#i love this deranged little man he is exactly my kind of insane | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladyartemesia · 3 years

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TEASER: Kim Seokjin and the Mean Omega

Pairing: Nerd Alpha Kim Seokjin x Popular Omega Reader

Genre: A/B/O • Enemies to Lovers • (Sorta) College AU • Best Friend's Brother AU (Who is surprised? No one?)

Teaser Word Count: 3.6K

Teaser Warnings: A/B/O sexual dynamics • suggestive content

Rating: Explicit (18+) (Teaser is PG-13)

Summary: In the modern world, alphas are almost unheard of so why even bother learning about them? After all, as a spoiled (but reasonably kind-hearted) omega who is used to getting whatever she wants, you have better things to do. However, when unexpected circumstances throw you in the path of (extremely) nerdy and (probably?) shy Kim Seokjin, you're shocked to discover that he won't be wrapped around your little finger as easily as all the rest. Bringing that infuriating geek to his knees quickly becomes your personal mission in life... But it turns out that Kim Seokjin is not what he appears to be and the mean omega who eats beta boys for breakfast is about to get way more than she bargained for...

Author’s Note: This story would not be here without the love, support and friendship of my incredible support system. You talk with me, you laugh with me, you listen when I’m crying, and you read my chaotic drafts when I am ready to pull my hair out of my head in frustration. I love you all. @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen @lemonjoonah. ALSO thank you to each and every one of you who encouraged me to post this story. This fic is dedicated to all of you as a token of my love and appreciation. Your support keeps me writing. Never doubt that for a second.

“...due to discriminatory anti-alpha policies in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, alphas were nearly eliminated from the general population…”

You heaved a weary sigh and rolled your shoulders—stretching the buttons of your high-end Oxford shirt to their limit. The beta sophomore to your right whined audibly and you smirked.

“...despite efforts to restore the genetic balance of designations, alphas currently comprise less than one percent of the population…”

Your back arched slightly as you crossed your legs, letting the absurdly short hem of your skirt ride up even higher. The poor boy you were tormenting shifted miserably in his seat.

How was he supposed to focus on a Human Biology and Designation Studies lecture when the living breathing embodiment of every sweaty undergrad’s fantasies was twisting her fingers in her hair and wrapping her pretty pink tongue around a strawberry lollipop right there in the middle of class?

“...unlike betas and omegas, alphas possess enhanced strength and the ability to compel other designations with their voice. Unmated alphas especially were often baselessly feared and distrusted...”

You knew exactly how you affected boys like him. You were a shameless tease who relished their attention and the power it brought you. Who needed drugs when driving a man mad with desire was a rush more potent than any high?

“...and that’s all for today so please read pages 450-466 in the text over break and remember to turn in your essay on scent and consent in intimacy—”

That poor sophomore looked like he had finally worked up the courage to speak to you, but you were already out the door and tearing down the hall toward your beautiful (and entirely platonic) counterpart, Kim Taehyung.

“Do you think Professor Moore is unaware that class is over at 3:25 or is he just torturing us for science?”

Taehyung shrugged, falling into step beside you with practiced ease.

“I mean I would torture you for free so it’s hard to say.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his characteristic dry humor, but the irritation at being held in that sweltering lecture hall for an extra ten minutes had frayed your temper.

“It’s the last class before spring break, I’m sure he was on some sort of twisted power trip.” You dug around in your purse for some chapstick, ignoring Tae’s amused snorting, “Alphas barely exist anymore and none of us are likely to meet one. Why bother learning what they can do?”

Taehyung tilted his head in amusement.

“You might be surprised.”

The final party before the beginning of spring break was always a laid back affair.

Many people had already caught planes to their various destinations, but your flight was scheduled for early tomorrow morning—leaving you with some time to kill.

Taehyung pressed his newest experimental concoction into your hand within minutes of entering the house (a surprisingly neat bachelor pad owned by two seniors, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi) and then darted back to the kitchen to craft more questionable alcohol potions like a deranged party warlock.

You had just found a comfortable place on the couch and were contemplating whether sampling your best friend’s mad scientist elixir would be worth the probable damage to your body when—

“H-Hello...”

It was that sophomore from your Designations Studies class. What was his name again? Jungwoo? Jinwook?

“Jungkook,” you smiled, delighted to have remembered before it became awkward. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You motioned to the empty cushion next to you and the man in question scrambled over like he’d won the lottery.

“I—I know we don’t know each other well, but I noticed you were absent during Professor Moore’s lecture on intimacy and scent consent so I—” he blushed deeply, “I wrote the essay for you—and I brought a copy on my flash drive if-if you want it.”

Your heart melted immediately.

“Oh my gosh Jungkook, that is so sweet of you!”

Your gaze darted over his muscular form and thick brown curls.

Sweet indeed.

“I don’t want to miss out on the learning though,” you pouted, placing a hand on his tattooed bicep. “Can you explain it to me?”

Jungkook nodded vigorously even as his wide eyes fell to where your fingers were sliding slowly over his chest.

Scent consent was a pretty basic and universally known concept, but you really were touched by the handsome sophomore's consideration.

Why not give him (and yourself) a little reward?

“Um so basically if two people are involved in...intimate activities—”

You leaned forward to nip his ear lightly and he whimpered.

“Like this?” you asked innocently.

“Y-Yes. Like that.” He gulped. “In an intimate situation consent or refusal can be smelled. The scent of refusal or reluctance in intimacy is strong, unmistakable, and has a high chemical potency.”

“Is that so?” you drawled, sliding over onto his lap. Jungkook’s eyes rolled back into his head and you bit back a grin.

He was adorable.

“Uh-huh—it—oh my gawd,” (you were nibbling on his ear again) “it can immediately block sexual arousal and performance in the other partner. Meaning, if consent is not present, then it becomes difficult or—ahh” (his voice began to waver under your continued attention) “—or even impossible to continue with intimate acts.”

Your hand slid up to his cheek, bringing him closer till your lips were almost touching.

“Then what does it mean if I’m still so turned on right now?”

“It means,” Jungkook shuddered—nearly delirious with your scent, “that I really really want you.”

Across the room, Park Jimin chuckled as he watched you seduce his enthusiastic friend.

Jeon Jungkook was such a sweet kid.

Hopefully he wouldn’t get too attached.

“Wow... Some people are genuinely born blessed I suppose.”

Jimin turned to see Jung Hoseok eyeing the dimly lit corner where you and the eager young sophomore were exploring each other.

It was a rather...provocative spectacle. Not quite raunchy (you weren’t truly an exhibitionist)—just insanely sexy.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on the smooth curve of your thigh where Jeon Jungkook was currently holding on for dear life.

Lucky bastard.

“Ah you know how she is,” he sighed. “That boy isn’t going to get any farther than anyone else.”

It was relatively common knowledge that you liked to mess around but rarely—if ever— fully hooked up with anyone.

Jimin asked you about it once during a drunken game of truth or dare and you had just shrugged, mumbling something along the lines of avoiding STDs (which—to be fair—was at least part of your motivation), but the truth was a little more complicated than that.

In terms of experience, you weren’t a virgin, but... you hadn’t actually had sex in years.

You loved the chase, the foreplay, the build-up—the game of cat-and-mouse between two people who were attracted to one another.

But the final consummation was always so…

Wildly unfulfilling.

Every encounter left you frustrated. Empty.

Grumpy—even.

So you stopped bothering with it all together. (That was what sex toys were for after all.)

At the end of the day you were perfectly content being labeled a tease—it meant that people tended to know what they were (or rather weren’t) getting into when they rolled the dice with you.

Besides…it hadn’t even put a dent in your throng of admirers.

You were sunny, spoiled, indulgent, almost universally adored—

And you loved every minute of it.

“You know…” Hoseok took a long sip of his drink. “I always thought she would end up with Taehyung, but it’s been three years.”

Like you, Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat and it was only natural that two beautiful and absurdly privileged people would gravitate to one another. You met at a freshman pledge party and had been an inseparable (and formidable) dynamic duo ever since.

The undisputed king and queen of campus.

Yes—maybe the two of you were a little self-absorbed at times, but it was hardly your fault that people tended to instinctively cater to the force of your combined looks, wealth, and charisma.

And it didn’t hurt that neither of you were ever intentionally cruel or unkind.

Just... habitually thoughtless.

(Though not when it came to each other. If anything your friendship was one area where you were both a little more human.)

Jimin shook his head.

“Nah that’s never gonna happen.” He tapped his nose. “They’re scent-crossed.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

Scent-crossed pairs didn’t smell sexually attractive to each other.

Like. At all.

No matter how physically or visually appealing an individual might be, it would be near impossible to form a sexual or romantic attachment to them if you were scent-crossed. Alphas, betas, and omegas were all subject to their noses first and foremost in the realm of attraction.

You and Taehyung smelled like comfort and home to one another...

But you were more turned on by a crisp cup of apple juice than you were his scent and the feeling was quite mutual.

He might as well have been your actual brother.

“That explains so much.” Hoseok snorted as he watched a drunken Taehyung do a flying leap on top of both you and Jungkook.

“Why is sunlight so offensive?” you croaked, dragging yourself and your luggage toward the boarding ramp next to an equally miserable Taehyung.

“The next time I book a flight before 9 AM, please shoot me,” he grunted.

Your parents were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with a month-long European cruise so your best friend had graciously invited you to spend two glorious weeks of spring vacation at his family estate.

The invitation had actually come as somewhat of a surprise because—for all your closeness—Taehyung was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his family.

Not that he was deliberately withholding information per se… It was just that he never really brought them up beyond an occasional passing comment.

The one time you did ask him about them directly he sighed and said—

“We’re very close, but… I suppose we’ve just gotten used to being very private.”

There was clearly more to the story, but you were confident that Tae would share it if and when he was ready.

“My parents are in Seoul opening a new branch of the company. They took my little sister with them and my older brother has his own house so it will be just us.” He snuggled deeper into the first class seat directly next to yours. “We’ll hang out by the pool and chill during the day, then hit up some of the new clubs or whatever at night.”

“So… No one from your family will be there?”

Perhaps the invitation was not so surprising after all.

“Nope. Just you and me and thirty acres of ocean front property.”

You grinned.

“Perfect.”

“Whose room is that?”

The two of you were lugging your bags down the main hall of Taehyung’s expansive mansion when a strange hint of...something caught you right by the nose.

Your friend turned to find you frozen and staring curiously at a familiar door near the balcony.

His eyes widened, but you were too preoccupied to notice his momentary concern.

“That’s just Jin’s room.”

A firm hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged you away, but your eyes stayed glued to the source of the mysterious scent until you were around the corner and out of sight.

Your suite for the next two weeks was right across the hall from Taehyung’s. There was a whirlpool, a full bath, a balcony, and an ocean view that would rival the cover spread of any travel magazine.

Tae headed for the shower (to ‘wash the airplane off’) immediately after showing you the room and you were thinking of doing the same except…

Your mind kept going back to that door and the hint of scent you detected.

There was something… different about it.

It was faint—and far from fresh (which made sense considering that one of the few things you did know about Kim Seokjin was that he hadn’t lived in this house for years).

But still…

The need to smell it again pressed insistently at the back of your mind.

Suddenly the sound of Taehyung singing raunchy lyrics in the shower carried over through the walls and you found your feet moving almost of their own accord.

What Tae doesn’t know won’t hurt him, you rationalized, making your way down the hall toward Jin’s door. Besides—it’s not as if I’m going to steal anything…

You just needed to find that scent again.

By the time your fingers closed over the knob every one of your nerves was strangely—acutely—alert but nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting behind the door.

Oh. My. Gosh.

“What a colossal nerd.”

The room was covered floor to ceiling in Nintendo memorabilia.

Bright primary colors assaulted your eyes from all directions in the form of action figures, posters, pillows, and every other conceivable merch variety known to man.

In the center of the suite stood a large king-sized bed covered in a custom black couture toile-style Mario-verse bed set (that looked every bit as expensive as it was geeky) and a mountain of high quality Nintendo character plush toys.

Everything was simultaneously luxe and nostalgic—a rare combination of sophisticated aesthetic balance and childlike indulgence.

And the scent was there.

It was faint and covered under layers of cleaner and air fresheners, but still lingering just below the surface—too weak for you to get a really good whiff, yet potent enough to torment you.

You moved forward unconsciously toward the strongest source of the hypnotic smell—the strangely inviting expanse of Kim Seokjin’s mattress.

Suddenly the urge to climb—no crawl—across the bed itself and roll around in it like a kitten in catnip gripped you out of nowhere.

“What the hell?” you muttered, rubbing absently over the mating gland at the base of your neck.

Something very odd was going on with your body.

Your restless gaze zeroed in on one of the stuffed toys piled atop his pillows. It was a cute little mushroom man your brain recognized as a Mario character named ‘Toad’.

Take it.

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

You need it.

“Am I going insane?” you wondered aloud.

You have to take it.

Muscles in your hand began to twitch involuntarily. You bit your lip.

Bring it back with you.

Several minutes later a freshly washed Taehyung wandered over to your room and found you sitting perfectly still on your bed while staring off into space.

His head tilted in curious concern.

“Everything ok?”

You started a bit at the sound of his voice, but recovered quickly.

“Never better!” you chirped—almost too brightly. “Let’s go get some dinner, I’m starving.”

Then you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall toward the kitchen—shutting the door before he could catch a glimpse of his brother’s stuffed Toad doll stashed underneath your pillow

“...a critical water main rupture in the city’s New Market district early this morning has forced several residents out of their homes as flood water swelled up to nearly two feet. The governor declared a state of emergency and ordered hotels around the city to accommodate the displaced citizens. Crews are still clearing the water and assessing damages. We expect—

“Hey!” you shouted through a mouthful of cereal, after Your best friend switched off the television, “I was watching that!”

“And what you should be doing is getting ready for the pool.” Tae snatched your cereal bowl and dragged you by your shirt collar toward the stairs. “It is the first morning of our vacation. I’m not trying to waste any time. Now go.” He shoved you forward, smacking your ass for good measure.

You swatted back at him half-heartedly as jogged back up to the room where you enjoyed a surprisingly restful sleep last night.

Kim Seokjin’s door glared at you accusingly as you shuffled past—unable to let you forget that you had kidnapped it’s little mushroom man in an unexplained fit of kleptomania, but that was a problem for your future self.

The you of right now was going to zen out in the Kim family's premium glass-enclosed indoor pool (it was still a little chilly for the outdoor pool) with her best friend and bask in the simple joys of good company and no responsibility.

...Or not.

A few minutes later you bounced into the living room wearing a simple black tankini with a cute floral cover only to find Taehyung on the phone with his head in his hands.

“Yes, sir. I understand… I...I know this is my responsibility...”

That didn’t sound good.

After a few more tense moments, Tae hung up and collapsed backward into the couch with a heavy sigh.

“That water main break you heard about on TV this morning was the last straw between the province and its current contractor. They called an emergency meeting for new bids.”

Your heart dropped as you sank down beside him.

“Your dad wants you to go...doesn’t he.”

Taehyung nodded miserably.

“He can’t leave the Seoul opening on such short notice and managing government construction contracts is part of what I’ve been training for. This could be huge for our company.”

“Well...why doesn’t your brother go?”

“Jin is the brains behind most of our patented gaming and tech innovations. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with this sort of thing. Besides,” his lips quirked up in a rueful grin, “my brother doesn’t have the patience to stroke entitled geriatric egos for hours on end—which is likely what I’m going to have to do.”

The two of you headed back to Taehyung’s room where you helped him pack some suits and toiletries for his trip.

Naturally you were disappointed but...this was a great opportunity for your best friend to prove himself in his chosen field and you both knew it. In fact, he was already starting to brighten a bit.

“The meeting is about a hundred miles north of here. My dad’s secretary already handled the flight and hotel room.” His eyes darted around the suite to see if he was forgetting anything.

It was clear he was nervous, though you were sure he didn’t need to be. Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat, but he was also talented and deeply passionate about his family’s company.

Someday this would be the norm. The two of you were stealing time in college, determined to live a little before the expectations of your powerful families transferred fully onto your shoulders.

It was becoming more and more clear, however, that your carefree time was slowly running out.

Mother had already spoken to you about potential marriage alliances and your father expected you to intern with his Vice President this summer just as your elder sister had...

Taehyung’s voice suddenly interrupted your bittersweet introspection and you couldn��t help but smile at how grown-up he looked in his suit and briefcase ensemble.

Everything was going to change, but not quite yet.

“They estimate negotiations should take around a week or so…” He walked over and pulled you into a tight hug. “There should still be some vacation left for us when I get back.”

“Hurry back then,” you mumbled grumpily into his chest and he chuckled.

“I will.”

Taehyung had been gone for less than twenty minutes when you decided that the best use of your time would be to eat more snacks.

The last thing you expected when you skipped merrily into the kitchen was to find it occupied by a shaggy-haired homeless man in glasses.

Your first instinct was to scream which caused the homeless man to drop the apple he was biting right onto the floor where it rolled around for a small eternity before coming to rest at his ankles.

Your second instinct was to grab a butcher’s cleaver from the nearby knife block and wave it chaotically at the intruder while shouting something along the lines of—

“You’ve made a huge mistake! My boyfriend is the biggest, meanest mafia boss in Seoul! Leave now and he might let you live!”

The homeless man continued to stare at you with a mixture of confusion and shock, but made no move to run away in terror like you were hoping.

So you tried again.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! The last man who touched me drinks his steak through a straw now! Do the smart thing and leave before my boyfriend comes down those stairs and it’s too late!”

Infuriatingly, the homeless man was still not fleeing for his life and frankly you were starting to get frustrated. You drew in a deep cleansing breath and were prepared to issue another grandiose threat when he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, miss. I... think there’s been some sort of mistake. Who is your boyfriend?”

There was no rational explanation for what came out of your mouth next, but it rolled off your tongue so smoothly and you didn’t even flinch.

“Kim Seokjin.”

For the first time in your entire exchange, the intruder looked truly alarmed.

Now that’s more like it.

“You’ve heard of him I see. He’s a dangerous man and my body belongs to him.” You slammed the cleaver down onto the countertop with a (hopefully) menacing slash. “Kim Seokjin doesn’t like when other men put their hands on what belongs to him.”

There was a long, unpardonably tense moment of silence…Then the stranger slowly reached forward and picked up a mobile phone from the table in front of him.

His eyes remained locked with yours as he pressed a quick series of buttons, brought the phone to his ear, waited a few seconds and said—

“Taehyung… Would you mind telling me why there is a half-naked, knife-wielding omega in our kitchen claiming to be my girlfriend?”

Hello! Please comment on this post if you would like to be added to the taglist!

You guys were all so wonderful, and encouraging, and excited that I literally got this teaser out in three days! If you like what you read so far, please let me know! I cannot put into words how meaningful and valuable feedback is to me. I truly treasure it! It fuels my creativity and keeps me writing. I would love to hear from you!

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xamaxenta · 2 years

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Ok I saw your post about Ace going toe to toe with an Admiral and I just need to GO OFF for a sec here…

Ace is goddamn hard as fuck because even tho ice and flame are opposing powers, for them to cancel each other out exactly implies that both users have the exact same skill, stamina, and power levels. Given the fact that Ace is a) younger than Aokiji, b) less experienced in fights than Aokiji, and c) injured and likely fairly weak from prison, this is INSANE. Like. Think about how well ace would’ve done if he was fully rested and hadn’t just been released from an execution platform by his brother whom he has to look out for.

He could probably beat Aokiji. Definitely in a few years he could, because given his relative youth and inexperience compared to an Admiral; this means he improves much faster than a goddamn Admiral! All this to say Ace is one of the strongest characters in One Piece and people need to put some respect in his goddamn name!

(Not you obviously you drink your Respect Ace juice regularly)

Ok I’m done now, rant over.

THANK YOU!!! Pls I would award you the PhD in Aceology but you clearly don’t need it because you’re already a decorated master in this field 🙏🏽

more under cut bc i went off too dont worry i love your rant im just screaming over how you summarised it so well

I’d like to reinforce point c) about him being injured and weakened after his capture and further incapacitation… Up until this point of his being freed from the shackles and fighting Aokiji, Ace went through the following:

- travelled great distances under the influence of driven anger and immense grief, to bring the man who killed his friend to justice

- had an intense fight once caught up with the murderer who happened to have Ace’s element’s natural opposite (light/fire vs Darkness) - but put up a tough fight which was endorsed by Teach himself three times (who also complimented on Ace’s battle sense), once when he tells his new crew they’re no match for Ace, secondly when he invites Ace to join his crew (the fucking nerve) and third when they’re actually fighting and there’s that deranged obsessive look on Teach’s face, there’s a reason he so desperately wanted the Mera Mera in Dressrosa — but ultimately was defeated due to inexperience and zero knowledge of his opponents abilities

- after this we learn Ace was captured and sent as a bargaining chip, give Ace to the marines and Teach becomes a Warlord - but Ace most definitely wasnt treated for his wounds (maybe a little) and was thrown into Impel Downs sixth layer and apparently withstood the boiling water trial all prisoners had to endure without crying out in pain

He took it like a champ, wounded and cuffed by seastone thats thats beast level holy shiiit

And after that he was just thrown into his jail cell and left to rot , chained up in an uncomfortable postion until his due execution date…

Fast forward, Ace has been kneeling on that wooden platform for at least an hour before he’s freed, that probably hurt a lot - im reaching here pushing my own headcanon a little but I doubt he was well, im certain from all the crying and dry prison air he’s probably got the migraine of the century, his lungs and eyes and throat must hurt

(yeah im just infatuated over this ask now lol dont take this too seriously )

The war is a live emotional rollercoaster for him, his family the whitebeard pirates charging headlong into enemy home territory to save him? Is it even worth it, is he worth it?

And then he’s free and his muscles are aching he hurts all over and moves probably mostly on adrenaline and then he comes face to face with Aokiji who we know is powerful, dangerous and kind of a wildcard and youre so right - ice and fire have the potential to overwhelm the other but for them to cancel out like they did?

Ace is suffering from wounds new and old, hes exhaused af versus Aokiji who more or less got fresh into the fight ? Maybe people will argue Aokiji wasn’t going all out, so?????? Ace still went toe to toe with an Admiral

Actually Ace fuckin stalemated an admiral and if he was healthy and rested Youre right I think he would’ve been able to take Aokiji head on and win

And this is what people forget about Ace!!! The reason the marines and wg wanted to get rid of him was not just because of his lineage but also because Ace is powerful, a fast growing threat

If Ace had that same two year timeskip as the strawhats ? He would’ve been unstoppable imo 😳 (now i will imagine Rayleigh mentoring Ace...)

#xam scream #xam asks #WOW respecting Ace juice is flowing freely today!!!#respecting Ace is my kink #this is mostly my emotjons and headcanons #how I interpret and stuff so if its not canon u know its bc im sliding in my biased thoughts but NO ACE IS STRONG AND BEAUTIFUL

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nanasparadise · 3 years

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Can you do (aged up of course), Yandere Narancia x reader. [p.s can it include any of these prompts? “ Stop denying our love! Stop denying our future together!! ”, “ Please don’t cry. Show me the smile I love so much! ”, “ You can’t escape my love.”,” You will grow to love me back, I just know it!“] Thx so much <3

“You can’t escape my love”

“You will grow back to love me, I just know it.”

Hiya anon! I hope you enjoy it! <3

Summary: Your boyfriend doesn’t understand the concept of boundaries and keeps harassing you, until he stands in front of your apartment’s door...

TW: cyber harassment, implied stalking, gaslighting, mentions of a panic attack, toxic relationship, noncon touching, curse words, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Narancia has been aged up, no minor content on my blog!

Word count: 2155

“No escape” Yan! Narancia x gender-neutral reader

Bling. Another one of… how many messages again? You have stopped counting a while ago. An exasperated sigh escapes your lips, wondering why you haven’t turned off the volume yet. Why is he so unrelenting? Annoyed, you take your phone in your hand, staring at the twenty-five texts Narancia has left for you. At first, they have started off innocently, asking you about your well-being and your day. But as time has passed, the messages have begun becoming more invasive and have ended up being straight-up creepy.

“Why aren’t you answering me, did I do something wrong?”

“Stop being so stubborn, I know you want to be with me, too!”

“I’m always near you, you’re aware of that, right? You can’t escape my love.”

An icy shudder travels down your spine while reading the last two sentences. Fear clenches around your heart, making your chest feel heavy, your breaths short and laboured.

“’’Try out this dating app!’ they said, ‘It will be fun!’ I see where this fun has lead me to”, you think gloomily. Why on earth did you ever sign up to that damned app and had to match with Narancia? You curse yourself, curse your naivety for having expected to encounter there a nice and healthy relationship.

The only thing that has waited for you is an obsessive stalker you can’t get rid of. Of course you didn’t realise Narancia’s disturbing nature at the beginning. No, you thought of him as sweet and energetic, although a bit tiring. Your first dates were pleasant: you went to a fair, sharing candyfloss and laughter between you, to a restaurant, where the Italian nearly choked on his pasta out of excitement, to a spring picnic at the local park, bathing in the gentle sunlight. It all seemed so beautiful to you back then, so innocent. But quickly, things have changed.

Narancia has become increasingly clingy to you until it started feeling as if he was glued onto your hip. Oh, you want to go grocery shopping? He’ll come with you and help you carry your bags! You’re planning on visiting your family on the weekend? He’ll join you, he has been dying to meet them anyway!

Setting boundaries with him was extremely challenging. Every time you hinted that you’d rather like to spend some time alone, he nearly threw a fit, taking your words out of context and twisting them around.

“So you want to toss me away? You don’t think I’m important to you?”, he shouted at you, tears of anger forming in his eyes. Back then, you didn’t notice his gaslighting methods, felt guilty for prioritising yourself. But now, you don’t want to hold yourself back anymore. There isn’t any reason for you to justify yourself, especially not to someone who clearly has no right to intervene in your life like this. Your gaze travels back to your phone. All these messages, these implications, are proof enough of his unhealthy attachment to you. Hell, he even admitted following you! No matter how much you enjoyed your time together, you can’t let Narancia continue with his creepy behaviour.

Quickly, you type a text, telling the Italian that if he goes on invading your privacy, you’ll block him. For a few minutes, sweet silence dominates your living room.

“Maybe he finally got it”, you muse hopefully.

Bling. There goes your hope.

“Are you messing with me? Why would you write that?! Please, stop with these jokes, we can talk about this!” Another sigh comes out of your mouth.

“No Narancia, we actually can’t. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell the whole time, but it seems you don’t understand. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna block you for now, otherwise I’ll go insane.”

With these final words, you block his number. Relief washes over you as you realise that the Italian can’t harass you anymore.

“It‘s kind of sad how things have turned out”, you mumble to yourself. Though you do feel some regret – after all, the two of you had shared many beautiful moments together – you abruptly stop your pondering. “No use to cry over spoiled milk, Y/N. If he keeps treating you like this, it’s best to get away from him.”

Little did you know that Narancia isn’t letting you go that easily. The following days, he kept reaching out to you towards multiple phone numbers. Every time you blocked it, a new one popped up. At this point, you’ve simply stopped using your phone altogether, only relying on the device if it’s inevitable. In those cases, you’re helplessly exposed to the unnerving messages of the young man. The latest one keeps haunting your mind, initiating your anxiety.

“I’ve been really patient with you, Y/N, but this little game is making me lose my temper. I’ll be seeing you tonight and then we settle things straight. You will grow back to love me, we’ll make up again, I just know it.”

Nervously, you eye the nearest clock in your flat. 8 p.m. What does Narancia consider ‘tonight’? Will he even come? Are you able to face him right now?

“Oh god, I need to go”, you whisper desperately, nausea manifesting itself in your stomach. You could crash at your friend’s place, you’re sure they’d understand your situation. Quickly, you gather all your important belongings, ready to flee, as a loud knocking on your front door followed by an all too familiar voice interrupts your escape.

“Hey Y/N, could you open the door for me, please?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You mutter an incoherent string of curses. Petrified, you just keep staring at the door, not daring move a single muscle in your body.

“If you don’t open the door yourself, I’ll just break it in, you know?”, Narancia shouts on the other side. The casualness of his tone scares you even more.

“How can he just be so blasé by his behaviour? Doesn’t he notice how wrong his actions are?” Actually fearing the Italian might damage your property, you accept your defeat and slowly walk up to the front door. Hesitantly, with shaking hands, you unlock it and pull the handle down. Nervousness creeps up on you, making your palms grow sweaty and your heart palpitating erratically. Soon – too soon for your liking – you meet a pair of familiar purple eyes. To your surprise, Narancia smiles upon seeing your face.

“Hi babe,” he greets you, carefree, “I’m so glad you opened the door for me! You have no clue how much I’ve missed you!” Without even waiting for you to invite him in – which you definitely wouldn’t have done – the young man marches into your flat, invading your privacy even further. Suddenly, two arms wrap around your middle and pull you close to the young man’s chest. Your breathing falters at the abrupt touch. “It’s alright, it’s only me, Y/N”, Narancia tries to comfort you. If only he knew that his presence currently gives you anything but comfort…

A few moments later, you find yourself sitting on your couch next to him. Narancia flashes you a seemingly reassuring grin all while you keep fiddling with the sleeves your shirt. You blankly stare at the floor in front of you. Even though Narancia’s behaviour is conveying sympathy, you couldn’t get rid of the intuitive feeling that this is all but a façade to lull you into a false sense of security. Who knows what he could do to you? Despite his overall sweet and fun nature, the young man doesn’t shy away from using violence if you test his – admittedly little – patience. His numerous messages flash up in your mind again. You’re painfully aware now how he made it clear that you’ve clearly missed your opportunities of being in his good graces. This realisation pushes you nearly over the edge, being on the brink of a panic attack. Would Narancia really hurt you?

“Look Y/N,” the sound of his voice interrupts your train of thought. A little startled, you immediately straighten your back and glance at his form next to you. The young man’s hand finds its way to yours, stopping your fumbling by securely grasping it. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but what’s wrong? Why did you just ignore me like that?”, Narancia asks you. You don’t miss the hint of annoyance in his voice, indicating his true feelings. Though anxiety still has a hold on you, you try your best to fight against it and tell him the truth. After all, it’s not like you could escape this situation anyway. So you take a deep breath in and out again, before you spill your following words.

“Well, I know you’re more of a clingy person Narancia, but what you’re doing is unhealthy. You can’t expect me to give you my full attention all the time. And you definitely can’t follow me around! It’s just creepy and wrong. You know that’s considered stalking, right?”

The Italian stares back at you incredulously. You wonder what’s going on in his head right now.

“You gave me no other choice, Y/N! How am I supposed to see if you’re doing alright if you deny me like this? You really think me worrying about you makes me some deranged criminal?”, Narancia barks angrily back at you. The grip on your hand tightens. Listening to your previous gut feeling, you immediately retrieve your hand from his all while scooting away from him to gain more space between you. The dark-haired man’s jaw visibly clenches at your action, disapproval glistening in his eyes. Of course he would use his gaslighting tactics on you, he always does when things don’t go his way. Cautiously, you think for a while of what to say, not wanting to trigger Narancia’s wrath any further.

“It’s not the fact you worry about me, it’s the way you choose to show your concern. Narancia, it’s not okay what you’re doing, you’re actually making me feel very uncomfortable, even right now. Plus, you’re blaming me for your behaviour, which is, again, not acceptable”, You carefully reply, hoping to talk some sense into him.

He makes you uncomfortable? Narancia can’t comprehend your words at all. He’d been worrying himself sick the last few days, trying to reach out to you as best as possible while you cruelly kept on ignoring his countless messages. But he is supposed to be the bad guy now? The Italian scoffs intensely at that thought. He can feel the anger gnawing at his guts, ready to be released.

“You’re being ridiculous, Y/N,” Narancia reprimands you, “can’t I show you anymore that I care? That I love you? Even after you’ve blocked and ignored me? What do you expect me to do now, to just let you go?”

“Actually, I do,” you peep quietly, “I can’t continue with this madness. If you don’t want to understand and listen to me, then it’s best for you to go. Now.” Your voice grows stronger with every word you utter, finally regaining your confidence. Meanwhile, Narancia’s heart sinks to his stomach at your statement. Do you really want to leave him?

“No, no no no Y/N, you don’t mean this, right? You wanna stay with me, don’t you?”

“No, I really don’t think I do, not after you’ve shown me your true colours.”

With a force you don’t expect, Narancia pulls you suddenly against his chest again. His arms cage you in, leaving no room for you to move at all.

“This is just a misunderstanding,” the young man keeps repeating like a mantra while tightening his grasp as if you could dissipate into thin air if he didn’t cling onto you, “It’s normal for couples to fight from time to time, it’s fine. We’re fine, right? You wouldn’t abandon me for real, would you?”

“Narancia, I –“ you try to intervene, but your attempts remain futile as he cuts you off quickly.

“No, you’re not going to leave me! I’m not letting you. Look, this is but a silly fight, you’re not going to toss away our relationship for that, are you? Just remember all the beautiful moments we shared together, how happy I can make you, if you just let me!” Narancia nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. “I love you, Y/N.” He eagerly plants kisses onto your skin, making you shudder and whimper helplessly. Your eyes grow bigger, your breath quickens as you desperately look for a way to escape this situation, to escape him.

“I love you more than anything in this world. I’d gladly give up everything if it meant to spend every second with you by my side. No one can love you like this but me. Remember that next time you’re thinking I’m going to let you off the hook”, Narancia whispers in your ear, the underlying threat being crystal clear to you. No, you aren’t going to escape from him any time soon…

#JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #yandere jjba #yandere jojo #yandere narancia x reader #yandere narancia #yandere x reader #jojo golden wind #minors dni #tw: aged up character #tw: yandere #tw: noncon touching #tw: toxic relationship #tw: gaslighting #tw: cyber harassment

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blue-heronstairs10 · 3 years

Text

R&R quotes I tabbed

*RUIN AND RISING SPOILERS*

key:

{…} = thoughts in book

(…) = my commentary

*…* = action

emojis = expressions

[…] = my subtitles

italics = it’s italisized in the books

-…- = not actually said in book

——————————————————————————————————

Apparat: he should not address you so.

Alina: why not?

Apparat: it was the Darkling’s title and is unfitting for a Saint.

Alina: then what should he call me?

Apparat: he should not address you directly at all.

Alina: next time he has something to say, I’ll have him write me a letter.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: are you ever going to name that thing?

Harshaw: she has a name.

Zoya: Oncat is not a name. it’s just Kaelish for cat.

Harshaw: suits her doesn’t it?

——————————————————————————————————

{David and Genya kept falling behind, but he seemed to be the one responsible for the lag. finally, Toyla hefted the huge pack from David’s narrow shoulders.}

Toyla: what do you have in this thing?

David: three pairs of socks, one pair of trousers, an extra shirt. one canteen. a tin cup and plate. a cylindrical slide rule, a chondrometer, a jar or spruce sap, my collection of anticorrosives,-

Toyla: you were only supposed to pack what you need.

David: *nods emphatically* exactly.

Alina: please tell me you didn’t bring all of Morozova’s journals.

David: of course I did.

Alina: maybe they’ll make good kindling.

David: is she kidding? *concerned look* I can never tell if she’s kidding.

Alina: {I was. mostly.}

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: David is oblivious. he’s been babbling about mineral compounds for the last hour.

Zoya: maybe he and Toyla will just put each other to sleep.

——————————————————————————————————

Harshaw: *cuts the sides of his scalp so there’s only hair in a single stripe down the center of his head*

Zoya: *shrieking* what did you do? you look like a deranged rooster!

Harshaw: Oncat insisted.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: everyone okay?

Genya: never better.

David: *raises his hand* I’ve been better.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: I am becoming a blade.

——————————————————————————————————

Ekaterina: I saw the prince when I was in Os Alta. he’s not bad looking.

Nikolai: *in the trees* not bad looking? he’s damnably handsome.

Nikolai: *still in the trees* brave in battle, smart as a whip. an excellent dancer. oh, and an even better shot.

Nikolai: *shoots Luchenko between the eyes*

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: first vomit, then tears. don’t tell me I’ve lost my touch.

Alina: I’m just happy you’re alive. though I’m sure you can talk me out of it.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: thank goodness we had the foresight to be captured.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: Saints, Alina. I hope you weren’t looking at me to be the voice of reason. I keep a strict diet of ill-advised enthusiasm and heartfelt regret.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: we’re heading into Fjerda.

Alina: oh good. enemy territory. and here I was starting to relax.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: it’s good to see you, Oretsev.

Mal: you too. thanks for the rescue.

Nikolai: everyone needs a hobby.

Mal: I thought yours was preening.

Nikolai: two hobbies.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: Baghra, how are you this evening?

Baghra: still old and blind.

Nikolai: and charming. never forget charming.

Baghra: whelp.

Nikolai: hag.

Baghra: what do you want, pest?

Nikolai: I’ve brought someone to visit.

Alina: hello, Baghra.

Baghra: the little Saint. returned to save us all.

Nikolai: well she did almost die trying to rid us of your cursed spawn.

Baghra: couldn’t even manage martyrdom right, could you? come in and shut the door, girl. you’re letting the heat out.

Baghra: *turns to Nikolai* and you. go somewhere you’re wanted.

Nikolai: that’s hardly limiting. Alina, I’ll be back to fetch you for dinner, but should you grow restless, do feel free to run screaming from the room or take a dagger to her. whatever seems most fitting at the time.

Baghra: are you still here?

Nikolai: I go but hope to remain in your heart.

Baghra: wretched boy.

Alina: you like him. *disbelief*

Baghra: greedy. arrogant. takes too many risks.

Alina: you almost sound concerned.

Baghra: you like him too, little Saint.

Alina: I do. he’s been kind to me when he might have been cruel. it’s refreshing.

Baghra: he laughs too much.

Alina: there are worse traits.

Baghra: like arguing with your elders? *turns to Misha* boy, go fetch me something sweet.

(I’m sorry it’s so long it’s just,,, they’re so iconic and cute)

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: how does Nikolai know you’re the Darkling’s mother?

Baghra: he asked. he’s more observant than the rest of you fools.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: I don’t reserve my friendship for perfect people. and, thank the Saints, neither does Alina.

(did mans just insult himself ?? 💀)

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: *talking about how David didn’t look at her before*

David: I know metal.

Genya: what does that have to do with anything?

David: I...I don’t understand half of what goes on around me. I don’t get jokes or sunsets or poetry, but I know metal. beauty was your armor. fragile stuff, all show. but what’s inside you? that’s steel. it’s brave and unbreakable. and it doesn’t need fixing. *kisses Genya*

Genya: 👁👄👁

Genya: *kisses David back empathcially*

David: *kiss ends* *😳😊*

Genya: *☺️😄*

(they’re the sweetest S&B couple don’t @ me)

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: you can introduce him to Ana Kuya.

Alina: I already unleashed Baghra on Nikolai. he’s going to think I stockpile vicious old women.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: but I guess I’m the same selfish ass I’ve always been. for all my talk of vows and honor, what I really want to do is put you up against that wall and kiss you until you forget you ever knew another man’s name. so tell me to go, Alina. because I can’t give you a title or an army or any of the things you need.

Alina: goodnight, Mal.

(😳✋🏼)

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: *hits the side of a mountain with the Cut*

Everyone besides Baghra: *claps and whoops*

Baghra: hmph. they’d clap for a dancing monkey.

Nikolai: all depends on the monkey. and the dance.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: does Morozova strike anyone as a little…eccentric?

Alina: if my eccentric you mean insane, then yes. I’m hoping he can be crazy and right.

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Nikolai is growing on me. he’s nothing like his father. and the man can dress.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: if you’re going to jump, at least give me time to compose a ballad in your honor. something with lots of sad fiddle and a verse devoted to your love of herring.

Alina: if I wait, I may have to hear you sing it.

Nikolai: I happen to have a more than passable baritone. and what’s the rush? is it my cologne?

Alina: you don’t wear cologne.

Nikolai: I have such a naturally delightful scent that it seems like overkill. but if you have a penchant for it, I’ll start.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: toss him over. break his heart cruelly. I will gladly give our poor prince comfort, and I would make a magnificent queen.

Alina: you actually might, Zoya. if you could stop being horrible for a minute.

Zoya: with that kind of incentive, I can manage a minute. possibly two.

——————————————————————————————————

{they wanted a Grisha Queen. Mal wanted a commoner Queen. and what did I want? peace for Ravka. a chance to sleep easy in my bed without fear. an end to the guilt and dread that I woke to every morning. there were old wants too, to be loved for who I was, not what I could do, to lie in a meadow with a boy’s arms around me and watch the wind move the clouds. but those dreams belonged to a girl, not to the Sun Summoner, not to a Saint.}

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: the day I curtsy to you is the day David performs an opera naked in the middle of the Shadow Fold.

——————————————————————————————————

Baghra: I am Morozova’s Daughter, and the Darkling is the last of Morozova’s line.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: or a Ravkan heiress or a Grisha like Zoya.

Nikolai: Zoya? I make it a policy never to seduce anyone prettier than I am.

——————————————————————————————————

Nikolai: I love it when you quote me.

——————————————————————————————————

Genya: you’re the prettiest walrus I know.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: turned out I needed a good cry.

Zoya: next time, invite me. I could use one too.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: do you know what Baghra told me at my first lesson with her? pretty face. too bad you have porridge for brains.

Harshaw: I sent fire to her hut in class.

Zoya: of course you did.

Harshaw: accidentally! she refused to ever teach me again. wouldn’t even speak to me. I saw her on the grounds once, and she walked right by. didn’t say a word, just whacked me on the knee with her stick. I still have a lump.

Nadia: that’s nothing. I had some kind of block where I couldn’t summon for a while. she put me in a room and released a hive of bees in it.

——————————————————————————————————

Mal: same way Ana Kuhn got me to stop begging her to keep a lantern lit at night.

Alina: really?

Mal: yes. told me I had to be brave for you, that if I was scared, you’d be scared.

Alina: well she told me I had to eat my parsnips to set a good example for you, but I still refused to do it.

Mal: and you wonder why you were always getting the switch.

Alina: I have principles.

Mal: that means, ‘if I can be difficult, I will.’

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: if you’re not up here before I count it ten, I’m going back to sleep and you can carry me to Dva Stolba.

Alina: Mal, if I murder her in the Sikurzoi, will you hold me accountable?

Mal: yes.

Mal: that means, ‘‘let’s make it look like an accident.’

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: *being mad and realistic then apologizing*

Zoya: maybe you’re hungry. I always get mean when I’m hungry.

Harshaw: are you hungry all the time?

Zoya: you haven’t seen me mean. when you do, you’ll require a very big hanky.

Harshaw: to dry my tears.

Zoya: to stanch the bleeding.

——————————————————————————————————

Toyla: he watches her the way Harshaw watches fire. like he’ll never have enough of her. like he’s trying to capture what he can before she’s gone.

Zoya and Alina: 👁👄👁💓

Zoya: you know, if you turned a bit of that poetry on me, I might consider giving you a chance.

Toyla: who says I want one?

Harshaw: I want one!

Zoya: Oncat has a better chance than you.

Harshaw: *holds up Oncat* why, Oncat, you rogue.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoya: you really didn’t think they were ghosts, did you?

everyone: 😬

Zoya: I am surrounded by fools.

——————————————————————————————————

Harshaw: Oncat objects to the landscaping.

——————————————————————————————————

Alina: Mal is the third amplifier.

——————————————————————————————————

[TW: hanging]

{the oak I’d once climbed on a dare still stood, untouched by the fire that had taken Keramzin. now it’s branches were full of bodies. the three Grisha instructors hung from the same thick limb, their kefta fluttering slightly in the wind- purple, red and blue. beside them, Botkin’s face was nearly black above the rope that had dug into his neck. he was covered in wounds. he’d died fighting before they’d strung him up. next to him, Ana Kuya swayed in her black dress, her heavy rings at her waist, the toes of her button boots nearly scraping the ground.}

Darkling: she was, I think, the closest thing you had to a mother.

——————————————————————————————————

(unfinished)

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whatwashernameagain · 4 years

Text

Keep him safe - Chapter 31

You can read the previous Chapters here: Ch 1, Ch 5, Ch 10, Ch 15, Ch 20, Ch 25, Ch 30, previous chapter, Ao3 Link, Lo’s, Pat’s and Virgil’s aesthetics, Fantasy AU You are Magical, I’m dying to be with you

Pairings: Logan/Patton, Roman/Virgil

Words: 6.944

Warnings: effects of addiction, personal loss, insecurity, cursing onself

Summary: Detective Logan Sanders and his best friend and dorky partner Roman Prince have made a dear friend in the lovely pattisier Patton. Logan however feels a lot more than friendship for the sweet man, even though he knows he cannot possibly have him. Their routine is broken abruptly when Logan finds bruises on Patton’s fair skin and slender wrists he could hardly have received from his costumary clumsiness. Meanwhile his partner Roman has his own demon to fight, which comes in the form of a little delinquent who seemed to have been pulled into a street gang quite against his will. Roman is determined to help the strange young man. It would be so much easier though if he just stopped hissing at him!

Notes: As many of you noticed I had a moment where I felt a little lost and unloved last week and you all came to my support immediately and cheered me up so much. I didn’t even manage to answer all of the kind and loving asks I’ve gotten due to working late every day. I hope I can tell you all this way that I appreciate your efforts so much! They were just what I needed! I usually post the new chapter only when I’m done answering the comments, but since I promised this one, here we are!

Chapter 31

This was madness. Utter insanity. Virgil was the last person fit for this. Logan should have left him to watch Patton, he could have easily handled his weird neighbor. Considering how tired the dude had looked, if he’d misbehaved a little bump on the head would have sent him into a well-deserved nap pretty quickly.

Maybe his tendency for violence had been the reason Logan had sent him to retrieve Roman.

Still, this was a bad idea! He grew mean when he was anxious and right now he felt like he was bursting at the seams! How could Roman be so stupid, though? Possessive anger pulsed through his veins as he marched up the creaking stairs.

He had Logan and Patton and... he had people who cared, alright?! How dare this piece of shit try to charm him?! He wasn’t some naive, pretty price to be won in some deranged game. Virgil knew exactly what was going on! This glittery bitch was trying to toy with Roman because he was beautiful and protected and therefore unattainable – a prize. Not to him, though! Virgil had seen that he was more than a dramatic stereotype of an attractive jock waiting to be dazzled and claimed. He was selfless and respectful and dangerously sensitive. He was infuriating and loud and soft and attentive and strong for everyone else. And he was weak for someone to come and give him what he craved. Roman just wanted to be loved. And Virgil was filled with icy panic at the thought of this son of a bitch giving him what he needed. He’d lure Roman away with the promise of being the only one. The treasure he’d put on a pedestal to be draped in expensive fabric and admired. That was not what Roman really needed, though. He needed a home. He needed someone who still loved him when he was whiny and obnoxious and so fucking special he made you want to strangle him!

Ugh, Virgil, you utter asshole!

He was the one who deserved to be strangled. The peeling wallpaper of the staircase looked pretty appealing to his fist right now.

All Roman wanted was a bit of attention, a bit of human warmth from him! His mind went to places of sexual favors immediately but even then, he knew he wouldn’t expect that. He just wanted to be loved. The detective’s wishes were so innocent, and even that was too much for Virgil. He was such a fucking- ugh. He hated himself quite a bit right now. Roman asked for so little. And even that was too much for him.

It wasn’t, though! He- damn, this was the most irritating thing! He wanted to give those things to Roman! He wanted to make him smile and feel beautiful and – and even desirable. He wanted to tell him how soft Virgil was for him and how annoyingly adorable he was and how he liked the way his hair fell into his eyes and…

Overwhelmed, his mind just shut down on him. The heat of his blush was probably cooking his brain.

He couldn’t possibly be expected to say those things! Thinking them almost killed him! This was this fucking, manipulative, damned thief’s fault!

That glitter-brained menace knew how to spin words and create grand gestures and make Roman go all starry eyed by playing to his idea about what love was supposed to look like. This was what Virgil hated most about them! They made Roman think shallow, expensive gifts and grand gestures and poetic pain were their love story and it worked because this was the love Roman had grown up with! He’d learned to desperately see love in the expensive lifestyle his absent father had given him or in the flashy gifts his mother had shoved at him instead of going through the trouble of actually loving him.

Fuck, this realization hurt like a knife between the ribs. After all those years, his parents were still hurting him! Virgil wanted to cry for little Roman. He didn’t deserve to have those innocent wishes for warmth and attention used against him. The thief hadn’t talked to him once but had made him feel like a prince needing to be bought with gifts. Like he was important and deserving of expensive shit, as if that was what love was instead of hurting each other and forgiving and working on yourself, working to deserve the other. Facing them even when being seen by your own reflection felt like too much. Wanting to tell them everything bouncing around your erratic brain even though you had no words to explain your ideas yet. Wanting to see them, every day, and needing to know they were close even when being in the same room was too much. Being haunted by their pain even when your own became a pale, common thing you grew used to ignoring. Thinking about what they would say all the time, wanting to tell them about your day at random moments, at all moments. Wanting to be touched, even when the thought was frightening. Wanting their happiness more than your own.

The 9 next to the faded blue door was hanging by the bottom nail, making it appear like a crooked 6. Only as he raised his clenched fist to knock did Virgil’s brain catch up with his panicked emotions.

Wait, he was in the wrong place. This building had a look about it that Virgil was depressingly familiar with. It looked like the bad side of the district he’d grown up in, where prostitutes and unemployed alcoholics and addicts lived. He was pretty sure in his distraction he’d passed an abandoned meth lab on the way up. Loud music was pounding through the thin walls next to him and a couple was screaming above him. Even outside the apartments, he felt the draft of badly isolated windows. It carried the smell of weed and microwave food. Down the corridor, a light was flickering so erratically, it threatened to give him a headache.

Reaching into his pocket again, he pulled out the address Logan had written down for him and checked his phone when the uneven gait of a drunk man climbing the stairs distracted him.

The middle-aged male dressed in a brightly colored track suit looked him up and down slowly. As he opened his mouth, smelling of tequila even from two meters away, Virgil glared at him acidly and hissed, “Keep moving if you know what’s good for you, asshole.”

Taken aback, the guy closed his mouth with an audible click before thinking better of his plans and stumbling away. This little thing with the furiously clenched jaw looked ready to cut him.

Virgil was half disappointed to see the man leave. He could have done well with a chance to blow off some steam. A fight was better than facing Roman this way again and once again losing control of his temper. This place was reminding him of others quite like this one where he'd worked. Of the smell of cheap alcohol. The taste on his tongue. The bitterness and salt.

Turning back to his phone with a curse, he found the address to be correct.

“Fuck.”

He had an idea about what was going on and he hated it. Suddenly, he felt like he had so many nights, standing at the door of his mother’s room, hardly daring to make a sound for fear of missing the sound of her breathing. Terrified of the moment it would stop. The uncertainty was eating him up even now.

He had to wrap his arms around himself to ward off the trembling, the burning tears in his eyes. He needed to grab Roman and bring him home, right now!

Raising his fist, he started banging on the flimsy door almost violently.

“Roman, get your ass here, now!” He hollered. There was a hysterical note in his voice he didn’t like. His breath came short and quick. Hating the fear crawling up his back, he kicked the door hard. The urge to look over his shoulder to check for attackers trying to pin him against the wall was almost impossible to suppress. Where was Roman?

The door was wrenched open hard. A large body framed by murky light filled the doorway, making Virgil flinched and force him to tip his head back to look up a the face of the other man.

Seeing Roman, despite having come here for him, was a shock. He hadn’t really expected to see the graceful, well-groomed man in this place after all. Yet here he was, perfect curls falling into his handsome face, dressed in a pristine white shirt and dark blue trousers and that fucking, bloody scarf thing. His face was pale with surprise.

“Virgil, what’s going on? Are you hurt?” He asked, looking him over worriedly and sweeping the dusty corridor with his gaze. He didn’t ask him inside or move his large body past the narrow opening of the door.

Virgil stared at him and tried to keep his ridiculous, dumb heart from giving out. This was too much.

“Roman, what the actual fuck?”

His voice came out differently than he’d expected. It sounded dry and tired-of-your-shit. And he was. He wanted to bundle Roman up and take him home.

“Um, I- what are you doing here?” The young detective asked, startled. Self-consciously, he hunched his broad shoulders, yet his bulk still managed to hide the flat behind the half-opened door from view. He looked ashamed.

“What do you think, dude? You just- you just up and disappeared and you- you took that and you left this fucking thing?” Virgil hissed, glaring at the cravat and brandishing the note in a white-knuckled grip. “You think I wouldn’t come to- you ran into a fire for this asshole and then you bring his bribery or whatever and a fucking love letter, and you think I wouldn’t come after you?!”

Roman seemed at a loss for words for a moment. He didn’t fight Virgil’s harshly voiced accusations. When he spoke his voice was docile and submissive.

“I didn't intend to make you anxious, Virgil. It’s nothing you need to worry about. I won’t do anything to cause you trouble anymore. You can go back to Logan and Patton.”

“Go- no! I’m not leaving you while you’re being followed around by a fucking stalker!” Virgil screeched, nearing the end of his patience. This place was creeping him out, he didn’t understand what Roman was doing here and he needed him out. He knew what was going on behind walls like these and he couldn’t leave this naive idiot here, he was already a target and so soft for this thief and he needed him where he knew he was safe now.

Grabbing his arm, he tried to pull him along, barely hearing anything over his rising fear of- of whatever it was his fucking brain was coming up with right now- he just- he needed to get him out of here!

Of course, the wall of muscle that was Roman wouldn’t be moved if he didn’t want to be, and for the first time, he wasn’t indulging Virgil.

“I am so sorry, Virgil. I can see that you are distressed. This is no place for you. Please just go home. I won’t worry you anymore.” He promised gently as he pried the pale hand loose from his sleeve. The younger man felt like he’d been punched. Pushed away from Roman’s life. Frustrated tears rose to his eyes.

“NO! You stupid idiot, are you actually this fucking draft? You need to listen – you can’t- you can’t stay here! What the fuck are you staying at this weird place for anyway? For them? You seriously think they’ll- this is fucking madness!” He howled, pulling his hair away from his face roughly. He wanted to punch something. He should have punched that wall. Helplessness made him terrified, and angry.

“Are you serious about this shit?! They are trying to win you but they don’t even know you! Trust me – they have no idea about how exasperating you are – how you spread out your presence wherever you go and make everything messy with shiny stuff like glitter and bright fabrics and shit. I don’t get why you pretend to be so annoying and selfish and then you make me see how much more there is to you - you aren’t the front you put up – that gorgeous, stupid, annoying idiot who tries to be the center of attention because he thinks he’s god’s gift to the world. You’re a mess and you’re reckless and kind to the point of being naive and you – you’re so patient with me, no matter how fucking- how I don’t deserve it and- and they don’t know! They think you’re this stupid façade, but I know you! I don’t get you, no matter how much I think about you, but at least I- ungh fuck, I- just- kill me now…” He whimpered. Miserably, he added, “They don’t want you the way you deserve.”

Stricken, Roman stared at him. He looked hurt and shaken and… utterly lost in the world.

“But… at least they want me.” He muttered softly.

Virgil could swear he heard the moment his heart broke for this stupid man. He barely managed to swallow a scream of utter frustration and humiliation. “But I-” He broke off helplessly, hiding his burning face in his hands and muffling his voice.

“I… you are… I want you, okay?! I don’t- DON’T you dare think this means anything or – I’m not saying- it’s just that you’re- and you-

Disbelief and confusion washed over the younger detective. Totally overwhelmed, he tried to make sense of the stuttered confession. Virgil was already barreling on, though, powered by his frightened anger.

“You can't just fuck off and leave me behind! Do you think I – we - you think we don't give a fuck if you just run off with that extra, bedazzled creep?” He complained, his melodic voice deep and scratchy. He was giving Roman whiplash with his moods.

“I- I’m sorry, Virgil. I didn't mean to hurt you. But- you flinched when I got close to you, and after the fire you were so angry and hid from me. I thought you couldn’t stand to look at me.” He muttered. The rejection still hurt so badly it made tears rise into his green eyes. This couldn’t possibly be true. He didn’t want another repeat of their kiss. Virgil couldn’t sacrifice himself again for what he thought Roman wanted.

“No, I- it’s not your fault!” Virgil groaned in distress. His confession burst from his chest like a physical thing.

“I was ashamed, okay? I was such a dick to you. How could you think I’d think badly of you? You saved someone from a literal burning building – you’re the most heroic, incredible, impossible dumbass in the world – who does something like that? That sort of shit happens in movies, not with real people! I just – I panicked, alright! I got so terrified you’d die, you don’t know how terrible – you can’t die! There’s no one else like you – in the whole fucking world - and if I lost you- I couldn’t- I can’t lose you! What you did was stupid, but it was also so brave and so you, and now that I have that in my life I couldn’t live without it! I got so fucking scared you’d be taken away by your own stupid heroism and treated you so badly because I don’t know how to just- be a fucking decent person anymore and then I couldn’t take it back even though-”

He ran a frustrated hand through his messy hair, his face burning. He hadn’t been this uncomfortable in years. This was too much honesty; it might just kill him.

“Even though I – I admire you, okay?! Saving that person – that was – I don’t know. Pretty brave, I guess. What you do for others, just like that, it just fucking awes me. And exasperates me, too. How you make everything so fucking bright and look at the good side and how you always try to save everyone – that’s not my world. It’s not how people are, but you are that way, just like that. Don’t you get it?” He whispered tiredly.

“My life was ending in hurt and shame and I was just ready to fucking die already and then you came along and just fricking saved me. You- how can I-” Blinking back mortified tears, he groped for words. He couldn’t let Roman keep thinking he was afraid or disgusted with him.

“Sometimes I look at you and I can’t believe you’re real. I wake up at night and think I dreamed you. You’re like- like a-”

Shame made the young man almost lose his courage, but he soldiered on, unable to look at the other man. Roman felt small and insecure and was about to make a terrible mistake because Virgil had made him feel this way, so he had to be brave for once in his life and change that. Roman wasn’t there for the taking. He was… he belonged to someone.

“You’re like the impossible hero I never even dared imagine. You just appeared like a mirage and made everything so… safe. And beautiful. Logan gives us stability, but you- you’re like bloody magic. You took me in your arms the way I was and make me laugh and feel things I’d thought were impossible after – um, you k-know. Point is, you’re a fucking irritating, annoying miracle and I couldn’t handle the thought of losing you. I’m so fucking sorry, Roman. I hurt you when you needed me and made you turn to someone else and I knew you deserved better, but after I fucked up again I just became so ashamed of myself. I couldn’t look at how hurt you were and I couldn’t find words to apologize, so I hid like a coward and – and now… fuck. I drove you away.”

With shaking hands, Virgil unfolded the crumbled note, holding it out to the man who’d chosen the person who’d left it to him, because Virgil had broken his confidence.

“I’m sorry. I know you need something, but this, this isn’t real, even though it might be as… glittery, or whatever, as you deserve. I’m not much, and I can’t really promise- I mean- I’m in over my head, dude, but-”

He was interrupted as his hands were being taken, impossibly tenderly, in larger, shaking ones. Finally daring to look up, Virgil found Roman in tears before him. His green eyes were wide. He was shaking. Then, he was laughing.

A lightness flooded the handsome detective he’d never felt before. It was like he could fly, like he was falling and wouldn’t ever come down. His heart raced with euphoria. He was soaring. Virgil may be burning up with terror and humiliation and he’d take care of him in a second, but right now, he could hardly believe the things he’d told him.

Virgil admired him.

His heart leaped.

Virgil thought he was a hero.

A laugh broke from his chest, watery and unbridled.

Virgil might possibly, unbelievably, just a little bit, want him.

Roman lowered his face and cried overwhelmed tears of joy.

He knew his thundercloud wasn’t propositioning him, he wasn’t ready for anything and didn’t need him like this. The poor, beautiful creature was probably terrified of the expectations he thought he was creating – as if Roman would ever demand anything from him. There were things he’d need to tell him, reassurances to be made. But first, he needed a moment to feel all of this weight fall off his shoulders.

Rubbing his cold hands slowly, so not to startle the jumpy creature that was probably unconsciously waiting to be ambushed after giving a man an opening, no matter how small, he smiled at him tenderly. Finally, he felt like he was permitted to look at him with softness.

“It’s alright, my starry night.” The endearment hung in the air between them for a moment. Virgil looked shaken but didn’t contradict him. He probably felt like he needed to be complacent to tempt Roman back. That would not do. Still, he felt like they were finally on the right path. He’d just need to show Virgil there was a healthy way to move forward, where he didn’t need to offer himself to make Roman happy.

“You don’t need to promise me anything or trade yourself for my complacency, dearest. I vowed not to demand anything from you and a prince stands by his word. The thought of having driven you away with my affection shattered me, but to learn that you don’t feel discomfort in my presence and perhaps even gain a tiny bit of satisfaction from our friendship is enough to make my heart soar with the clouds. And don’t be afraid. This is just fine. It’s all I could wish for.” He promised earnestly, squeezing his hands softly.

“You couldn’t drive me away with anything as long as you actually want me there. I’m happy to come with you, wherever you want to go.”

The utter softness of the detective’s voice brought the young barista up short. Virgil’s breath caught on his emotions. Mortified, he needed to blink back tears. Oh god oh fuck oh shit what had he just told him?! Had he just made a fucking confession? Oh no no no he wanted to die.

Sensing his mortification, Roman offered the safety of his arms hopefully, ready to protect him from this place that made him anxious and to let him hide his face. Knowing the alternative was punching Roman unconscious and running away, Virgil gratefully dove into his arms. What the fuck was supposed to happen? He’d already made a fool of himself, might as well get a hug out of it as well.

“I know you’re scared, little bird.” His deep, hoarse voice rumbled softly against Virgil’s ear where he pressed it against Roman’s chest. He sounded utterly calm, like all of his fears had left him. Like he was where he belonged. His arm settled around the narrow waist and held the trembling creature close while his other hand cupped the the back of his neck in a warm grip.

“There is nothing to fear with me.”

Virgil took in a shuddering breath, overwhelmed by the sudden wave of affection that hit him. He clutched the taller man tighter, squishing their bodies together. He smelled good, of cologne and this heady, male scent that made warmth spread through his veins. Though he was terrified of the possibilities for terrible, terrible things he’d just created, he knew he wouldn’t take those words back if he could. The silk of the cravat tried around Roman’s neck was cool against his cheek, taunting him with the threat of seducing him into another person’s arms. A fire blazed in his chest at the thought. He clutched at the muscle under his hands with sudden possessiveness. He was the one Roman had wanted first. The one he’d fought for and called ridiculous fucking names and gotten in trouble for. He was the one who would protect him from his silly mind that tried to betray him with stupid, romantic idea. He’d protect him from them. And if he had to face his feelings and try to somehow find a way to give him what he needed from him, then he would do that. Despite being frankly terrified. If things went wrong he could destroy his family. He could break Roman’s heart. He was likely to break Roman’s heart actually. He didn’t do lovey dovey relationship stuff! He didn’t even know what he was supposed to do with him! Sex was potentially no problem, of course. He knew he could satisfy him, there was nothing he hadn’t tried and excelled at yet, he was a genius gymnast after all. The problem was the- the emotional bullshit. He didn’t know if what he was feeling was even what he was supposed to feel in a relationship and-

“Hush, darling.” Roman rumbled in his ear. “You’re thinking too much. It’s all good. This is perfect.”

Oh. Okay. This he could do.

Relaxing into the embrace, Virgil allowed himself to be cradled by larger hands, marveling that they remained safely on his back and sides even after his stuttered confession. With the excuse of staying in this position for Roman’s benefit alone, he could breathe quietly and just feel the pleasure of being held onto as if he were the whole world. This actually felt really, really good. All of Roman’s attention was focused on him. He was safe and tender and a dork and so pretty Virgil sometimes hurt just looking at him. And he needed Virgil. He wanted Virgil without demanding anything. He was his for the taking, if he wanted him.

Oh fuck, Virgil wanted him.

He wanted him so much he was ready to straight up murder this bitch if they ever dared so much as breathe on his man again.

Possessive, fierce anger at the thief made Virgil curl his fingers into claws, digging them into Roman’s back. Before he could fully realize he might be hurting him, the taller man gasped and shivered in his tight grip. He didn’t try to hold Virgil harder or pull back. He just let the former criminal have his way with him and fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest thing that had ever happened to him. For Roman, the unloved, undemanding, ignored child, this vanilla, huggy, friendshippy thing might be enough, but it dawned to Virgil that it wasn’t for him. He wanted to grab Roman and have him all to himself. He wanted to be the one who got to claim him and touch him – be the only one who got to touch him - and make him laugh as freely as he had after his confession. He wanted him to look at him alone with those awed, beautiful eyes. He wanted to somehow make him happy and confident. He wanted- he wanted… so much.

Still, even as he realized that he really wanted to touch Roman more, at least as long as he remained so docile and nonthreatening under his hands, he knew the pleasure he could give him as a former prostitute wasn’t what Roman needed. Even though he claimed he would be fine with the little attention Virgil had just given him, he knew he dreamed of more. And the thief would continue to be there to fearlessly court him. Which meant, if Virgil really wanted to keep him, which he, oh my fucking fucking shit, really actually wanted, then he needed to step up his game.

Trying to breathe through the rush of panic at the realization that he would have to try to talk about his feelings, he buried his face in Roman’s neck, standing on his tiptoes to get closer.

Since when did he try to get closer instead of away when he was frightened?

Obediently, Roman’s arms tightened around his waist to support him. A small, pleased sigh escaped him.

Neither knew how long they’d held each other when a creak in the hallway woke them from their comfortable bubble. Drawing back from his hiding place, Virgil immediately felt his face burn crimson. This was worse than that one time he’d almost told Sam Gallagher in High School that he’d liked her. He could have never faced her again. Unbelievable that he’d been stupid enough to say those things to Roman, he lived with the man! Oh fuck.

Roman on the other hand appeared more relaxed than he’d been in weeks. His smile was tender and radiant. Every breath seemed to help him unwind further. He was beautiful.

Virgil forgot a little bit of his shame as he looked at him through his bangs. He’d done that. He’d really put this smile on Roman’s face. It was… amazing. A fluttering lightness warred with his embarrassment and fear. He liked that he’d made him feel this way. It drove away the awful, ugly feeling of guilt and anger inside of him and made space for… whatever the fuck this exciting, dumb thing he was experiencing was. He wasn’t quite ready for more emotional revelations today, so instead he growled, “Can we go home now, dude?”

A little laugh shook Roman’s broad shoulders. He tangled his fingers together in front of him in an unusual show of bashfulness. Virgil liked that too.

“Um… yes, I guess we can return to the apartment, dear.” He answered. Virgil felt safe enough to glare a little at the nickname. That would have to stop once they were of safer ground. He was still a hardened criminal, not some fancy poultry or shit like that. Speaking of the apartment.

Daring to peer around him curiously, Virgil asked, “The heck is this place, anyway?”

“Oh. Never mind that. It’s just more of my tragic, not-at-all-fun-to-listen-to origin story. Let’s just return home and drink cocoa. Perhaps the- the professor has left already.”

Virgil growled. “He better have.”

His anger seemed to calm Roman a great deal. What was the moron thinking? That he’d prefer this weird, trashy, horny man-child over him? Delusional, seriously. And he was way too shy again. Virgil, incredulously, wanted him to talk to him. He wanted him to want to confide in him.

“It doesn’t have to be fun to listen to, you know?” He tried softly. “If you wanna talk feelings I’m here. I give a shit about your past, I guess. Helps me understand you better and… I want to understand you. Weirdo.” He added tamely. Too much niceness would make him break out in hives, he was sure.

Roman chuckled at his attempts to help him open up, ever appreciative of the little effort Virgil was capable of. His shoulders sagged a bit as he considered it. After a moment though, he stepped aside.

Curious and anxious to find a way to get this over with and make him smile again, Virgil stepped past him silently and peered into the wide, empty space.

The apartment was in bad shape. The old, wooden floorboards were scratched and in need of a thorough sanding and a fresh coat of varnish. The walls looked even worse. Long strips of wallpaper were peeled off by nervous hands in many places. What was left of it was splattered with suspiciously reddish splashes and yellowish stains. A narrow bathroom was visible through the door on the right side of the room. The sink was chipped and the mirror above it was spiderwebbed by cracks focused around a point of collision the size of a man’s fist. With horror, Virgil spotted the telltale black shadows of mold on the upper corner. The opposite wall of the bathroom was kicked in partly and revealed the cheap wooden construction underneath. Nothing but a table and a chair were placed in the cold, drafty space aside from a tiny kitchen corner with an old stove and a small fridge that rumbled noisily, and a plastic box filled with dish soap, detergents and such. Despite the deplorable state, everything was as clean as it could possibly be.

Drifting into the damp-smelling room and shivering at the cold air wafting through the badly insulated windows, Virgil took everything in, trying to make sense of what he saw. The door on the other side of the room drew his attention. It was half open and admitted a view of more furniture. Almost afraid to step inside, Virgil slipped through the crack and stopped in his tracks.

On wooden pallets, a mattress covered in clean, dark red linen was placed. At the foot of the improvised bed a plastic sheet was folded that appeared to have usually been pulled over the fabric to protect it from the dust raining from the ceiling. A space heater sat on the ground to ward off the chill the clearly broken radiator couldn’t get rid of. Next to it, Roman’s phone was charging on the ground. On the far wall, a vanity with beauty products sat. On Virgil’s left, a long rack was holding hanger after hanger of clothing tidily zipped up in white cotton covers. And there were boxes. All of them closed tightly with tape to protect them from dust or hungry animals, and all of them tidily labeled. Swiping his gaze over them, he deciphered the swooping handwriting.

Octavia’s books.

Stepping closer, he discovered another sharpie-written label.

Octavia’s PlayStation games.

Another box, tidily and carefully sealed and labeled.

Octavia’s boots/jean jackets.

Crouching down and running almost reverent fingertips over the writing, Virgil continued to read with a sinking heart.

Octavia’s writing/notes/drawings from primary school.

Another box.

Octavia’s t-shirts.

And two more, placed close to the bed and sealed as tightly as the others, unopened.

Octavia’s buttons/jewelry/belts.

Octavia’s pictures/phone/laptop.

Virgil’s vision was blurring as he spotted the bottommost box.

Octavia’s stuffed toys/post-it notes from Nana.

Wiping his eyes, Virgil rose to face the detective making himself as small as possible in the doorway.

“Oh fuck, Roman.” He muttered. Crossing the room with long strides, he grabbed the larger man and pulled him into his arms hard.

Roman shuddered with a suppressed sob and folded himself into the embrace.

“It’s okay, man. I’m here. It’s alright now. I know.”

And he did. He knew in his bones that this was the last place Roman had seen his sister. This was the apartment she had ended up hiding away in to consume the drugs she had fallen prey to. This might even be the place she had died in. The place young Roman had found his big sister in. It was the only thing he had left of her.

He understood, in a way, how you could be so trapped in your pain and your awful memories of the end of a life that you couldn’t look past it too see the good times. You couldn’t remember what the person used to look like before, happy and healthy. The only thing you could remember was their pain and your failure. You could remember nothing but the things you did wrong, instead of the ways you helped. The times you made them smile. The happiness you put into their lives.

He could barely recall the times he’d come home from school to see his mother wave from the window as she’s spotted him walking up the street, so happy to see him. The way her cooking had smelled, the way she had sat at the kitchen table with her feet up, with the slippers with the three buckles and tiny pink flowers on them. The way she liked to go shopping with him and look at the flowers and decorations in the shop. She liked to buy little things to put on the windowsill. A pained, small smile stole its way onto his suddenly tear stained face, surprising him.

“Tell me about what she liked to do best.” He whispered to Roman softly, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

Roman took a deep, shaky breath.

“She… she liked skateboarding. She started secretly learning how to do it in the stables at home. Our parents wouldn’t go there unless they wanted to show off our priced horses. She was so proud when she learned to do a kickflip.”

“That’s pretty cool.” Virgil mumbled into sweet smelling hair, daring to bury his fingers in the thick locks and massage the back of Roman’s head gently. The taller man sighed at the pleasant sensation, unwinding under the pale hands.

“Yes, she was very cool. Mother wanted her to learn how to ride, so Octavia taught the horses tricks. She wanted to do donuts with them. With limited success.”

Virgil laughed incredulously. Roman joined in, reveling in the memory that suddenly became clear before his eyes.

“She was a kick-butt PlayStation player as well. Her and Nana liked to play Mario Cart. They both kept wiping the floor with me. I was always more one for the finer arts.”

“Your fricking Nana played PlayStation?” Virgil asked, delighted with this tidbit of information. He made sure to settle his limber body comfortably against Roman’s, encouraging him to keep holding on.

“Oh yes. Yes, she was good at learning things she wasn’t supposed to as a lady. She used to go rock climbing in her youth and she always owned the fastest cars. We learned how to drive in a Dodge Viper. That turned out to be a very poorly thought out idea, since I got it stuck between the bushes at the estate.”

Virgil gasped with horror and laughter. He pinched Roman’s ticklish side just because he deserved it. “You fricking moron, seriously?! You got to drive a classic sports car and you put it in the bushes?”

Roman yelped and tried to squirm away, with limited success, since he was still holding on to his attacker. Stumbling and getting tangled up with each other, they tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs. Spluttering with laughter, they settled on the mattress, close enough to lean against each other.

“I’d like to see you do better with a teacher who shows you the wheel and accelerator and tells you to punch it!” Roman howled, playfully offended.

“Octavia managed to finally do her donuts though.” He added. “She went to the horses afterwards and told them to suck on that.”

Virgil giggled, leaning more of his weight on the man huddled close to him. Roman brought his arm up and held him. The young barista continued to weasel happy stories about Octavia and Nana out of the detective until he unpacked one of the boxes, possibly for the first time since he’d sealed it years ago, and showed him her writing. She’d been really good. Rude. Virgil liked that. They poured over her drawings and feisty poems and playfully insulting post-its she’s left for Roman until their shadows grew longer and Logan’s worried texts started making their phones vibrate.

Deciding to end the day on a happy note and to boost Roman’s confidence even if he’d have to deal with the aftermath of his honesty tonight while hiding under his covers, Virgil pulled a few crumbled, glossy magazine pages from the pocket of his jacket.

“I think we better get home. Let’s pack up this stuff with Logan some other time.”

Roman nodded quietly, a soft look on his face. He didn’t protest Virgil’s blatant attempts to steamroll him into moving out of this place. He seemed relieved. Unburdened.

“Here.” Virgil muttered, already feeling a blush coming up and trying to hide it under his bangs. “Let’s look at this fucking picture of you so you can preen again, alright, dude?”

Curiously, Roman flattened the crumbled pages Virgil had ripped from the magazine he’d spotted and impulsively bought on the way home.

It was him.

A large, full color image of Roman. He was striding from a building alight with roaring fire behind his tall figure. Orange light was framing him while smoke billowed dramatically. In his arms he was clutching a slight body huddling close for protection. Despite having felt disoriented and half suffocated as he’d stumbled outside, on the photograph he looked strong and confident, even heroic. A streak of soot was artfully brushed across his cheek. Brightly burning sparks were dancing around him as if he’d been bending the very fire around his body. It was a stunning image.

Baffled, Roman stared at himself, printed in a magazine titled with the lines This detective is on fire. Skimming the text on the second page, phrases and words stood out to him.

‘Detective Roman Prince, who was credited with recovering the secretly stolen St Edward’s Crown as well as bringing down the gang The Howling Scorpions with his partner Logan Sanders…’

‘…fearlessly put his life on the line…’

‘…stormed a factory already blazing brightly due to a suspicion of a missing person…’

‘The precinct asks to respect the hero’s privacy during his recovery…’

‘…will hopefully soon be available for interviews on his daring rescue…’

‘…an idol for young, aspiring officers and civilians alike…’

A chuckle drew him out of his stupor. Virgil was glancing up at him from his hunched position, warm amusement reflected on his features. He looked like he was gazing at something he liked. This look, more than even the article, gave Roman a boost of strength and courage he’d never felt before. Virgil had found and kept this picture of him and as he glanced down at it with a flush, Roman could see that he enjoyed the image. And why shouldn’t he? Roman looked simply radiant! Pride filled every corner of his being. Virgil liked him! Virgil thought he was heroic! He’d probably dream about this image of him – brave and strong and chivalrous! Roman finally, blessedly felt like himself again. Better than himself, he realized as he tenderly gazed at the pale, lovely wildcat shielding his face behind purple locks. He felt like the man Virgil saw in him. He’d never felt his beautiful. Like a hero! An admirable knight!

Feeling a rise of ideas Virgil didn’t appreciate at all, he boxed Roman’s arm firmly.

“OW! WHY?” The detective howled, rubbing his poor, sore arm.

“To cool down your ego.” Virgil growled at him. “Come on. Patton’s making cocoa. We can buy the other magazines for you on the way.”

“THERE’S MORE?!”

*************

It looks like Roman’s arc is starting sooner than anticipated. Virgil will have to work to keep him for himself since Deceit surely will try hard to win his prize. And I wonder who will see his picture in the newspaper?

Next Chapter

#Sanders Sides #my writing #keep him safe #detective AU #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders

164 notes · View notes

dragonshadow02 · 4 years

Text

Part one of my fic for the #bakudekubirthdayexchange for CB who I don't know if is on tumblr. I saw someone say they would post theirs chapter by chapter and I kind of like the idea. Especially since I'm waiting for my Ao3 password reset.

Notes: in this AU Izuku didn't gain OFA from Allmight.

Courting a Villian-

The warehouse was silent, save for the drip, drip, drip of the rain and the soft whimpers of the woman bound to the wall. The sole other occupant of the building was waiting on the thin catwalk above for the rest of the players to set the stage.

Izuku Midoriya-Deku- former hero enthusiast- and currently one of the most dangerous villains Musutafa had ever known- was done playing games. Someone would come busting into his sanctuary soon, and who it was would decide his captives fate. If they had decided to play nice and read his little love letter, he knew exactly who it would be...and if they hadn't, he got to play-it would be fun either way. A shiver of excitement traveled down the emerald haired villains spine, Ground Zero would be here soon ready to fight, and -if he was lucky something far more enjoyable. The dark grey and green-clad figure rose from his crouch with a soft creak of metal, the catwalk was in disrepair, covered in rust but he was confident that it would do its job. The pale man's lips twitched as he heard a soft sound, neck rolling as he looked to the side. There was no extra light, he had known there wouldn't be, but the heavy tread of combat boots was hard to miss. In one smooth movement, Izuku launched himself over the safety rail, freefalling to land like a cat on the dirty concrete.

"Welcome, Kacchan" He rose from his crouch as he spoke, lips spreading into a wide, slightly deranged grin. With a small click of the remote in his pocket the lights came on, illuminating his freckled face, and most importantly, his captive. The villian was far more interested though, in the hero that opposed him. The low light cast shadows over his face, but Izuku could imagine the way his brow creased in anger. Ground Zero was always ten times more attractive when he was angry...Or maybe that's just him being twisted. He had been told he was insane by more than one person-of course they usually ended up dead...but that didn't matter. Bakugou was the focus of his universe. They had shared a dream, a dream to become the number one hero, but Izuku had been born quirkless. Once All Might himself had told Izuku that he could never be a hero, he had spiraled into a deep depression, he had turned his back on All Might after Kacchans rescue, even though the hero had tried to talk to him again. Being told off for trying to save a friend had been the last thing he'd needed and he was positive that, that was what his idol had had in mind. Watching Katsuki get prepared for the U.A. Exam...being told he would never be a hero- It had broken him. His dreams had been gone. He had continued to hero chase, and record and theorize by habit, but the fire behind the curiosity was gone. That had all changed when he had stumbled upon his childhood doctor meeting with a group of known villains.

/ Izukus hand was shaking as he wrote slowly in his notebook, mouth dry with fear. He was going to die. As much as he had thought about it in the wake of his recent setback, being faced with the reality was terrifying. He didn't want to die. He couldn't move other than the delicate scratch of pen across the paper. A soft shuffling sound came from behind him and his heart jumped with terror, there was an impact against his head...then blackness and he knew no more/

The villain shook his head to clear it, he shouldn't be thinking about the weakling he had been. The Doctor had seen his analytical mind as an asset, had given him a quirk, a way to be useful. Izuku hadn't realized until Katsuki was in his second year at U.A. that the powerful quirk he had been given had been his own that the doctor had stolen from him as a child. It was then that he had decided never to let anyone take advantage of him again. He had left the League and made sure they would never try to take him back. He would become the number one villain, Kacchans foil. He was more than a little in love with the hero that currently stood in front of him, growling with impatience, but Izuku was standing silent with a crooked grin on his face. Finally, Ground Zero had had enough and stomped forward towards his silent rival, fists crackling menacingly with explosions.

"What the FUCK are you doing you crazy nerd? You told them to send me and I fucking came. Give me the hostage and crawl back into whatever hole you came out of."

Izuku raised a finger and waggled it back and forth, taking a step back and waving an arm grandiosely in the direction of the struggling woman. " The wife of....whatever his name is is right there. I haven't hurt a hair on her pretty little head." He twitched a finger and the chain wrapped around the woman's neck tightened. " Yet."

He tilted his head to the side slowly, green eyes meeting masked crimson. " She's not important, just you..." He took a step towards Katsuki. " I needed you to come because you weren't answering my calls" A pout fell over Izukus freckled face " I wanted to ask you out Kacchan...expecially after all of the fun we've had." The metal jangled and tightened again ripping a strangled gasp from the woman. " Since you wouldn't let me ask you out, I've decided that you get to court me instead." He tilted his whole body to the side and looked at the ash-blonde hero through green bangs. " Doesn't that sound fun? If you agree I'll give her to you as a...faith gift. If you refuse, she dies and you get to tell the head of the Heroes Commission that you let his wife die...so sad for you and your victories" The answering snarl was music to Izukus ears. He continued quickly before Katsuki could get a word in. " So Kacchan, this is how it'll be... You. court me. Bring me presents...ask me on dates" He waved a hand. " Knit me a scarf" His smirk grew into a grin as he added that little bit of humiliation in...Katsuki hated knitting. Forty-Five calls and over a hundred text messages from various burner phones and Katsuki hadn't responded to a single one. Izuku was feeling a little ghosted to say the least. He knew he'd have to take drastic measures to get what he wanted.

" You're out of your fucking MIND if you think I'll agree to that bullshit." The blonde had grown better at keeping his temper from effecting his quirk, but Izuku could see the glow of his palms as he clenched them tightly. " I'm not going to act like a fucking girl."

"ah, ah, aaah men can knit too" Izuku waggled his finger again. " Do you really want to lose your perfect streak? I thought you wanted to be number one, Kacchan" He shrugged slowly as his rival seethed. " A hero always wins....isn't that what you said once?" The green-haired villian started to walk towards the woman on the wall only to be body blocked by Katsuki. A feral grin spread across the villians face, that was more like it.

He may not have a strength quirk but he was durable, and he'd been through hell in Musutafas underground. He and Katsuki had met each other in battle more than once and had broken even.

The green-eyed Villian jumped back from the hit to minimize its strength, bringing the power of his mind to bear to keep Katsuki away from him for now. Their usual fight and fuck routine wasn't his aim right now and he knew if they got into a brawl that was exactly what would happen. Izuku could feel the adrenaline singing through his veins pushing him to fight, but he wanted more than that now.

His hand raised and his captive gagged again. " We're not here for that Kacchan. No fighting this time. Deal or no deal." Was dating him...wooing him so objectionable that Katsuki would let someone die to avoid it? Or was it the scarf thing? It didn't matter. Date or Death. That's what it came down to. Green eyes held crimson yet again, but this time Izuku wouldn't turn away, jaw set in a stubborn line as his captive passed out from lack of oxygen. Katsuki snarled and punched the scarred villain in the jaw before turning towards the woman. " This is the worst fucking way to ask someone out, nerd. No fucking girly shit but I'll take you on a goddamn date like you want." Ground Zero freed his captive, checking her pulse and throwing a nasty smirk over his shoulder. " Should have known you'd be begging for more after you'd had a taste." The heroes cocky voice sent a shiver of arousal through the villain even as is irritated him. " Am I begging Kacchan, or do I have you exactly where I want you?" He whispered as he let the hero carry her out the window. Apparently he'd need something a little more convincing to get the kind of reaction he wanted from his obsession. He really wanted that scarf. He wanted Katsuki to make something...show Izuku that he was worth the effort. He had seen a teenager work for hours for her beloved. it was a connection between them, those feelings. He wanted Katsuki to prove he felt something more for him than lust...even though they would always be on different sides and one would kill the other eventually...that was an understanding he knew they had. Katsuki would never let anyone but Izuku kill him, and Izuku refused to let anyone but Katsuki have that honor...but at least they would have now.

He would need to send a more strongly worded love letter, luckily he knew exactly where to find it.

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wahbegan · 4 years

Text

YEAST (for Anon)

Okay this is unquestionably not my best work by a long shot but in fairness to me, you gave me a really hard prompt and the idea for the story came to me as I was like half-asleep last night SO

Julia closed her eyes and inhaled, allowing herself to feel a rare moment of contented bliss. Slanted shafts of sunlight bathed the kitchen in a warm glow, music was playing softly in the next room, and she was baking. She had always loved baking. It was one of those wonderful creative de-stressors like painting or knitting.

And the smell.

That scent of sugar and egg whites, and just a tiny bit of vanilla to make it nice and sweet. The smell of the bread cooking in the oven. It’s little things like that that make live worth living for.

The ingredients all sat in a neat little row on the table, waiting. Waiting for her. All except...

“Hey, babe?”

Matt started out of the half-doze he and the cat were both falling into on the couch. She didn’t mind baking alone, but...some company would be nice. Still, she didn’t complain. It would be stupid to complain about something that small, right? Right?

“Yeah, sorry, whassit?” Came the rusty croak that only issues from the throats of the half-dead and cataclysmically hung over.

“You get more yeast like I asked?”

Julia used a gentle tone. Didn’t want to come off as accusatory. No complaining over small things, no accusing anyone of things that didn’t matter, that was how domestic bliss was maintained.

(Then why are you so anxious?)

“Yeah, ss’uh...fuckin’...on the....y’know. Yeah.” He non-committally waved his arm towards the door in what could loosely be interpreted as an indicative gesture. “Yeah, Mister Tibbles knows what I’m talkin ‘bout, don’t you lil man?”

The orange tabby closed his eyes and put his head down on Matt’s chest, purring softly. Julia just smirked and shook her head. It was hard to stay mad at the man when he was curled up and cuddling with the cat like he was one. Men are a bit like pets, she thought as she walked down the short hallway to the front door of their apartment. But more expensive, and less grateful, and they got in fights with you, and cats didn’t want head every damn time-

The bag cut her thought process off completely. A crumpled little plastic thing without even a store chain logo on it, lying on the floor in a dejected heap. She guessed he had been aiming for the side table. Julia crumpled the plastic bag up to put in the recyclables and pulled out the jar.

It was cold. Cold and a deep amber color. The cap and the label were both yellow, but not the bright and cheery inviting kind such labels usually were. It seemed off somehow, a jaundiced paint job that appeared to be peeling and flaking off in places. There was no information on the jar, either. No nutrition facts, ingredients, recipes, not even a brand name. Simply YEAST in faded reddish-brown letters. Almost the color of...she shook her head and exhaled through her nose in an attempt at a laugh. It’s a jar of yeast. An incredibly cheap-looking one, but that was it.

There was a faded drawing of a girl on the label as well. A little girl with pigtails and huge, bright eyes, smiling a bit too widely, uncanny in that way old mascots could be. There was something wrong with the way her teeth were drawn too, though it was hard to quantify exactly. Too few of them, perhaps, shaped oddly. Like they were...swollen? The girl’s hands were a bit strange as well: cupped in front of her, holding a handful of white mushrooms with red splotches. Julia squinted and brought it up to her face. It almost looked like they were growing out of her hands. That smile looked deranged, didn’t match her faded blue eyes.

“Babe?” She walked back into the living room and held the jar up for Matt to see, still smiling a little. “Where’d you get this? Looks like it’s...a hundred years old. Or some insanely cheap foreign brand or something.”

Her boyfriend opened one eye, barely, and stared. “Oh, yeah, it’s uh...some...some corner grocery...thing. I don’t really...remember, I had way too much last night.”

“You got this after you went drinking?”

“Yeah, I remembered on the way home and I thought ‘Oh, shit, Julia’s gonna kill the shit out of me, right Tibs?” Mister Tibbles just stared. “So I...yeah. Could not tell you, one of those places you only end up really wasted and can never find again sober, you know?”

Her brow furrowed a bit and she chewed her lip. “Look, I don’t want to sound like a nag, but I thought you were gonna cut back on the-”

“Yeah, yeah, no, definitely. It...it was dumb, I’m sorry, It was...totally Taylor’s idea. Guy’s a fucking lush, you know. I wanted to go home earlier but uh he just kept going ‘one more bar, one more bar’, you know how it is.”

She did know how it was. It was always someone else’s fault. Not that she’d say that. “All right, you know I just worry about you, right?”

“I know.” He made a little heart with his hands and blew a kiss through it. Julia rolled her eyes, but caught it after a moment of hesitation. “Yeah, all right.”

The soft beams of sunshine were gone from the kitchen, and there was no more music from her room. Album must have ended. It was strange, she couldn’t remember exactly when it had stopped. Must have just been tuning it out.

She slowly, carefully opened the jar over the counter, almost expecting to be hit with the God-awful stench of something rotten, some other fungus inside the fungus, an indication it had gone bad. Could yeast go bad? The lid came off with a perfectly ordinary pop, and revealed no toxic vapors or carcass stench like she had half expected when she unscrewed it. Just a normal off-white powder.

It rose in water normally, maybe even a little quickly. Julia thought it almost looked like a lung inflating. It mixed fine with the other ingredients, and there was no problem kneading or shaping it. What there was was an inexplicable cold weight pressing on her heart as she continued, ice pushing down on her ventricles. She couldn’t reason it away. Everything seemed perfectly normal, perfectly bland, but a voice hammered itself against the walls of her skull desperately.

Stop. Stop. This is wrong. This is wrong, don’t do this. Throw it away.

Hands grabbed her waist from behind and there was hot, sour breath on her neck.

“Oh, jesus, sorry!” Matt had felt her jump against him. “I was trying to be all, you know. Romantic and shit. Damn, what are you so tense about?”

Julia couldn’t say what she was so tense about. Wouldn’t say it. He’d laugh and call her crazy. He loved her, but he’d do it anyway.

“I’m not tense! I was just...lost in thought.”

“Oohh, thinking about anything I would like?” Matt put his chin on her shoulder and waggled his eyebrows, prompting her to laugh and slip away from him.

“No, thinking about how I need to get this in the oven for its second rise. Besides, how can you even think about sex right now? Doesn’t your head feel like, and I quote, ‘it’s getting fucked with an icepick’?”

She opened the oven door and hesitated for a moment before putting the bread in. One last chance, that voice inside said, drowning Matt out for a moment.

And then he brought her back down to Earth. “Ey space cadet, you there?” He looked at her for a moment and laughed. “Seriously, what is with you today? Is it the drinking? Or the yeast? You don’t like the yeast, do you? Did I get like ghetto-ass nasty yeast? You know I don’t know anything about baking.”

Julia laughed and slid the loaf inside, then planted a kiss on his lips, more to shut him up than anything else. “No, babe. You did great.”

The sound of the oven door shutting had a deeply forlorn finality to it.

Nothing at all happened. At first. Ten minutes crept by, then twenty...then the timer rang. She had been getting more and more anxious, convinced that something bad was happening, something was growing, something was getting out of control. She couldn’t smell it or hear it, but she’d open the door to find...

The loaf had risen normally. Maybe a bit lumpy, a few abnormal bumps beneath the surface, but that was all. Julia’s eyes suddenly felt very heavy, and like a light had gone out of them. She sighed as she almost physically felt herself aging.

“I’ve gone fucking crazy.”

“What was that, hun?”

Julia gave a non-committal grunt and closed the oven door, punching in the temperature. She watched the bread through the window for a moment before turning away.

Just in time to miss one of the bumps in the surface of the bread move like a snake trapped under skin.

It was about twenty minutes later when the smell first hit. A horrible, choking odor of decay, of burning hair and nails. Julia had never smelled a corpse being burned before, but some primal part of her brain told her that’s what she was smelling.

Matt had been in the bathroom, and opened the door when he heard her call his name in a panic. “What, what the-” he gagged and dry heaved. “What the fuck is that?”

Bluish-white smoke was curling out of the oven in lazy tendrils as he approached it, Julia hanging back behind him. Something was moving inside, making a low groaning sound.

“Jesus, Matt, be careful!”

He waved her off. “It’s probably just...” Even he had no rationalization for the situation. “Some kind of...” He covered his nose and mouth with the dish towel and turned the oven off, cracking the door open to let the smoke out.

The stench was suffocating now. Death. It smelled like the purest form of death. It smelled like a tumor, like sickness itself, like organ failure.

He pulled the oven door past its tipping point and jumped back as it fell open. Neither of them screamed...they simply stared.

Sickly white roots or tendrils emanated out from the bread in every direction, clinging and crawling along the insides of the oven. Smaller hairs came off the sides of these in long rows, making them almost resemble a twisted amalgamation of house centipedes. The ends were burnt and collapsing on themselves. The bread had split open down the middle, with more thick, white strands spanning the gap. Fungus in a wound. Deep down inside, there was something white and slick, globular. It made a sound like rasby, labored breath, and the entire organism seemed to pulse in time. Yellow ichor dripped down off the tendrils and boiled in the oven, creating the smoke that they had seen from the outside.

“Julia...what...the fuck is that?”

“We should leave.” Matt didn’t move. “Matt, babe, please, let’s just get the fuck out of here, it could be toxic.”

He snapped back at her. “I’m not leaving our own god damned house because of some weird....” he looked around the kitchen desperately looking for something. He found it in a knife rack. It was long, glistening, and serrated.

“Don’t you dare-”

He ignored her and moved slowly to the open oven, knife held in front of him. She tried to stop him. She later told everyone. His parents, hers, the police...herself late at night when she was too tired to cry and didn’t dare close her eyes, so she just stared dumbfounded at the ceiling. She’d swear to God. She really tried, but he pushed her away.

And he stuck the globe at the center of the loaf with the knife.

Julia couldn’t tell if the high-pitched noise that followed was air escaping or a genuine shriek, but it was an assault on her ears. The thing in the oven seemed to explode, spraying a cloud of a white powder all over Matt. He dropped the knife and tried to back up out of the kitchen, but he only made it about three steps before he fell backwards and started seizing on the ground. The coroner would later tell his loved ones that he was sure whatever kind of fungus or parasite it was, it attacked his nervous system first, and he surely felt no pain. He told people a lot of comforting little lies like that. It was what they wanted to hear.

His veins looked like they were swelling up, straining against his skin, bursting capillaries and staining him with blood that had soaked through. The blood vessels in his bulging eyes burst and filled red, then brown as he went blind. And all the while, he shook and gibbered, not quite screaming on the floor, feeling everything. It was a loss of muscle control, but his brain was the last thing to go. White hairs started bursting from his skin, making his fingernails fall out one by one. “J-J-J...Jul....”

She didn’t watch. She couldn’t watch. She hated herself later, would punch her reflection in the mirror until her knuckles split and she smeared her own blood on it that she was such a fucking coward. But she couldn’t. It was fucking grotesque. She covered her ears and closed her eyes, sliding down to the floor, putting her knees up to her chin, and sobbing.

It took almost twenty minutes for him to die. After two, she had regained her senses enough to call 911. Another two for her to explain, as best she could, what was happening through her state of intense trauma. The EMTs arrived ten minutes later, just in time to see the grand finale.

From his open abdomen where his organs lay ruined and twisted, from his burst eyes, from the back of his throat, from the all the places in his body where the skin was thinnest, projections not unlike mushrooms had emerged.

Pure white mushrooms, covered in bright red splotches of blood.

The ones in his mouth grew so wild that they stretched his mouth open in a hideous mockery of a grin, full of swollen and fleshy teeth.

The police never found out where Matt had bought the yeast.

Julia never made bread again.

#writing

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justlurkingintheshadows · 4 years

Text

@nutsandvoltsweek Sorry if this is bad I'm not a writer as much as I'm not an artist, I at least have some more experience with writing though, I know it's not perfect but oh well. I also know it's technically late for my timezone but it's still gonna be the 10th February somewhere.

This is my attempt at a role reversal Nuts and Volts for day 2

Humanity and Ferality

Word count : 2,150

Content tags : Role-reversal, Scientist!Tyrian, Feral!Watts, blood, implied cannibalism, implied self-mutilation/experimentation

-----------

It wasn't exactly unheard of, the story of the Atlesian who went mad and lost his mind, in his unhinged rage it's said he brought down an entire lab and then disappeared, presumed dead, but now Tyrian knew the truth. Before him stood a ragged man, truly disgraced, soaked in blood that had previously resided inside the team Tyrian had gone with to an unusual site where people complained of moving shadows and nose curdling smells that kept even the Grimm at bay.

It was clear the heaving form wanted to finish off the last one and drag him too away to wherever he had stowed the other bodies, the only evidence that someone had been there being the blood splattered around after a vicious attack, Tyrian wasn't about to let him but he was curious, he supposed the poor guy had to have survived off something all this time, the thought would have made him shudder had he even cared at all. He simply watched the man carefully, neither daring to move, their foe was unpredictable yet somehow they had each other figured out - as long as they stood there like that no one was going to do anything, it was a stalemate of two men frozen purely to wonder if either was going to move first which they knew wasn't actually going to happen.

"Well, this is certainly something I never expected..." said Tyrian in a careful tone hoping his sudden speech didn't kickstart a sudden death, the figure flinched a bit, not used to his victims having any other vocal capability than a scream of terror. Though vision wasn't clear Tyrian was certain of something, it just made sense to him somehow, "Arthur Watts. The illusive one man catastrophe, thought to be dead, but of course that's only because no living soul has actually had chance to escape and tell anyone." The figure flinched again, it was more of a twitch, and Tyrian almost found it amusing, this man was more feral than a Sabyr, more animal than human, he wasn't even a faunus but simply a man who had nothing to lose. It was an ironic comparison to Tyrian's own self. Doctor Tyrian Callows, the scorpion faunus who managed to hide his feature his whole life and aid Atlas in great science feats becoming one of their most trusted with barely any challenge, he was almost more human now, it was hard not to follow their ideologies even if they involved the theory that Faunus were lesser and only useful for labour tasks which the humans were too good for, at one point Tyrian almost found himself hating his own kind because of how truly the humans believed they were in the right, they always thought they were right, and he had loved to prove them wrong. They could try to take everything from him yet he would still have the knowledge he'd come to accumulate and with that knowledge he'd almost brought their empire crumbling down as easily as a flick of a tail, that's what caught the attention of a certain goddess, she'd known he was perfect for the job and must have realised he actually barely needed her as he'd almost achieved what she intended solo, yet she still offered him a place and picked him up off cold bleak streets to give his terrifying, sly and genius mind a sturdy platform from where he could orchestrate a new wave of armageddon; His goddess had sent him on this mission with a group of, what Tyrian could only describe as, thugs (Tyrian thought very little of them and so their fates weighed insignificant in his mind), but he had to admit the ease at which this husk had dispatched them was impressive and showed really the potential danger he should find himself in.

It was perhaps not an insignificant detail to note that had Tyrian not just so happened to turn around at that exact moment the deranged creature would have been upon him hacking away at his aura with all the brutality and speed of a Beowolf, it was quite surprising that anyone could be so far gone that even the Grimm have no desire to come near, Tyrian himself had witnessed the creatures circling the area intending to prey on the mindless drones of a team Tyrian had with him, at first he'd thought they were responsible for the company gradually dwindling but he never once saw them dare to close the distance, they always stayed out there, away, and one could only wonder why. Now it made sense. One by one his lackeys disappeared and there was barely noise of a struggle, perhaps a new type of Grimm was a thought at first but there was never any evidence to back up the claim, it wasn't obvious to assume there was something or someone else lurking around picking them off one by one, leaving the best for last or perhaps just because Tyrian refused to be slowed down and so was at the lead of the group and it wasn't so easy to grab him, especially since he came most prepared for an encounter of any kind as Tyrian always calculated it was more worth it to over-prepare than to be left in a situation with no ability to get out.

He began to wonder if this new monster could even speak lest his humanity have slipped away altogether, but that was soon answered for him. The demented fellow had been watching this odd stranger in his territory, seemingly frustrated by the fact he'd been seen before it was too late, like an ambush predator once he was spotted he didn't quite know what to do, he'd been spending all these lonely crumbling years attempting to hone his skills to cause as swift an aura break and kill as possible, it hadn't been easy and he'd suffered a lot but he was sure he was better than this and it angered him that this invading doctor had simply turned around and halted his entire strike. He had to at least be thankful that the poor lighting and obscured distance still offered some veil, he was not the 'man' this pest had identified him as any longer, he left that behind long ago.

The voice that came from the sketchy silhouette wasn't clear, but it also didn't completely lack all intelligence, he was aware of that. "I intend to keep myself invisible to anyone who it matters to" came the sound, a bit scratchy and with a little wavering in tone almost to display the insanity, Tyrian had to admit it surprised him to hear sound come from such a thing but he smiled, and, perhaps acting a little too cocky for his own good, made the decision to move towards the crazed mess in an attempt to get a better look, this caused an almost growled "Back off" in response, the tone was chilling but Tyrian couldn't help being thrilled by it, messed up things was what he loved even if it was uncivil of him he couldn't ignore his true natural desire for such.

"You don't have to live like this anymore you know, I have a way to help you if you would accept it. Figures from your past don't even have to be aware of it, unless of course you wanted them to be" offered Tyrian, still keeping his tone careful, he would like to have this mission end well and not with any significant death, he wanted to please his Goddess. He was regarded by cold green eyes that clearly wished to inflict the most painful of harm on him.

"You dare to offer me anything, I have nothing valuable to you, how dare you come here and expect me to comply simply because you asked!" The voice was still broken from disuse, it still brought amusement and intrigue to the curious doctor,

"I didn't expect anything, until a few moments ago I was completely unaware of your existence-"

"And I would like to go back to that" interrupted the corrupt tone, Tyrian ignored him,

"Yet while I find it most fascinating at your sheer ability to eradicate your immediate enemy I find it hard to believe you wouldn't want to exact revenge on the very society that cast you out, what's a few 'immoral' experiments when you're clearly capable of more right? They didn't want you so you tried to destroy them, but you didn't succeed completely. You probably are aware that I think you might be-"

"Helpful to you? Easy to use? Manipulate? Control?!" This was more than a growl, this was a snarl, it caught Tyrian off guard and actually made him jump, it was becoming increasingly obvious that talking simply wasn't going to be enough,

"What would it take for you to find some way to trust me?" Asked the curious scorp almost softly, itching with anticipation of an answer. It took a while for his opponent to respond, it wasn't clear if it was because of outrage or simply no idea of how to react.

"I… to trust you?" Came an unsure sound, "Why would I want to trust you? Why would you want me to trust you? Trust requires closeness and closeness ultimately ends in parting."

Tyrian smiled again, "You're something else, something unique, if even the Grimm fear you just imagine what chaos you could cause with the proper footing to launch yourself from, we're not all that different you and I, while at the same time we're complete opposites. I know of somewhere there'd be a place for you, you'd have to leave this behind of course but you'd be rewarded in time with the exact opportunity your seething twisted soul desires" he could see this was perhaps sounding worthwhile. The reply didn't take long.

"I am not the man I was, I'm not sure if I'm much of a man at all… but you seem to believe I'm useful to you… how so?" The question was unsure almost cautious, it made Tyrian think there wasn't as little humanity left as they both thought, but he was all too happy to answer;

"I'm glad you asked, you see I work for a force this world will never be able to defeat and she only grows stronger with the aid of people like me, and perhaps even more so with you." He was always ready to jump at the chance to mention his Goddess, but took the opportunity to mention his own story, his own achievements, most particularly the ones under Salem's guidance, he exclaimed much glee at recalling events, he especially made sure to add in a little bit of how perhaps the addition of someone like the distorted disgraced ex-doctor Arthur Watts could possibly have influenced the outcome and made it so much easier, he mentioned the research he'd done on him and how he'd lamented at the belief the once great man was now apart from this world in attempt to play right into how he once thought of himself as an esteemed innovator. It seemed to work like a charm, not surprising, if Tyrian Callows knew anything it was how to use a person's own self against them for better or for worse. Eventually the newly revitalised man that was once a husk seemed to smile and said with as much attempt at contentment as his shattered voice could offer,

"Perhaps you are right" and that answer made Tyrian grin, but he continued "however I still feel like I am better off staying lost in the shadows of ruins, I would recommend you just leave" he seemed downheartned at having to say it and Tyrian simply had to ask,

"I cannot allow you to simply stay here, perhaps you could do me a favour" he had a glint in his eye which was observed by Arthur, who seemed perhaps a little uncomfortable and didn't want to ask what favour deciding it be best not to know. That didn't stop Tyrian from asking anyway. "Please step into light, so I may see you properly"

Arthur scoffed "So you can see what's become of me?"

Tyrian simply answered, gently, with a "Yes"

It appeared this was not the expected response. However unable to provide much more of an argument Arthur reluctantly, slowly, carefully, and in every way cautiously, moved closer. As soon as his body was bathed in light Tyrian caught himself being captivated, in awe.

The oddly shaped outline he'd been looking at this whole time was much more distinguished now. He was able to make out all the foreign non-human devices. The recognizable form of a man who in his own despair attempted to make himself into something else. He wasn't just less human in nature, but also in appearance. And Tyrian found it beautiful.

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seven-oomen · 5 years

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Alright. You put me on this Harringrove boat and now you have to sail this ship with me. Someone put out the idea "what if instead of wanting to kill everyone, the mind flayer was like Venom and ended up liking Billy and helping him get his shit together and being his wingman with Steve" and now I can't think of anything else and you're the only other person in the world who I thnk wants this AU as much as I do! [I've never even watched ST, man. This is exactly how Teenwolf sucked me in!]

You are so very welcome my friend, it’s the fandom way to be sucked into a ship that you’ve never even watched in canon. (It’s how Teen wolf and Supernatural got me tbh. Sterek & Destiel are still up high.)

I actually reblogged those posts I think, they were good! Oh man, I love the whole concept of secretly smart bisexual/gay idiot and his monster buddy trying to win their person x over. Man, I really need to write some fic for that. Maybe a short bit of writing at 1:30 am will do for now?

Being possessed by a creature from another dimension, or well- at least a separated part of it, was like being strapped to a comet and holding on for dear life. You never quite knew what wild ride you were going to get next.

“In my dimension, I’m a bit of a loser, a fuck-up like you, William.” It had said to him, on that empty stretch of road, as he leaned up against the Camaro and tried to wrap his mind on what the hell just happened.

It had been such a clusterfuck that the only smart comeback he could think of was; “It’s Billy.”

It had been, for the lack of better terms, fucking insane. And yet here he was, walking around with a goddamn parasite-

“Parasite?!”

Oh, fucking hell. “It’s a term of endearment.” He muttered under his breath, he didn’t really want to come off as crazy in a busy ass mall. People already thought he was deranged and sociopathic, which couldn’t be further from the truth, usually.

“You take that back-”

He scoffed, “What? No!”

“Apologize!” It hissed, his mind ringing with the flayers emotions. Little fucker was actually hurt by all of this.

“Oh come on-” He couldn’t fucking believe this..

“Apologize or I will make you look like more of a moron in front of Steve.”

Hell no. Anything but that. “Alright fine, I’m sorry. That was-” His mind raced as it tried to find a word that fit- “Shitty.”

The flayer just grumbled in his mind, bristling a little before settling back under his skin. For a being from another dimension, who’s siblings and ‘parents’, for a lack of a better term, this guy was kinda sensitive. Kind of like a loser. It really kind of dawned on him that he might be the only real companion this little body snatcher had.

“He’s here.”

He looked up at the cue, watching from afar as Steve fucking Harrington walked by in that blue sailor’s outfit of his. God that thing looked criminally good on him. There definitely should have been a law forbidding Harrington from ever wearing any kind of uniform. And all Billy could do was watch him from a distance. After all, he was still on the bench for that night he pulled at the Byers house. Rightfully so, really.

“Look at him, he has no idea we’re going to win him over.”

He almost laughed but managed to catch himself at the last minute. “We?”

“You need all the fucking help you can get..”

To be fair, when it came to Steve, he really fucking did.

#harringrove #venom au #billy hargrove #steve harrington #I seriously either need to write a fic for this or find someone to rp this with #holy shit #this is everything #answered #mother-shipper

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mjihkaaaa · 4 years

Text

Transcript: “Randy Writes a Novel” by Randy Feltface

I have transcribed this hour-or-so-long comedy piece. if I put the transcript on tumblr, it might pop up in the search results of some poor sod wondering whether it’s a thing that exists. fAiR uSe DiScLaiMEr or something, I’m making no money off of this and am posting it out of the goodwill of my heart, and also I sat down for two hours to make the transcript so it’s probably work. /original date of transcription, not that it makes a difference: 2019-07-16 /link: you can find the actual piece yourself or buy the dvd like a good consumer

||[Beard guy] Hey Randy? Yeah mate? ||[Beard guy] Ready to do this? (exhale) Yup! ||[Announcer] Please, without further ado... Welcome to the stage... The purple one... Randy! (Applause) YEEES! HELLO! THANK YOU! LOOK AT YOU ALL, MMMH! This is so EXCITING! This is my favourite bit of the show, this bit; The expectation - You don't know what to expect, I don't know what to expect. I've got high hopes for you people. I think you're gonna be fantastic. Some of you may have never seen me before, there's probably a couple of you wondering what the fuck is going on right now - couple of people up the back probably regretting smoking that spliff before they came in... "... ... ... the fuck is that?" it's alright, just relax. Throughout the show I'm probably gonna walk from about here, over to here. Any further than that, it's gonna ruin the magic, alright? And, um, this is pretty much what it's gonna look like for the next fifty-fix-and-a-half minutes, so just adjust your eyeballs to this shit accordingly. Looks pretty good, we did my tech rehearsal today, and we set this lighting stand and was like that looks good, that's good, and Stu, my lighting guy back there, said "iS tHaT iT?" and I was like ehh... eh... no, Stu, we can turn on the lamp as well, like this ... (lamp turns on). Yes. So we did that just to justify Stu's certificate for... in fucking... theatre production. GIVE IT UP FOR STU! UP THE BACK! (Applause) Who's having an alcoholic beverage this evening? (wooing) Ah-WOOO! I don't drink anymore, I used to SLAM that SHIT into my FACE like a WEAPON but I quit ... and nothing really changed, you know, I didn't notice too many differences between being sober and being a drinker ... UNTIL ... the first time I got pulled over by a cop, and had to do a random breath test sober. Because my physcial and emi-seeonal reaction was exactly the same as it had always been when I was a drinker. Which was ... - "OOOOH fuck I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "wind down your window please sir" - "IIIII'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "one long breath into the bag sir" - "NAAAAAAAAAA I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm- (blow) I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "... you're free to go mate" - !!! ... oh yeah, I am, and the sense euphoria I felt was the closest feeling I've had to being drunk since I quit drinking. To the point where I now drive around on friday and saturday nights, LOOKING for cops. And if I get pulled over, I pretend I'm drunk just to get an extra rush... AHHH! Seriously, if you ever get pulled over, and you're sober, pretend you're wasted. Oh, the BUZZ! It's like shelving nine pills at once, it's fucking sick. Seriously, the next time the cop's walking towards the car, just be like - - "ohh, shush everyone he's COMING! act normal he's comin- put it down! put it down, he's coming! shush he's comi-!! he's here!" - "... ... ... Wind down your window please, sir." - "yeah, I'ma do that, I'ma do that, I'M DOING IT! ... Ah, it's electric. The button's in the middle 'cuz it's electric." - "... ... ... Have you had anything to drink tonight, sir?" - "NOOO ossifer [officer] not on a tuesday" - "It's a friday-" - "NO friday either mate!" - "One long breath into the bag please, sir." - "yes I will, you fucking champion ... y'know, people say youse are cunts but I don't reckon youse are, PBRRTT (blow) - WOOO! hahaaa..." (Cop checks bag, shocked.) - "Uh... You're free to go." - "FUCK YEAH! BRRRRRRRRR MEEPMEEP" (Applause) I took it so far once, I got down to the station for a blood test - ahhahaAA, gets addictive when you get to that stage... I've got track marks, it's out of control! and laDIES AND GENTLEMEN - you're very close, aren't you. Hello! (Shriek) Um... The reason we're here is because, didididii, didididi-didii, I wrote a book! Yes! Woo! Yeah, you can clap, but I'm concerned that it might be a bit shit. I don't know. It's weird - this is it here - I'm not sure if it's any good 'cuz I think I'm too close to it, y'know, I can't tell anymore. I'm concerned that it might be, like, an ugly baby that I'm looking at through the eyes of a loving mother? And it's not until I take it out for a walk in its little pram and people start screaming in horror and crossing the street to avoid me that I'll realize I've made a piece of shit baby? There's nothing worse than a piece of shit baby, is there... - "Ah, who's this little guy- WAUGH YOUR BABY'S A PIECE OF SHIT!" - "God... damn it..." But do I need to be told it's good to know that it's good? You know, that's how it goes with comedy; If I come up here and tell a shit joke, you tell me it's shit by not laughing, and I stop telling that joke. But with a BOOK I won't know it's shit until it's out there. Forever. Until I DON'T sell a million copies. Just wake up one morning, surrounded by towering boxes of unsold books, featuring on an episode of mentally deranged hoarders... We need to lay off hoarders, by the way. I think there's one too many television programmes "exposing the horrors" of people that like collecting shit. It's their house, let them do it! - "No we have to fix them!" No you don't, people are fucked up! If they wanna climb over a stack of cat shit stained national geographic magazines from the nineteen seventies to get to the kettle, fucking let 'em. THEY LIKE IT. - "Yeah but it's a mental illness-" Yeah, well, may be, but I would argue it's MORE insane to film them doing it, and then package it like a tacky microwave meal for one, so assholes can sit at home going "LOOK HOW SHIT THAT PERSON IS! They've got too many of the same thing..." ... Who's more insane in that sce-nario, I ponder... ANYWAY my book... My book is called "Walking to Skye", it's about a young man who walks from the southernmost borders of Scotland up to the Isle of Skye in the far north, retracing the footsteps of his great-great-grandfather and having a massive existential crisis along the way. It's a reeeeeeeeeeal HUMDINGER, and now that I've written it I'm terrified to let anybody read it, so what I've decided to dewwww, is; I'm gonna read bits of the book out, you're going to react, and then at the end we'll all collectively decide whether or not I should kill myself. Okay? Okay. Here we go. Hm-hm-hm. Ready? Everybody comfortable? No-one needs to go to the toilet, or get a drink, or anything? No? If you do, seriously, just go for it, because fucking... (waves hand in front of eyes). I'm not.. going.. to notice... Ahem, okay, ahem... Here we go. Alright. Here we go, here we go, okay. Khm. Blblbl. Okay. Phew. Alright. Here we go. Walking to Skye, chapter one. ... Phew. Okay. Khm. Blbl. Okay. Khm. Phew... (Sigh)... (Shivering) Read it... Just fucking read it... Come on man... Just... Son of a bitch... Pth... EHGgghhh... I'm too scared. (Audience goes "aww") No, fuck off. It's weird being scared for this, y'know, it's strange to be scared of something so intangible as JUDGEMENT. You know, I care what you people think, but taste is so subjective. Y'know, one man's "To Kill a Mockingbird" is another man's "Twilight" saga. Hello there, what's your name? (Matthew:) "Matthew." Matthew! N- where- right about there, mattie (adjusting line of sight)? Tell me, Matthew, what do you fear, what's your greatest fear, what are you scared of mate, we're all friends here, open up, unpack some shit, what are you-.. What's your biggest fear, Mattie? (Matthew:) "It must be rejection." Rejection? Same as me. <close> what do you know about my fear of rejection? </close> How old are you, man? (Matthew:) "Twenty-six" Twenty-six! The twenties are the time for rejection, my friend, it is the best time for rejection. Have you been rejected a few times? (Matthew:) "Quite a lot." Fucking rack it up, Mattie, rack it up mate, you just get- you wear those scars like a fucking warrior, mate! And then you get to thirty-six, my age, and you could not give a fuck, my friend. I'm telling you mate, rack up the rejection while you can, and then just.. fucking.. grab whatever's left. That's what you've got to look forward to. Let's hear it for Matthew! Yes! (Applause!) Rejection, eh? I think, actually, Mattie, Mattaroonie, Matterectomy, I think for me, Mattanoonles, I'm actually more scared of ... failure, in this case. I fear that I might've written a shit book, and as a result I'll fail, y'know. But I believe, Mattress, I believe it was Ernest Hemingway who put it best when he said "The first draft of everything is shit". And I often thought of that while I was writing my book, it's a great thing for young readers and young writers, sorry, to keep in mind, because it kind of lets you off the hook, y'know. And it makes you feel not so bad when you churn out something akin to Fifty Shades of Grey fanfiction. - "Every nerve ending in my body tingled as he boldly placed his swollen member directly onto my left shoulder ... and whispered into my ear ... 'tickets please' ... suffice to say, that won't be the last time I catch the bus to Broad Meadows." Khm. True story, true story. Okay, I'm gonna read the book - Broad Meadows, good suburb, Broad Meadows, good name! (Audience member goes WOOO!) Hahahaha, WEEEEEW! Has Broad Meadows ever had that reaction anywhere ever? How good is Broad Meadows- WOOOOOO! WOO! Wooing is one of few things you can do in a crowd. You can't woo when you're on your own, can you... You can't just be walking down the street like WOO! - "What's wrong with that person?" But if there's a group of you going "woo!" it's like, - "Naw, they're having a nice time, aren't they..." Wooing in- when you're in an audience is one of the few times you can get away with wooing. You can't, fucking- don't woo at the butcher's, y'know? - "I'll just have a ... 2 pounds of some sausages and uh, some pound of mince, and let me- six pound fifty WOOOOO!" - "I no longer wish for you to purchase my meat products." What was I talking about? Ah, Broadie? Yeah, Broad Meadows, it's a good name, Broad Meadow, like it makes sense, there was an expanse of just fucking... no stuff, there was some broad meadows, and they went "let's fucking build it here" and it was an honest name. All these new subdivisions now, they're all fucking, just... - "What are we gonna call this deserted swamp?" - "Um... Spring Valley Mountview Niceface." Fuck that! Name them honestly, y'know? - "Where are you living now?" - "Shitty water feature." - "Ah!" - "Where are you?" - "Stabbyville." - "Ah! ... How's that?" - "Yeah, it's good, it's close to schools, which is great, but um... We do get stabbed a lot though, it's a... You know, we knew the risks..." - "'Cuz it was in the name?" - "'Cuz it was in the name! yeEEeeAh." I like an honestly named place. I was Broken Hill recently, that's an honestly named place. - "We had a hill, we fucking broke it. Welcome to Broken Hill." Actually, Broken Hill have gone one further, they've named all the streets in the centre of town after elements. 'Cuz it's a mining town, they went thematic with that shit. So you're walking down Chloride, and you hit the corner of Bromide, or Oxide, I love that! That makes sense to me! I live in Collingwood - it'd be much easier to direct people to my house if I could send them to the corner of Soy Latte and Hipster Fuckwit. That'd take out all the guesswork ... When you're heading to Frankston, don't forget to check out the beautiful parklands on the corner of Bucket Bong and Pregnant Teenager. They are just enchanting. Alright. Gonna read the book. Blblblbl. You cool Matt? Sick. I'm gonna keep talking to you so you feel included. Therefore, not rejected. Khm, okay. Alrighty. Okay. Here we go. Alright. Shut up, I'm gonna read it. Okay. Phew. Walking to Skye, chapter one . . . Fascinating man, Ernest Hemingway. I didn't know a lot about him, but I kept thinking of that quote, "the first draft of everything is shit", while I was writing my book, and I started to think, "who are you to tell me my first draft is shit, Hemingway? What did you ever do that was sO fUckIng gOOd?" So I realized I didn't know anything about him, so I decided to do some research on him, and it proved to be an excellent means of putting off writing my book. And now I can tell you everything I know about him as an excellent means of putting off reading you my book, so... Swings and roundabouts, my friends, swoongs and rimbledibbledoodledoodoos, as they say in Scotland ... They don't say that. No-one has ever said that. Anyway, what I suggest we do, okay, is I'm just gonna tell you a little bit about Ernest Hemingway, bit about Hemmers, and then we'll just let the segway into reading the book develop organically. Like a runaway fungus at the bottom of a misplaced coffee cup. - "Aw, guys, how long has this been behind the couch? ... There's little people in it!" - "Save us! Save us from our porcelain prison!" - "wwWAAH!" (tosses cup) KSSSH - "We're free!" - (Running noise, tktktktktktk) - (Randy steps on the little people with an audible crunch) It's just for me, that bit, it's just for me!.. Okay. Okay, here we go, ladies and gentlemen, for the very first time I would wager in all of your living memories, I now am proud to present to you, the life and times of Ernest Miller Hemingway in approximately three and a half minutes. Go! (Background shifts) Born in Chicago in eighteen ninety-nine, son of a physician and a musician, reasonably uneventful childhood, decided to study journalism. Enlisted with the Red Cross during World War One, got blown up in Milan and spent six months in hospital with severe shrapnel wounds in both legs, fell in love with a nurse, they decided to get married. He came home to prepare, she stayed there and ditched him for an Italian soldier, which initiated a life-long pattern of him rejecting women before they had a chance to reject him. Take note, Mattie. Got a job as a foreign correspondent, fell in love with his roommate's sister, married her and moved to Paris. They hung out with Gertrude Stein, they kicked it with Pablo Picasso, he started writing in earnest, moved to Toronto, had a kid, moved back to Paris, published a couple of books, cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, converted to catholicism ... ... ... Cut his head open after pulling on a cord thinking he was flushing a toilet, and instead ripped a skylight from the roof and smashed it onto his face, moved to Kansas City, had another kid, his dad committed suicide, he shot a lot of bears for some reason, had a car accident, had another kid, went to Africa to kill some wild animals and got dysentery - Karma! -, published another book, moved to Cuba, shot himself in the leg whilst aiming at a shark! Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, published "For Who the Bell Tolls", sold half a million copies in a couple of months and got nominated for a Pulitzer prize, cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, became the self-appointed leader of a band of village militia outside of Paris, and was subsequently brought up on charges for contravening the Geneva convention and got away with it like a FUCKING CHAMPION! Got pneumonia, moved back to Cuba, and spent most of his spare time on his boat, tracking nazi u-boats with a machine gun and a pile of hand grenades - I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Had a few more car accidents, three more concussions, got clawed while playing with a lion! ... Got depressed, drank, got fat, published a couple of more books, went back to Africa to shoot some more wild animals and barely survived two separate plane crashed in the space of twenty-four hours, winding up with a fractured skull, internal bleeding, cracked spine, ruptured liver, first degree burns, and a paralyzed sphincter muscle - Karma! -, won a Nobel prize, had a file opened on him by J. Edgar Hoover, left a bunch of shit in a safe in Cuba and moved to Idaho paranoid that the feds were following him, which they were, because he spent most of the nineteen fourties working for the KGB! AGAIN, NOT-MAKING-THIS-SHIT-UP! Suffered from hepatitis, nephritis, hypertension, hemochromatosis, anemia, and impotence - Karma! -, got committed, received way too much electroconvulsive therapy and came out all fucked up, started hinting at suicide so immediately got re-committed, received another couple of months worth of electroconvulsive therapy, got released, put both barrels of his favourite twelve gauge shotgun into his mouth, and BLEW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF. WHAT A GUY!!! (Applause) Ah... That is all true! What a fucking unit! Hemingway is the quintessential anti-hero, the talented, charismatic, belligerent, suicidal, alcoholic genius that can't keep his dick in his trousers. And he still found time to write about fifteen books! I've written one, and it took me ages, because I procrastinate like a motherfucker! I only got this written by doing most of the work in my local public library, because it's very difficult to masturbate in the reference section without getting caught. It's... It's almost impossible, in fact ... Almost. I don't even enjoy masturbating anymore, I just do it to avoid other tasks. And if it's something I really don't wanna do, I can seriously just go back-to-back wanks, just AARGH, just 'till it's painful, like NAAAAAAAAH, like hurty cum, like MWOOOAAARGH, WOOOMMMHHH MHHHH MMHHMHMMM RMMMMMHHHHOOkay fine I'll do the fucking dishes. And you know the weird thing about books is that you only really need to write one to be considered to be a great writer. Until last year, "To Kill a Mockingbird" was the only book that Harper Lee ever published. One book in eighty-nine years. To be fair that one book did win the Pulitzer prize and sold over fourty million copies, so she didn't really need to do another one, did she... - "Hey Harper, you gonna write another book?" - "Nope! Did you read the first one? FUCKING NAILED IT! FUCKING NAILED IT! I'm just doing the one. Just doing the one." Imagine if I did that. Came up here, told one joke, and then stared at you for fifty-eight minutes. - "You gonna tell another joke?" - "Nope! Did you hear the first one? FUCKING NAILED IT! I'm just doing the one." There's not many jobs where you can just do the one, is there... Just... Writers, and... Suicide bombers. Hard to do two of those... Or maybe UFC fighters that get punched in the head so hard in their first bout that cerebral fluid trickles out of their eye sockets. - "Ohhh, that's fucked Randy..." It happens. It's pretty much the perfect example of why we're sort of festering in this evolutionary cul-de-sac, isn't it? - "Welcome to planet earth, there's approximately seven billion of us, as you can see there's quite a few of us that don't have any clean drinking water, OH! Here's a large group of us that get paid millions of dollars to knee each other in the face! Obviously still... Ironing out a few of the kinks." Martial arts, mixed or otherwise, should not be the domain of fat-necked roughians trying to stomp on each other's ballsacks. Just as yoga should not be taught by twenty-two year old gym instructors that did a one week yoga retreat in Bali and now get around in low-slung fisherman pants with a bindy and a plat talking about mindfulness like they've ever had any fucking life experience at all. I'm sorry, you can tell me to relax and center myself when you spend maybe ten or fifteen years considering what that actually means. Until then, go back to taking photos of the froth on your coffee and shut the fuck up. And I'm torn! I'm torn because I do yoga! I buy oragnic vegetables. I blindly sign internet petitions without reading the fine print, give myself a good old pat on the back and go back to downloading hardcore pornography... I'm trying to be a good buddhist, I'm trying... But it's even difficult to identify as buddhist in the current climate without coming off as some sort of new-age pompous twat dipping his toe into the "What does it all mean?" kiddie pool while holding a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and staring lecherously across the back yard at your cousin's tits. - "Geez, Tamara's grown up since last Christmas, hasn't she..." And I mean, Buddha was just a dude who found enlightenment sometime around the fifth century, and he decided to stick around and talk about it, y'know. But he made it clear that everything's optional, I guess, y'know, "here's the thing I've discovered, I think it's pretty nifty, but you can find your own way through it". He was kind of like a benevolent woodwork teacher, just overseeing the workshop, but allowing his students to discover for themselves which machine is most likely to cut their fucking head off. - BRRRRRRRRRRR-WAUGH! - "It was that one, Gareth, well done. A plus, matey, A plus for you." And there's been loads of other buddhas since, right, but they haven't necessarily felt the calling to stick around and talk about it. I guess they just become enlightened and fuck off. I think that's fantastic. But ... Are you only enlightened if you're able to share it with people? Y'know? If I write a book and nobody reads it, is it still art? What is the collective noun for monkeys? ... ... ... Seriously, does anybody know what it is? I was trying to think of it all day. Anybody? (Inaudible audience response) What? (Audience member:) "Gang" Gang? Gang of monkeys? Coming through on my gang of monkeys, we're a little gang of monkeys, ooh-A-A-A! It's not gang! Anybody else? If you come up with something stupid, I'll sing a dumb song about it ..? What else? (Inaudible audience response) What is it? (Inaudible audience response) ... Oh you people are fucked. Does anybody know what it is? It's not barrel, by the way. It's troop. What, what did you say, uhh... Gang. Who-what, what's your name, who said gang? Where are you? (Victoria:) "Victoria." Victoria? How are you, Victoria? (Victoria:) "Great." Thanks for coming to my show. Hey, Victoria, riddle me this m'sister, have you read "Go Set a Watchman"? Harper Lee's new book? (Victoria:) "Naw." Naw. Has anybody read it? (Audience member:) "Half." Half. That is the best book review ever. - "I read half." Has anybody read "To Kill a Mockingbird"? (audience responds yes) yEES we reAD IT at scHOOL, fuck off. For those of you who haven't- for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, "Go Set a Watchman" was the Harper Lee book that came out last year, right, and if you don't know the backstory, alright, I'll just fill you in. Victoria, listen up. Um... Basically, Harper Lee, right? So, Harper Lee, she had a stroke in two thousand and seven, and until she died earlier this year, she was in like, assisted care, she was in a wheelchair, she was deaf and she was blind, and her sister Alice had been taking care of all of her affairs, until Alice died in twenty fourteen at the age of one hundred and three, like a fucking boss... Anyway before Alice died she was pretty much the last line of defence between Harper and this 'lawyer' that had just sort of been loitering in the wings, right. And when Alice died, this 'lawyer' just happened to discover the manuscript for "Go Set a Watchman" in the locked safety deposit box in an obscure vault in a random bank, where it had been busy minding its own business for the last fifty-six and a half years, and according to the 'lawyer', Harper was delighted that the manuscript had been discovered, and suddenly reversed her life-long vow to never ever ever publish another book ever ever again, particularly not "Go Set a Watchman" which she actually wrote before "To Kill a Mockingbird" and didn't think was very good. Other people think that maybe the 'lawyer' was attempting to get filthy rich by brutally fist-fucking an eighty-nine year old stroke victim, but the question is; ... ... ... The question is, if "To Kill a Mockingbird" had've stayed in that vault, alongside this newly discovered manuscript, would it still technically be a work of literary genius? Or is it only when something's been evaluated by the world and possibly someone's made some cash off it that it's considered to be valid artistic expression? Is art only art once it's been witnessed? Acknowledged? If I don't take a bow at the end of this show, does it devalue the performance? Will you feel unsatisfied? Or rejected? ... I recently read that book "The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work" by Alaine de Button, and in it, he says; "we might consider art as anything which pushes our thoughts in important, yet neglected directions". Now, I'd like to consider what I do artistic expression, but that sort of poses the question - do people really need their thought pushed in the direction of old ladies being brutally fist-fucked? Is that my artistic legacy? Is that what I'm gonna leave behind? Y'know, "Randy... He was the old lady fisting guy, wasn't he? Eh. Very droll, very droll. Yeah." Because Ernest Hemingway is remembered more for his literary talents than for being an insufferable cunt with a penchant for killing shit and cheating on his multiple wives, does his artistic legacy outshine his tactless and unfortunate personal life? Is it better to be a mindful human that leaves no palpable remnants of artistry behind, or a violently unlikeable sexual deviant that shits handfuls of heart-breakingly beautiful sonnets and sonnatas out of his asshole before brunch? Because it's the image of the tortured, self-destructive artist that prevails nine times out of ten. Amy Winehouse was just a girl that wanted to sing some songs, do you know what I mean? So... Should I just keep my fucking mouth shut? And try to navigate towards enlightenment, leaving behind an intangible trail of good deeds? Or do I dive deeper and deeper into the inky, black ocean of self-destruction and self-indulgence until I nail my chosen art form, leaving an echo for the eternal wonderment of countless future generations that will just breeze over my asshole personality? ... it's what's keeping me up in the night times. Eh... (Pause) Y'know, from the moment we're born we become less than human? You know that? E-... E-hh... Eh... All the bacteria from our mother is passed onto us on the way out of the womb, and from then on, we just continue to collect shit, on the inside and the outside, until the day we expire. Occasionally, you get to choose what that shit is, but most of the time you have very little say in where it comes from or when. You just have to duck and weave your way through the shit for as long as you can, until the chunk of shit with your name on it finally-AAARGH! cleans you up. Look, I know this was billed as a comedy, but a-ha-ha-HAA! LET'S TALK ABOUT DEATH! Woo! There are some pretty fucking ridiculous ways to die, though- OH, like that guy, that scuba diver they found when they put out the bush fire! *oh my go-od have you heard this fucking sto-ory?* They put out, like, a bush fire, and they found a dude in full scuba gear, and they figured out that the water bomber plane or helicopter that scoops up the water to put out the fire accidentally picked up a diver and dumped him into the flames! What a fucked up way to go! It's pretty much the polar opposite of "He died peacefully in his sleep", isn't it? Just dumped out of a plane into a blazing inferno... with a highly flammable gas tank instead of a parachute strapped to your back? - "NOOoo!" (Explosion noice) "I just wanted to look at the fish..." What do you say to his family? - "Uhh... At least he died doing what he loved." Well, he was a firefighter that enjoyed skydiving and water sports, but I'm not sure he ever wanted to combine the three... That's better, isn't it? - "Tell more jokes you little purple fucker." I had a good joke the other day - How do you know if a hippie has been to your house? ... They're still there. Haa... How do you know if someone's vegan? ... They'll tell you, yes, ahaHAHAA! Hahahaha, I'm vegan. Um... I initially became vegan for environmental and ethical reasons, and now I just do it to give people the shits at dinner parties. Like, - "Get it away, I can't eat that, meat is murder, STOP HAVING FUN EVERYONE!" It's a funny conversation, the vegan one, you bring it up, people just go - "... shut up fuckhead" But it's funny, 'cuz you know you don't actually need to eat meat. You don't NEED it. Nobody actually needs it. Unless you're on hemodialasys and you have to inhale a rare porterhouse steak every three hours to stop your kidneys backing in, you don't actually need it. That makes it a choice, and it's your choice. As long as you understand that that choice is born from belief and that particular belief is called "carnism". It's an inherited belief system that sort of conditions us to eat meat, and the notion is so... pervasive, I guess, it's viewed as a given rather than a choice. But it's totally a choice. - "Where do you get your proteins from then you little poofter!?" PEAS! (Gasp) It's crazy. And I know it's easy to just lump veganism in with all the other food allergies and just go - "They're the annoying fuckheads that don't eat the good stuff" which I get, I totally get... We're having Christmas at my house this year, right? Three months out, my cousin calls me to discuss her son, my cousin's son, which makes him... Someone I couldn't give a fuck about, anyway; She calls me up, the first thing she says - she doesn't even say hello - the first thing she says is "Brayden can't have blue." - "What the fuck? - "BRAYDEN can't eat BLUE FOODS." Apparently this kid, if he eats anything with a blue food preservative in it, he just KLKH (imitates death) just taps out. That is bullshit! Firstly, don't call your kid Brayden. Secondly... secondly, blue is not even a natural colour for foodstuffs. It occurs very rarely in nature- name me one blue food. (Audience member:) "Blueberry." BLUEBERRIES ARE FUCKING PURPLE! I'm talking about mentos blue, like seven eleven slushie blue, what flavour is that? Fucking highlighter? - "Ah no Randy, blue means mint-" MINT IS GREEN- if you planted mint and it came up blue, you would SET that SHIT on FIRE. - "And that's cool! It's cool! it's like ice, it's like water!" Water is clear. The only time water is blue, is when there's billions of tonnes of it and it's all in the one spot. And then it's got all sorts of shit in it, like salt, and SHARKS ... BLUE MEANS SHARKS IN IT! don't eAt iT it'S gOT SHARKS IN IT! You know, when sharks eat people, it's fucked, but it shits me how they immmediately go out and kill the shark like - "awrH it's gONe roGUe. iT's gOnE rOgUE!" No it hasn't, it's just doing what millions of years of evolution have programmed it to do, fucking swim around eating shit. - "yeeeeeeeah but ... ... ... it came into our bit. thIs bit's oUR bit oF tHe ocEAn." No-see that bit there? That big fucking wet bit? That's its bit. This bit here, all of this dry bit here, that you're standing on with your legs, your legs that have evolved to stand on the dry bit, that's your bit. You go into its bit, you're going to get bit. That's the lesson. ... Paddle out next to a seal colony and wiggle your ass around like a slutty little ol' dove, complaining when you get munched. It's that weird disconnect, y'know, it's the same thing as carnism, it's like if I imagine a pig is just a pig, and all pigs are the same, then I can detach what is on my plate from how it got there. It's just how most of us are brought up, y'know. But if you saw someone slit the throat of a Labrador, and then string it upside down to die an excrutiating death just squirming and bleeding out at the end of a steel hook, you'd think it was a bit fucked. How is a pig any different? It's not. It's actually not ... I said that on stage in Rock Hampton, in Queensland about four months ago. I was like, "how is a pig any different?", and a man in the audience yelled out "BACON!". Touché, sir. You win this round. He actually came up to me after the show - I was standing at the merch desk not selling anything - and he-.. I saw him coming from the other side of the room, just this massive dude, like - (stomping noises) - "Ah, you're a large man" and he said - "I was the one that said bacon" - "fucking don't kill me" and he goes - "nah, you alright mate, you alright mate, you alr-" It's the most passive-aggressive Aussie male thing you can say to another- - "naah, you alright mate, you-" It basically means "I wanna punch your fucking head in, but I don't wanna upset me misses. You alright mate." Anyway, he goes to me, - "Mate, you're not gonna make any friends in rock hampton being vegan. Did you know that Rocky is actually the beef capital of Australia-" - "ah fuck I didn't know that" - "-with over two and a half million head of cattle within a two point five k radius of the town centre?" - "fuck I didn't know that either" - "And that is a fair wack of the thirteen million head of cattle in Queensland alone, seventy percent of which is bred purely for export. Few fun facts for ya matey, few fun facts." I said - "thank you sir I did not know any of that" Did you know that, globally, cows produce thirty-eight percent more greenhouse gas than every single car, truck, bus, boat, train, and plane combined each year? That breeding animals for food uses up one third of the planet's fresh water? Takes up fourty-five percent of the earth's surface, and is responsible for a whopping ninety-one percent of amazon destruction, making it the number one leading cause of species extionction, resource consumption, and environmental degradation destroying the planet on a daily basis? FEW FUN FACTS FOR YA MATEY, FEW FUN FACTS FOR YA! Now, I'm aware this is in danger of becoming a TED talk at this point... - "jesus, a lot of statistics, is there gonna be a test?" It's alright, it's fine, I'll read the book, alright? I'll read the book. Not forcing my opinions on you, I'm merely saying them with a microphone, and you're paying for it. LOCK THE DOORS-no, seriously, okay, here we go. Khm. I'm gonna read the book. Y'know we've got McDonald's home delivery now? Does anyone do that? (Audience responds) You... You do? You know you can already get it in your car? You can get it without getting out of your car, but what McDonald's have now done is they've removed the gruelling walk from the front door to the car, so you no longer have to do that humiliating - "BWAAAAAARGGGGGHHHHH- WUUUUUUUUUAHHHH! OOOOOOOAAAAARGGHHHH! Now I have to reverend carpool! Oh, God damn you, God damn you -click- MRRRRRRGHHHH! HMMMMMRGHH! MMMMOOUUHHH WHY CANNOT THEY JUST BRING IT TO MEIN HAUS?" Well now they can. I think it's a good thing. Keep the fatties off the streets, STOP 'EM HOGGING UP THE FOOT PATHS, if they wanna eat shit, let them do it in their own home- WHO'S WITH ME? (Audience starts applauding) Don't clap that, it's a horrible thing to say. yoU'RE moNSTerS! ... Okay. You all good Mattie? Sweet. Okay, here we go. Blblblblbl, okay, kh-hm, alright, here we go, buggedabuggedabuggeda, okay. Stop it! Okay ... Do you like my typewriter, by the way? Isn't it beautiful? It's basically here just as a prop, but occasionally I am always tempted to just go ... (humming). Eh? A few "Murder She Wrote" fans in the house? Heyo? Everyone else going - "What? What is that? Sounds like an old person's joke." ... it is! It is! It totally is! Alright. Here we go. Okay, fuck, here we go. Blblblblbl. Walking to Skye, chapter one ... I bought a bookshelf on Gumtree recently, um, it was an amazing experience, I'll quickly tell you about it and then I'll read the book, but- I found it strange, becasue it made me start to think about the way our, like, methods of communication have sort of changed over the years, y'know? In the old days, if you wanted a bookshelf, you'd just go see Gareth the Bookshelf Guy, 'cuz he was the dude in your tribe that made the bookshelves, he had a little bookshelf cave, he was REPUTABLE. Now any mad bastard can sell their shit on Gumtree, you know what I mean? As a species, we're sort of able to cope with knowing and gossiping around like a hundred, or a hundred and fifty people. That's like the limit of our tribe. Any more than that, it starts to get confusing, which is why we created abstract constructs like territories and deities to unite larger groups of people under an imaginary common factor. And it works the trick, because we only really gather en masse on special occasions, but I think like social media and mmmh... It's fucking all that up, y'know? I think we're able to deal with the thousands of people we're connected to on a daily basis, and as a result we neglect our immediate one fifty, y'know? That's why I never get invited to parties anymore. It's not 'cuz I ramble on about veganism and fisting old ladies, it's because I'm not on facebook and everybody just assumes you are. I am so behind on the births, deaths, and marriages of my friends that I feel like the time traveller's wife every time I go to a party, I'm like... - "This is Tim, he's our son, he's six now-" - "Fucking... Didn't even know you were pregnant." Anyway, you know smartphones, aren't they great? You know that, right, they're not, they're not that great, you don't need the internet in your pocket, you work at Cole's, okay? You're not working for the president, you don't need it, you don't need that much information. And also, what was the point of developing opposable thumbs for you to take a photo of your head, post it on the internet, and then just stand by for validation. No-one gives a fuck about your head! They'll only validate it in order to gain permission to post a photo of their own head on the internet and stand by for validation. The people who give a fuck about your head will at some point see it in real life. Fuck your head and the neck it rode in on. Your vanity is sucking up my bandwidth ... Anyway this is what's going through my head as I'm on Gumtree looking for a bookshelf, because- you know when you put something on the... on the... in like... in the search in booktree- in booktree? what the fuck- When you put something in the search on Gumtree - I'm having a stroke up here - When you put something in the search, right, and like, there's always a couple of things that come up in the list that are like the polar opposite of what you searched for, and like "get out of my head gumtree algorithms, CONSPIRACY!"? No but seriously, it's all you type, it's like "bookshelf", and it's all bookshelf, bookshelf, bookshelf, grammophone? Huh. Bookshelf, bookshelf, bookshelf, combine harvester? What the fuck? ... Huh, that's actually a pretty good price. Anyway, on this particular day, I found two bookshelves that worked for me, in terms of cost, and more importantly, geographical convenience, 'cuz I'd be fucked if I'm driving to Broad Meadows to pick up a bookshelf, right? So I type in bookshelf, and I see the two things, and I'm like okay, one seller is Cathy, the other is Morgan. I send them both the same text message, "Hello! I saw your bookshelf on gumtree, is it still available?". Cathy texts back straight away, saying - "sorRRY iT wENt thIS MorNING!" - "That's cool, Cathy, I'm sorry I gave you an annoying voice in the retelling of this story." Morgan's response came through a couple of minutes later, and simply read, - "It was my wife's bookshelf." ... HOW DO YOU RESPOND TO THAT? Aside from the fact that it doesn't answer my fucking question... His use of past tense in that sentence unnerved me slightly. I'm like, aahhh, I should probably just find another bookshelf... And then I noticed he lived in the suburb next to me, so I replied; - "Is it still available?" He responded with the letter Y. Just a Y. Is he asking me why I wanna know if it's still available? Or is it a Y for "yes", and he's so in the throws of grief that he can't manage the E and the S? I assume it's a Y for "yes" and respond, - "Cool! I'll take it. When's a good time to come and pick it up?" No reply for fifteen minutes, I'm like... ah he's forgotten about it, fuck it, I'll find another bookshelf, and then when his reply actually does come through I realize he spent those fifteen minutes crafting his response, because it's a FUCKING THESIS. He must've felt so bad about only using a single consonant in his previous text that he just massively overcompensated with this one. Also, for some reason, felt that the use of punctuation? Entirely unnecessary. So it's just one obscenely long sentence, which reads; - "You must come and pick up now I only have short time here at house and also it wide so bring van or trailer and there's stair but I can help you carry it down stair if you come park out front walk up path ring bell and I will help you carry it to trailer or van I only accept cash and if you do not come now I will sell it someone else" (Shriek) Again I'm thinking, ahhh, I should just find another bookshelf at this point, but now I am FASCINATED by Morgan, and I simply must meet the man. So I drive over to his house- before I left, I sent him a message saying - "Cool, I'll be there in ten minutes" and he replied "ok", but spelled it OK-A-Y which just fascinated me more, that he'll use four letters to spell a two letter word, but only one letter to spell a three letter word, MORGAN IS OFF THE FUCKING CHAIN! And as I'm driving over to his house, I'm trying to picture what he's gonna be like, y'know... His pidgin English might suggest ethnicity of some sort, but I don't wanna racially profile him; Maybe he's an old man who recently lost his wife and is not that very good at texting, or maybe, and I'm really hoping this is the case, Morgan is just batshit crazy. So I get to his house, and I go up to the- ehe, I park out front walk up path ring bell, and I... I brace myself for the door to be opened by like, an old man in a smoking jacket, wearing fishnet stockings and suspenders, just puffing on an opium pipe while a butler just creepily polishes a goldfish in the background, and then a tiny pugdog wearing a fez hat just trots up the hallway, sits on the mat, looks up at me and says "RELCOME TO OUR ROVERY ROME!"... And then the door opens, and I am thoroughly disappointed. Before me stands an average caucasian male in his mid-thirties, dressed casually, hipster sheek, stubble, glasses with designer frames, expensive watch - I immediately think "architect?" but the house is too cheesy for that - it's like a double story doll's house with bay windows - but definitely a designer of some kind? Maybe a graphic designer? He's too skinny for manual labour, but he's too hip for the public sector, BUT THIS CAN'T BE MORGAN. Because Morgan's text messages would suggest that he's not that technically savvy, and then the man standing in front of me says - "Hello my name is Morgan" AND THE PLOT THICKENS! He invites me in, shakes my hand, closes the door, and twenty minutes later, I will be witnessing Morgan perform some of the most aggressive acts of violence I've ever seen in my life, and I will be speeding away in my car bleeding from the face. Here's how this shit went down... I go into the house, and I notice two things immediately; One, this is a house in the throws of renovation. Nothing too extreme, but there's like drop sheets on all the furniture, there's freshly painted walls, there's a bathtub wrapped in plastic in the hallway, awaiting installation- someone's doing some work on this house. The second thing I notice, on the way up the stairs to the second floor, on the first floor landing, is a wedding photograph featuring a very cleanly shaven Morgan with a very beautiful bride. Very much in love! The photograph is very much on the floor, and the glass in the frame is very much smashed. She's not dead, she's left him, and THE PLOT THICKENS A BIT MORE FOR MORGAN! And as Morgan unceremoniously like, kicks the photo frame to one side on the way up the stairs, I really wanted to pry into Morgan's life and ask heaps of inappropriate questions... But he was clearly a broken man. He had this terrible air of sadness around him, so I didn't wanna intrude. Luckily for me, though, I didn't have to, because Morgan immediately began oversharing and told me the whole fucking story aaAAAH! Thank you Morgan! I shall hang off your every word and then retell your tale to two hundred strangers and record it for a fucking DVD! He IS a graphic designer -YES!- and he's really good at it. He does like massive rebranding campaigns for large corporations, he gets flown all over the world doing this shit, right? About four years ago, a woman hired Morgan to rebrand her florist business, and he did such a great job she married him. And he thought everything was just fine, until about three months ago. Morgan had to do a presentation in Sydney, right? But he was on his way home from overseas and got stuck in Dubai due to a flight cancellation, so rather than cancel the meeting, Morgan suggested to these businessmen in Sydney that they do a Skype chat, because he's so technologically savvy, despite his fucking baffling text message style. So Morgan checks into a hotel, cracks open his laptop, and starts skyping with this room full of businessmen in Sydney, who are all watching Morgan on a massive screen on their boardroom wall, right? And everything's going great, Morgan is totally nailing it, until about halfway through; He realizes that a file he wants to show these dudes is on the desktop of his home computer back in his home office in Melbourne. And he decides to live share the desktop of his home computer on the Skype chat. He knows how to do that, he can remote control his computer from anywhere in the world, it's not particularly new technology, but Morgan makes it sound so impressive. So this room full of businessmen are all watching keenly, like - "OOAHP! MARGARET, BRING IN SOME BISCUITS, THERE'S SOME NEW-FANGLED SHIT GOING ON IN HERE!!!" as Morgan clicks a few buttons and (click) brings up the desktop of his home computer on the Skype chat. Now, what Morgan doesn't realize is that his wife has been using the "Photobooth" app on that particular computer to take pictures of herself. To take naked pictures of herself. To take naked pictures of herself... doing some pretty fucked up shit. It's embarassing, to say the least, just as Margaret came back in with the biscuits- - "I've got you the b-WHUIEAAAAURRRHHH!!!" Now, those of you who are familiar with the Photobooth app will know that how it works, is it accesses the built-in camera in your computer and with the click of a button, (click) takes a photo of you when you're standing in front of your screen. And if you know that, you also know that if you leave that application open, the camera also stays open, witnessing whatever may be happening in front of the computer, in real time. Such as your wife, in your home office, fucking your best mate. OOOOOOOOOO NOOOOOOOO MOOOOOOOORGANNNN... Nooooo... Morgan then goes on to tell me she's keeping the house, his former best mate is moving in, and while they're out for the day shopping for fittings, Morgan must suffer the indignity of moving his shit out, and selling the stuff they don't want on Gumtree to this guy. Ahhh... It's at this point of the story that Morgan starts crying, he breaks down, and I do not blame the man, it's fucking horrible and I just wanna give him a big hug and say "Everything's gonna be alright, Morgan", but I am holding the full weight of a BOOKSHELF halfway down a set of STAIRS and Morgan is the only thing stopping that bookshelf from caving my face in- I was like, MORGAN! MMMMORGAN! And Morgan managed to pull himself together ... for about eight seconds? And then just went BAHHH and let the bookshelf go. I fell backwards, it literally rolled over me, and took out the light hanging above the staircase, I'm now lying on my back getting showered in broken glass, as the bookshelf turned end over end and just went FONK right through a freshly painted wall at the bottom of the stairs. I'm like, AAH. aaAAAh. aaAAAAAAhhh. aaAAAAAHHH. I've got a tiny cut on my forehead which is just pissing blood, for some reason - apart from that, I'm fine. Morgan, however - he's not fine! Morgan is the opposite of fine. Something happened when the bookshelf lodged itself in the wall and his sadness just (click) went away in a second, and he started PISSING HIMSELF laughing. Hysterical. And he had the creepiest laugh I've ever heard in my life- I'm standing there like "this is weird" and he's like "mwhueHUEUEEUEUEUE! mhhwuEUEUEUE!" like some sort of demonically possessed baritone cookaburra, - "mwhueEUUEUEE, a-HOGUGUGUGAGAGAGA!" - "Um... Uh..." - "mwueEUEUUEUEUE" - "can I still have the bookshelf?" - "yuuEEEEAAH" We extract it from the wall - the bookshelf, incidentally, showing no sign of having just rolled down a staircase and smashed through a wall. We carry it out to my car- we had to stop about six times, 'cuz Morgan was like - "Hang on a minute, mwueHUEUEUEUEUEE" We got it to my car, put it on the trailer, and Morgan was in such a great mood he let me have the bookshelf for free. Ohh! Hahaha... Mm... And that's where the story SHOULD end. But there was something about the bookshelf going through the wall that flipped a fucking switch in Morgan's head, and he is now hungry for more destruction. So as I started tying the bookshelf down to my trailer, Morgan just strolls over to like an upright mailbox on the front lawn and just starts trying to wrench it out of the ground. Really putting his back into it. I'm like, "are you okay buddy" and he's like "YEAP" (struggling) HUAH! He pulls it out of the ground whereupon he wields it like a fucking battleaxe and just starts smashing up the front garden, just beheading the daisies, fucking up the lavender... I'm like, "uhh, hey Morgan, maybe you wanna stop and think about that" and he whirled around and looked at me like Jack Nicolson chasing Shelly Duvalle up the stairs in the shining and said - "WHY DON'T YOU MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS?" ... yep, yep, cool, man, yep, yep... Now, I like tying knots. I'm quite good at tying knots if I tie something down I take my time because I want it to stay there... But as Morgan nonchalantly strolled up the driveway, rolled up the garage door, and put the mailbox through the windscreen of an Audi!? I must admit, I kind of rushed my knot tying job. I got in my car, I'm about to drive off, I'm like, looking at the house going "ah, I'm sure he'll be fine" and then an armchair smashed out of an upstairs window and just went DOINK DOINK DOINK DOINK down the front lawn. I was like "... what's my duty of care in this situation?". I didn't want to call the cops on him, I didn't want him to trash the house, I'm like - "daw fuck I'm gonna have to talk to Morgan" So I got out, I walked up the driveway shitting myself- you know when someone does something really violent and you're just like "ah, fuck, we're not supposed to do shit like that!"? Yucky, just yucky feeling in my tum-tum- and I'm standing there, standing there in the garage and there's like an adjoining door in the garage that leads into the house. I can see in through the door into the house, up the staircase, it's like a wooden staircase, and I'm standing in the garage just going - "ah fuck..." (gulp) "morgaaaan. Morgaaaan!" Like I was calling a cat for its dinner? "Morgan! Moggie-moggie-moggie-moggie-moggie!" And then I notice a small trickle of water start to come from the top step. And then a little bit more water, and then QUITE A LOT OF WATER, just pissing down the stairs like shitty water feature, I'm like "aw that can't be right" and then Morgan appeared on the top step holding a hammer like this: - "BAAAH!" (jumps out) I was like - "WOAH!" and he's like - "mwhuEUEUEUE" Starts running at me wielding the hammer, like "UEUEUEUE", I'm like "aw no no I just wanted to buy a bookshelf..." he's like "UEUEUEUEUEUE-.. RRAH!" runs straight past me, I'm like - "Where are you going?" he's like - "UEEEH!" made a beeline for my car, I'm like - "NO, MAN! STOP!" he's like - "UEUEUEUEUUEUE" - "STOP IT! JUST STOP!" He spins around and goes - "I just checked my phone, she texted me fifteen minutes ago saying she'll be here in fifteen minutes, WE'RE GONNA GO!" and gets into my car! - "fucking... jesus... fuck me" I run down the lawn, get in the driver's seat, I'm like - "What was with the water?" he goes - "Ah, I put plugs in all of the sinks and turned all the taps on!" I'm like - "Oh that's fucked" He's like - "JUST DRIVE!" I was like - "AAH!" I took off so quick, rounded the corner of his street, and the bookshelf just went "mrrreeUUWh-BOOSH" and exploded against the guard rail, just exploded in a shower of badly tied knots and broken dreams... So me and Morgan just fucking left it there, like a little breadcrumb for his ex wife to find on the way home to her destroyed gingerbread house. I dropped Morgan at a train station. I have never seen him again. And that, my friends, is why I no longer shop on Gumtree. Thank you very much! Thank you very much. (Applause) Haha, ah, fuck... You know my favourite bit of that story? I just made it up. Yes, not true. There is no Morgan. MMMH! It's very unsatisfying, isn't it? - "But I saw him in my head. I saw Morgan in my head." ... ... ... Why is it we can feel so robbed when someone tells us a story we just heard isn't true, and yet so satisfied at the end of a fictional novel? Y'know? You know that? ... You know the other great thing about that story? First draft. FUCK YOU HEMINGWAY! ... (sigh) Can't end on that, can I? - "Those LIES? WE DID NOT COME HERE TO BE HOODWINKED, SIR!" The truth, eh? ... The truth is, I'm... I'm not an exceptional person, y'know? Nothing interesting really ever happens to me, I'm massively flawed, and I think I'm quite forgettable, if I'm being a hundred percent honest. And this isn't the shit bit at the end of the show where I get on the cross, I'm like "lOve mE on the wAY OUt thE doOr". It's not that, it's just that I don't think- on a scale from one to memorable, I'm not that memorable. Not on like the Morgan sort of scale, not on the Ernest Hemingway scale, certainly, y'know... But if I tell a great story, maybe people will remember that instead. Remember the card trick and just... pretend that they don't know how it's done, y'know? ... But must we leave a legacy? MUST we make an impact? Do we HAVE TO leave a footprint? Is it okay to just settle, seek safety, nest, y'know? Or must we constantly shake our lives up, or suffer the indiscriminate cruelty of having it shaken against our will? Must we try to carve a path through the tall grass, feeling as though no-one has ever felt how we feel? Terrified at what may be lurking low in the grass on either side of us, but just pressing ever on with that paleolithic instinct deep within our chromosomes that the only way is forward, that you HAVE TO keep going? That eventually you'll stumble upon the edge of the field, hitch a ride from a passing car, and meet up with the rest of the gang for tea and sandwiches at the old town hall? ... (deep breath) Do we feel like the path that we are carving through the grass is all our own? Only to finally float above the field with the sweet relief of expiration and realize that the field is insignificantly miniscule in size, and that there's only one path through the grass - the exact same one that every human has trod before us will ever after, just stumbling blindly along a tiny hyphen between the words "birth" and "death". And when reduced to that level of crisp simplicity, fear cannot exist ... So. (pausing, readying) Phew. Walking to Skye, chapter one: (Blackout) (Applause and credits)

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th3okamid3mon · 4 years

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The Lighthouse, somehow charming to disturbing [SPOILERS]

What happens when you have 2 man inside an isolated house? NOTHING GOOD! NOTHING. GOOD. AT ALL!

Sinopsis:

2 lighthouse keepers are doing 4 weeks shift at an isolated and mysterious island in New England while fighting the desires to succumb into insanity. The tension between them grows as time passes, even though they can no longer decipher the time of day.

Photography, sound and edition:

BOI, WHERE DO I BEGIN!? OH I KNOW! THE CAMERA. The first thing that intrigue me about this movie is the black and white and that it´s shot in 1. 19:1 (For those who don´t know what that means, its the dimensions you see the movie, for example: a widescreen television in full hd would be 16:9). Seriously, this could possibly fool someone into thinking it´s an old movie, a literal movie from the 1930´s or 40´s. But NOPE! ITS FROM THIS CENTURY! BUT WAIT! THERE´S MORE!

SO! It was shot using a Panavision Millenium XL2, which it still uses film. Some people think movies are shot with digital cameras now days and that film is completely obsolete. Well, a couple movies have been shot with film and in color. Film can and does have a really good quality, a lot of directors still like to use film to shoot the movies and then transfer the movie to digital. Some directors digitalize the movie, edits it and then imprints it in film! A mexican cinematographer called Gerardo Barroso explain in a conference in 2012 at the FIC UABC (International Film Festival UABC) how he does that because he liked the film more than the digital due to certain details it gives, specially to the colors and general shots, one of the movies shoot completely in film was 2011 Los Ultimos Cristeros. 2011. Let that sink in. Back to The Lighthouse, this movie was film with Eastman Double X film, this type of film is only in black and white and they also used a custom filter to give the stylization you see here:

They also used a vintage , 1930´s Baltar Lens to give it more the old fashion movies style. This people went full on for the ¨super¨ old aesthetic.

It looks completely like a 40´s or 50´s movie, but the sound gives it away as a modern film. The shots used were also kind of vintage or old; lots of use of closeups, really open general shots of the lighthouse and the sea, several shots to fill in the spots. Those filler shots are actually used for a very bad trip Robert Pattinson´s character has, imagining having sex with a mermaid and being tangled into octopus and then coming out of conscious not realizing whether he is in the past or in the present.

The photography works really well in representation the absurdly, horrifying isolation the characters feel and the imagery becomes grotesque with the characters as they become even more aggressive and insane.

One thing that isn´t as appreciated or doesn´t seem as appreciated is the sound design. Not only the music, all the sounds. The deafening sound of the alarm, the motor that powers the light, the sound of the waves as they turn from calm and relaxing to roaring with fury as if god himself was punishing this men for existing. Every single sound is done with care, nothing was out of place nor excessive. You could say certain sounds become annoying like the seagulls or the alarm but that´s the point. You are experiencing the same annoyances as the characters, you have to know what (at least one of them) they are going through in that isolated place. There´s nothing! Nothing. No other people. Only this old farty man and the seagulls and the sea. And when you are trapped for 4 weeks only listening to that, it can drive anyone insane.

The editing is energetic, taking care of how every shot works for every moment. At the beginning there´s this unknowing feeling because we dont know the place, the character we follow (Robert Pattinson´s) is walking around, getting to know the place. We see it being a slow edit, it has slow moments, just getting used to the place. As time pass, we can see quicker shots, they dont stay in screen for a long time. There´s more cuts, quicker cuts. When you want a succumbing to insanity sensation of course you need the actors to act and the art design to be showing part of the story and the sound, but timing is important. if you leave a shot too long, it will mean something completely different. It was careful with each and every shot, and the timing was spot on, leaving just the appropriate amount of time to see what was going on and confuse the living shit out of everyone when the characters were tripping horribly.

Art design:

Every department in a movie is highly important, in this case it was crucial. A lot of investigation must have been done to get the proper clothes, specially if it was gonna be filmed in black and white. You CANNOT use whatever clothes in whatever color, you have to make sure those colors aren´t too dark or too bright, if they are too dark there will be sub-exposure, if they are too bright there will be over exposure. It had to be in a specific palette to make sure the film doesnt fuck up. Not only did they had to search what kind of clothes were used in 1890, but also what the building was made of, the boats, the materials, the food, what did they eat? what did they drink? in what did they drink? HOW DID THEY GO TO THE BATHROOM? Everything was thought out.

There were certain things like the make up or special effects that kind of confused me, it wasn´t until there was blood involve that caught my attention. In certain scenes the blood is in gray tones, but then when more blood is involve it turns into black, not dark gray, completely black. It strike me a lot.

SPOILERY, IT INVOLVES PART OF THE END, SKIP IT IF YOU WANT: there´s a part where William Dafoe´s characters turns or is viewed as a octopus and starts spewing ink. Robert Pattinson´s Character is covered in blood as he hits this character and it looked grayish, but when he goes into the lighthouse his face is completely black. I don´t know if it was on purpose, i think it was part of his delusion and hallucination. It popped too much and it was almost out of nowhere.

All and all, it was done amazingly, they did amazingly with the design of the house and the lighthouse. They dodge a bullet with the boat, i bet that would´ve been a lot more work to design or try to get. I mean, they still got a boat but they only did closeups and really limited view shots, there was no way you could see the boat completely and say if it was a modern model or an old model. The dirt and filthiness gross me out, i left the movie theater feeling filthy and gross, not only for how it looked but also for what I saw.

Writing and Characters:

As I said before, the film has the vintage, oldy but goody look and aesthetic. That´s really clear, but you have no idea what I meant. They really went full on the look and the writing. Hearing this two actors talk reminds me so much of an old movie. They talk too much! They spew a lot of sentences that sometimes don´t mean much? I mean, William Dafoe´s character talks like a sailor, because he is one and talks with riddles or just rhymes sometimes. At first glance they dont mean much, but if you paid attention to all he says it´s all foreshadowing for the cruel and awful finale.

The way they speak gets you back, it´s nothing you´ve heard before, by that I mean you would never hear anyone talk somehow like this. I dont think sailors talk like this anymore unless its for a gag. ¨Ya´hear?¨ ¨Ay, sir!¨ ¨YER A FILTHY BASTERD¨ ¨YER NOTHING BUT A DAWG¨. The accents gives a bit more of what era they are in, the writing itself does it though.

Man, oh man! My filthy pair of sexually charged man. This two are GONE. Or at least William Dafoe´s is. You have an old, obsess man who loves the light and refers to it as his wife; he spews about his life in the sea and eventually you start to think whether that man is just bark and no bite or bite with no bark. Did I mention this man is hella superstitious? Thing he tells the other guy? ¨You better not mess with the ´gulls. They are the spirits of sailors died at sea¨. He´s been alone for a while and his last second in command was described as dead and mad. HMMM.... Weird! And then you have the new second in command, new, responsible, hard working and has this mysterious vibe, something he is keeping to himself which is eating him from the inside out (if you get it, you get it).

There´s not much you can decipher from this two. They start as just two man in a lighthouse, one is the boss the other a subordinate, nothing more nothing less. Then they become a bit more friendly to each other, but its more of a job friendly type of thing since it is a job they have to do. Tension begins to boil up when they discover they are alone and isolate for who knows how long due to the boat of provisions not coming after the 4 weeks. This characters dont develop much in the story and that´s fine. Both are not exactly thrilling, it´s what they do that becomes interesting. William Dafoe´s character is shown as gross, apathetic, strict and superstitious as well as stubborn but becomes a little more sympathetic. Why? Because we then know Robert Pattinson´s character a not more. He is (probably) a murderer, he took the lighthouse job with other name because he was a wanted man? and he was escaping his old life. He was already deranged when he got there, he had more probabilities of killing anyone. And then we discovered, the old man had killed before! So non of them are likeable, can be charismatic but not good at all.

The plot is simple, the characters show emotions and certain 3Dimensionality but since they become even more of an asshole we kind of top caring about what happen to them. I guess the ending is more of delight to audience since we see them both get punish. Then again, I feel more bad about the old man than the new guy. He was an asshole in secret and ended up being an outed asshole.

Conclusion:

All and all, this movie is not for everyone. It has a nice pace and it´s interesting. The plot is simple, almost non-existent, what intrigues is the whole eeriness of the place and the situation that becomes super explosive really quick, it´s not a bad thing it´s more of a wake up alarm that hits you with a bat. It has quite the graphic imagery (sex, nudity, masturbation, animal killing in a VERY GRAPHIC AND HORRIFYING WAY, I HOPE IT WASN´T A REALLY ANIMAL MY GOD) that I dont think its for shock value, i think each have a reason to be and I understand it, it doesn´t mean it was shocking and disturbing though. Something I also didn´t expect was the chemistry between William Dafoe and Robert Pattinson, they work really well. Their acting was spot on and well done. Robert Pattinson has done other acting jobs, unfortunately some of those are from really bad movies which is a shame cause his acting is phenomenal. Thank god for this movie, not to discredit Dafoe but the one shining is Pattinson.

It is like a love letter to the film making from back in the old days, it could become a good stylization. A lot of movies with this old backgrounds are emerging and I dont see it as a bad thing though I can see it a bit of a problem. I feel it´s saying ¨The old days were better¨ but then again, what era hasn´t done that? Oh wait, the ones where vaccines didnt exist... In all seriousness, this could potentially inspire people to use the old gears or at least achieve this type of aesthetic to tell a story, it´s saying ¨IM NOT OBSOLETE YET, AND I WILL MAKE SURE OF IT¨ Film is an old material to use but it obviously shows it´s still kicking... for now.

I do recommend it if you like thrillers, it is really eery, it is full of tension and gives you a weird claustrophobic and isolated sensation.

NOTE: I´d say no minor should watch this, but I feel they would only want to watch it more, here i go though: If you are a minor, SERIOUSLY, DONT. it depicts graphic deaths, graphic explicit sex scenes and general grossness, they were from the 1890, don´t expect them to be or act clean. I walk out of the movie theater feeling gross and dirty, never felt that way before after watching a movie like this one.

Sincerely not delusional, TOD.

P.S: Watch kitten or dog videos to ease the utter disgust and disturb sensation of watching a man grab a bird from the throat and stomping it into a rock for at least 2 minutes straight.

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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years

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“I don’t care if they’re watching. I’m not done with you yet.” is giving me some serious Courtesan AU vibes

@soft-bram requested this too, so a fic for two lovely people

I call this fic, Caleb Realises He Has An Exhibitionist Kink

***

The inside of Marion’s brothel was a whole other world.

It was as if the whole place were made of light alone, barely tangible, always shifting and changing and dancing teasingly before Caleb’s eyes, crooking it’s finger to beckon him forward. He knew it was because Marion kept a flotilla of hanging glass lamps suspended at different lengths from the rafters. In fact, he’d sourced the resin glass for her in every colour he could produce in his lab and calculated the exact lengths at which to hang them to get the best effect. But even knowing this, the otherworldly beauty of it still stunned him, made him feel half cut before even a sip of the thick, molasses coloured ale he liked so much here had passed his lips. It made him forget everything beyond the heavy oak doors that muffled the sounds of song and laughter and love so well, bland and plain on the side that faced the street but carved into a vast scene of many lovers entwined around each other on the other face.

It made him feel like he could do something truly insane. Something wild and crazy and beautiful as falling in love for an hour.

Frumpkin had followed him in tonight. He did that sometimes, disappearing and reappearing as he willed, sometimes over in Jester’s lap, sometimes sat atop the bar, glaring at Marion’s cat Sune, sometimes with Marion herself, lying at her elbow as she scratched his ears, sometimes wherever he went in the fae realm when Caleb didn’t need him close by.

But now he was around Caleb’s shoulders, tail swaying lazily back and forth and paws drooping sleepily. Caleb petted his flank idly as he sipped from his tankard and turned the pages of his book.

His appointment with Mollymauk didn’t start for a while yet but he liked to sit in the brothel beforehand, enjoy the drinks and the atmosphere, so he always came early. It was probably good for him to spend some time around people, he reasoned, rather than staying sequestered in his lab with nothing but conical flasks of sulphurous powers and flickering flames for company. He’d gotten some odd glances at first, treating a brothel like a library, sat there with his drink and a different book every night, like he was some deranged lunatic who’d wandered in off the street and mistaken this pleasure house for a lovely, homely tea shop.

But now, of course, they were used to him and he got smiles and hellos and winks as the workers walked past. None attempted to proposition him, they all knew who he was here to see. Just the usual good-natured flirting; it was always a good idea to stay on the good side of an archmage. Even one as unconventional as Caleb.

He came upon him as he always did, almost like it was accidental. Like there was no rhyme or reason why someone as bright and bold and alive as Mollymauk Tealeaf could possibly have stumbled into Caleb’s grey little life. And yet here he was, in defiance of the way things should be. As if daring everything that held Caleb down to try and kick him out, flitting in and out too fast for it to right itself. One moment absent, the next suddenly appearing in the booth next to Caleb, his smile as bright as the sun.

“My little stray cat comes wandering back once again,” Molly hummed, practically whispering in his ear. That was how he always teased Caleb, comparing him to a ragged ginger tabby, always returning hopefully at the same time each evening, begging with wide, wheedling blue eyes for some milk.

Caleb grinned, blushing a little as he always seemed to do in Molly’s presence, setting his book down on the table. He kissed his companion’s cheek in greeting, noting how it was always soft and perfect without the need for any kind of make-up, “Good evening, Mr Tealeaf.”

The tiefling wrinkled his nose at the formality, “I’ve told you, sweetling, just let me know when you get here and I’ll come fetch you, you don’t have to wait around.”

“But I like it here,” Caleb reassured him, taking his hand, “And I don’t want to make you work when you don’t have to.”

His expression softened, less playful, “It doesn’t feel like work when I’m with you.”

It never failed to strike him, how easy it was being around Mollymauk. Everything that was always tight and tense everywhere else relaxed in an instant, he no longer scrutinised every single word before it left his mouth. Everything else was so exhausting, being with Mollymauk was freedom.

He looked nothing short of stunning tonight. The tiefling moved between dresses and trousers as if it was the most natural thing in the world, expectations and established roles less than a vague amusement to him, always managing to look gorgeous in whatever he chose. Tonight it was tight, clinging leggings made of a dark, silk like material that looked like it would be so nice to touch, a dark diamond pattern on one half and pinstripes on the other. His shirt was billowy and white with a black leather waistcoat over the top, high boots of the same material all the way up to his thighs, the whole outfit making Caleb think of a roguish pirate with a dangerous grin, come to claim him as treasure and steal him away. And, as always, he was wearing enough jewellery and precious metal to make a dragon envious.

“You look wonderful,” Caleb murmured, his words feeling muddy and clumsy as he tried to fit them together in such a way that they’d even come close to describing something as otherworldly as Mollymauk.

“You’re always so sweet, darling,” Molly smiled, resting a hand on the side of Caleb’s face, as generous with touch as he was with everything else, “You do know how to make a boy feel wanted…” His eyes, wide and red and demonic looking to people who didn’t know him, studied his companion’s face, an adorable little crease forming between his eyes, “Long day?”

Caleb bit his lip, there was no hiding anything from Mollymauk. He read faces, open or closed, as easily as he himself read books.

To call it a long day would be putting it mildly. He had come into the lab that morning to find a letter- not even a face to face conversation, a bloody letter pinned to the door- informing him that funding for his work was to be reduced yet again and all of his requests for new equipment from the last month had been denied. Bitterly, he knew it was retribution for the way he’d spoken out at the last meeting of the council. He always tried to keep his head down and say as little as possible, knowing anything he did say would be ignored or ridiculed, but when the Grand Mage had proposed his new cripplingly high tax on all non-human beings wanting to enter the city to live and work and escape the fighting in the empire, Caleb’s fury had overtaken his good sense. And of course, it had been for naught. The tax would be implemented anyway, the poor would continue to suffer, and now he was to be punished as well.

But he didn’t want to bore Molly with all of his woes, so he just sighed and nodded, “Yeah. A long day.”

The tielfing stroked his thumb across Caleb’s cheekbone, tilting his head as if to admire the view better, like Caleb was actually something worth looking at, “Well…you’re here with me now, sweetling. Nothing’s going to hurt or upset you here, not if I have anything to say about it.”

He had to swallow hard to clear the tightness in his throat. To most the words would sound foolish, the kind of thing you said to soothe a child who’d had a nightmare, not a grown man who’d paid for your time. But somehow Molly knew that it was exactly what Caleb needed to hear. And he said it without hesitation, with no judgement, making it clear that Caleb was allowed to want to hear it.

“Now…” Molly’s attitude shifted, lightened, turned back to his usual boyish, playful brevity, “It’s been far too long since I had you to myself.”

“It’s only been two nights,” Caleb chuckled, feeling better already.

“As I said, far too long. Practically criminal.”

He moved over, settling on his knees so he could seat himself comfortably in Caleb’s lap. Now he was so wonderfully close, his breath warm against his skin, smelling of coffee and sugar, his hands now both on his face, stroking back into his hair. His lips ghosted across his jaw, every so lightly, deliberately to make Caleb moan and want more which, of course, he did. Molly sniggered, delighted with himself, continuing to brush his fingers through his lover’s coppery hair and give him the most delicate, teasing kisses along his neck.

Messing around in the bar was far from uncommon, it was where the workers interacted with clients who hadn’t made appointments with a specific individual, so there would nearly always be at least one pair, or more than a pair, getting things started in one of the booths with gossamer curtains, or hell, even on one of the tables or up against the bar. At this point, the poor bartender just worked around them.

But Caleb had always been swept safely up to Molly’s suite, all the times he’d visited before. All the many times, at this point. The more Molly toyed with him, delicately, giving him just enough to wake up all those places inside him, those deep wells of want, but not enough for him to get anything but hot and bothered, Caleb began to notice. There were eyes watching them, mouths curving up into appreciative little smiles, eyebrows rising in interest.

And he liked it.

By now his blush had become a full-blown conflagration, probably looking ridiculous against his hair. Molly’s deft fingers had found the leather band that kept it tied away from his face when he was working, undoing it within a second so his hair fell loose like a curtain of wild, tangled fire. Caleb had realised very quickly why he’d been warned against ever playing cards with Mollymauk. His hands could be everywhere at once, fingers moving like they had minds of their own.

Caleb’s cock was like an iron bar, straining against the lacing of his trousers, well aware of the closeness between it and the heat rolling off the sweet valley between Molly’s thighs. It was just how he liked it, somewhere between pleasure and pain, the desire so strong it was too bright to look at, too burning hot to touch, like a scream bit between teeth.

“Molly…” he began, his voice strained and shivery. The request for them to move upstairs hovered at the back of his throat. Molly would do it within an instant if he asked, he knew that for a certainty, but…

“Hmm?” Molly tilted his head. Again, he’d read the thoughts behind Caleb’s eyes, pulling them free without any struggle. He saw the desire there, the way those eyes were making him feel, only increasing the fire in his chest. But also, the uncertainness, “My love?”

The offer was there, the willingness to let him choose.

Caleb swallowed hard, “Nothing…it’s just…people are watching.”

Mollymauk saw the decision made and grinned, his eyes sparking like two fires, devilish but still Caleb felt the sudden urge to put his hand in it.

“I don’t care if they’re watching,” he purred, voice low and carrying, no doubt audible to some of their closer audience, “You’re mine, Caleb Widogast. And I’m not done with you yet.”

Caleb could have melted then and there.

Molly’s hips began to roll, a long, slow movement like he was dancing, though to something certainly more risqué than the enchanted piano that played sprightly bar tunes of its own accord. The friction built slowly but surely, an agonising climb that had Caleb squirming and panting within seconds.

“They’re looking at you, y’know,” Molly whispered in his ear in a voice like thick red wine, “Seeing how glassy your eyes are getting…seeing the moans you’re trying to hold back…seeing how your fingers are digging into my shoulders…they all know.

“Oh gods…” the sound was strangled and fractured as it burst from Caleb’s chest. He could feel the slow, regular throbbing in his trousers, his own pulsing heartbeat.

“They’re only jealous,” the tiefling continued, not even breathless as he rutted against Caleb, all while keeping him pinned, “And who could blame them, sweetling? You’re nothing short of delicious but you’re mine, aren’t you? No one else’s. I can keep you dangling like this all night long if I choose.”

Caleb gave a loud keening noise, one that echoed a little further than he’d intended. The embarrassment wasn’t its own entity, it was one with the intense pleasure, the smoky edge of the heady cloud in his mind, inseparable, inextricable.

“I won’t, sweetling, I won’t,” Molly soothed, grinding down hard to make Caleb give a muffled shriek then pulling back, “I want to see your face when you finish. I want to see you make a mess of your nice palace clothes.”

“Trying…” Caleb groaned through gritted teeth, “Can’t…can’t get there…oh fuck, Molly…”

He wanted it so badly but it was just out of reach, it was maddening.

Molly bent closer, nipping his earlobe tightly, “Yes you can, sweetling. You can do it for me, I know it.”

And suddenly, just because Mollymauk said, it was so. Caleb pressed his face to the front of his shirt, toes and fingers and teeth clenching as he trembled his way through a sharp, hard won orgasm, just about managing not to scream.

There was a ringing in his ears as he came back down, a dizziness behind his eyes. But Molly was beaming at him, holding his face again with his thumbs stroking his cheekbones in that lovely way, and that was all that mattered.

Vaguely, Caleb reflected that he probably wouldn’t be able to sit here and read his book on evenings any more.

“Look at you,” Mollymauk simpered, grinning in sheer delight, “Naughty little thing, couldn’t even wait until we got upstairs. Come on, we’re going to have to get you out of those clothes and you’re going to have to make this up to me somehow…” He winked.

Caleb had never shot up the stairs faster in all his life.

#courtesan au #lemon #im still taking these prompts #widomauk #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #cr: caleb #cr: mollymauk

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