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1000roughdrafts · 1 month

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If You're Gonna Lie...

Summary: Y/N and Dean have been seeing each other for quite a while, but when Dean keeps disappearing on Y/N, it leaves her confused on where they stand. Dean, not wanting to give away his secret line of work, continues to lie to Y/N about why he keeps showing up late. When she confronts him, will he continue to lie or will he tell her the truth?

A/N: This is a fic inspired by the song If You're Gonna Lie by Fletcher

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: mild language, alcohol mentioned, implied infidelity, sex mentioned, slight angst, relationship conflict

Y/N's eyes stare blankly at the lipstick stained wine glass on the table in front of her. In the pit of her stomach brews regret and shame that she had spent all damn day preparing dinner and picking out a wine for Dean's seven o'clock arrival. Now at ten she sits alone with untouched plates and an empty bottle of wine.

The ticking of the clock mocks her, reminding her of the little voice inside of her that screamed not to trust him. Tightening her lips, she licks them, collecting the final drops of wine that replace the red lipstick she had been wearing. Her body buzzes in a Merlot induced high so she places her hand on the table to steady herself as she stands. She collects the plates and glasses slowly, fighting the urge to shatter them across the floor.

Her nose crinkles as she scrapes the cold food into the trash aggressively with her fork. She sets the dishes into the dishwasher and starts it before swaying over to sit on the couch. Pulling out her phone she types a message about not appreciating being stood up for the fourth fucking time, but she deletes it and swipes down to click on the location icon.

She scoffs with a smile of disbelief, "oh, great! A motel near the strip club!" Y/N chucks her phone at the carpet before bringing her hands up to her face as soft sobs rock her body. She feels herself sinking more and more into the leather couch as she cries, and she must've dozed off at some point because she's jolted awake by a knock on the door.

The pounding of her heart is all she can hear as she quickly wipes her face. She's slow to bring herself to her feet, and once she does she glances at the clock. She groans. Midnight. Great. She thinks, rolling her eyes.

There's another knock, more anxious and loud now. "Hold on!" she shouts, using the furniture to keep her steady as she walks towards the banging.

Her head falls back against her neck when she sees Dean through the peephole. She lets out a soft, quiet breath and brings her head back up, resting her forehead in her hand. Her eyes close tight and she debates whether or not to let him in. He knocks again, more aggressively now.

She growls, shaking her hands out next to her. Suddenly, her ears ring and she swears she could even hear the buzzing of the lights above her. She takes another deep breath as she slowly unlocks the chain. She moves down to unlock the door, and then rests her hand on the door knob for a moment.

With a hand on her hip, she whips the door open and tries to make it very clear to Dean that she's pissed, but damnit she'd be lying if she said she wasn't excited to see him.

"Y/N! Thank you, I am so sorry!" he says, holding up his hands. There’s a slight bend to his knees as if to make him appear smaller. His eyebrows furrow, enhancing the shallow wrinkles on his forehead. She knows he's just going to feed her another story, and she stopped believing them a while ago, but she'd rather hear his lies than to have to hear him say goodbye.

So she says nothing, but leaves the door open as she turns around to walk back to her living room. He rushes in after her, closing the door behind him. When she plops onto the couch, he drops next to her, hands on her knees as he faces her.

"Y/N, please let me explain," he pleads, and she shrugs for him to go ahead, "I was shooting the shit with the guys at this bar, and," he starts.

"Let me guess, 'time just slipped away from you', right?" Y/N scoffs, her cheeks and jaw tighten as she fights the tears that plead to be released.

His face relaxes, and he swallows hard before allowing his mouth to hang open slightly. "Yeah," he says softly.

"You know, Dean," she says, and he focuses intently on her face, lit partially by the TV. His eyes flutter between hers, the way the light glimmers in her eyes nearly distracts him from her words, "you're starting to get repetitive," she says, eyes trained to the floor.

His body tenses, and his lips form a flat line. "Yeah," he nods. "I know. And I’m sorry," he says.

There's a long pause between them as she collects her conflicted thoughts; on the one hand, better late than never but on the other, she knows he's lying and that kind of pain cuts deep.

"Are you?" she squeaks out before she can stop herself, eyes darting at him. "Cause you say you were out with friends, but I know you were with another girl."

"What are you talking about,Y/N?" he says, eyes squinting. “I’m only seeing you.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, heat filling her chest, "I checked your location, but good fucking try." She takes in a deep breath. "I don't wanna fight, Dean," she slurs, "can we just lay down?"

Dean pushes his hands onto his thighs to bring himself to his feet, looking down at her for a moment before holding his hand out to her.

"Come on," he says gingerly. When she places her hand in his, he helps her to her feet, "get your shoes on," he adds.

"What? Why?" she asks, wide eyes.

With raised eyebrows, he sighs, "because I wanna show you something."

----

Y/N sits in the passenger seat of Dean's Impala with her arms crossed for the entirety of their near silent drive. She watches the window fog as Dean slows to round the corner of the motel parking lot.

"This where you saw me? My location?" he asks.

Uncrossing her arms, Y/N winds around in the seat to look for the strip club, falling back in her seat when she spots it, "yup."

Turning off the engine, he rolls out of the car and jogs to her side to help her out. Dean guides her to the door and Y/N feels like her heart could jump out of her chest. She listens to the howl of the wind as he inserts the key. When he opens the door, she immediately sees a tall, dark haired man in the room. Confused, she looks over at Dean.

"This is my brother, Sam," he says quickly, placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her into the room. "And, uh," he closes the door behind him, quickly raising his eyebrows at Sam's perplexed expression. "We have a pretty… ridiculous job," he adds.

She squints one eye, "Yeah, I remember you telling me that, but you wouldn't tell me what the job is," she snaps.

"Yeah," Sam says, shutting his book with one hand, holding the other out with a finger pointed at his brother, "and for good reason.” Dean brushes him off with a wave of his hand. "Dean, what are you doing?" Sam forces a quick, curt smile at Y/N, and takes a few steps closer to him, "can I talk to you? Outside," he says through gritted teeth.

Dean turns the corners of his lips down and shakes his head. He couldn't bear to see Y/N as hurt as she was tonight, and knowing that it was because of him and his lies made him realize he needed to come clean. And if that meant she thought he was crazy and never wanted to see him again, well... at least she would finally have the truth.

Taking her hands in his, he guides her to the bed and gestures for her to sit. He glances over at Sam, who utters under his breath "this better be worth it." Dean shrugs before sitting on the bed across from her, ignoring its whine under his weight.

"Listen Y/N, the truth is that Sam and I are-" he stops, shaking his head as he looks down into his folded hands. The leaky faucet from the bathroom drips a few times before he carries on, "listen, this is gonna sound nuts, so I need you to just... just hear me out, please."

She nods, "okay..."

He lets out a shaky breath, "ghosts, demons, vampires... it's all real," he begins, watching her face carefully for any signs of disgust or fear, "and the short story is that Sam and I... we, uh... we hunt and kill them."

Y/N's silent for a while, not exactly sure how to take this so-called confession. As far as she's concerned it's yet another lie. She glances over at Sam and he looks down at the ground, his face scrunched in a frown.

"Is this true?" she asks Sam, and his eyes dart at Dean and then her.

He brings a hand to his mouth, sweeping it down and around his bottom lip. He sighs, throwing his hands out and sits on the bed next to Dean. "Yeah, 'fraid so," he says.

Turning her attention to Dean now, she says, "so... what, you drive around the country fighting bad guys with your brother like some fucking superhero and come into my town when you want... what, a good fuck or something?"

Dean scoots closer to Y/N, grabbing her hands in his, "no, no, no. It's nothing like that," he pauses, "I mean, we do drive around the country ‘fighting bad guys’, I guess but..." he stalls again, trying to find the right words.

"Well, what is it like, then? Because this feels like it’s either an elaborate way of trying to get rid of me, or you're trying to manipulate me into being okay with the way things have been so far. And I'm not. I need someone who's going to show up on time. Someone who won't lie to me."

"I swear to you, the lies are over," Dean pleads. "At least let me prove it to you."

"How? How're you gonna do that?" Y/N asks, arms crossed.

Dean glances at Sam, begging for his help with his eyes. Sam rolls his eyes, boots clacking against the hardwood floor as he walks over to grab the book he'd been reading.

He takes it to sit back down with Dean and Y/N. He flips the book around to show Y/N the page he was on, and his voice echoes in the room as he explains the monster they're hunting and how it's about an hour south of her town, but Dean wanted to stop by to see Y/N first.

Y/N's hesitant, but not willing to lose Dean, not yet, so she takes the chance. "You're not in the clear yet, Dean, but I'm tired and I just wanna go to bed. Can I sleep here and we'll figure the rest out in the morning?"

"Yeah, of course," he says, bringing himself to his feet, "uh, you can take my bed and I'll sleep on the couch."

"No. If you're gonna lie, at least do it in the bed."

~~~

If you liked my story, please remember to heart, comment or reblog. Or if you'd like, you can add yourself to a tag list here if you wish :) Thank you for reading!! :)

Everything Tags<3

@waywardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @noodledoodlebug @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks @sigrunsavestheday @flamencodiva @roseblue373

Dean <3

@akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @laxe-from-outer-space @ellewritesfix05 @cluz1babe @lyarr24 @mrspeacem1nusone @idksupernaturl @fandom-princess-forevermore @stoneyggirl @chaospossum

#dean winchester #reader x dean winchester #female reader x dean #supernatural #supernatural fic #dean winchester angst #spn #supernatural fandom #supernatural fan fic #fanfic #dean angst #3rd person pov

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diamondsnowflakes · 7 months

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I wanna be your favourite pretty boy!

"Hey Tim," he shouted over his shoulder.

"Yeah?" Tim shouted back.

"Is your Wi-Fi set up yet?"

"Yeah, you wanna do your usual guessing attempts before I give you the password?"

Kon grinned. "Yeah. You good with that?"

"Go ahead!"

Kon fist pumped then grabbed his phone out of his back pocket. He'd been trying to guess the password to Tim's Wi-Fi every time he moved for the past five years, enough that it'd become a tradition for him. Of course, it never worked. Tim preferred to have a bunch of numbers and symbols around, and even then, the main body of it would be akin to 'RedViper' or something equally cryptic.

Still, Kon switched to his settings and clicked on the 'Gold-smithGuitar' network, lowering himself to kneel beside the router.

AO3 Link

"Remind me why you needed a new apartment again?" Kon called out to his best friend as he followed him up into the hall of the fifth-floor apartment, faux-staggering with the last cardboard box (marked 'books') balanced on one hip.

"Technically, this isn't my apartment; it's Arnold Gold's --"

Kon rolled his eyes and shifted the cardboard box to his other hip as Tim disappeared through a white door at the end of the hall.

"-- And there's a weapons trafficking ring that's taken up a base across from here. I needed an excuse to be watching at all hours of the day."

"We're in Bludhaven. Couldn't your older brother do this?"

"Actually, this is to help Dick. I owe him a favour or two."

"I'm guessing this is worth two."

A thud echoed from somewhere in the room as Tim stuck his head around the door, flashing a sheepish grin. "Pretty much." His eyes flicked down to the box. "Can you put that box in the living room?"

Kon shrugged. "Sure."

"Brilliant," Tim smiled, then disappeared again, only leaving time to call back, "Thank you!" over his shoulder.

Kon sighed and rolled his eyes, then turned into the doorway next to him that led into a spacious combination dining room and living room.

It was very fancy for a living room in Kon's mind, but that was how he felt in most of Tim's home bases. He was scared to put the box down near any furniture or walls lest he scratch anything. Even the carpet was so new and thick that his feet were leaving behind tracks in the fibres. It didn't help that Tim had a knack for buying the most uncomfortable, fancy-looking sofas in the world; this time, it was a reddish-brown leather-looking sofa that Kon knew he would slip off when they next hung out.

Strangely enough, Tim had also bought a dining set to fill the dining room section this time. Kon thought it looked like stained and polished ash. Pa would say it was a waste of good wood with how little Tim would use it.

Kon was inclined to agree, but he wasn't about to tell Tim that as he bent down to place the box near the TV. As he straightened up, he caught a little black box in the corner of his eye.

"Hey Tim," he shouted over his shoulder.

"Yeah?" Tim shouted back.

"Is your Wi-Fi set up yet?"

"Yeah, you wanna do your usual guessing attempts before I give you the password?"

Kon grinned. "Yeah. You good with that?"

"Go ahead!"

Still, Kon switched to his settings and clicked on the 'Gold-smithGuitar' network, lowering himself to kneel beside the router. First, he tried 'Cassie2'; Cassie for the name and two because she was the second Wondergirl. No cigar. The screen shivered. Then he typed in 'Bart2' -- because he was the second Kid Flash. No cigar again. Then he poised to run over to the kitchen as he tried his favourite password, 'Kon1'. He was ready to laugh it off, but as he pressed 'Join', he froze. It went through. All three bars lit up on his phone, and Kon's heart went quiet.

"Hey Tim," he called. His heart felt like it had restarted with a skip, and his face warmed up. He didn't dare tear his eyes from the screen lest it disappear.

"Yeah?" This time, he sounded closer, meaning Tim had probably stuck his head around the living room door.

"Rob, did you mean to put my name as your Wi-Fi password?" Tim's heartbeat doubled in rate, and Kon tore his eyes away from his screen to glance over his shoulder.

Tim was leaning into the living room, using his right hand to cling to the doorframe barely. It was precarious but quickly forgotten when Kon saw his expression. His face was the same red as his suit on a good day, his eyes wide and averted with his lips pursed.

Tim eventually squared his jaw, and Kon heard him take a measured breath before he nodded and said, "Yes, but I can explain."

Kon raised an eyebrow. Tim's heart hadn't slowed down in his ear. "Can you?"

"Uh, yeah," Tim stuttered. "It's my automatic password. Like, what I use before I have something more secure."

Fuck, was all Kon could think as his heart ramped up, forcing his eyes closed with the force of the feelings hitting him. He'd been trying to put this password in all this time, and the only reason he didn't get it in one was because he was a fraction late. It shouldn't have been so attractive. Nor should it have been so cute that he was the automatic password.

Kon took a steadying breath in and out before opening his eyes and responding, "So, what I'm hearing here is that I'm your automatic password?"

Tim pulled himself up from hanging on the door frame so he could walk into the main living room and shrugged. "Well, yeah, it's comfort for me when I'm first moving into a new place," he laughed awkwardly. "You know how I move often, of my own free will or otherwise."

Oh.

Kon smiled shakily. He couldn't look Tim in the eye. A rush of warmth in his gut was melting him at the idea of being comforting, but that didn't stop his whole body from feeling like it was buzzing.

"Umm, yeah, I understand that," Kon stuttered. His tongue felt enormous. "You move around a lot, and I can see why familiarity would help."

He gathered the courage to look back at Tim, who was staring back at him unblinking. The oxygen felt sucked from the room as their eyes caught each other. Kon could hear Tim's heartbeat as it rocketed in his chest, but his breath caught with every in and out, catching his lips in a part.

Oh.

"And I mean, you're comforting for me too, y'know?"

Tim slowly nodded and began moving towards Kon.

Kon's eyes followed Tim. He licked his lips and gulped. Tim was laser-focused on him, and when he focused on his heartbeat, it had returned to its standard steadiness.

Kon wasn't sure he could sweat, but if he could, he would. He was almost thankful for his skin tone as it disguised at least some of his inevitable blush, but he knew Tim still saw it as his eyes flicked down and his lips flashed the cutest little smirk.

Tim tipped his head to one side. "Was that you… picking up what I'm putting down?"

He'd gotten close enough that Kon could hear Tim's lungs as he regulated his breathing without trying.

Kon quirked an eyebrow. "I don't know, am I?"

"Well," Tim looked away and pretended to think, pursing his lips. "If you were, then maybe we could kiss? But if I'm being too presumptuous and you weren't, then maybe I should—"

He began to step away, but Kon shot out a hand and grabbed his jacket, pulling him back so they were even closer.

"I'm picking it up."

Tim’s smirk widened. "Then I guess we should kiss."

Kon felt, more than saw, the grin split across Tim's face as he leaned in to kiss him.

It was a fairytale. Tim's lips were soft and warm against Kon's, tasting of strawberry bubblegum and Zesti cola from the drive to the complex. There were no fireworks, but there might as well have been with how his heartbeat was echoing in Kon's ears, and his hands were cool where he'd grabbed Kon's forearms to stay upright when he'd been pulled forward.

When he realised he was still holding Tim's lapels, Kon couldn't help pulling him even closer. He then slipped his hands down to his hips, leaving Tim to rest his arms over his shoulders. If Kon's mouth hadn't been busy, he might've laughed at how Tim was almost certainly pressing up on his tiptoes.

It felt like an age before they parted, leaving Tim gasping as he came off tiptoes and rested his forehead against Kon's shoulder.

"I wish humans didn't need oxygen. It's unfair that you Kryptonians can kiss forever."

Kon smiled, resting his hands on his (partner? boyfriend?) Tim's back. On the one hand, he wasn't out of breath at all. On the other, "Half-Kryptonian. I still need to breathe, dude."

Tim lifted his head and shot him a Robin-glare. "You aren't even out of breath, dude. Also, don't dude me when we just kissed."

"Man?"

"No."

"Homie?"

"Definitely not."

"Homeslice?"

Tim grimaced lightheartedly as he stepped back. "Where are you even getting these?"

Kon pulled Tim closer again. "What about Rob?"

He could feel Tim relax in his arms as he said, "Yeah, that'll work, clone boy."

A thought hit Kon a while later as he sat cross-legged on a countertop, watching Tim put away the freshly bought crockery.

"Wait, Tim, what are we gonna do about the whole mission thing?"

Tim jumped from kneeling on the opposite counter to slot some grey mugs into a cupboard. "Who said Arnold Gold couldn't have a boyfriend? He's my alias."

Kon tipped his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "Won't Nightwing have a problem with that?"

"Nope!" Tim turned around, showing a devious grin. "Dick doesn't care who I date unless they hurt me."

Kon narrowed his eyes as Tim grabbed a pile of tea towels from the box beside him. "You sure about that?"

"Oh yeah," Tim hummed. He thumbed through the tea towels as he walked past Kon to the kitchen door. "Besides, he isn't even the one you have to worry about."

"Wait, what?"

#diamondsnowflakes #fanfiction #oneshot #timkon #tim drake #kon el #fluff #first kiss

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lumiereswig · 1 month

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Beauty and the beast but the people who are normally the good guys are evil

heheheheheheee I actually have a playlist called “evil batb” I listen to when I am ready to be wicked and commit crimes

Agatha cursed Adam at the last moment not as a sort of justice from hell measure but because he was about to crush her windpipe. sometimes self defense has to be a spell you set with your own blood. she crumples to the floor, dead, as Adam grows bones and claws and nails and teeth—and teeth—and teeth—and teeth….

In this timeline, a girl who might have just once been a dreaming bookworm has gone mad with loneliness, her heart a husk of what it was. she had a mother once, who died. she had a father once, who lived, staring at nothing, his fingers tinkering with gears that never fit. the magic and adventure never came. and when she hears there's a monster in the woods, she thinks I can turn my loneliness to some good measure. I'll go and kill the beast. Maybe then someone here in this village will take me as I am, if I finally have blood on my hands.

why was Adam trying to kill Agathe? because he doesn't trust magic, never has. What good is magic if the people you love can die and they do nothing to stop it? Agathe could have kept his mother from dying. Agathe could have stopped his father, any chance she had. but loneliness and anger creates more loneliness and anger, and in his desire to kill the last magic thing in the forest he becomes it, himself, roaring through the hallways and filling the rooms with a shaggy, aching rage.

Belle shows up and these two souls who don't have one good thing to say about the rest of the world start trying to kill each other—Adam because he has nothing left to be but a beast; Belle because she has nothing left to be but a slayer.

the staff are evil too!! oh my god they’re all so bad! but they’re bad in like, the campy tim curry ooo I’m evil because I wear leather kind of way. they’re bad like muppets. plumette throws knives lumiere wears thigh-highs cogsworth plots and schemes on like, how to set the table with purple napkins instead of white. in a previous life mrs. potts was a master assassin. they're all so busy dancing to lady gaga and being gay they never get around to actually committing any crimes.

what’s Gaston doing here? Gaston is simply a Man of the People! He’s been put down Too Long! he is in love with Belle and entirely unknowing that she’s got a heart made of holes. he's big into examining himself from a "safe and healthy perspective" and discussing every aspect of his personality in therapy but hasn't actually noticed that Belle is lonely or, uhh, not here anymore because she went to kill the monster in the woods and that was five weeks ago.

as naturally happens when two angry toxic people with precisely the same cocktail of loneliness meet, Adam and Belle segue quickly from trying to kill each other to, oopsie, relating over their shared griefs and maybe actually finding solace in each other. Are they in a healthy relationship? Absolutely not! Oh my god nobody go near them! They're surrounded by evil gay furniture why would you even want to! But they are what the other one needs, in this broken and fragile state, and I don't think anyone should fault them for holding onto each other, if it's the only life raft they have, as they patch their broken pieces in the only ways they know how. No one wants to be wicked. Some just have shadows that grow longer, and need a little sun to light the way.

So maybe they're damned. It's not a bad thing to be damned together.

#stretching my limbs back into writing by trying a few posts and purposely being REAL BAD #asks #batb headcanon #this is not good! oh well it's here #beauty and the beast #batb 2017

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lovedrunkheadcanons · 8 months

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Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

RATED M

The clock struck five in the morning. Contaminated test tubes and beakers were wet in the sink. A bright green bar nearing 65% completion was loading on a large computer screen surrounded by monitors. Shoko was busy in her lab, observing a single drop of blood, splotched between two thin slides under a beaming microscope. She hadn't left work since yesterday. You’d think after all these years hunkered down in the school’s basement like an obsessive recluse, she’d be used to the loneliness. She could already hear poor Ghost yowling for his breakfast, but there was no room for pause. The blood sample results from the New National Theater had finally come back, but Shoko was only interested in one.

The jujutsu doctor’s lips drew together in concentration, suspending the tail end of a depleted cigarette. Screw resolutions. This was far more important than her respiratory health. Her findings so far were not as she’d hoped. The red blood cell count was starkly lesser than last week. She reckoned about a third of them had vitiated in that timeframe, even with the aid of reverse curse technique, but how? How? The discovery troubled her. She would start from scratch again if need be. After all, there was still more testing to be done.

Exhausted, Shoko wiped the beads of sweat off her brow and smothered her depleted cigarette in the ashtray. The computer monitors increased to 66%. She just prayed her hypothesis did not hold the truth.

Nanami Kento removed the strainer of brewed oolong leaves from the Royal Copenhagen he had sitting on a tray; a teapot and two cups with matching saucers, Blue Fluted Full Lace. They were heirlooms once owned by his late great uncle, who subsequently died of a stroke three years ago; another Henriksen lost. He had no wife or children and his mother didn’t want them, despite their value, so she bequeathed the china over to him. Not that he ever had a reason to use it. The full set of plates and fine tableware cost more than his apartment lease. He mostly kept the novelties for decoration. And perhaps nostalgia.

But not today.

Today he had a guest.

Nanami closed the lid on his uncle’s Copenhagen teapot and lifted the tray to walk back inside the living room of his small, one-bedroom sized apartment. It wasn’t the grandest place in the world, nor the cheapest. He could afford a much bigger unit if he wished, yet the space was well accommodated. It was furnished with all the essentials befitting of a bachelor; functional kitchen appliances, a washing machine and dryer, a brand new air conditioning system, and modern furniture. He had picked the farthest unit down the hall, so he wouldn’t be subjected to the loud elevator cranking up and down the many floors. It allowed him some peace and quiet in this bustling, wayward city known as Tokyo, granted, if you ignored the endless stream of ambulance sirens, blaring jumbotrons, and cries for help.

The part-time Jujutsu sorcerer entered his living room and acknowledged his guest sitting on the sofa.

“I apologize for bringing you out here like I did. I’m usually not this spontaneous.”

Nanami set the tray down along the coffee table and handed his guest a teacup. Hannah smiled at her host warmly and took the blue and white china from his hand. The porcelain clashed with the pink roses on her dress.

“Not at all, it’s perfectly alright,” she assured him. “I hear you’ve been busy with work, so this is me intruding on your time.” She looked down at the coffee table. “Anyway, I hope you like the rødgrød. Satoru mentioned you were Danish, so...”

Nanami sat down on the leather armchair, opposite her, and glanced at the small portable crockpot she had brought atop the table. Rødgrød med fløde was as much part of the Danish diet as cheeseburgers and fries were to the American. People preferred eating the berry porridge with custard or poured over freshly baked bread. Everyone loved it. Nanami hadn’t tasted the dessert since he was a young boy visiting his grandparents on holiday. Hannah had used raspberries and cherries for hers; exactly how his mormor used to make it. The tarter, the better.

Well, there were those waves of nostalgia hitting him again. He’d sample a bite later.

Satoru had dropped his wife off at his place that afternoon and hurried to go “run some errands.” Whatever that meant. Nanami had no choice but to leave the office. As ever, the Six Eyed moron liked to make things difficult and keep his whereabouts elusive, in addition to getting his lineage wrong.

“A quarter Danish,” Nanami clarified, loosening the lavender silk tie around his neck. He hadn’t been allotted time to change out of his business attire. “My grandfather was born and raised in Denmark, however my grandmother is Swedish.”

Hannah looked positively delighted.

“Ah, a Swede and a Dane,” she exclaimed. It would explain his blond hair. “That’s quite a match. The closest I got to living in Denmark was Germany. Did your grandparents ever alternate between countries?”

“For a time,” the quarter Dane replied. “But my grandmother has lived alone in Aarhus since my grandfather’s passing. I still get Christmas cards from her every year. She’ll be ninety-one this October.”

Unable to stop herself, Hannah heard the word “Christmas” and blurted the next question out loud without thinking.

“Oh. So you’re Christian?”

She could see the tug pull on the corner of his lips, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, and instantly regretted it. He was so cool, you’d think he hadn’t reacted at all. The quarter Dane shook his head. “Mom had me baptized in the Lutheran church as a baby to appease my grandfather, but the buck stopped there. She wasn’t very religious and I myself hold no beliefs.”

Hannah felt her cheeks burn hotter than the tea she was sipping, flushed with embarrassment. Her shoulders sagged. Of course he wasn’t Christian. What a foolish thing to expect? She felt awkward.

“I see,” she said rather sheepishly. “Please, forgive me. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Nanami nodded understandingly. He thought it wasn’t dumb of her to ask, but with introductions out of the way, they had official matters to attend to.

“Satoru said you had some information about a possible Sukuna finger.”

Hannah nervously tucked a strand of long auburn hair behind her ear, lowering the expensive Copenhagen in her lap.

“Yes,” she said, swallowing her tea and straightening her bad posture. “I think I know where one is.”

Nanami leaned back against the armchair and crossed his legs, hands folded patiently in his lap. His eyes never wavered.

“I’m listening.”

Hannah coughed. “Well, you see,” she began, trying to decide where to start. “I think nothing of them at first. My dreams - er visions - are often quite,” she searched for the adjective, “sporadic, if you know what I mean. But lately I’ve been having a recurring dream.”

“A recurring dream.” Nanami quirked a pencil thin, blond eyebrow. “I’m guessing that’s a dead giveaway?”

Hannah let slip a dry laugh. “You’d be correct. In my experience, whenever a dream is recurring, it’s usually indicative of a vision.”

“What has the vision shown you?”

“It’s hard to describe,” she continued, squinting her eyes as though aiming for a moving target that refused to stay still. “I don’t know why, but it always begins with me…drowning. I’m ever so slowly sinking towards the bottom.” She closed her eyes for a second, trying to imagine the nightmare in her mind. “It’s very dark and murky, so I can’t see anything. I’m terrified out of my wits. I try to kick and swim my way back up to the surface, except someone, or rather something, has me by the ankles and won’t let go. I fight and struggle to free myself, but I can’t. It isn’t until my lungs give out that I finally look down and…” she stopped for a second.

“Go on,” Nanami coaxed gently, waiting in silence. He wasn’t going to force her to talk, if she didn’t want to.

“Eyes,” the seer said, own eyes flitting open. She took a much needed breath from the horrid memory. “Four glowing, scarlet eyes staring at me from the black. That’s it. That’s all I see. Then the vision pivots.”

“Pivots?”

Hannah took a sip of oolong before humming in agreement. “I’m shown a film reel of things. Places, I think. I can’t remember what they are, but there is one feature that stands out from all the rest.”

Nanami also took a sip of tea. “Like what?”

Hannah placed her teacup on the coffee table and used her fingers to “draw” an invisible picture for him. “A massive red o-torii, floating above a large body of water.”

The quarter Dane’s brow narrowed ever so slightly. He knew what place she was referring to.

“Itsukushima Shrine,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Hannah sighed. “Satoru showed me a picture of it when I told him. It’s the exact same gate. He then mentioned you were working on a secret case and that I should speak to you immediately.”

Well, it’s not so secret anymore, Nanami thought, holding his tongue. Now he understood why Satoru had been so adamant the two of them talk, but hell, what a pain in the ass. The white haired dolt could’ve explained all this on the phone, or typed a quick text, instead of wasting he and his wife’s time. Even though she was a lovely person, both inside and out. Reminded him a bit like Haibara; her kindness and selflessness towards others.

But a tad miffed by this new flux of information, Nanami rose from his leather chair, teacup in hand, and walked over to the large window overlooking Shibuya Crossing, the thousands of city nerdowells commuting below, crammed like sardines.

“In the last four weeks, a total of eighteen people have been reported missing from the shrine,” he said, staring monotonously out the apartment window. “Evidence suggests it’s curse related. I and a few other sorcerers have been called in to investigate the disturbance.”

“Then perhaps this is your lucky break,” Hannah added, hoping to shed some light on the subject.

The quasi-business man continued looking out the apartment, almost like he wasn’t listening (but of course he was). “Itsukushima Shrine is a popular tourist destination in Miyajima. We’ll be fighting heavy crowds if we search during the day. Curse activity tends to worsen at night, but then there’s high and low tide to contest with. Your presence might also be needed. Could get dangerous.” He was listing all the potential roadblocks ahead.

“Can’t we disperse the crowds at least?” was Hannah’s suggestion. “Close the shrine off to tourists?”

Nanami hummed deeply in thought. Things were never that simple. He at last turned away from the window. “You’re sure this is a vision?”

Hannah shrugged. “More sure than not.”

“And you think a Sukuna finger is hiding somewhere at the bottom of Hiroshima Bay?”

The seer frowned. She felt her confidence wane at his scrutiny. “It’s the only lead I have.”

Confined to his thoughts, Nanami walked back towards the coffee table, relinquishing his empty teacup and saucer, and plopped back down in the leather chair, hand in his chin. A disconcerted expression became him, though his eyes were fixed on the Royal Copenhagen. Hannah thought he looked far older than his real age said on paper. He was handsome, she decided, with golden blonde hair and mixed Scandinavian features, but in a battle-hardened, wise kind of way. Forever pensive and stoic, like he had crossed the river Styx and managed to survive the harrowing ordeal, but only just so. Even without the bloody cleaver knife in his hand from that night at the opera, she could tell he wasn’t much for taking days and nights off. Kento Nanami was certainly a man operating under a lot of stress.

“I can’t name anyone on the top of my head with a water curse technique,” he vexed tiredly, observing the porcelain tea set. “A diving team will have to be dispatched. Damn. It’s always a risk when we get non-sorcerers involved.”

“But maybe we won’t have to,” Hannah said, complexion brightening. “Because as it were, I know someone who might be able to help us. That is, if we can persuade her.”

Nanami’s hand fell to his lap, eyes raised. “Her?”

Hannah rested her teacup on the coffee table and hurriedly rummaged through her dress pocket for a folded piece of paper. She offered it to him.

“Her.”

Feeling pessimistic, Nanami took the paper and slowly opened it. His eyes landed on the contact’s name above, and thus the part-time jujutsu sorcerer’s face tensed into a shrewd scowl. He exhaled loudly through his nose.

A bowl of that rødgrød didn’t seem like such a bad fix all of a sudden.

Neither did some brandy.

Chapter Contents

#gojo takes a wife #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fanfic #gojo x oc #satoru gojo #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #satoru x oc #romance #gojo satoru

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apoptoses · 1 year

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A Matter of Taste 2.9k Lestat/Armand (a hint of Lestat/Armand/Daniel at the end) domesticity/blood sharing/discussions of home/Benji and Daniel’s awful taste in furniture

Also on Ao3

(Wrote this sitting in traffic with nothing to do, enjoy ♥)

“So that’s it?” Lestat asked.

Armand nodded. “Yes. Monstrous, isn’t it?”

The sofa was massive, all gray fabric and enormous pillows, closer to a bed than a settee. Surrounded by priceless antiques and a hand painted ceiling imported from some crumbling chateau, it dominated the entire room. Lestat took a step back and cocked his head. Had this been Night Island it would have fit in; Night Island had been crafted to blend the best parts of 80s design and old world aesthetics. But in Trinity Gate it stood out terribly, Lestat had to agree.

Ironic, really, that Armand had invited him over to discuss home decor when he’d been thinking about what a pleasure it would be if they finally acquired a home of their own. He just hadn’t had the courage or the opportunity to bring it up yet.

“And you ended up with this sofa how, exactly?” Lestat asked.

“Benji and Daniel were adamant we have at least one thing upstairs to sit on that isn’t an antique. I asked Louis, assuming he would be on my side, but unfortunately he agreed with them and I found myself outnumbered,” Armand said with a sigh.

“So? Don’t they have their little game room for unsightly furniture such as this?” Lestat asked. “I remember that god awful leather thing with the cup holders they found on the street and demanded we drag home- I still haven’t gotten over the indignity of that, by the way. Taking home actual trash off the street as if I were Louis in that old hovel of his I burned down.”

“Not enough, apparently. They’d like to be ‘comfortable’ in my presence and as I spend most of my time upstairs…” Armand trailed off, waving his hand dismissively. “Regardless, it is done. It lives in my sitting room, where it will stay until some misfortune befalls it.”

“The fire gift, perhaps?”

“Too great a risk, the smoke would damage the ceiling.”

“True. Well, I suppose that leaves only one choice-”

Lestat turned on his heel and let himself fall backwards, collapsing into the pillows with a dull thud. He was no small man but even he felt dwarfed by the sofa, wide as it was. When he kicked off his shoes and put up his feet they came nowhere near reaching the end of it. Hideous, perhaps, but luxurious, even he had to admit. The type of thing one could fall asleep on without quite meaning to.

He patted the space beside him. “Well?”

Armand stared. “I will not have intercourse with you on the sofa in my sitting room, where all of Madison Avenue can see.”

Lestat rolled his eyes. “Number one, no one out there can see because you have enough velvet hanging from those windows to curtain even the largest stage,” he said, counting off the reasons for his indignation on his long, pale fingers. “Two, you know that’s not what I meant, you wretched little succubus. And three, even if I had, an audience has hardly ever stopped you before.”

Armand’s mouth was set in a flat line but there was a certain mirth to his eyes only an immortal with their heightened senses would be able to pick up. Of course he’d been winding him up. Anything to make Lestat look like a petulant brat.

“Get over here and lie down with me, before I go and buy Benji the matching armchair and really ugly the place up,” he threatened.

Armand rolled his eyes even as he acquiesced. There was ample room for them to lie side by side but he tucked himself in between Lestat and the back of the sofa anyways, head resting on Lestat’s broad chest. “It is comfortable, if nothing else,” he had to admit.

“Just be careful we don’t lose you among the cushions, mon petit chéri, Louis would never forgive me,” Lestat teased.

He got his side pinched for it but he didn’t bother to pinch Armand back for once. Getting to curl up with him like this was too delicious to ruin with childishness. Armand fit so neatly against his side, leg thrown over his thighs and his hand curled in his sweater; nestled in at just the right spot for Lestat to tilt his face down and kiss the top of his auburn head. Lestat ran his hand up and down the length of his back and Armand’s fingers tightened on his sweater in response.

So sweet and domestic, it was, lying together like this. A perfect opportunity to bring up the apartment he’d found in Paris.

“You know, I’ve been thinking-” Lestat began.

“How frightening. Your thoughts so often end in chaos for us all,” Armand mumbled into his chest.

Ah well. Fine. If Armand was only going to hassle him he wouldn’t say it at all.

“Mon dieu, fine. Nevermind. I’ll just call Benji and tell him you said to go ahead, get the armchair. And one those horrible gaming chairs with the neon lights while he’s at it, that would really set off the Louis XIV desk you’ve got in the corner-” Lestat pretended he was going to grab for his phone but then Armand shifted, his chin pressing against his sternum as he looked up at him.

“Lestat, go on,” he murmured. I want to know what you’ve been thinking. Truly.

“You just don’t want another ugly chair in this room,” Lestat said, though he was struggling to withhold a smile. Impossible to be annoyed, really, when he had such a lovely little demon staring at him as though hanging on his every word. “Anyways, as I was saying. I was thinking it was time we got a home together, you and I.”

Armand arched a delicate brow. “A home?”

“Yes. Picture it, a penthouse apartment in the heart of Paris. Something small but sumptuous, two bedrooms. Just enough for you and I, and perhaps a guest if we so wish to bring Louis or Daniel along,” Lestat said. “We already have such grand homes for entertaining and loaning out. It’s time we had something just for us, something we can escape to and make just as opulent as we like. Don’t you agree?”

I already had a place in mind. Nothing is set in stone, of course, but I thought best to come with a clear vision to convince you with. Lestat opened his mind, letting Armand shuffle through the images of the apartment he’d been looking at.

In comparison to the court at Auvergne or Trinity Gate it was small, but with its antique wainscotting and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Seine it rivaled both in terms of luxury. He allowed him to see his ideas for decor as well, the silk damask bed covers and ancient, oversized mirrors that could line the walls. The great 18th century wardrobe he’d seen for sale, barely big enough to hold his own clothes, but then the second bedroom could be retrofitted into a dressing room if need be. Between the two of them they’d come up with something.

You know that I hardly need convincing. Armand turned his head, settled with his ear to Lestat’s racing heart. The worry that he might be turned down had made him so nervous for a moment. But why Paris? Why now?

“Well, why not?” Lestat asked. “I never should have pushed you away so suddenly when we first met. I should have taken you into Paris, re-introduced you properly to living amongst mortals. Taken you to the opera, to the fashionable boutiques to get you out of those old rags and into the silk and lace you suit so well. I never should have left you to founder alone.”

“It never would have worked out, long term. You know that,” Armand said quietly.

Armand wasn’t wrong. The people they were then were incapable of any sort of relationship. Armand would have dug in his claws too hard, Lestat would have instinctively jerked away. The blows they’ve already dealt each other would have been nothing compared to the pain of the slow and then cataclysmic dissolution of any relationship they might have built in their youth.

And yet Lestat fantasized about it anyway. Perhaps it was in his nature, wanting to fix something beautiful and broken despite so often being in shambles himself.

“Yes. I know.” Lestat dragged his fingers through his hair, nails skimming across his scalp. If he did this long enough Armand would drift off; he’d found that out some time ago when he’d been playing with his hair, only to look down to see him fast asleep with his head in his lap. “But just think, now we can experience all of those things in a Paris built with modern luxuries, with nary a rat infested slum to be found.”

“You put things so romantically,” Armand muttered into his chest. He’d shifted up a little, tilted his head in silent demand that Lestat massage the back of his neck. Lestat indulged him almost immediately, searching for the spot that would make him sigh and melt under his hands.

“Perhaps I’m merely saving all of my romantic urges until I have you at home with me in the City of Love,” he said, just as Armand gave a little groan. Ah, there it was. He pressed his thumb harder into the sensitive ditch between his neck and his jaw. “What do you say? I want to hear it, that you’d like this as much as I would.”

“I would like it,” Armand said. “But I’d like to visit first and see the place you have in mind before we commit to it. And there must be some rules.”

Lestat practically beamed. Damn the rules, he was pleased enough he’d agree to most anything Armand proposed. “Such as?”

“What colors we paint the rooms. We may agree on much but there is a line between opulent and garish,” Armand began. “And who may visit when we are there.” No David Talbot. No Marius either, not yet.

Lestat snorted. “You know that I’ve been to Night Island, you’re hardly one to talk about garish when I’ve seen the heart shaped bathtub you had hidden in there,” he said. “But yes, of course. As you like. I see them more than enough in Auvergne as it is.”

Armand nodded and then, like some great jungle cat, pushed himself up onto his elbows and stretched. Then we must seal this agreement with a kiss.

There was some mischief in his gaze but Lestat hardly had time to question it, for Armand had curled his fingers in his hair and sealed his mouth to his. Armand must have fed earlier that night because he was so warm, he was practically burning up beneath Lestat’s hands as they found their way up the back of his shirt. Lestat pulled him closer, sucked his lower lip between his teeth and savored the approving sound that got out of him. When his fang pierced Armand’s lip the fingers in his hair curled so tight it ached.

It was only a little taste of blood. But it was enough that Lestat’s mouth tingled with it, that it burned all the way down his throat. He sucked at it hard, didn’t let go until he was certain that when Armand pulled away his lip would be bloody and swollen with his kiss. Even their tender moments were laced with violence, but how could Lestat help that? No one wore a bruise as beautifully as Armand did.

He left the cut unhealed and let Armand work his way over his jaw, down the column of his throat. Soft kisses, with just the hint of teeth to get Lestat to inhale sharply and bare his throat. Not that he had a choice, Armand’s grip on his hair meant he could turn his face any which way he liked.

Normally Lestat would fight against this. They did both like a tussle, and Armand could give as good as he got.

But let the little devil take what he wanted, Lestat decided when Armand licked a hot stripe up the length of his neck. He’d given him such a great gift tonight, agreeing to his whims about sharing a home. A few moments of control was the least he could give in return. Especially when the ache in his scalp and the sharp nip Armand delivered to his earlobe were so delicious.

Go ahead and do it already, no need to drag it out, Lestat demanded in his mind.

Armand brushed his lips teasingly against his artery, hovering there as if he might actually obey Lestat’s command. Patience is a virtue, they say came the reply as he pulled away to tug his sweater down and nip at his clavicle instead.

“Not one of mine,” Lestat muttered.

The little pat to his cheek was equal parts endearing and patronizing. Lestat had half a mind to flip them over and show Armand what a real tease was. Just as he reached down and got him by the hip Armand tugged hard at his hair, and ah, there it was. Exquisite pain, radiating down into his chest. Sometimes Armand was as slow and gentle as he was with one of his beloved victims, but others he sank his fangs in all at once, holding Lestat tight so he couldn’t scrunch his shoulder up and shrink away from it. It made his heart pound, hard enough the arterial spray into Armand’s mouth must have been overwhelming; enough that the sudden loss left Lestat dizzy and panting as he held Armand tight.

When he opened his eyes Armand was hovering above him, blood dripping from his mouth and onto his chin. He looked like a lion after the kill, Lestat couldn’t decide if he wanted to lick him clean or smear it across his skin and leave his throat bloody and red too.

“What a tragedy,” Armand said.

Lestat shifted over, craning his neck awkwardly to see what he was looking at. Beside his head was a blood stain, still wet. The pillow was soaked; some had even dripped down onto the cushion beneath him, and every time Lestat moved he only made it worse. Armand had only half healed the wound before he’d pulled away.

“You did that on purpose, you little demon,” Lestat said. “You’ve never spilled a drop before.”

“I was overcome by how beautifully you submitted to me.” A demon and a poor liar. Lestat could see the tension at the corners of his mouth where Armand was holding back a smile. “I suppose this sofa can’t remain in the sitting room in this state. That stain will never come out.”

“No, I suppose not.” Lestat sat up and neatly shoved Armand onto his back. He pulled his sweater off, discarding it before it could get stained too, and settled into the space between his thighs. “So that means there’s only one thing left to do.”

“And that is?”

Lestat smirked and licked his own blood from the corner of Armand’s mouth. “Wreck it entirely, of course.”

—

Lestat was curled up in an armchair with a book, hair still damp when Daniel came in the front door. There was nothing unusual about that. He often went out with Benji and Louis, returning home before them while they went out to feed. Perfect. Daniel could be easier persuaded to choose something nice from the furniture store. For once Lestat had every intention of cleaning up the mess he’d made. He was in too good a mood to leave Armand to deal with his coven complaining about the ruined sofa.

“Jesus christ, what happened here?” Daniel asked.

Lestat snapped his book shut. “There was an accident.”

Daniel arched a brow at him. “An accident? It looks like a goddamn abattoir in here.”

Well. He wasn’t entirely wrong. A little scratching had turned into a lot of biting, and a struggle that had left both of them so breathless they’d left their table manners behind entirely. Armand had come out worse for the wear, but he’d insisted on staying in the bath alone while Lestat dealt with the issue of the sofa.

“Yes, well, your maker can be such a wild cat when he thinks the sanctity of his home decor is being threatened.” Lestat got up and threw his arm around Daniel’s shoulders, guiding him back toward the door.

Daniel, always a perceptive thing, was eyeing the blood stain on his collar. Lestat hardly cared. He’d abandoned the concept of shame in his youth and life was far more enjoyable for it.

“And I’m guessing the bruises I’ll find all over Armand later will have been an accident too?” Daniel asked, shaking his head fondly. “What is it with you two, it’s like you can’t get off unless you leave the place looking like something out of the Shining.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Anyways, come, we’ll go pick out a replacement together. Something comfortable and tasteful,” Lestat said as he guided him down to the sidewalk, where he hailed a cab.

“Or something ugly we can help Armand destroy together?”

Lestat glanced at Daniel, took a little peek into his mind to see if he was joking. He wasn’t, not entirely. He had visions of Armand between them, both of them holding him with their preternatural strength as they sucked marks into his neck. There was a reason he’d always liked Daniel. Oh yes, he would definitely be invited to their little Parisian love nest once they’d broken the place in.

“Daniel Molloy, I do love the way you think.” Lestat slid into the back of the cab beside him and shut the door. “Let’s go to wal-mart, shall we? I’m sure they have something Armand would find absolutely hideous there.”

#well i wrote 90% of it in traffic the last couple paragraphs i just did #this is silly and self indulgent but we all need that today don't we?#lestat/armand #lestat de lioncourt #armand #i'll put this on ao3 eventually i just don't feel like fighting that site tonight #the vampire chronicles #armand/lestat #vc fic #apoptoses fic

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uncaaj · 9 months

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Fanfic: Blade Runner Starring Donald Duck Chapter 4 - Voight-Kampff (DuckTales x Blade Runner)

READ NOW ON AO3!

The McDuck Corporation was easily recognizable from the air. It was the only place around that had any fire left, figuratively and literally. Columns of fire shot out from the pillars below, as much a part of 5Y manufacturing as the countless number of hapless souls working their lives away underneath. At the center of it all was a great dark pyramid, standing tall and true with a dollar sign etched into it bordered by orange light. If the fire stacks and winding pathways below were the veins of McDuck Corp, here was the heart. I set the spinner down on a platform near the pyramid’s summit, watching the breeze kick up stray particles on the pad.

McDuck’s office was a short elevator ride away. It was a huge place with hardly enough furniture to fill it properly. Columns with geometric ridges dotted the space all around. It looked as if it was split into four separate rooms based on the layouts in each of its corners. Overlooking it all was a massive window letting the golden light cast everything in a rich hue.

I saw a barn owl preening itself on a perch on the opposite side of the office, which intrigued me. They were supposed to be extinct. It jumped up and flew over to another perch across the span of a conference table under the window.

“Magnificent creature…” said Feth.

“Do you like our owl?” said a female voice, the owl’s head turning toward its source.

Me and Feth followed its gaze and shadowed in dim orange...she approached, dressed in black faux leather, walking to me with all the air of a dame who knew what her purpose was in life. A luxury that McDuck could no doubt afford.

“It’s artificial?” I asked. Of course, it was, but basic human decency dictated you ask anyway.

“Of course it is.”

“Must be expensive,” said Feth.

“Very. I’m Daisy.” She held out her hand.

I shook it. “Duckard. This is Feth.”

She nodded to him and Feth waved. She looked back at me. “It seems you feel our work is not a benefit to the public.”

“Replicants are like any ol’ machine,” I said, “they’re either a benefit or a hazard. If they’re a benefit, it’s not my problem.”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets and leaned against the table. “Sure.”

“Have you ever retired a human by mistake?”

I had to pause to recollect all the dusty memories. “No,” I answered.

“But in your position, that’s a risk?”

It was, but the Voight-Kampff had been so highly tested that the older model replicants could be picked out like a cherry on a white tablecloth. 5Ys, on the other hand…

Before I could answer, another voice came upon us. “Is this ta be an empathy test? Capillary dilation of th’ so-called blush response? Fluctuation of the pupil? Involuntary dilation of the iris?”

Someone had clearly done their homework. “We call it Voight-Kampff for short,” I said to the older Scottish drake walking toward us, his intricately carved cane clunking on the floor every other step.

“Mr. Duckard?” said Daisy, “Dr. Eldon McDuck.”

The head honcho himself, dressed in a finely tailored black suit. Almost nobody could get an audience with the richest duck in our world, but here we were.

I held my hand out, and got that cane pointed at me instead. “Demonstrate it. I want tae see it work,” said McDuck.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s the subject?”

“I want tae see it work on a duck. I want tae see a negative before I provide you with a positive.”

“What’s that going to prove?” I asked.

He sniffed. “Indulge me, lad.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What, test it on you?”

“Try her,” he said, turning his head to Daisy.

I gave her a glance. She was pretty, unassuming. I shrugged. “It’s too bright in here.”

McDuck pressed a button on his cane. Nearly all the light was wiped from the window as a shade lowered dramatically over the opening. You know you’re rich when you can turn the searing sun on and off at your will.

Daisy sat down across from me, while McDuck retreated to the other side of the space. I unpacked the box and set it on the table. It was just like riding a bicycle, getting this old puppy running again. Her pupil shrunk in the frame, green iris piercing and mysterious.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Daisy asked, already reaching into her bust.

“It won’t affect the test,” I replied. Satisfied, I sat down as she was lighting up a Lucky Strike. “All right, I’m gonna ask a series of questions. Just relax and answer them as simply as you can.” I turned to Feth, who had plopped himself in a chair next to me. “Watch and learn.”

I retrieved a sheet of paper and began. “It’s your birthday. Someone gives you a calfskin wallet.”

“I wouldn’t accept it,” she said. “I’d also report the person who gave it to me to the police.”

The gauge moved halfway to one end, the dial moving just as powerfully. The lowest intensity questions were always a revealing point to start on. I continued, “You've got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection plus the killing jar.”

“I’d take him to the doctor.”

Again, the gauges swung to one side but not as enthusiastically. “You're watching TV. Suddenly, you realize there's a wasp crawling on your arm.”

“I’d kill it.”

Same thing. Quick response too. “You're reading a magazine. You come across a full-page nude photo of a girl.”

“Is this testing whether I’m a replicant, or a lesbian, Mr. Duckard?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if she was offended or just genuinely curious.

“Just answer the question, toots. You show it to your husband. He likes it enough to hang it on his bedroom wall. The girl’s on a bearskin rug.”

“I wouldn’t let him.”

“Why not?”

“I should be enough for him.”

Fascinating. They don’t usually answer that way.

This continued on through hundreds of questions, hundreds of varied responses, each more telling than the last. At last, I had run out of questions to ask, except for one, at the bottom of the last page. “You're watching a stage play. It shows a banquet in progress. The guests are enjoying raw oysters.”

Daisy grimaced slightly. The needles moved accordingly. I continued. “The entree is boiled dog stuffed with rice.” The needles moved again, but less so. She didn’t say a word.

I was exhausted, both of questions and with this charade. I switched off the box and leaned back.

Eldon McDuck was walking over again. I didn’t know what to tell him. As if he read my mind, he turned to Daisy and said, “Would ye step out for a few moments, lass?”

She nodded, putting out her cigarette, and rose from her seat. We waited for her to make the journey well out of earshot.

McDuck was looking at me knowingly. What was going on? I met his eyes. “You wanna tell him, Feth?”

Feth gulped. “Um...she’s a replicant, isn’t she?”

McDuck cracked a slight smile. “I’m impressed, lad. How many questions does it usually take to spot ‘em?”

“I-I don’t get it, McDuck,” I said.

He rested his chin on his fist. “How many?”

“20 or 30, cross-referenced.”

His hands fell authoritatively to his sides. “It took more than a hundred for Daisy, didn’t it?” His eyes gleamed behind his Pince-Nez glasses.

“She doesn’t know?” I hissed.

McDuck looked toward the window. “She’s beginning to suspect, I think.”

“Suspect?” I balked. “How can it not know what it is?”

“Commerce, Duckard. That’s our goal here at McDuck Corporation. ‘More human than human’ is our motto. Daisy’s an experiment, nothing more.” He shuffled closer to me as I looked off past him, faint rays streaming in past the shade to illuminate the scientific mind of a generation. “We began to recognize in them some strange obsessions. After all, they are emotionally inexperienced, with only a few years tae store up the experiences which you and I take for granted. If we gift them the past, we create a cushion or pillow for their emotions, and consequently, we can control them better.”

“Memories,” I said, looking up to him. “You're talking about memories.”

McDuck tipped his hat to me.

I looked back to where Daisy had gone. Implanting memories...heaven only knew where they obtained memories from, and how they were extracted. It was an experiment, all right, one that had me thinking of an old movie with a guy with bolts in his head.

My stomach knotted up and my shoulders became heavy. This was the 5Y in action, and the fact that I was gonna have to retire four of ‘em had fully sunk in.

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relaxstudio · 3 months

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Sink Into Luxury: The Art of Crafting Recliner Chairs for Ultimate Relaxation

Introduction:

In today’s fast-paced world, finding moments of relaxation and tranquility is essential for overall well-being. At Relax Studio, we understand the importance of creating spaces that promote comfort and luxury, which is why we specialize in crafting high-quality recliner chairs designed for ultimate relaxation. In this blog post, we’ll delve into the art of crafting recliner chairs and how Relax Studio’s expertise in furniture manufacturing in Mumbai ensures that every piece delivers unparalleled comfort and style.

Precision Craftsmanship:

At Relax Studio, we take pride in our commitment to precision craftsmanship, ensuring that every recliner chair is meticulously crafted to perfection. Our team of skilled artisans pays close attention to detail, from selecting the finest materials to handcrafting each component with precision and care. The result is a collection of recliner chairs that exude quality and craftsmanship, providing a luxurious seating experience for our customers.

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When it comes to designing recliner chairs, comfort is paramount. At Relax Studio, we prioritize comfort-driven design principles, incorporating ergonomic features and plush padding to create chairs that cradle the body in luxurious comfort. Our recliner chairs are designed to provide optimal support for the back, neck, and legs, allowing users to sink into relaxation and unwind after a long day. Whether you’re watching TV, reading a book, or simply enjoying a moment of quiet reflection, our recliner chairs offer the perfect blend of comfort and style.

Versatile Styles and Options:

At Relax Studio, we understand that every individual has unique preferences when it comes to furniture style and design. That’s why we offer a wide range of recliner chair options to suit diverse tastes and preferences. From sleek and modern designs to classic and traditional styles, our showroom in Mumbai showcases a variety of recliner chairs to cater to different aesthetic preferences. Whether you prefer leather upholstery, fabric upholstery, or a combination of both, we have the perfect recliner chair to complement your home decor.

Personalized Service and Support:

As a leading recliner chair shop near me, Relax Studio is committed to providing personalized service and support to our customers. Our knowledgeable staff members are available to assist you in selecting the perfect recliner chair for your needs, offering expert advice and guidance every step of the way. Additionally, our showroom in Mumbai provides a comfortable and inviting environment where you can explore our collection of recliner chairs at your leisure, experiencing firsthand the quality and comfort that sets Relax Studio apart.

Conclusion:

At Relax Studio, we believe that luxury and relaxation go hand in hand, and our collection of recliner chairs is designed to help you sink into a state of ultimate comfort and tranquility. With our dedication to precision craftsmanship, comfort-driven design, versatile styles and options, and personalized service and support, we are proud to be the premier destination for recliner chairs in Mumbai. Whether you’re looking to upgrade your living room or create a cozy reading nook, Relax Studio has the perfect recliner chair to elevate your relaxation experience.

Tags : Recliner chair showroom in Mumbai, Dining table and chairs, Outdoor furniture in Mumbai, Sofa showroom near me

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urbanwoods56 · 3 months

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Improve Your Living Room with the Ideal Sofa Set

Your living space isn't just a room; it's a sanctuary where comfort and style come together, creating memories. The centrepiece of this haven is undoubtedly the sofa set. Its presence can boost the ambience, making everyone feel welcome and at ease. A sofa set price varies depending on the style and features. But with the numerous options available, finding the perfect sofa set for living room can be overwhelming. Fear not, as we guide you through the process, ensuring you find the ideal cane sofa set that suits your style, space, and budget. Urbanwood offers sofa set low price choices to fit any budget without compromising on quality.

Why Does the Sofa Set Reigns Supreme?

A living room without a modern sofa set is like a day without sunshine—strange and uninviting. The sofa set is not just furniture; it's an essential element that transforms your seating experience. From cosy evenings with family to lively gatherings with friends, the furniture sofa set sets the stage for memorable moments. It is the height of luxury in any house because of its charm and adaptability.

Exploring Trendy Sofa Designs

There are endless options available when choosing the ideal sofa set for your living area. There is a design to fit every taste and choice, from traditional to contemporary. Let's delve into some popular sofa designs that can elevate your living space:

L-Shaped Sofa Set:

The ample seating and comfort of the latest sofa set make it perfect for large living spaces or for people who enjoy entertaining. Its flexible style makes it easy to fit into any corner, maximizing space usage while providing an enjoyable gathering spot.

Searching for a sofa set near me? You can easily go with Urbanwood's convenient location and wide selection.

Classic Sofa Set:

A classic yet simple sofa set conveys culture and charm to those who long for timeless elegance. It draws attention and lends a sense of regal grandeur to your living area with its exquisite craftsmanship and luxurious upholstery.

Modern Sectional Sofa:

Modern sectional sofas are sleek, fashionable, and quite practical; they go well with contemporary houses. Its modular design makes customisation simple and allows it to easily fit your demands for seating and space.

Essential Sofa Buying Tips

With so many options available, selecting the ideal couch sofa set can be daunting. Here are five essentials to think about before investing:

Style:

Choose a big sofa set that complements the overall style and decor of your living room. Whether you prefer traditional elegance or modern minimalism, ensure that the design and colour resonate with your aesthetic sensibilities.

Fabric:

The fabric of your sofa set not only contributes to its visual appeal but also impacts comfort and durability. Whether you opt for leather, tweed, or a neutral fabric, prioritize style and functionality to ensure long-term satisfaction.

Room Size:

Take accurate measurements of your living room to determine the appropriate size and proportions for your sofa set. Avoid overcrowding the space or leaving it looking disproportionate by choosing a sofa that fits seamlessly into your room layout.

Seating Space:

Consider the seating needs of your household and choose a sofa set that provides ample room for everyone to relax and unwind. Whether you prefer lounging or entertaining guests, prioritize comfort and functionality in your selection.

Comfort:

Above all, prioritize comfort when selecting a sofa set for drawing room. Test different options in person to gauge the level of comfort they provide, and consider factors such as seat depth, back height, and armrest design.

The Benefits of Selecting the Best Sofa Set

Investing in a quality sofa set offers numerous benefits beyond mere aesthetics. It sets the tone for your living space, leaving a lasting impression on guests and residents alike. From enhancing comfort to elevating the overall ambience, a well-chosen sofa set is the cornerstone of luxurious home furnishings.

If you're ready to revamp your living space with a stylish and affordable sofa set, look no further than Urbanwood. Explore their extensive collection of modern, classic, and designer sofa sets available in various styles and dimensions. Whether you're in search of a small sofa set for a cosy nook or a big sofa set for entertaining guests, Urbanwood offers high-quality furniture that exceeds your expectations. Visit their showroom or browse their website to discover the new sofa set that elevates your living room decor to new heights.

Conclusion

If you are looking for a sofa set shop near me, choose Urbanwood for convenient access to high-quality furniture. From classic designs to modern styles, there's a sofa set to suit every taste and preference. By considering factors such as style, fabric, room size, seating space, and comfort, you can select the perfect single sofa set for your home. Urbanwood has a sofa set for sale, providing great value for your money. With the ideal sofa set, you can create lasting memories with family and friends while enjoying comfort and style in your home.

#sofa set #sofa set price #sofa set for living room #cane sofa set #sofa set low price

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srinibasgowdablog · 5 months

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Immerse yourself in a world of opulence and rejuvenation as we unveil the epitome of luxury wellness retreats. From the breathtaking landscapes of Aro Hā in New Zealand to the lavish interiors adorned with leather sofas at Vana Wellness Retreat in India, discover a curated selection of sanctuaries that seamlessly blend wellness and indulgence. Explore signature treatments like PVD coating in Bangalore at Vana, innovative therapies at Kamalaya Wellness Sanctuary in Thailand, and the celebrity-favorite immersive program at The Ranch Malibu in the USA.

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hasansstudios · 3 months

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Welcome to Hasan Studios: Your Destination for Exquisite Furniture

Discover Excellence in Every Piece

Are you in search of top-tier furniture that seamlessly combines comfort, style, and durability? Look no further than Hasan Studios, your premier destination for exquisite furniture crafted with precision and passion. As chair manufacturers near me and sofa makers near me, we take pride in offering an unparalleled selection of furniture that elevates your living spaces to new heights of elegance and functionality.

Craftsmanship That Stands Apart

At Hasan Studios, we understand that furniture isn't just about functionality; it's about creating an atmosphere that reflects your unique taste and personality. That's why each piece in our collection is meticulously crafted by skilled artisans who pour their expertise and passion into every detail. From classic designs to contemporary masterpieces, our furniture embodies timeless elegance and superior craftsmanship.

Chair Manufacturers Near Me: Elevate Your Seating Experience

Your search for exceptional chairs ends here at Hasan Studios. Whether you're looking for a cozy armchair for your reading nook or stylish dining chairs to gather around the table with loved ones, we have a diverse range of options to suit every need and aesthetic preference. Our chairs are not just pieces of furniture; they are statements of style and comfort that enhance any room they grace.

Sofa Makers Near Me: Luxurious Comfort Redefined

Indulge in the ultimate comfort and luxury with our exquisite sofas tailored to perfection. Whether you prefer the timeless charm of a leather sofa or the plush embrace of a fabric sectional, Hasan Studios offers an extensive selection to fulfill your desires. Each sofa in our collection is thoughtfully designed to provide both unparalleled comfort and unmatched style, making it the focal point of any living room.

Experience the Hasan Studios Difference

What sets Hasan Studios apart from other furniture stores is our unwavering commitment to quality, craftsmanship, and customer satisfaction. When you choose Hasan Studios, you're not just purchasing furniture; you're investing in a legacy of excellence and sophistication that transcends trends and stands the test of time.

Visit our showroom today and immerse yourself in a world of exquisite furniture crafted with passion and precision. Hasan Studios – where every piece tells a story of timeless elegance and unparalleled craftsmanship.

Elevate Your Living Spaces with Hasan Studios

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Email Us: [email protected]

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shreefurniture15 · 5 months

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luxury furniture

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newschool17k · 9 months

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Discovering the Fusion of Interior Decoration and Graphic Design

When you think about interior decoration or search for an "interior decorator near me" online, your mind probably conjures up images of beautiful living spaces, plush furniture, and intricate details that make a home feel inviting. On the other hand, the words "graphic design" might transport you to a world of digital media, advertisements, and creative branding. But what if we told you that the realms of interior decoration and graphic design are interwoven more intricately than you imagined? Let's dive into this fascinating crossover.

1. The Unified World of Design

Before delving deep into how graphic design and interior decoration intersect, it's essential to appreciate that all design forms share a foundational purpose: to communicate. Be it through the arrangement of furniture in a room or the choice of typography on a website, design tells a story and evokes emotion.

2. Translating Themes Across Mediums

Imagine walking into a coffee shop where the interiors breathe the 80s retro vibe. Now, picture the menu card, loyalty cards, or even the staff's aprons continuing that theme with apt graphic design. The interior decorator and the graphic designer have come together to craft an immersive experience that is consistent and enjoyable.

3. Color Palette Synergy

When you're searching for an "interior decorator near me," one of the key aspects you're probably concerned about is the color palette. Colors evoke moods and set the ambiance of a space. In a similar vein, graphic design utilizes color to capture attention and convey messages. A harmonized color palette between interiors and graphics ensures brand consistency and a seamless flow from physical to digital touchpoints.

4. Geometric Patterns: From Walls to Websites

Geometric patterns are all the rage today. An interior decorator might use them in wallpapers, upholstery, or floor designs. In the same breath, a graphic designer can incorporate these patterns into web design, business cards, and other branding materials. There's an inherent unity in the use of patterns, making the crossover between these two disciplines incredibly natural.

5. Textures and Materials Speak

Beyond color and pattern, the choice of materials and textures in interior decoration speaks volumes. The tactile feeling of leather, the smoothness of marble, or the rustic appeal of wood - all tell stories. Graphic designers often incorporate these textures digitally to give depth and dimension to their designs. So, a website or a brochure can echo the interior design choices of a physical space.

6. Typography: The Invisible Decorator

Ever thought about how typography affects our perception? Just as fonts play a pivotal role in graphic design, typography is making its way into interiors too. Wall art, custom-made furniture with text, and even floor designs are utilizing typography. It bridges the gap between the visual treat provided by interior decorators and the communicative function of graphic design.

7. The Importance of Collaboration

One cannot stress enough the magic that can be created when an interior decorator and a graphic designer collaborate. The synchronization of their ideas can give birth to brand identities that stand out and offer a unique experience to visitors, both in digital and physical spaces.

In Conclusion: An Interwoven Dance of Disciplines

The next time you're looking up "interior decorator near me" or pondering over a graphic design project, consider how these two worlds can come together. There's an immense opportunity in merging these disciplines, and the results, as we've seen, can be truly mesmerizing.

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cophene · 1 year

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g. giovanna || ✦.⁺ suspend.

previous chapter || trish’s chapter || next chapter || table of contents

pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : a college student tries getting the attention of some of the most admired and attractive people on campus, only to get caught up with stands and vigilante groups in the process. notes : modern au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn't follow canon plot word count : 2.3k+

═ ☆. GIORNO REPLIED TO Y/N'S request for Stand assistance by swinging by with his Maserati. (Y/n) spent the twenty-minute drive to Giorno's house by catching him up on what had happened with Scolippi and trying not to gawk too much at his clothes. It shouldn't have been so weird seeing Giorno in a t-shirt and sweatpants, but it was.

"Leone Abbacchio. I feel like I should know that name, but I don't. He said he was a Stand user?"

"If we're taking his word for it."

"Strange, I don't think he goes to Sapiena; otherwise, I would've heard about him. It didn't occur to me that there might be someone else investigating the events going on."

"Mista said he might be a cop."

"I doubt it. But he must have been at this for a while if he knew about Scolippi and his girlfriend. It's so weird that he saw you and Mista. It makes me wonder if he knows someone in our group already."

"But why did he ask to work with us? He seemed like he was working alone."

"That's true. If I were you, I'd definitely talk to him. He seems like he might know more about this than we do. He could be an ally in the long run."

Giorno happened to live in an upper-class gated community near Naples' downtown. He greeted the gatekeeper and pulled into one of the many enormous houses lining the neighbourhood. With its gorgeous architecture and perfect front drive, (y/n) wouldn't have been surprised to see Giorno's house on a magazine cover.

"Welcome back, Signor Giovanna." A sharply dressed man opened the front door for (y/n) and Giorno as they entered. Of course, Giorno's family had a butler. What else had (y/n) been expecting?

Giorno tossed his keys to the butler, who caught them deftly. "Grazie, Vanilla. I'd like to introduce my friend, (y/n) (l/n). I'm just helping them out with a few things. And, (y/n), this is our butler, Vanilla Ice."

Vanilla Ice inclined his head. "It's lovely to meet you. Is there anything I can have prepared for the two of you? The sandwiches are in the living room as you requested."

Giorno was already moving farther into the house. "We'll be fine, grazie."

(Y/n) smiled at the butler before following after Giorno. It was so off-putting seeing him in his house. He'd dropped the elegant, collected façade he wore around Sapiena. He seemed like an actual eighteen-year-old and (y/n) didn't know how to feel about that.

After passing a few catalogue-worthy rooms, they entered the living room (the personal one, Giorno informed (y/n)), and they were glad to see it was much homier. A faded green furniture set sat around a coffee table, various knickknacks arranged on the opposite wall. There was a leather photo album sitting open on the coffee table beside a plate of sandwiches. Giorno sat down on the loveseat and canted his head for (y/n) to join him.

"My mom wanted a picture from this album. I think she needs it for an interview she's giving. Of course, she's too busy to come back to Naples to get it, so she wanted me to mail it over." Giorno rolled his eyes, but he didn't seem to mind that much. He showed (y/n) the picture his mother wanted—a candid shot of a stunning brunette and a golden-haired man (y/n) recognized as Chief Prosecutor Brando. Giorno didn't look exactly like his father, but there was something in the cunning slant of their eyes and confident upturned chin that was the same.

"Your mother is gorgeous," (y/n) said.

"I rarely see her," Giorno replied. "Or my father, for that matter." His tone was flippant, but (y/n) thought they heard an undercurrent of sadness. He flipped to a different picture in the album. "Twenty euros if you guess who this is."

(Y/n) studied the severe-looking child in the picture. He wore a trench coat and an unflattering bowl cut. His green eyes looked too big on his pale face.

"Can you not tell?" Giorno sounded amused.

"Is this your cousin?"

Giorno grinned and slipped the picture out of the album. He flipped it over so (y/n) could read the writing at the back.

Giorno, age 7

"No," (y/n) said, taking the picture and squinting at it. "That is not you."

"Terrible, isn't it? I had that unfortunate haircut until sophomore year in senior high. Then I realized how much better I look blond and had to grow it out."

(Y/n) laughed. "You look like a very happy trooper."

"It was hard having a mom that was never home and a dad who spent twenty hours at work every day. It was lonely, and I was already quiet, so I just retreated. Trish said I was a pain to be around as a kid." Giorno's tone was rueful. (Y/n) said nothing, having a hard time seeing Giorno as anything but the charming, confident college freshman he was now.

"If I hadn't met Trish and Fugo, I'd probably still be the same lonely, reserved kid." There was the slightest pause before Giorno said Fugo's name. Giorno looked at a picture at the bottom of the page where a tiny Fugo and Giorno attempted to push Trish on a swing.

Now. Bring up the talk now.

"But you didn't come here to look at my pictures," Giorno said, closing the picture album. He held the sandwich platter in front of (y/n) until they took one, then took one for himself.

"You're here for Stand advice. Tell me how it's coming along so far."

Guess I'll have to wait, then.

"I can summon it, but I don't have any fine control over it. It only seems to act out when I'm feeling stressed or overwhelmed."

"Instinct," Giorno said, looking thoughtful. "It's at times like that that your instinct overpowers your conscious thought. If anything, that just means you aren't putting enough conviction behind whatever you want your Stand to do."

(Y/n) bit into their sandwich to avoid saying anything. They were trying. Their Stand just didn't feel like it was part of them.

"Can I see your Stand?" Giorno asked.

Calling on their Stand was noticeably easier this time around. Giorno's mouth opened a little as he watched (y/n)'s shimmery lengths of fabric drape themselves around the living room. He hesitantly took a piece that hovered over his shoulder between his fingers.

"It looks fragile, but it's surprisingly strong," Giorno said, teasing the fabric. "Bruno also told me about how it's capable of cutting things up."

He slid his finger along the edge of the fabric, and a thin line of blood welled up.

"Is there an explanation for how it was able to sense Risotto? And Rolling Stones, now that I think about it."

Giorno let the strip of fabric drift back into the air. "I'd say it's life energy. Look at the way it hovers closer to the two of us than to everything else." A light entered his eye. "Hold on. I want to try something."

He got up from his seat, taking off one of the ladybug earrings he had on and closing it in his fist. (Y/n) frowned when their Stand started clustering around it.

"Impressive," Giorno said. "It's able to pick up on the life energy from Gold Experience." Giorno opened his palm, and a tiny ladybug flew out.

"Gold Experience?"

A shining yellow-gold humanoid stepped out from behind Giorno. It was elegant and slender, and it drew (y/n)'s eye to the ladybugs arranged over its body. With its piercing gaze, Giorno's Stand honestly looked a little scary. A fitting representation for him, (y/n) realized.

"Gold Experience can infuse objects with life energy. It allows me to transform that object into a living organism." Giorno walked a slow circle around his Stand. "If you have trouble controlling your Stand, that just means you need more confidence in yourself. You have to believe it will do what you want."

"Easier said than done."

Giorno looked around the living room, searching for something. His eyes landed on his book bag, and he took out a folder from it.

"I want you to try something. I'm going to turn these pieces of paper into something alive. Since your Stand is attracted to life energy, it shouldn't be hard for you to catch them. All you have to do is grab onto them once your Stand gets close."

"I'm sorry to say this, but that's a stupid idea."

"Isn't it? But all of this is a work in progress. It'll be fun."

Gold Experience touched the stack of papers Giorno held, and a few moments later, they were lifting into the air as tiny white butterflies. Just like Giorno had said, strips of (y/n)'s Stand followed after the butterflies, floating softly near them.

"Close your eyes," Giorno said, gently brushing a hand against (y/n)'s eyelids. "Your Stand can sense those butterflies. Just catch them."

(Y/n) closed their eyes. They grew aware of the space their Stand took up, the way they could feel it drifting in the air. As they concentrated, they realized the pinpricks of heat they felt was their Stand brushing against the butterflies. (Y/n) thought about surrounding the butterflies and felt their Stand shifting in the air, responding to them.

"Don't look yet," Giorno said when (y/n) was about to open their eyes. He guided them up from the loveseat and forward a few steps.

"Look what you did."

(Y/n)'s Stand had formed an elaborate web around the living room. Tiny strands of it had broken off and wrapped around the butterflies' bodies, leaving their wings free. They flew around, white kites in the air.

"Have you given your Stand a name?"

"That's been the last thing on my mind." (Y/n) was still blinking at their Stand, glimmering where it caught the light. They'd done it. Catching the butterflies had been less about doing and more about feeling. They really were like a spider, creating their own glittery web.

"Well, we can't have that." Giorno playfully put his arm through a gap in (y/n)'s web and tossed the strands about. They stayed suspended in the air, drifting gracefully. "Why don't you try thinking of one?"

"I think Mista calling it Sparkly Death Cloth had a nice ring to it."

Giorno gave (y/n) a crooked smile. "You can do better than that."

A piece of glimmery fabric settled across (y/n)'s shoulders like a shawl. A name tickled at their mind, and they whispered it, trying it out.

"What was that?"

"White Satin," (y/n) said. As they did, the strands of their Stand gave an affirmative ripple.

"I like it," Giorno said. His white butterflies chose that moment to turn back into pieces of paper. They fell to the ground and (y/n) helped Giorno pick them back up. (Y/n)'s Stand had dissipated by the time they were cleared away.

All of a sudden, (y/n) knew they were just going to tell Giorno about Fugo straight up rather than whatever else they'd planned. They didn't know why. Something seemed different between the two of them now. Maybe it didn't feel right when Giorno had been so willing to help them.

"Giorno, controlling my Stand wasn't the only reason I wanted to come over."

Giorno looked at (y/n), a question in his eyes.

"Fugo told me about what happened when you first flicked on the lighter. He's terrified of his Stand and holds it against you guys for forcing it on him. He said you don't care about what happens to people who face Black Sabbath."

If Giorno was surprised (y/n) had brought up Fugo, he didn't show it.

"Fugo, huh? It's been such a long time since I spoke to him. Looking back on it, the lighter was one of the few times he ever spoke up about his thoughts."

"I think that if you told him what it is you and Trish are doing, there's a chance he'd join you guys. You could fix your friendship."

"I don't know if there's anything left to fix."

"Well, then you won't lose anything by trying."

Giorno replaced the papers in his bookbag and idly took another sandwich.

"I miss when the three of us were still friends. We shouldn't have talked over him so much."

"So talk to him. I can give you his number. He's angry, but I think he wants to talk to you too. If it's going according to plan, Narancia should've convinced Trish to do the same."

"Look at you," Giorno said, with the hint of a smile. "Going out of your way to fix people's problems."

"It's the least I can do."

Giorno took a bite from his sandwich. It was quiet as (y/n) gave him time to think.

"Give me his number," he said finally. "I've wanted to talk to him for a while."

During the ride back to Sapiena, (y/n) learned that Giorno was a sucker for chocolate and pudding. They'd been expecting him to say something pretentious like caviar or Turkish dates. These little details about him made him seem closer, less like a rich person (y/n) barely knew.

"Have you ever tried octopus salad?"

"No."

"I'll take you some time. I need at least one other person to agree about how good it is. Mista makes the weirdest faces whenever I order it."

(Y/n) decided to up and say what they'd been thinking. "Hey, Giorno?"

"Mhm?"

"I like you better when you're like this. When you don't act all haughty and above everyone."

(Y/n) thought Giorno would go stormy and silent. Instead, he said, "I know what you mean. It's hard to act like myself when everyone has this idea of me in their heads. It gets tiring."

Giorno dropped (y/n) off in the parking lot.

"Have a nice afternoon, (y/n). We'll meet up again, right?"

"You'll have to tell me."

Giorno handed her a plastic container. "Vanilla Ice packaged the sandwiches for you."

"Grazie. Get home safe."

When (y/n) opened the container back in their dorm, they were startled to find the container wasn't full of sandwiches.

Small paper roses filled the container, blooming into real flowers at (y/n)'s touch.

previous chapter || trish’s chapter || next chapter || table of contents

#pseuminova #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #golden wind #golden wind x reader #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader #gender neutral reader #modern au

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