way to day.

As the sun bursts red-gold into the sky, Enjolras studies his dear, dear friend. The curl of his mahogany-brown hair. The impossible jade-green of his eyes and the life still in them even as death nips at their heels. Their fellows stir in the dew-damp morning. So, too, does the National Guard.

“Onward together,” Courfeyrac says, and if he wipes away a tear as he smiles, Enjolras doesn’t mention it. “As always.”

I love you.

“As always,” Enjolras murmurs with great affection.

I love you too.

In the spill of the dawn, their friends greet them. Watercolor images splatter against Enjolras’ memory like he was a part of them—’89 and ‘30. And in some ways, he was. All of them here are a part of the great chain of change. One link breaks. Another rises to take its place.

Never let go.

Never give up.

Onward.

#I offer you this small gift #Barricade Day #Enjolras #Courfeyrac #Les Amis #Les Mis #My fic

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thedemiseofdj · 1 day

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I have way too much to say about Jason Grace as a character so I might as well start here. I will also preface that while I might be critical of things in the Riordanverse, I do like it, I just think Jason in particular was done hella dirty. I’m also not working with a fully fresh memory of the franchise so if I say something stupid feel free to yell at me.

The relationship between Percy Jackson and Jason Grace was underwhelming, but it could’ve been a lot better. I think it boils down to three main areas: their rivalry, their relationship as foils and their eventual friendship

As Rivals

Jason and Percy’s rivalry basically boils down to “They fought because they were possessed,” and I think that they could’ve had plenty of reason to actually not like each other. This is part of my belief that the HoO series could’ve been longer to flesh out a lot of stuff. But I do believe that it’s bizarre that Percy and Jason meet, initially get along, and then come to blows in the same book. I know they were possessed, but that didn’t have to be the case. I think there were some things that Rick could’ve used to give them actual reasons to fight

I think it would boil down to two types of reasons: a systemic one and a “personal” one.

For Jason, I believe it was canon that the gods didn’t pay too much attention to Roman demigods, so it would’ve been interesting to have him go on a Greek quest while his memories are returning, see the amount of involvement from the gods and go: “So y’all can help, but the choose not to help the Romans? Fuck that!” I think the second reason that Jason would have to not like Percy would be to have him see how much the Greeks care about getting Percy back and contrast that to the Romans, who didn’t look for him and went as far as to replace him and you have Jason go: “Fuck That!” This would eventually turn into “Fuck Percy Jackson,” because even though Jason’s not really mad at Percy, he’s the poster boy for what Jason is really mad at

For Percy, you have him see the safety net that the Roman demigods have in New Rome and go: “Why don’t the Greeks have something similar? Fuck that!”. You can also have Percy find out that while he pretty much lost eight months in the blink of an eye, Jason was only asleep for a few days and go: “Fuck that!” This turns into a “Fuck Jason Grace” attitude because Jason is also the poster boy for what Percy is actually mad at

All in all, I don’t believe that they need actual personal gripes with each other, they just need to view each other as the easy target for the actual things they’re mad at.

They would eventually do fight, but not right away. In an ideal world where there is more space in the narrative(more/longer books), there would be at least a whole book where Percy and Jason just don’t get along. However, they wouldn’t come to blows by themselves. This is where the eidolons come in. Instead of it being a full possession like it was in the books, it could’ve been that the eidolons just stoked the tension that was already bubbling under the surface.

Who wins this fight? I would want it to be Jason(probably because I like the character and project on him way too much to have him lose). But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who wins, it just matters that the truth comes to light and they eventually talk it out.

As Foils

Jason and Percy could’ve been interesting foils because they both occupy the same space, both being big three powerhouses and leaders at their respective camps. However, they operate completely differently.

Both of them are opposites when it comes to their personality. Percy is a much more untamed, free-spirited rebel while Jason, even though he chafed under rules, still followed them. They are such opposites to the point where some characters that like one, automatically don’t like the other(Annabeth to Jason and Piper to Percy).

Percy is the type to sacrifice the world to save the people he cares about. And while I personally don’t believe that Jason is the ‘needs of the many’ type, he’s certainly not gonna go that far

They are also interesting in how similar they are.

On a basic level, both of them are good people who want to do the right thing, but it goes far deeper than that

I have a headcannon that Jason Grace’s fatal flaw is ‘Self Sacrifice’(I might get into this more in another post). This gives Jason an equally “job interview-y” flaw to Percy’s ‘Personal Loyalty’(as much as I love that being Percy’s fatal flaw, it is very much like when someone says “I’m too *insert good trait*” for the greatest weakness question in a job interview, at least in my opinion)

As Friends

Like I said before, Percy and Jason occupy the same space, so they both can relate to one another on a much deeper level than most others. In canon, they get along great after their spat and I wouldn’t change much about that.

I feel like their similar positions in life would allow them to trust each other

I do think that it would’ve been cool to see them go apeshit together with their combined strength more often

God I hope this shit made sense. I mainly just wish Jason and Percy’s fight had more meaning.

#jason grace #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians

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changingplumbob · 2 days

Text

New Goth: Chapter 4, Part 11

We go to high school and see what impression Ariadne makes.

I have been dying to share this! Let's gossip about my sims! How do we see her getting on with the other played teens long term? Tell me, tell me, tell me!

The next day starts and Ariadne tries to mentally prepare herself for a new high school.

Milton: Are you nervous

Ariadne: A little, but I’m not going to let the other kids know that

James: You’ll do fine. Just remember, no matter what happens, you’ll still have us here after school

Ariadne: Thanks James. Getting to know new people can be hard for me

Milton: Me to. I normally try to geek out with them

Ariadne: Unfortunately I’m not a geek

James: But you have interests. Don’t be afraid to share them, how else will you learn who might get along with you?

Big hugs from everyone, even Alexander who manages to leave the computer, then Ariadne is off!

It’s a fine autumn day and many of the teens are making use of the roller rink. Ariadne however has other tasks that need attention.

Mr A: I’m Mr Amarynth, welcome to- Sterling!

Ariadne: Huh? Sorry I was just taking a commemorative selfie

Mr A: I see you will not be joining our academic success ranks, pity

Ariadne: Oh actually I do know a bunch of stuff. I got good grades at my last school and I did all the pre homework you assigned. I’m excited to be here

Mr Amarynth keeps his face in a look of disdain while Ariadne tries awkwardly to smile. When he doesn’t continue the conversation she figures she should take the initiative.

Ariadne: Is there anything I need to do before class

Mr A: Ms Hensley will be taking your class today, she should be in the main building. See my assistant on the way there and they’ll assign you a locker

The principal’s assistant gave the worlds vaguest directions but Ariadne can find the main building. Now what? Luckily a helpful Onyx swings by.

Onyx: Excuse me, you look lost. Need any help?

Ariadne: Yes I need to find the lockers and a Ms Hensley

Onyx rolls their eyes and beckons Ariadne to follow them, humming to themselves.

Onyx: Ms Hensley can be tough, I try to take no notice. My best mate Carson gets tense just seeing her though. Ah, here are the lockers. If they don’t have stickers it’s safe to assume they’re not taken

Ariadne: Thank you…

Onyx: Oh I’m Onyx

Ariadne: Ariadne, thanks for you help

Onyx: No bother. Ms Hensley will probably be in the library at this time. Good luck

Sure enough around the corner in the library is Ms Hensley.

Ariadne: Hi, are you Ms Hensley? Mr Amarynth said you’re going to be my teacher

Ms H: Normally yes, but it’s exams today

Ariadne: Exams? On my first day

Ms H: *sighs* teenagers. Not everything is about you, I have other students to tend as well. If you want to do well you’d best revise

So Ariadne has a seat and does her best to look over her notes from her preparation work. Would have been helpful for Ms H to have said what subjects the exams are for. When the bell rings Ms H introduces her to Briana who is tasked with taking her to class.

Ariadne: Hi! Do you like the outdoors? I love the outdoors

Briana: Yeah… inside is great

In her head Ariadne can hear the stereotypical wah-wah-wah noises.

Math is first, not Ariadne’s favourite. But James did help her with the pie charts so she manages to follow the questions. Between papers she tries introducing herself to people around her.

Ariadne: Hi there, I’m new

Anya: I noticed

Ariadne: Do you like fishing? I love fishing

Anya: I’ll fish in Stardew Valley

Ariadne: Where is that? Is it near Del Sol valley?

Anya laughs to herself and Ariadne can’t help feeling the girl seems immature. Many more students in the high school sea though. It’s hard to tell from where she’s sitting but she does feel a pair of eyes on her from time to time. She can’t sense any ghosts around so maybe it’s a classmate?

In the lunch line Ariadne has a quick chat with Scarlett who seems interested at the idea of coloured auras. Ariadne asks if she can sit with her at lunch but the teen has an art project to do. Scarlett does tell her to friend her on social bunny though. Nothing for it, Ariadne will have to sit down with strangers.

Ariadne: Hi everyone. I’ve met some of you but I’m Ariadne. I’ve just started. I live in Willow Creek with my dads Mr and Mr Goth

Carson: James Goth?

She turns to look at the brunette who responded. He seems to be squinting as if he needs glasses but he has a kind face.

Ariadne: Yes that is one of my dad’s first names

Carson: Sorry we’ve not met before. I’m Carson. My dad Harvey is in a fishing group with James. He says good things

Ariadne: Oh are you in the fishing group? J- my dad has been asking me to join

Carson: I love the outdoors but fish gross me out a bit

Ariadne: We could always watch them fishing and pick flowers instead

Carson: *laughs* sounds good. I’ll see you round then, I need to study

He leaves. Ariadne feels happy to have found someone like her. And he obviously knows she’s in the process of being adopted and didn’t out her to everyone. That’s nice. He's pretty cute to.

Ariadne pops over to Onyx to thank them again when another teen walks by. A teen with a dark aura.

Artemisia: Who are you

Ariadne: Uh… I’m-

Artemisia: *tuts* Not very bright are you

Onyx: Lay off, she’s new, her name’s Ariadne

Artemisia: Whatever your name is, you’re in my seat. Go bother someone else with your bad dye job

Sensing rising hostilities Ariadne decides to go sit by another boy from her class.

Roger: Met Artemisia then?

Ariadne: That’s her name?

Roger: Yeah. She’s a boar. Not to say that I make snap judgements or anything. She's popular but I don't see the appeal

Ariadne: I was getting a bad vibe from her. She doesn’t seem very generous

Roger: *sighs* forget her. Are you generous then?

Sensing the opportunity to flirt and distract herself Ariadne turns to face Roger properly.

Ariadne: I can be, with the right incentive. What about you

Roger: That would be telling. I’m happy to go over what our next exam is if you’d like, as a taste of my generosity

Ariadne: *giggles* I wouldn’t like, I’d love

Roger helps Ariadne out right up until the bell rings. Ariadne heads to class and grabs a seat by the window. At least she can be close to nature in this room.

Artemisia: Hi

Ariadne pulls her attention away from the window to see Artemisia sitting down beside her and she feels her stomach turn.

Ariadne: Hi. Look, I’m sorry about being in your seat before but that really was no reason to make fun of my hair

Artemisia: *shrugs* I make fun of everyone, it’s entertaining

Ariadne: Well in future, don’t make fun of me. My forgiveness only goes so far

Artemisia: *rolls eyes* Sure your ladyship. My aim in life is to stay in your good graces

Ariadne scowls while Artemisia giggles to herself and Ms Hensley hand out their papers. Ariadne does her best to fill out the paper but can’t shake the feeling that Artemisia is reading all her answers. At least she doesn’t know if her own answers are right so maybe that’ll trip up the girl. At last the bell rings and it’s time to pack up.

Artemisia: Bye dye job *winks*

Ariadne watches her go feeling flustered. Mean girls have no business being pretty and playing with people like toys. At the back of the room Roger is focused on his phone so she decides to hang back.

Ariadne: Hey you. Thanks for the help, I think I got a few of those right, even with Artemisia looking at my work

Roger: Yeah she totally was. It was clear from back here, I don’t know how Ms H missed it

Scarlett: We can afford to cut Ms H some slack. I heard her tell Mrs T she thinks the art room is haunted, she looked freaked

Ariadne: Is it actually haunted? Ghosts fascinate me

Scarlett: I think it’s just haunted by me really but you never know

The three chat about things going bump in the night and following some commemorative photos Ariadne invites them around to visit after dinner.

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#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #simblr #my sims #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #R0905 #MiltonGoth #JamesGoth #AriadneSterlingFromBakersimmer #OnyxPancakes #CarsonFoster #ArtemisiaYork

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kaigarax · 2 days

Text

Accismus

Nagi Seishirou x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love with someone you’ll only ever share a few passing moments with."

In time travel nothing can be changed. Everything that will happen has already happened - and every change that you hope to make has either already occurred or will never occur at all.

---

Mission Number XX02

There were three rules to time travel that had been ingrained into Nagi Seishiro’s head when he first became a time traveler.

1. Don’t interact with your past self.

Wouldn’t want to accidentally make your past self go crazy.

2. Don’t tell people you’re from the future.

Most people would just ignore you but you wouldn’t want to be responsible for making someone else go insane.

3. Don’t try to change the course of events.

Time travel is to only be used to observe events that have already happened. Besides, even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to change anything.

Nagi’s job as a time traveler was to gather information on individuals. Specifically, people that would become famous. His job was to go back and observe what would make them into the individuals that they were. Record their lives from the perspective of a third party and come back with that information so that people of the present could learn about them.

Much more tame than the countless crazy stories that had been written before.

No fate ‘the world is at stake’ plotlines or ‘revenge from a man wronged’ villains. Merely ordinary people that can follow rules and record the lives of another - regardless of how boring that person may seem to you.

Nagi’s current objective - you.

(Y/n) (L/n).

A writer whose works would only garner popularity years after your death. From the brief snippets of information that there was on you, you were mostly a freelance writer that died early. Sometime around your early thirties? Nagi really isn’t all too sure.

He has a relatively easy task.

Follow you around for a couple days, following the moments when you would write your most famous piece. See what likely inspired each of the characters you chose to make and see what might have influenced the setting. See if there was someone special in your life that could have served as the inspiration for what would eventually come to be known as your magnum opus.

He thinks that your biggest series is about time travel, funnily enough. Not that he’s ever taken the time to read it or likely ever will. He’s not that big of a fan of chapter book novels. He much prefers to watch television or read comics if it’s a must that he needs to read. Prefers to look more at the pictures over having to create the image in his head all on his own.

He quickly jots something down on his notebook before following you into a cafe.

The biggest thing to remember when time traveling is to remain calm. The worst thing that you can do is be spotted and have the person you’re following think they’re getting stalked. Well… they are getting stalked but it’s for history purposes. Not for some perverse pleasure. Though… Nagi imagines that many people get a strange perverse pleasure from the information he gives out.

Oh well.

It’s too much for him to think about anyways.

He’s just here for the paycheck after all.

Stay within the rules and you’ll be fine.

Rule 1: don’t interact with your past self, would be an easy rule for him to follow. Nagi wouldn’t be born for at least a couple hundred years so no issue there. There wouldn’t be anyone that would recognize him.

Rule 2: don’t tell people you’re from the future. That shouldn’t be too hard to follow. It wasn’t like Nagi was much of a conversationalist anyways. He much preferred to quietly sit back and watch everything happen around him.

Rule 3: don’t try to change the course of events. Honestly, Nagi isn’t quite sure why this is a rule at all. Any fool with half a brain is smart enough to know that it’s impossible to change the past. Everything that will happen happens because it has already happened. A linear timeline where nothing can be changed or altered. It simply is.

From the information that Nagi’s gathered so far you seem relatively normal. Having just finished up your last few years in college, where you studied History (funnily enough) and would begin to take creative writing more seriously then you had before.

You’re pretty. Surprisingly pretty. He obviously saw photos of you back in his own time-zone but they did not do you justice. Not only did photos not capture the same level of life as they do in his own time-zone but you never seem to be making a normal expression. Mostly forced smiles and strained looks as if you’d rather be anywhere but taking that photo. Nagi relates to you on a spiritual level. He hates getting his own picture taken.

But in person you look so much softer and… realer. Well, you’re obviously realer. He could reach out and touch you if he wanted. You’re so much more expressive than he thought you would have been. So curious about the world around you as your eyes wander, stopping on everything you find interesting despite walking the same path for three days straight.

You’re also, unsurprisingly, patterned. Most people are patterned. You get up around the same time every day, 6:30am after hitting snooze on your alarm clock three times. You get ready for the day before heading off for a morning run. You boil the hot water for a tea that you’ll forget to make after work and head to your computer where you’ll type away until the urge to sleep hits where you’ll then fall asleep and do it all again the next day.

Nagi was hoping for something a little more interesting but he supposes that he’ll take what he can get.

At least today is the weekend, so maybe you’ll actually do something worth recording.

He doubts it.

There’s a barista that thinks you’re cute. He blushes as you smile warmly at him and take your order. Your hair is a little messy from your walk in the cold but you’re still the prettiest person here. Actually, you’re probably the prettiest person around for miles. Nagi actually finds himself a little surprised that he hasn’t seen you in a romantic relationship with anyone.

He does remember reading something about how there was one specific person that you thought about while writing but all the information about it was vague. His main job, funnily enough, was to find out who that person was.

Your drink is something new to you as you ask the barista to recommend something. The barista gives you a dopey smile before creating something sweet. Nagi doesn’t think that you’ll enjoy it all that much. From what he’s observed so far you don’t care much for sweet things. Don’t keep many sweets in your apartment and the ones you do have seem a little old.

You give a smile to the barista after tasting the drink.

Nagi finds a strange level of satisfaction running through him when your eyes don’t smile. Personally, he would have made you something a little more on the sour side. Something cool instead of a warm drink despite the cold weather. You seem like the kind of person that likes to be surprised and both the sour and coolness of the drink would surprise you.

You’d give that halfway sort of smile that you get when you’re in a writing groove. You’d…

Nagi shakes his head.

You’re not supposed to get attached to your assignments. They specifically go out of their way to pick apathetic people like him to send out on these assignments. Better to have people that don’t care about the person in front of them because you never know what kind of problems that it’ll cause later on down the line.

Of course, nothing in the past can be changed, but that doesn’t mean that people don’t go crazy trying to change the past. That they don’t lose their minds when they have to leave behind someone that was so important to them.

“Nagi Seishiro.”

Nagi freezes.

He hasn’t told anyone his name before in this time-zone much less spoken to someone at all. So how is it that someone knows his name? Did someone from his time-zone warp over here to tell him that they were taking over the assignment? While that would be a little strange he wouldn’t be all too surprised.

He tries his best to look apathetic as he looks up at the person who had taken the seat across from him. His blood goes cold when he sees that it’s you.

Your eyes sparkle in a way that Nagi hasn’t seen them sparkle before, “you’re Nagi Seishiro, aren’t you?”

Nagi shakes his head, attempting to feign ignorance, “I have no idea who that is.”

“It’s delightful weather,” you say suddenly.

Nagi freezes.

How in the world would you know that? As far as he knows you’re not one of the people that were privy to the information of time travelers and he most certainly doesn’t remember ever meeting you; so how could you know the first half of the code?

You lean over and take the drink he’s drinking from him, “but I always carry an umbrella.”

Okay. Someone was definitely messing with him.

You take a sip of his drink, “you are Nagi Seishiro, aren’t you?”

Finally, Nagi nods, “how do you know that?”

“Oh, thank goodness! I would’ve been mortified if I had accidentally taken a drink of some random dude’s drink. I was a little hesitant because it’s been a few years since I’ve seen you and you’re younger than how you were since I saw you last.”

“Wait,” Nagi raises an eyebrow, “you’ve met me before? An older version of me?”

You nod, “you were sent to do a piece on one of my classmates and almost caught and needed an alibi so you grabbed me and asked me to help you.”

Rule two: don’t tell people you’re from the future.

Well it’s too late now. It wasn’t like present Nagi was the one responsible for breaking the rules anyways. It seems that you already know about different time-zones and time traveling.

“So, who’s your assignment now?” You ask as you hand his drink back to him.

Nagi feels his cheeks grow hot, but luckily his face stays neutral. You’d have to touch him to know that he’s embarrassed. But, in his defense, who wouldn’t get embarrassed when the person they’re watching asks you who you’re watching. It’s basically asking someone to admit to you that they’ve been following you around and taking notes on you. It’s basically stalking. Well, Nagi likes to think of it more as being a private investigator but truthfully, even he has to admit that it’s basically just stalking.

It also doesn’t help that you’re looking up at him with such a pretty smile.

Gosh. Why did you have to be so pretty?

“It’s uh… the barista over there.”

“Oh really? Are they a relative of someone who wants to learn about them?” You ask.

“Uh… yeah.”

You smile knowingly, as if you know more about Nagi then he knows about himself. He wonders if this is what other people had been talking about in the notes he’d read about you. Your way of looking into the hearts of others. Your eyes are just… so bright and brilliant. So different from anything else he’s ever seen before.

Gosh. He thinks that he’s going to have to pass this mission onto someone else if he can’t get his treacherous heart to calm down.

“You’re lying~” You hum.

“W-what? How did you know that?”

“I didn’t. You just told me.”

He grumbles something in response.

This is why people recommend that you don’t talk to your assignments. Even if it would be easier to just ask someone about their work and what inspired them at the moment there was always the issue of creating a connection with someone else.

And then, there’s the fact that you already seem so fond of Nagi.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look at him so fondly before. As if he means so much more to him then he’ll ever know. Then he already knows.

It makes him want to lean over and touch you.

To see if you’re real or just an illusion made from his mind. Or perhaps a dream that he’s gotten from how much time he’s been spending with you.

He bets that your skin would be warm against his own.

Suddenly, you reach out and grab his hand.

His face burns hot.

His cheeks flush red as if he’s a school boy.

Gosh, it’s been so long since his body last reacted like this to a girl.

“What is it you want to know, Nagi Seishiro?” You ask.

He clears his throat, “promise you won’t laugh?”

You grin mischievously, “oh, no promises. I have to pay you back for how much you teased me.”

“But that hasn’t even happened yet for me.”

You laugh softly in response - Gosh. Nagi really isn’t sure how he’s going to make it out of this alive.

---

Mission Number XX79

There were three rules to time travel that had been ingrained into Nagi Seishiro’s head when he first became a time traveler.

1. Don’t interact with your past self.

Wouldn’t want to accidentally make your past self go crazy.

Luckily, Nagi’s never actually been given a mission in a time-zone where he can meet himself so he never has to worry about this rule.

2. Don’t tell people you’re from the future.

Most people would just ignore you but you wouldn’t want to be responsible for making someone else go insane.

Now, this rule is a little tricker.

He has, of course, done his best to follow this rule all except for one occasion but that one’s not even his fault in the first place.

3. Don’t try to change the course of events.

Time travel is to only be used to observe events that have already happened. Besides, even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to change anything.

This one, obviously, isn’t possible to break.

No one can change the past because it has already happened and the future has already happened. Both timelines that already exist, unable to be changed or morphed. Everything is already exactly as it is.

So obviously, when Nagi finds himself in need of breaking rule two he doesn’t worry much because it has already happened.

You have told him it already happened to you.

So it merely now has to happen to him.

And you again, if that makes sense.

Today, he’s been sent on a mission where he needs to observe the actual events of what happened. It’s some messy highschool drama that he doesn’t care all too much about. A private event that bores him to the bone. What doesn’t bore Nagi, on the other hand, is how he’s almost caught. One of the girls he’d been observing points out that they saw him somewhere else.

Nagi knows that he should have been more careful. That he should have taken better precautions and wore that wig Reo is always telling him to put on before heading off on his missions. It helps to hide his stark white hair which definitely stands out in a time period where unnatural hair colour is still uncommon amongst the general populace. The gene making an unnatural hair colour naturally grow hasn’t yet been introduced and the products people use to dye their hair are still made of products that damage the natural chemicals on your head.

Long story short, Nagi’s white hair stands out and someone noticed it.

This is actually only the second time that Nagi has ever been pointed out in his two years of being a time traveler. His second mission, where he had run into you and this one - where he coincidently went to find you to get your help. Well, he still has to go get you, but his point still stands.

Nagi’s heart seemingly stops in his chest as he sees you.

You’re a sight for sore eyes.

A couple years younger from how you were when he first met you. You’d been four years older than him when he first met you and now it seems that he’s four years older than him (give or take a few if he’s done his math correctly).

He’d forgotten just how loudly his heart would beat and how fast it would race when around you.

So pretty.

He almost forgets that you don’t know who he is.

Actually, he almost forgets to speak to you at all.

He’d much rather just watch you from a distance then have to pull you into this mess that he’s gotten himself into. But, of course, he thinks that it would be better to get your help. It’s not like he can get out of this situation without some inside help and he’ll be damned if he has to call into headquarters and ask for help. He knows for sure that they’d send Barou and goodness knows that he’ll never let Nagi live the moment down. Plus, he knows that you won’t snitch on him.

“Hey, (Y/n)!” Nagi calls out your name.

You turn around, a curious look in your eyes as you look around for someone familiar. Nagi’s heart melts at the sight of seeing your face for the first time in years. From what he knows, this is the last time that he’ll ever see you in person like this and he wants to savor the moment.

Finally, your eyes land on Nagi.

You give him a curious look, “me?”

He nods.

“Do I know you?”

“No,” Nagi shakes his head, “but I know you and I need your help.”

---

“So… let me get this straight. You’re a time traveler and you need my help to… get out of the stalker allegations? But aren’t you basically a stalker?”

Nagi nods, leaning over and taking a sip of the water bottle you had been drinking from, “it’s my job.”

You shoot him a look but it’s quickly replaced as the weight of his words sink in, “right. And it’s totally not creepy that you’re following a high school girl around.”

“If I could have picked my jobs I would’ve declined this one.”

“Right. I definitely believe you…”

He knows that you don’t believe him and he can see in your eyes that you’re looking for the next second to bolt. But you won’t. And if you do, he knows that you’ll eventually come around and help him later on. It has, afterall, already happened. That’s not the thing that’s bothering him.

What’s bothering him is your indifference. Was he this cold to you when the two of you met in the later time-zone? He certainly hopes not. He misses the warmth in your smile that you gave him before. The way your eyes would crinkle around the edges when he said something that you thought was funny. What he misses most though is the warmth of your hand on his own.

He wonders if you feel that speak between the two of you that he does whenever he’s with you. Or if it’s something only specific to him. Well, it’s less of a spark and more of a sensation. A feeling of just wanting to be around the other person. Knowing that everything is just alright when you’re with that other person.

You watch him warily, as if debating something in your mind.

Well then, Nagi thinks, it looks like it’s up to him now to win you over just like how you had won him over. Though, you did have it a little easier because his assignment had been you and he needed to get information from you. You could just leave right now because you have no obligation to help him.

But you will.

That’s just the kind of person you are.

It still kinda hurts though.

“So what do you need me to do?” You ask.

Nagi grins, “pretend to date me.”

“Woah, what?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh I heard you, that doesn’t mean I can immediately accept or decline. It’s a really weird situation to put someone in. Especially someone you barely even know.”

“I know you.”

“Fine,” you huff, “it’s a weird thing to ask someone that barely even knows you.”

“But you’ll do it?”

“Gosh! Give me a moment, will you?”

“Okay.” Nagi hums.

He’d forgotten how pretty you are when you’re deep in thought. It’s a look similar to how you are when you’re in a writing groove. Your eyes narrow in and your eyebrows crease slightly. Back then he had been so hesitant despite wanting to smooth the crease between your eyes. Scared that you would disappear if he were to reach out and touch you.

This time, he takes the chance.

He reaches a hand out.

You jump back slightly at the movement but Nagi continues forward without hesitation. Gently pressing a finger to the crease between your eyebrows and smoothing it out.

He smiles to himself as your face heats up dramatically.

You’re much easier flustered at this age than you were before. Then you will be when you’re older. Nagi imagines that’s because you’re much more experienced with men and relationships by then so he relishes in knowing that he gets to be one of the first ones in your mind that will be close to you like this.

You turn away, your cheeks hot, “w-what are you doing?”

“Smoothing out your eyebrows. Don’t want you to have wrinkles at such a young age.”

“Do I have wrinkles the next time you see me?” You ask hesitantly.

Nagi grins, “why? Are you curious?”

“No.”

“You’re lying~” Nagi hums.

“W-what? How did you know that?”

“I didn’t. You just told me.”

You grumble something in response.

Nagi laughs softly at the familiarity of the moment. You’re so much more of a brat then he thought. But it’s cute. You’re cute. Though, he supposes that he’s always thought you were cute. From the moment his eyes first landed on your file to now.

It sucks that the two of you weren’t born in the same time-zone. That you would forever live your lives between these two moments.

Of his first time meeting you.

And your first time meeting him.

A breadths width apart but hundreds of years away.

Even as the warmth of your hand is inches away from his own it feels light years away.

Nagi remembers when his parents first tried to introduce him to a girl that they wanted him to go on a date with. She, much like you are now, is four years younger than him. He’d scrunched up his nose at the age gap. To him, four years seemed like such a big distance. So far both in terms of life and experience. So far in maturity (despite the fact that girls mature faster than boys). So far in life.

In retrospect, Nagi thinks that maybe if that girl had been you he wouldn’t have thought four years was that far either. He thinks that maybe you must have been his soulmate.

In another world maybe he would have gotten the chance to know you and fall in love slowly. Thinks that he would have been able to lean towards you one day, after taking you out on a date, and whisper about how pretty he thinks you are instead of only thinking it in his mind. That after his fingers would interlock with yours, without either one of you having your thoughts race and your minds be confused trying to grapple with the weight of everything that you do and don’t need to know. That he would be able to lean in and kiss you like boys his age do with girls they like.

He wonders if you’ve been kissed before yet.

Mm, no. He takes that back. He doesn’t want to know. Knows that he’ll be much more jealous than he should be if that answers yes. To him, you’re the girl that he’s always been dreaming of. Even before he met you, it was you. It would always be you. Even if you never knew it. Even if he never tells you.

He won’t.

Be bets that back then there were many things that you had wanted to say to him that you didn’t. He wonders if your heart had ached for him the same way that his aches for you now. It’s strange, he thinks, to yearn for someone that you barely know. But to him, you were never a stranger but rather someone he was getting a chance to rediscover.

Four years doesn’t seem so far now.

At least in compassion to the hundreds of years that will keep you from him. That keeps him from you.

By the time Nagi is born you’ll likely be nothing but dirt once again reunited with the world or dust and ash somewhere out there in the cosmos of the universe.

The two of you are nothing but boats in the night.

A chance of passing in the night.

Gently, he interlocks his fingers with yours.

Your hand is so much softer than he remembers and so much warmer.

Fall in love with someone you’ll only ever share a few passing moments with.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #100 ways to fall in love

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