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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 3 years

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Birthday

Summary: could you do a hs losers x reader where the readers new to town and hates her bday bc each year her past friends and family had always forgotten or did nothing so when richie finds out her bdays coming up he tells the losers and they all plan a special surprise party and richie saves up and gets her something super special and the losers r all like wow he’s never gotten anyone anything like this b4 so she finds out that he likes her or something so it’s like the best bday she’s ever had

Richie bikes swiftly passed you, faster than he usually does, which can only mean he’s trying to surpass you. You barely refrain from flipping him the bird in public, as you too throw your weight into peddling. It’s no use, Richie is more athletic than you by a long shot, and he’s been practicing with Eddie for track. You’ll never be able to catch up with him with no viable effort.

‘You asshole,’ you yell out to him, noticing an elder woman pledging through her yard too late to stop your exclamation. She regards the both of you with malcontent, stabbing her hark too brutally in the soil of her allotment for it to be a coincidence.

‘Not my fault your short legs can’t reach the peddles.’

You growl, lifting up from your saddle to race faster, but Richie sees you do it and does nothing but laugh.

Any other time you might give him hell for it, but today, you are in no mood to indulge in Richie’s escapades.

It’s your birthday, and while for most that equalizes a fun day stacked with presents and cake, to you it stands for a day full of misery.

Your birthday is cursed. And no, that is not you being dramatic. At your ninth birthday, your cake got slammed into floor, therefor ruing the gift your parents had been working on for weeks, and which was their only present.

At age ten, you fell off your brand new bike into a ravine and had to go to the hospital to get eleven stitches. On your fourteenth birthday, you and your parents got into such a huge fight they send you up to your room and forbad you from sneaking down at any point in the day.

There are more examples to back up your claim for the terrible birthdays, but you have tried to desperately block them all out, so you won’t rehash them.

That’s why your so peeved that Richie is forcing you to the quarry.

‘If you could tell me where I’m supposed to be going to bet u could find a short cut and be there faster than you.’

‘Nice try Dora, I’m not telling you anything. It’s a surprise.’

‘Alright, I get two attempts. If I can’t guess where we’re going, I’ll do your homework for a week.’

‘And if you do guess it?’

‘Then you owe me a favor and no matter for what reason I cash it in, you don’t get to complain.’

‘Fine, bring it miss know it all.’ Richie slows down to slide next to you, the wind picking up as the two of you descend down the mountain. His smile is mischievous and cheeky, probably too confident to think you’ll be able to reckon the spot he has in mind.

If only he knew that you had limited the possibilities to two places, the exact amount of guess you were granted.

‘Hm, are we going to the arcade?’ Your first theory is. Richie doesn’t have anything on him right now, except pennies that have been rinkeling inside his pockets the entire bike ride, the only thing he needs to go to the arcade.

Richie smirks, and shakes his head. ‘Try one my dear, may I say that the odds aren’t in your favor right now?’

His impressive ego in the way he taunts you with the right answer fuels your desire to be right. ‘Are we going to the Barrens?’ You sing, smiling wide as Richie’s shrinks.

‘Eh, no?’ He says, but he sounds petulant. ‘Fuck this shit, what gave it away?’

‘A girl never reveals her secrets’, you say covertly, forgetting momentarily about the agitating day. You suspect that might have been Richie’s intention.

It’s not like the Barrens is such a stretch in the first place, the losers and you have made that place your own, but you do hypothesize that he may have planned something special for you.

Your theory turns out to be true, as you can spot a long table at the end of the dirt path you and Richie are currently riding on to get to the clubhouse. The table is stacked with a variety of candies, your favorite, drinks that are sweet enough to rot your teeth, something Richie should be more aware off - having a dad who is a dentist-, and a giant cake with eight candles on. Each one representing a loser.

You say nothing as you approach, in a sneaky way torturing Richie a bit more before revealing that you’re at the verge of tears of this nice gesture. Richie slows down his speed by dragging his shoes along the dirt, glances darting nervously towards your face.

‘I know you said no parties, but how else was I supposed to show off my rocking dance moves?’

‘Do you mean the moves you make that look like you’re dying?’ Stan chides, him and the rest of the losers rolling up behind you two. They’re all walking next to their bikes, and Bill’s hands are smudges with cake residue he somehow missed while cleaning up. They didn’t want to be here before you and ruin the ‘surprise’, but it’s clear everyone has worked hard to organize this for you.

‘Fuck you Stan the man, the color green doesn’t fit you.’

‘Happy’, Bev grounds out, leveling Richie with one look, the way only Bev can, and then address you. ‘Birthday.’ She hugs you despite you still holding your bike, and you let it clatter to the ground with a loud bang.

‘Thanks Bev.’

‘Happy Birthday’, the other losers also call out, because there’s just too many of them for each to wait their turn.

‘We hope you don’t mind we don’t have any presents, we spend basically all of it getting ingredients for the cake, which we had to redo- twice.’

They don’t offer any other explanation about why the cake had to be remade two times, but by Eddie’s scowl you can fill in the blanks.

‘No, honestly, this is already too much.’ It is too much, but their efforts are so kind and heartwarming that you have to bit back a happy squall. No one has ever bothered to organize anything for your birthday, whether it be purchasing a two dollar present or even ordering a cake, but these people that you had met less then a year ago were willing to scramble together all the money they could, just so they could turn your day special. Thank god for moving to Derry.

For the first time in years, your birthday has brought smiles and laughter, and no tears and weeping moods.

‘Nonsense my dearest young lady, this is but a blip on our radar, a speck of dust on the tv, nothing compared too-‘

‘Can we please cut the cake now? Before something else goes wrong with it?’ Eddie glowers, refuting to wait for an affirmative.

‘Don’t forget the candles,’ Ben says as he follows Eddie to the table. You’re about to join them, when a hand on your wrists stops you.

‘Hey, Y/N? You really don’t mind this right? I know you said you didn’t want anything but I know how nice it is be caught off guard with something like this.’ Richie rubs the back of his head as if that makes him see any less anxious. It’s incredible how smart someone can be while simultaneously also being so dense.

‘Richie’, you say as you smile, unable to hide it any longer. ‘It’s amazing, thank you so much. If there is any way I can repay you I’ll do that. I’m really happy with this.’

‘That’s good, not that I was worried about it, who isn’t a fan of everything I do?’

Rolling your eyes only spurs Richie on, but it’s become an automatic response now, you can’t help but do it.

‘Oh, I almost forgot. I did get you another gift. Two actually, if you count my huge dong as one.’

‘Gross Richie, why do you always have to add something sexual to everything?’

‘It’s my game babe, love it or leave it. Anyway, here is the gift if you want it. If you don’t that’s fine too.’

‘Don’t get all shy on me now Rich’, you tease as your bump your arm into his while grabbing the package. ‘I’ve just gotten used to your antics.’

The package isn’t heavy, but it also isn’t light. It’s wrapped in enough layer that you can’t feel what’s inside of it just by holding it, but that was probably Richie’s intention. That or he is simply horrible at wrapping up.

While you carefully peel off each layer, you begin to speculate on what it could be. It could be a gag gift, but Richie looked sincere, and his eyes behind his glasses are magnified in true anticipation, a gag gift wouldn’t illicit that response.

As soon as the final layer is detached, you gasp, armored by the actual gift. It’s a blue bracelet, covered in butterfly pattering. You once mentioned having a similar one as a kid that you loved but lost one day while playing outside and had been sad about for weeks.

You can’t believe Richie had kept it in his mind, and had gone out to look for it.

‘Richie… I don’t even know what to say right now.’ You exclaim, squeezing the bracelet in your hand tightly, a blush covering your face. Richie’s mimics yours. ‘Thank you’, you say while reaching out to him and kissing him on the cheek. Richie face burns a brighter red.

‘Yeah… glad to be of service.’ His mind is ball parks away, and he is left dazed.

‘Come on Y/N, it’s time for you to blow out the candles.’

You go easily, letting your hand linger around Richie’s, deciding mentally that you’ll do it tonight before you go home. Your birthday has already been better than anything you could have imagined, and maybe it has one more miracle left to give. If Richie says yes to your question about going on a date, then this will truly have been the best birthday you have every had. By the love struck expression Richie is walking around with, you have an inkling as to what his response might be.

You blow out your candles, but you don’t need to make a wish. You already have everything you could possibly want.

----

‘Off course that asshole buys her a gift, but never returns the money I loaned him so long ago. I’m not a fucking bank.’

‘I think it’s cute.’

‘No, Eddie is right, I’m also waiting on my refund.’

‘It’s adorable he bought her something, he really can’t hide his crush anymore.’

#richie tozier #My writing #richie x reader #the losers x reader #it x reader #it imagines #richie tozier x reader

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theviolencedistrict-archived · 3 years

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you're a part of me and i'm a part of you written to: bones characters: mich/ael cr/ew & marco alvira (self insert) words: 1,621 notes: Marco's hand was always outstretched, the last piece of him sticking out from the earth towards the sky. From way down there, though, he couldn't ever possibly tell if Mike was reaching back. Blue skies and a blurry shape in the clouds of what could be a man, but could be a god.

Something about the way Marco could never quite reach Mike was mystifying. Dizzying, one man in great heights while the other sunk into the planet with the quicksand. Marco's hand was always outstretched, the last piece of him sticking out from the earth towards the sky. From way down there, though, he couldn't ever possibly tell if Mike was reaching back. Blue skies and a blurry shape in the clouds of what could be a man, but could be a god. Michael Crew took to the skies to escape the humanity below, but he didn't fully realize that with their feet planted on the ground, he could only ever be looked up upon as a deity walking amongst the clouds, wielding his emotions as lightning in his palms.

That wasn't right. Marco knew that. Mike would never put his hand to the flashing beams of electricity that made his hair stand on end when storms rolled in. Not when he knew it could - and would - bite back. His scars ached and pulsated with every downpour. No matter how diligently Marco rubbed at them with his warm palms, those lightning strikes would never return to the sky. That little man could break through the ozone and the universe would not take back its wrath, even if the broken boy in him still wished it would.

It was silly to look up at the great wide sky and hope the universe was listening. It wasn't even out there, Marco would muse and chuckle. The universe was locked in the core beneath the streets and houses and festering garbage, slowly crawling its way up through the dirt. But in the same way Mike took to the sky and could not be seen, how could a world full of people know what was below them if they were always looking up?

Under a dim streetlight, the short brunette man held his jacket closed as a damp wind blew by. Marco, ever so persuasive, had successfully gotten the man to dress according to the weather, which was predicted to be unkind from Georgia up through Ohio for the next several days. The two stood outside of an impressively ancient bar just a short walk from the border between Tennessee and Kentucky, both of which happened to be the taller American's home. Growing up with divorced parents split between two different Welcome-To signs blurred the line of a hometown, or even a home state. Mike, lucky for him in his quaint home on the outskirts of London, never had to worry about the raging tension between two parents or where he'd spend the weekend. It would have been the least of his problems, however, as Marco's heart tightened at the years of internal trauma and torment which ate away at his youth instead.

When Marco's father died, he couldn't cry at the funeral. When Mike's parents died, he simply inhabited the walls of a skeletal home like a ghost.

"It's gonna start comin' down soon," The tall, wide man warned in an accent otherwise alien to his short companion, "You ready to hit the road? I told you it wouldn't be so bad." Coming up behind Mike with an umbrella under his arm and both hands in his pockets, Marco watched the skies. He was never a fan of the rain, but did love the scent of its aftermath seeping through the mud. Fog felt natural, almost as much so as a warm and crushing home. Suffocating... blinding. But cold.

"You were right... I suppose there isn't anything left for us here," Mike was something akin to antsy, looking uncomfortable in his clothing, or perhaps his very own skin, "Why is it, do you think... That I suddenly feel so... Regretful?" He questioned, attempting to turn and look at the long haired avatar through messy bangs. He in turn looked thoughtful, but shrugged, lifting a hand to scratch at the thick hair on his chin.

"Atmosphere, maybe. Not the kind you're used to, but the one that lives in people. Lives in places. Different than you know, ain't it?" The unmistakable similarity between Marco Alvira and Michael Crew was that they emitted the very same air of vague and heavy sadness from their very pores - and over time, it mixed with a shared, unfortunate remorse. "That old man, though - one at the bottle all day? He's got a lotta debts. Lots of shit needs payin' but he'll never get around to. Not because he can't, but because he never wanted to."

"And so he drinks the guilt away." Pale and tired Mike nodded in understanding, having begun to visibly relax while his partner talked. He made his way the few steps closer to Marco, and casually snaked his arm around his. The faint, pleasant smell of whiskey wafted from the man with long since faded out dyed-green hair, but Mike didn't recall seeing him drink during their stay. He was steady enough while guiding him out of the light, into the dark night, and back towards the truck.

"Everybody's got their way. That's just one of the easiest." Marco commented wisely, always leaving his small lover with something to think about during the silent times. The buried avatar always drove, while the vast avatar sat beside him and gazed at sights through the melody of folk tracks or United States news stations which didn't make all that much a difference in his world. Maybe that was untrue, now. Maybe he'd started to think that he didn't want to leave this place. Did that make it his new world? As Marco got into the driver's seat, Mike met him in time, climbing into the passenger's.

A bright vein of purple lightning lit up the night sky, exposing the outlines of trees and scarce old buildings in its brief illumination. Michael's soft brown hair looked messier than even before, and his eyes avoided the windows as he leaned against the car door, chewing on his lip. Marco did not need to look at the other man to feel him and his blazing emotions. Keys in the ignition, bright old lights upon the dirt, and they pulled off onto the road once more. The moment they did, wind began to rage, and only the driver took notice through his rearview mirrors that the one, stumbling, drunk old man stepped on quivering legs out of the doors they shortly ago exited, grumbling at himself and throwing an empty bottle onto the ground. He was almost knocked off his feet by the coming storm - or was he being pulled into it?

Soon, he could no longer be seen. Only the road ahead mattered as cold water droplets hit the windshield.

"What if I stopped, one day?" Mike eventually spoke up from where he'd shriveled into one corner of his seat, staring at nothing. It was a question Marco had, too, asked himself. Many, many times. "What if I just stopped feeding it?"

"You know what would happen. Maybe not how, but you know it'd come for you," The muscular man sighed, eyes on the road - always the road, always forward, until it could only be down, "It'd come for me too, if I stopped. I'm more afraid of what comes after, than how it'd end me."

"It might, though. I might. I don't know." The passenger sighed heavily, clearly shaken up by emotions he'd long since frozen away, due mostly to exhaustion. Marco watched from the corner of his eye as his beloved began to rub and scratch at the pulsating, living scar on his neck. The one that matched the skies at that very same moment. It made his hardened heart throb.

"Yeah? I'd go with you," He stated plainly, with something painful bitten back in his voice, "I don't care. If one day you decide you're done, and it's over, then no matter what happens, it's gonna be both of us. We'll fight, we'll run, but when it catches you, it catches me, too. I ain't lettin' go of you. You got me, and I love you, whether you like it or not... Whichever comes first, the sky or the earth, it's takin' us together."

There was more firm warmth, a promise, in the words Marco spoke. It was unexpected, like a sinkhole bursting to life, like a sudden burst of thunder. The pale man's paler eyes were set on his love, wider than they'd ever been. How long had Mike been running alone? How long had it only been him and sky blue? He could taste his own heartbeat, the way his insides flipped and tumbled, and the lightning didn't reach his eyes - nor did the thunder that followed reach his ears. And he swallowed hard as they crossed the threshold into another home, once more.

"... Do you promise?" The Englishman asked somewhat shakily, a vulnerability he'd never show anyone but Marco. His lungs allowed the cold night air in once again when he saw his Southern protector smile.

"I promise. Of course I promise." There was a small laughter in his response, like a relief. It was a relief that filled both of them. The vast would be satisfied tonight, and peace would be theirs for a short amount of time. What came next was simply time. What flowed between them was simply understanding - and love. Marco released the wheel with the hand closest to Mike, and held it out for him to take. The hesitation was short lived, before a cold little hand was warmed in his grasp, tightly holding on over the old transmission stick between them.

Marco reached out to the sky - and Mike reached back. Where their hands joined together was the eternal horizon.

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atlantisaurum · 3 years

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Lifetime

At 11pm he was digging up a hole in his own garden. Raindrops shattered on his face, mixing themselves under the tears, not to be distinguished here in the rain some February night in a year preceded by restless hours of isolation and pens in his hands, writing unspoken eulogies whenever he could not sleep. It´s hard to keep track of the order of all the deaths that happened throughout the last decade, all of his life.

Roots as thick as his forearms tormented his way down to a depth to lower the casket in, which he built, hoping it would make him feel less helpless, now, that another soul passed his still young being by. A flash light and an umbrella, held by his only remaining relative, kept him company next to a raging emptiness subsided by inner cries and screams. He had to keep digging otherwise it would be to late to do something, to help, to have a positive part in this inconvenient event in a row of even more inconvenient months.

Hope, first a stranger then a part of his family for 16 years, gone. Wryly and bitterly, he thought: “At least he doesn´t have to endure this anymore.” She cried night and day, crying for someone to give her love and company. His father gave it to her. Is there a place for humans and dogs next to the gods somewhere, anywhere that is not this place? Eternal solace and purity after one injection of sleep? Maybe they will find themselves together at a heavenly equivalent of north shore beaches of Germany in Spring and Autumn. “It doesn´t matter.” Nothing could sooth this loss, this last connection to his father. Sure, there still was the house, three times as old as him, built by his father blood, sweat and tears. It´s just not the same – empty, lonelier even more after his grandmother´s passing. Occupying her old room simply made him colder and his heart more cynical.

Hours passed before he was done digging this testimony of a lost cause, a withered away duo of a family. They lowered the baby-sized casket into the hole. He was silent, only muttering abbreviations of sentences and words as answers in the general direction of his blabbering mother. There are more than two ways to cope with situations like these. He and his mother lingered on opposite sites of the spectrum. One either turns into their parents or into the complete opposite. Both of his parents, marvellous in their own ways, imperfect as every other being as well. He feared to turn out like either of them. Where does one find the balance between obnoxiously loud and forever shut inside ones own head?

Fear and a promise urged his life forward for an unbearable amount of time. Stretched so thin he wasn´t even a person anymore. If one isn´t a person one will forget how to cry.

But he cried, at least he thought so or hoped so. Not crying meant it would kill him at some other point further in the future. He couldn´t bear it. When does it ever stop?

Continuously, every other week or month, he asked himself why he was the person he turned out to be. For these questions, bitter and melancholy answers are at hand but never satisfying enough to keep the doubts and hate from lurking back into his mind. Why couldn´t he accept a shoulder to cry on? It is simply easier to be quite than to explain anything at all. Every book, every last poem, piece of prose has its origins and its far fetched interpretations and general analysis but nothing that is not an exact copy of the authors mind can never fully explain the words felt and written.

Nothing ever will have enough matter to fill a black hole. It will suck in everything surrounding it, turning it into lifeless, non-existent, meaningless and fleeting occurrences. “It doesn´t matter”, he thought again. “My body is real, so is this soon to be covered in unwanted weeds and white wild flowers now filled up hole.” This existentialistic thought scratched at the walls of his head, ripping the wallpaper off and leaving behind but a white space once touched but now an unlovable place for non-permanent acquaintances of his life. Nothing stays, nothing lasts. `This too shall pass.´ But it never really seems that way in these awfully long lasting moments. Tomorrow he would still be existing and had to live the life given to him unasked for and unwillingly lead from crisis to crisis.

Soon, he knows, he would forget the tone of his dogs voice and the vibrancy of her fur in winter. So many memories repressed so he was able to breathe.

At 3am he opened the door of his car, leather gloves on his hands, but he knew his knuckles turned white by the way his hands started cramping after uncountable minutes of just holding onto the steering wheel, not even driving, just sitting, trying not to break down into even smaller pieces. His life was spread all over the globe, one chipped piece at a time. America, France, Spain, Italy, Germany - an endless list of places covered in blood only he could see. There was nowhere to go.

He turned the key around and starting driving. No specific aim, goal or place to end up at – driving simply so he wouldn´t be anywhere any time at all. Constantly moving in order not to linger.

A lightning struck above his head, enlightening the hardened lines of his face. He knew the roads, where they would eventually lead him. Every path has its end, every turn he made unconsciously brought him closer to where his heart needed to be in that very moment, after all of this morbid digging and the cries of his mother still ringing in his ears. A trip he had taken one too many times that led him to the grim realisation that he made a crucial mistake at being a person befriending another one. Taking anything, anyone in particular, for granted. Nothing ever is granted. Everything is temporary, time is fleeting and the air passing every single being by is only a recollection of what had been, could have been and something of what may never be.

The car seemed to shiver as he turned left and drove up the agricultural road, opening the scenery up to see a horizon waiting for the sun to touch its colours and tint it with its warm beams. He turned off the car. The breath he took did not help his lungs to steady themselves. Heavy was the weight sitting on his chest as the tried to open the door and begged his legs and feet to move him out of the car, onto the mushy and dirty field, awaiting the light of the new day to come.

His feet sunk into the dirt, covering his shoes in mud and torn off grass. “It doesn´t matter”, he thought again. “No one ever profited off of Nihilism.” He moved to the front of the car and leaned again the it, feet still on the ground. He needed to feel the ground beneath him, needed to feel the connection to something that wouldn´t die on him. “We´re killing this planet.” But the earth always had the remarkable ability to recover from any form of human interference. Chernobyl, only 30 years later nature recovered, animals repopulated themselves and it is now a fully functional and living place for nature and its inhabitants. But who is a boy compared to the wonders of the earth? Everyone can only ever endure and hope the pain eases. What is the last straw?

Miserable to his core, sinking deeper into the mud, the sun started to rise. Fog appeared at the horizon behind the trees in the forest that was before him. He couldn´t even count anymore how many girls he had taken to this place. He didn´t even know why he had taken them in the first place. To impress, to share, to show sparks of depth that he usually would not let anyone see? He was fooling himself. He took them them just so didn´t feel as lonely as he did now seeing this astonishing view all by himself, wondering why no one stayed long enough to see the sun set again with him. He could never to honest with himself. Lies followed lies followed lies followed by a dead end. So many things had ended when he had tried to fix them. “You cannot keep lying to everyone just because it seems like it is more convenient for you. If you keep lying, you´ll get lost in your lies and might never find your way back to the truth and to those who are sincere”, she had said to him once. “I´m sick of being treated like a secret. Stand for what you do, whom you´re with and why.” How was he supposed to tell the truth if he did not even knew it himself?

Truth is simple once one acknowledges that anything that differs from its pure form will ultimately lead one into a false perception of reality. Reality, just as time, is relative. Factual reality and emotional reality are two completely different things. “I cannot stay here”, he muttered, got back into his car and took off.

#z #mine #short story #m #death #tw

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totallysharkycomplete · 4 years

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Tears Come From The Heart (Stan Pines x Reader)

Stanley Pines can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen you cry. Now you’re in front of him crying because of him and he knows he’s fucked up. Stanley Pine x Reader Rating: Teen Warnings: implied child abuse/neglect, underage drinking, cursing, little bit of blood

Stanley Pines could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen you cry. He always had known you were a strong, independent woman, even when you were a child. Yet here you were, in front of him crying, because of him. It was at this moment he knew, he fucked up. The first time Stan saw you crying was when he met you. He and Ford had found you crying on their ship. You had said you weren’t crying, but a witch had cursed you to have water fall from your eyes until someone found you. Stan and his brother were hesitant at first to let someone new play with them, but when the day was over the three of you were best friends. Stan can still vividly remember that summer spent playing on the beach, getting sunburnt, and exploring caves. He remembers how you looked with your tattered dress and tangled hair, dirt on your face and socks. He’ll never forget the first time you came over for dinner. How his mother was so surprised the friend they had been telling her about was real, and no less a little girl. At the dinner table he remembered how his mother praised your good manners, and how even his father seemed impressed. “You could learn something from her.” His father had said. That night he watched as his mother sat you infront of her vanity and brushed your long tangled hair. He and Ford watched from the doorway, not allowed in their parent’s room. Stan could see how your demeanor changed as his mother transformed the hair on your head from a rats nest to a clean ponytail tied with a ribbon. She said she always wanted a little girl. You smiled wide as you thanked her. She sent you off and you bounded out of the room to your friends. Ford said you looked like a princess. Stan said you didn’t look like a rat anymore. You laughed and playfully shoved both of them. They walked you home and you yelled thank you as they walked away. The boys turned back to you to see the door to your home fly open and a large man, presumably your father, yell at you for yelling, before shoving you roughly through the door. The next day Stan and Ford stared at you with their jaws on the ground. You had showed up to play with your hair unevenly chopped off, almost shorter than their own hair. The ribbon their mother gave you was tied around your head in a small bow, your smile wide, seemingly unfazed by the sudden change to your hair. Stan remembers when school started back up that year. He remembers how you’d grab his arms to stop him from beating up people who bullied you. You were an easy target the way your hair had been chopped up, and the way despite how hard you would try to keep them clean, your clothes were always dirty. They way you’d come into school covered in bruises. People would say it looked like an alligator chomped all your hair off, or people would ask you if you slept in a ditch. The insults were dumb, but you were a child, so they hurt. They were never enough to make you cry. You were strong and ignored them when it came to you, however, Ford would have to stop the both of you from trying to fight people who bullied him. It was easy to take insults, but not to hear someone insult your friend. Stan can recall how on their birthday one year you had surprised them with a cake that you had helped his mother bake. He remembers how your eyes caught the light of the candles as you sang to them, how your voice made his heart skip a beat. The second time Stan ever saw you cry was when you were fourteen. It was in the middle of summer and a storm had hit. It was late at night. Stan and Ford were both reading on their beds when their window to the fire escape opened. They both bolted up ready to fight off an intruder when they saw it was you, soaked head to toe. You closed the window behind you and stood there silently for a moment. “Are you alright?” Ford asked. Stan placed his hand on your shoulder and noted and noticed tears streaming down your face, and you tried to sniff them back. “What’s wrong?” Stan asked in the softest voice you had ever heard from him. “My dad is dead.” You croak out, then a laugh escapes your lips. Your hand covers your mouth. Stan leads you to sit on the edge bottom bunk of the bed and covers you with a blanket. They sit on either side of you and hold their arms around you as you cry. Stan remembers how perfectly you fit next to him as your smaller frame shook. It would be another couple of years before Stan would see you cry again. You stood in the hospital hallway, clean dress, hair done, even a little makeup on. They had invited you to come meet their new baby brother. You entered the room with them and watched as the boys took turns holding their new brother. He squirmed and fussed, Ford held him for a few minutes before he passed him to Stan. Stan held him for probably less than a minute before passing him to you. He laid calmly in your arms. Stan watched as the baby yawned and closed his eyes. He could see your smile waver and you bit your lip. “He’s so beautiful.” You choked out as a tear ran down your cheek. His little hand held onto your finger. Stan watched as another tear slipped down your cheek before you passed the small bundle back to his mom. You quickly wiped the tears away with a tissue, smiling the whole time. The way the sun came through the blinds and landed on your smiling face wasn’t something Stan would ever forget. He knew then he was in love with you. Your friendship wasn’t something Stan was willing to mess up over confessing this love. He quickly began to distract himself with other girls, spending less time with you and Ford. Stan came home late one night, slightly intoxicated. Ford mentions you were over earlier, how you had said you missed him. Stan plays it off, before falling onto his bed. Stan can’t help but notice the next party he’s at, you’re there too. You don’t notice him at first, and he tries to not catch your attention. He keeps continuous eye contact with the girl he’s flirting with until she gets up to go to the restroom. He accidentally makes eye contact with you and you eagerly make you way over to him. His heart rate picks up and he looks away. “I know, you’re probably surprised I’m at a house party. My friend dragged me along with her.” You take a sip from the beer bottle in your hands, Stan’s gaze follows your lips. You wait a second for him to reply and he just nods and looks away. “Stanley, are you alright?” You try to make eye contact and he looks away. You scoff. “Are you really not talking to me?” He looks at you then looks away again, his face turns red. “Okay, alright.” You walk back over to where you were before, but Stan gets one last look at your face. He can see your whole face is red, the look on it is between anger and confusion. Stan doesn’t see you the rest of the night. “What did you do?” Ford asks, sliding into his desk next to Stan’s. “Huh, what?” Stan asks half asleep, a little hungover. Ford states the question again. “I don’t know what you did but she’s absolutely furious with you.” Stan catches you in the hallway between classes. He calls your name, but you ignore him and keep walking. He finally catches up to you. “Can we talk?” He asks. You stop dead in your tracks. “So now you’re not too cool to talk to me? Last night I guess you just forgot we’ve been friends for years, or did you remember that and decide it didn’t matter? Am I too embarrassing for you to be seen with me? Is that it?” Stan opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out. “Well? Which is it, Pines?” You poke your finger into his chest. A few voices around you begin to ‘ooh’, but you pay them no mind. Stan’s whole face turns beat red, and his mouth hangs open, unsure of what to say. You turn to leave and he grabs your left arm. “Wait, I…” “Let go,” you state calmly. “Just let me,” he tried to say but is cut off when you whip around and land a punch square in his nose. You’re sitting a chair apart outside the principal's office. You’ve turned your head as far from Stan as you can. Stan has dried blood on his face and shirt. He sighs as you rufes to look at him. “Can I just,” He tries to say. “No.” Stan's head turns towards the office door as he hears the familiar click of heels and thump of his father’s footsteps. You look over as well when you hear the door opening. His parent’s open the door with a scowl, expecting to see both of their boys sitting there. You can tell by the surprised look on his mother’s face they don’t expect to see you. “Stanley, what kind of trouble did you drag her into?” She scolded and walked past her son to you. A moment later your mother arrives and you all go into the principal's office. The mother’s are sitting in the two chairs while Stan’s father stands by his mother. You stand next to your mother, Stan next to his father. “Would you two care to explain what happened in the hallway? I received word there was a fight?” The principal asks. You stare awkwardly at your shoes, you’d never been in trouble like this before and didn’t know what to do. “It’s my fault,” Stan admits. You look up at him and he’s looking at you. “She had nothing to do with it.” You weren’t about to let Stan take all the blame. “That’s not true! I…” All eyes are on you with your sudden outburst. “I started it, I punched Stan! He just wanted to talk and I was being dramatic, I’m sorry!” You take in a shaky breath holding back tears. You and Stan have a moment of eye contact before his dad steps into the way, grabbing Stan by the collar of his shirt. “What did you do to make her punch you?” Stan holds up his hands in defense and you're by his side a second later. You place a hand over his father’s. “Mr.Pines, please, Stanley really didn’t do anything, I just, I was angry is all. Really.” You look up at him with pleading eyes. Stan still remembers how your eyes twinkled with unshed tears. He grunts and let’s go of his shirt. The principal agrees you both have to have a three day suspension before you can come back to school. Stan’s mother lectures him about how he’s grounded and how she’s so disappointed he upset his friend. Stan looks over at you talking in hushed whispers with your mother. She has a sympathetic look on her face and she lays a hand on your shoulder, you look up at her a nod. Stan gives you a sympathetic look when your eyes meet. You walk over towards Stan and his family, his mom stops lecturing him for a second. Stan is surprised when you take one of his hands and hold it in yours. “Stanley,” You look up at him from under your lashes. “I’m really sorry I hurt you. Could you ever forgive me?” His stomach does a flip the way you look at him with your puppy dog eyes. He brings his free hand to the back of your neck and rubs it awkwardly. “Of course.” He mumbles. You apologizes to his parents as well for making them come all the way to the school, then you make your way home. A few nights later, despite being grounded, Stan sees you at another party. Instead of making your way over to talk to him, you give him a simple wave and Stan waves back. From across the room he admires how your clothes hug your body, and how the wetness from your drink leaves your lips looking glossy and kissable. His thoughts are pulled away from you as a hand lands on his shoulder and a girl starts talking to him. He busies himself talking to the random girl for a while. He doesn’t see when a boy comes over and starts talking to you. He hears you give a flirty laugh and he looks over to see you leaning against a wall with a boy towering over you. The girl Stan was talking to walked over to some friends and he’s left alone to watch you. The boy you’re with says something and you giggle and bite your lip. He says something else and Stan watches you nod, before he brings his hand to your chin and leans in to kiss you. To Stan’s dismay you kiss him back. Before he can stop himself Stan is storming over to your side and pushing the boy away. “What the hell, Stan!” You exclaim. Stan takes your wrist in his hands and starts dragging you away, and before you can think to protest, Stan is pulling you out of the party towards his car. “Stanley!” You yell but he doesn’t stop pulling you. “Stanley Pines!” He drops your hand when he reaches the side of his car, his back to you. You take a second to huff. “I don’t get it, Stan. You don’t even talk to me the other night, then tonight you get jealous and push away the guy I’m trying to get to know. What’s going on with you?” Stan turns around red in the face. “It looked like you were doing a little more than getting to know him. He practically had his tongue down your throat.” He shouts. “What do you care? You’ve been spending less time with me, and ignoring me, now you want to care about who I’m kissing? Well you don’t get to! You don’t get to treat me like garbage and still keep me as a friend, Stan. I thought,” your voice grows quiet. “I know people still talk bad about me, but I thought you didn’t care. I thought you cared more about me, Stan.” Which brings us to now. Stan freezes when he sees a tear run down your cheek. He knows he’s hurt you bad. “Please don’t cry,” he places his hand on your shoulders and you turn your head to look away from him. “I’m really sorry. I’m just…” He lets out a heavy sigh. “I guess I was jealous. I just always thought,” his voice is only a whisper now. “I just always thought I’d be your first kiss.” You look up at him now and wipe a tear away, then move your hands to lay on his chest. “Then shut up and kiss me.” Stan doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands move from your shoulders to your hip and waist as he pulls you flush against. He greedily kisses you, and to his surprise your kisses are just as impatient. The kiss is everything he wanted it to be, soft, warm, sweet, you. You kiss each other as long as you can before having to pull back for air. He rests his forehead against yours, and you both breath heavy. “You’re an idiot, Stanley Pines.” You whisper. His hand moves from your chin to cup the side of your face. “But that’s why you love me, right?” You kiss him again. “Absolutely.”

#i posted this to my main first im gonna barf #stan pines x reader #stanley pines x reader #reader insert #gravity falls #stanley pines #we love a himbo

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keyboardpunk · 4 years

Text

The Hunter The Gods Have Sent

Male!Bloodhound x Fem!Reader

Rating: M(18+) Summary: For some, that battle cry invoked fear. For you, it was a blessing. Warnings: Graphic sexual content, blood and gore, canon typical violence. Reader is also a hunter, but not in the Apex Games. Word Count: 22154

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Your prey truly was beautiful. She stood on lean, nimble legs, powerful and agile, as was the rest of her muscular form. Her fur looked soft as the blades of grass beneath her hooves and was just as green. The antlers atop her head were thin and twirling, much like the branches in the trees above. Her tail, long, skinny and hairless, aside from the bushel on the end, was nonchalantly swooshing back and forth, expressing her comfort. She stood tall and proud, her eyes never resting as she continuously scanned the area around her.

She had not spotted you, however, where you hid cleverly on the hill nearby, crouched between foliage and boulders. You had been tracking her all morning, following footprints in the mud from the early morning dew, following where the grass parted from her hooves treading through, following indents in the trees where she paused to scratch at her antlers. The season wouldn’t be changing for awhile. Her antlers weren’t due to shed just yet. She was likely anxious, but you weren’t sure what it was that made her uneasy.

Bow in one hand, you carefully removed an arrow from the strap on your thigh and pulled it against the curved metal. The feathers tickled your cheek as you pulled the arrow back, tight and strong against the wire. The contraption was unfitting in the wilderness, but you knew how to hide it. The arrowhead was pointed directly at her, where it would pierce her heart and end her life in mere seconds. She would die before she felt the pain of the arrow or the blood oozing from her still beating organ.

The bow creaked quietly as you pulled the arrow back. It was taut, pulled tight, just like the muscles in your abdomen and arm, ready to fire as soon as your fingers gave away. But, then, you saw a smaller prey crawl out from the nearby foliage. It shook its entire body, starting from its head, all the way down to its little hooves, shaking loose leaves and twigs that got caught in its fur.

You relaxed your hold, letting the bow loosen and the arrow go limp in your grasp as you watched them. The youngling skipped over to its mother and ducked under her body to suckle at her tit. With how long and thick her fur had grown, you weren’t able to see the swollen bag, a clear sign that she was nursing. Still, you silently cursed yourself for not noticing and wasting so much time on her.

The grass shifted behind you, so quiet it could have been the wind; however, there were many dangerous carnivores out here and you weren’t taking chances. You spun around, drawing the arrow back in a split second so it was ready to fire at whoever dared approach you. What was crouched in front of you, leaving a few feet of distance, wasn’t an animal, but a human… maybe. They were wearing a mask with two large lenses over the eyes and a tube over the mouth that moved around to the back, likely to a filter.

You immediately recognized that mask, but didn’t immediately move to relax your arrow. You kept it drawn, pointed at their chest, this time, knowing it wouldn’t pierce that helmet. The stranger lifted their gloved hands and showed you their palms, fingers spread, an expression of compliance. “My apologizes,” they whispered, voice low, almost gentle, heavily accented, and oh so unforgettable.

Bloodhound, one of the Apex Legends, clad in their signature helmet, though otherwise under dressed. They were not wearing their usual attire, clad in camouflage print, baggy pants and a light brown poncho over a long sleeved, light green undershirt. Their boots were faded brown, heavy with a thick tread and a little intimidating. The belt around their hips was thick and a bit hidden under the poncho; but, you caught the glimpses of the weapons they were carrying.

You hesitated, not yet trusting of this stranger, yet not quite proud of keeping your arrow pointed at them for so long. “Your hunt vas impressive. Forgive me for overstepping boundaries,” Bloodhound spoke, like a distant whisper. You blinked at Bloodhound, wondering if that was the reason they followed you here. “I vas certain no one else hunted here,” they explained furthermore.

You lowered your arrow, but kept your grip on it firm. Somehow, you knew that Bloodhound understood your precautions. They made no motion for their weapons, but lowered their hands to the ground for balance. “I’m not from around here,” you explained. Bloodhound nodded in understanding. “I am Bloth Hundr. You can call me Bloodhound. May I ask for your name?” The way Bloth asked for your name came unexpected: a firm request, but a gentle one. You couldn’t see into the lenses of that helmet to steal a look at their eyes, or the tiniest glimpse of skin, for they were fully covered. Yet, you didn’t hesitate to reply.

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You already knew who Bloodhound was, sort of. You didn’t know who was under that helmet, how their face wrinkled when they smiled, or what name they were given by their parents. But, you knew what Bloodhound was: an Apex Legend, one of the best killers on the Frontier, a renowned hunter and infamous challenger. But, you didn’t make this obvious to Bloth, and was uncertain if they knew and simply didn’t acknowledge it, or was completely unaware.

Even though Bloth hadn’t seen you in the week that passed since your first meeting, you saw them again, on TV. Bloodhound had won the match that week, secured the win and even made a substantial amount of kills. Their banner was on display all over the internet, all over television. It was quite the match and quite the victory. It was to be expected of one of the best hunters on the frontier.

It didn’t stop you from returning to the same forest on the early hours of Saturday morning, with the hope of tracking a male this time. You managed to catch a large hoof pattern just as the sun rose and shined light through the trees. It was a little old, the impression in the muddy grass, but you were confident you could follow it. Sure enough, you wandered across more prints, broken branches where its antlers had gotten tangled, and even droppings.

A few hours passed like minutes as you focused on the task at hand. Eventually, you found yourself in a thick bundle of trees, peaking between the logs to see what was making noises on the other side. There he was, magnificently huge, muscular, with antlers that towered above his head like tree branches. His fur was thick and lush green, expressing how healthy he was. This late in the season, you knew he would have already mated several females and was prime for the hunt. You would feel no guilt in claiming his life.

You carefully unsheathed an arrow and pulled it along the bow before navigating slowly through the trees, crouched down low. You were dirty, with mud up to your thighs and streaks of green across your chest, back and arms from plants that you had rubbed against during your tracking. You blended in well where you lurked, carefully approaching a spot where you could get a clear shot.

Just as you pulled your arrow back so the bow was taut, as firm as it possibly could go, you set your foot on a soft spot where the dirt had become muddy from rainfall. Your heel slid barely an inch, but made the most faintest of sounds as it did so. The shifting mud alerted the deer. His ears perked up and he rose, immediately jolting from where he stood and taking off in a gallop into the woods.

You groaned, letting your weight fall against the tree nearby, slouching against it. You loosened your hold on the arrow, leaning against the tree with a heavy sigh. Your skull thunked against the tree, though you were too irritated and disappointed to feel how badly it hurt. You could almost hear the distant sound of your father’s laughter that always came before words of wisdom. But, he wasn’t here. However, a voice did follow, and it startled you.

“Vas a good try,” a familiar voice spoke. You stood up straight and spun around to locate the voice. A familiar form stepped out of the brush, revealing themselves. You smiled a bit bitterly at that mask. “Sure,” you replied sarcastically, turning away from Bloodhound. “Did you follow me out here to mock me?” the words were not spoken with much venom, but they were still rude, falling from your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Vas not mocking,” Bloth stated firmly, walking around to stand by you. “Your skills are admirable; but, you place too little faith in nature.” You turned slightly towards Bloodhound, whose large goggles were focused on you. The metal charms that dangled around their helmet blew gently in the breeze, making no sound, oddly. It left you to wonder what the purpose was for those. In fact, you often wondered why the mask at all, whether the mysterious stranger needed it or wanted it. But, you would never dare ask something so private.

You shook your head slightly, disagreeing with their statement. “Nature doesn’t want me to catch it,” you replied, scoffing a bit. Bloodhound seemed intrigued by your statement, an emotion that was not given away by the expression you couldn’t see, but the subtle way in which their stance changed. “To hunt and be hunted is nature. It wants you to earn the kill.”

For a moment, Bloth stood and stared at you, tilting their head ever so slightly, as if to judge your reaction. You lowered your brow slightly, an expression of consideration. But, the mysterious Bloodhound didn’t want to hear a response from you before carrying on and disappearing into the woods, leaving you alone to continue your hunt.

At that point, you were hungry and tired, frustrated with your circumstances and misfortune. Once again, you went home without a kill. As strange as it might have been, a part of you hoped Bloodhound would be there again, next time, like a raven’s watchful eye.

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For the civilized and wealthy, hunting could be viewed as barbaric and unnecessary, or maybe a sport to bring home a valiant piece to mount on the wall. But, for some, like you, it was a necessity. You hunted because you were raised to do so. Your kill would provide food and valuable resources the world might have long forgotten, but still desperately needed.

There were people who would spend their gold on a fresh kill. A buck’s precious meat could feed you for weeks when properly preserved, and his antlers and hide would sell handsomely. Some of his organs were delicious and others were deadly, an ingredient for snake repellent, maybe. His bones could be ground up for the compost soil.

For some, like you, that was survival. It was the very reason why you were out here tonight, hunting in the pouring rain, in a forest you had not yet familiarized yourself with, on a planet very distant from your homeland, all alone. The dark clouds had completely swallowed the moon, making it dark and dreary. While the rain wasn’t particularly heavy, it had been going on for hours, leaving the forest, and you, sopping wet.

All you had to guide you was your senses and a pair of night vision goggles. They were heavy on your face, a bit fogged up from the cold, and not particularly good ones at that. But, it ensured you had a sense of where you were going and didn’t run face first into a tree. There was a compass on the HUD, which was essential, ensuring you weren’t running in circles.

Early in your hunt, you had caught sight of an old buck. He had likely survived many summers. He was a survivor who had lived a long and prosperous life in these woods; you were content with taking his life, assuming you could catch him, that is. His hooves were more equipped for this weather than your boots. His fur was thick and well insulated, unlike your cargo pants. Your jacket was holding up decently, for the most part.

You followed his trail and caught him standing still for a second too long. You reached to your back to pull out your bow. Just as you stepped forward, your foot caught nothing but air. In your advance, you failed to realize you were stepping over a steep hill into a ditch. You tried to catch yourself, but failed, and slid right into the mud.

You slid along your heels and then onto your behind, completely soaking yourself in mud from the waist down. For a second, you laid there in the ditch, in disbelief of your misfortune. Clearly, these woods did not want you hunting in them. It was a sign from an almighty force of nature, perhaps. Or maybe the forest was haunted by a mighty deer who ensured you were never successful.

“Fuck,” you deadpanned, reaching up to rip the night vision goggles off your face. Some water droplets had gotten through the rubber seal and was clinging to your eyelashes. You dragged the back of a gloved hand across your eyes, trying to wipe away the droplets. It was nearly impossible to make out anything in the darkness, but you could make out the faint outline of the trees above.

“It is nice to see you again.” You didn’t even flinch this time. The voice was coming from above, not very far behind you. You could almost feel Bloodhound’s goggles staring into the back of your head, like two, big, watchful eyes. “I highly doubt that,” you replied, somewhat joking and somewhat bitter. They must have thought you incredibly pathetic, wallowing in the mud and getting rained on. But, if did make you wonder why Bloth was out here.

“You are persistent and strong villed,” Bloodhound continued, their tone sounding almost endearing. Their accent was heavy, as always, distorted from beneath their mask, and strangely had you itching to hear more; but, you pushed those thoughts as far back as you possibly could. “I’m pleased to see you did not give up,” they finished. You slipped the night vision goggles back on and stood up, looking around for a way to get out of the trench. You caught sight of Bloodhound’s helmet and froze up, as if hypnotized by the sight.

Bloth truly looked terrifying through the lenses of your goggles. The round eyes on the mask were beaming, staring at you and unblinking like a ghostly apparition. There was a yellow stripe down the center along the top of the head piece; the paint gave off a strange glow in the eyes of your night vision goggles, like the stripe along the back of a venomous snake.

But, then, Bloodhound crouched down slightly and extended an arm, palm open and offering. It caught you off guard, a friendly gesture that almost didn’t match the heavy head piece and all-seeing eyes. Bloodhound’s helmet was the face of a deadly predator and skilled hunter, after all. Then again… perhaps, you were just tired and not thinking straight. You were standing in a ditch like an idiot and Bloth was simply trying to help.

You took their hand with a little hesitation and Bloodhound tugged you up so you could lift a foot onto the edge of the trench and hoist yourself the rest of the way. When the soft mud began to give way and collapse, Bloodhound pulled you almost violently to ensure you wouldn’t fall back into the trench. Bloth’s strong jerk practically hoisted you the entire way out of the hole. You gasped, but followed through with your legs, perhaps a bit too much.

Your body collided with Bloth, chest to chest, abdomen to abdomen. They let out a quiet grunt, a sound that was almost animalistic as it came out from that mask. Your chests were pressed together for the slightest second and you likely would have smacked into their helmet had you not maintained the slightest bit of control. Immediately, you jolted away from them. “Sorry!” you squeaked, sheepishly looking away. But, you could still feel those goggles staring you down. Bloth didn’t move away from you or seem at all discomforted by the situation. “Thank you for that,” you added on quickly.

“No need,” Bloodhound replied, simply. A bit embarrassed, you decided to cut this meeting short, despite the desire to do the opposite. You were split in two, between wanting to leave and wanting to acquaint yourself further with the mysterious hunter. You wanted to hear more of that voice, always sounding so distant, even when they were standing right beside you. “I should-” you began, cut off when the wind blew a sudden and powerful gust that threatened to knock you over.

You were feeling a little lightheaded and, under normal circumstances, would not have been perturbed by the wind. Yet, the storm, while not particularly intense, had picked up slightly. The rain was falling a little harder and the winds began to pick up, making the tree branches tremble and leaves rattle. You were only faintly aware of how wet your clothes had become. You locked your jaw tightly out of fear your teeth would began to chatter. However, despite being aware of that, you were oblivious to the fact that you were trembling slightly.

“Felagi,” Bloth called out calmly and a bit firmly. Even though you had no idea what that meant, you knew they were trying to get your attention. When you looked up, through your goggles, you could see the rain droplets falling onto Bloodhound’s mask and catching like crystals on the lenses over their eyes. “Please, I worry for your health,” Bloodhound began. “Ve should take skjól - ah, shelter - from the rain.”

“B-Bloth, I-” you began, mentally cursing yourself for the stutter. But, you also paused as a realization washed over you. You were a stranger to this person, curious of them, yet always hesitant to get close. It was the first time you had actually addressed them by a name, and it was the name that Bloodhound had used when introducing themselves to you. Perhaps, it was your imagination; but, you thought you saw their head tilt ever so slightly at the sound of their name on your lips.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you finished, almost like you were out of breath. The slightly distorted voice of Bloodhound cut through the sounds of the trembling forest. “You are not,” came that heavy accent, low like they were making a special request. “I vish you to humble me this once.” You blinked slowly, staring at Bloodhound almost in disbelief. You… humble them…? How absurd… and a not single cell in your body could possibly say no.

Please read the rest on Archive of Our Own ♥

#apex legends #apex legends fanfiction #bloodhound fanfiction #bloodhound x reader

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motleycrueroadie · 4 years

Text

Along for the Ride

Figured that I would try my hand at writing. This is just more of an introduction to the scene rather than the character herself, but that will be coming soon enough. Based on The Dirt (2019).

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They call New York the city that never sleeps, and as a stranger to the East Coast, I was inclined to deny the cliche when I first moved to the Sunset Strip. Initially it seemed like the Strip never slept, with the blaring neon lights of the bars and clubs. This combined with the music scene draws in the young crowds of those who entertain and those who are entertained. The Strip creates an allure to pull out those chasing dreams, but this allure soon vanishes come Monday to reveal only shadows. New York City remains the city that never sleeps, the Sunset Strip doesn’t sleep on the weekends. Given this, it only makes sense that just about everyone living here is chasing the high of the weekend, and then dragging themselves through the week. I love the weekend nightlife more than anything else, it separates the people I have to endure from the people who I want to be around.

From the moment the clubs open on Friday until last call on Sunday night, which I guess is really early Monday, London gives me a chance to feel alive. As a band, London attracts the best of the Strip and I love every second of it. The high from being on stage is enough to envy every junkie out there. Jack nor coke can give me the same feeling that a dimly lit room, stuffed to the brim with bodies emitting pure heat and rock and roll could. I left Seattle, my mother Deanna and the revolving door of asshole boyfriends in search of this exact feeling. This is where I finally feel at home. However, there was one thing that ruined this high every time, London. Ironic, right?

London and the music worked fucking wonders, but the people in London are dog shit. The tension between myself and the rest of the band mates rivals that of an elastic band strung to the max. We are a ticking time bomb. Our almost daily band practice had finished today around 11:30, that was added on top of an 8 hour day at the Starwood and I felt exhausted. The walk home served as a moment of relaxation. Even though it was Thursday night, there were still people frequenting the bars; But the people were weekday regulars that live to drink, rather than those who drink to add to the experience of being alive. Though it seemed that there was not much life to the Strip, the diner up ahead, “Tiffany’s 24/7 Dine-In”, seemed as lively as it could get. I could hear it before I could see it. From the outside, the sound was somewhat muffled by the layer of glass, but I could make out Slow Ride by Foghat playing. Wasn’t entirely my style of music but it was close enough. As I begin to pass by the window, I glance in to see why it was so loud.

The only person that occupied the entire dining room was a girl, suited in a dress I could only assume was a uniform, buffing the floors. It was not my intention to stop and stare, and I honestly could not decipher what was so intriguing about her, but I am completely stopped in my tracks to take her in. She was shorter than myself, but was not swallowed by the fabric she wore, filling it out in what I might call “all the right places”. The most encapsulating part about her was the lightness with which she moved while controlling a machine that could jolt even the most steady people. She swayed the machine lightly back and forth across the floors, while nodding her head along to the beat. I can slightly make out her voice singing along to the words with ease. Suddenly, she looked up at me out the window and it startled me, I felt caught. Her face turned upwards into a smirk and she jutted out her chin while nodding at me, giving a sign of acknowledgement. For whatever reason, I took this as an invitation to come into the diner. The music struck me with a certain intensity as she yelled, “Sorry about that! Have a seat wherever you like and I’ll turn that down and be with you in just a second!”

Her voice was steady and held a certain feather light feeling, the same as her movements did, and I just wanted to hear it again. I stepped over the cord attached to the buffer and slid into the booth facing the bar, watching her stretch to reach the volume dial on the radio atop a sliding door refrigerator.

She glided around the bar, swiping a menu from a shelf hidden from my vision and smiled up at me, “Welcome to Tiff’s, can I get you something to drink while you have a look at the menu?”

“Would a Jack and Coke be acceptable to serve on a Thursday night?” I asked, not because I needed her opinion on my drinking habit, but because I wanted to keep hearing her voice.

“Are you asking me whether I find the consumption of alcohol on a weekday moral, or if this establishment serves on a Thursday?” she replied, hand on her hip while leaning against the coat rack extending from the booth.

“Humour me with both.” I smirked, relaxing back into the seat having finally found my rhythm with her. The next answer she gave would gauge whether or not I continue to push her buttons.

“Tiff’s, like most other diners, will serve you morning, noon and night any day of the week” she started, “and as for myself, I think booze is far too much fun to contain to the weekend. Only pussies and prudes save drinking for two days of the week” She seemed to mean this despite the humour in her voice, and I was thoroughly pleased with her answer.

“Mija! Watch your language with the customers!” spoke a voice from behind the server’s window. She chuckled a little, before turning to the window and calling out “Carlos, I always gauge my audience!” A shorter tan man popped his head up from behind the window before disappearing again, “I see what you mean. Carry on!” She turned back to me with a smile on her face, “Don’t take offence to that. You’re just not married with kids or above the age of 60, so I’ve lost my filter. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all” I said while shaking my head, and she took that as her cue to start grabbing my drink. Returning, with it in her hand she slid into the booth opposite me and asked, “Anything on the menu caught your eye?” I shook my head again and began to hand her the menu, “Just the drink will be fine for tonight.” She gave an appreciative nod, before leaving to grab the cord for the buffer cord out of the wall.

“Can I put you down for an order of solitude to go with your JC or are you interested in conversation?” She called out from the other side of the diner, but before I had the chance to answer she continued “Cause I can ramble for at least 10 JCs!” Taking a sip, I leaned further into the booth to give her the impression I needed to appreciate the options when I knew exactly what I wanted to say. She continued to wrap up the cord around the buffer, leaving it in its spot and glancing up at me in anticipation of my answer.

“Conversation. But if you become too annoying I’ll put a 5 on the table and take off” continuing to push her buttons, seeing if she could take it and dish it out.

“Fair enough,” and with that she slid back into the booth.

“Start with your name” she told me rather than asked.

“Why can’t I have yours?” I asked, realising I had not even bothered to glance at her name tag. It read Janis Jade. She caught me reading, “Cause you just read it off my chest but I don’t have that luxury.” Shrugging my shoulders, I said “Nikki Sixx,” I hadn’t seen the smile leave her face since we caught eyes in the window, but it grew wider and I thought she might have recognized me so I prepared for a slew of questions and rambling to follow.

“That’s the sickest fucking name I’ve ever heard, and I know for a god damn fact you picked it out yourself” she glowed as she spoke with an infectious amount of genuine enthusiasm. I nodded, chuckling as I did so.

“Let me guess, you’re named after the infamous Janis Joplin” I smirked as I took a drink. She screwed her eyebrows together, almost offended.

“How old do you think I am Sixx?” she asked, again I shrugged shoulders. “I had my name prior to Miss Joplin’s rise to fame, but my parent’s wore shit eating grins everyday about my name after she started getting big.” I nodded along to her story, somehow knowing I was in for a good conversation.

For the next two hours, we swapped tales and although she did most of the talking, I was glad to sit back and listen. She wasn’t wrong when she said she could talk for at least 10 JCs. Janis was full of life and everything I absolutely wasn’t and I couldn’t help but want to know more. I realized that I needed to be heading out, so I began rummaging in my jacket for my wallet. She saw this, and I stopped for a second as I remembered my earlier comment, “Trust me doll, you’re not annoying me but I should be heading out.” She nodded understandingly, “No worries Sixx, you want me to grab your change?” I shook my head at her, and started getting out of the booth. “Your shift done soon? I can walk you home.”

She smiled, “I’m here until 7am but thank you for the offer.” As I began to walk out, I paused while pushing on the door handle, “I hope to see you around Joplin.” She smiled from where she stood, “Don’t worry Sixx, you will” and gave me a two fingered salute before returning to where the buffing machine had sat for the last two hours. I returned home with a new found appreciation for the little diner on the Strip.

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Thank you for reading! If you’re interest, here’s the Next Chapter

#the dirt fanfiction #douglas booth!nikki sixx #motley crue

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forgenotes-archived · 4 years

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VERONICA ROSE SAWYER AND THE MUSIC OF ST VINCENT .

word count : 3,006 . trigger warnings for : child abuse / neglect , depression , self harm , suicide , murder .

there are a few points that i will be ignoring - namely , clarke’s music does have a heavy focus on catholicism that ronnie , as a jewish woman , won’t relate to necessarily on a literal level . i might purposely misinterpret some of the more catholic songs , but for the most part , i’ll just . . . skip over that shit , lol .

of course , not every song of hers makes perfect sense with veronica , but there are a substantial amount that really hit home for characterization purposes . i’ll be pretty brief about them mostly due to the fact that this is going to be long enough but !

please enjoy a massive post about veronica’s most influential muse inspiration , st vincent , and how each song sparks a different facet of her characterization , personality , and history .

ALBUM ONE - MARRY ME .

*** NOW , NOW . this song is one of five songs that truly cuts to the very core of veronica’s persona . it is written as a cutting dismantlement of preconceived notions ; and while that in a general sense does apply to her , it pulls apart as a particularly embittered attack on heather chandler . with the deconstruction of her worth to her ( i’m not your mother’s favourite dog / i’m not the carpet you walk on / i’m not the feather at your feet / i’m not the paw to your king / i’m not anyone you’ll beat ) , it harkens to her rebellion and powerful nature that’s been crushed under heather’s heel . the chorus and final lines of the song draw perfect parallels to her and heather’s fight at the party , and the inevitable death - you don’t mean that , say you’re sorry / i’ll make you sorry . this track is desperately dramatically perfectly attached to my interpretation of ronnie .

*** YOUR LIPS ARE RED . this goes along almost chronologically with above - this song is about murder , explicitly ; and by god does that ever track ! particular lyrics of note are : this city’s red from riding us into the ground / your face is drawn from drawing words right from my lips / my hands are red from sealing your red lips / your skin’s so fair , it’s not fair . the narrative of the song leads towards a crime of passion ; anger and hate towards someone with some sort of power over them , and the eventual revenge for their ( perceived ) mistreatment . veronica doesn’t feel as bad as she should that heather’s gone ; a part of her feels satisfied , and that’s the part that this song exemplifies .

THE APOCALYPSE SONG . embracing the carnal nature of life and cutting away from those who refuse to ( or are too afraid to ) join you - in a more subdued sense , it’s similar to what veronica does in cutting loose from her friends ; and further still , ostracizing herself from her family to build a more spectacular life for herself and jason . important lyrics to note : you’ll awake with the stitches over both of your eyes , and deny me my body and all earthly delights / i guess you are afraid of what everyone is made of / your devotion has the look of a lunatic’s gaze .

LANDMINES . in terms of the tragedy of the beginnings of her and jason’s relationship - when he spirals into the worst parts of his plans , she is desperate to try and lure him back to the better side . it’s sadness , it’s hope without reason , it’s painful . important lyrics to note : i’m crawling through landmines just to know where you are / there’s smoke in my eyes , ‘cause you’re burning the ground / i’m crawling through landmines - i know , ‘cause i planted them / under cover of night , i put my heart in the ground / where’d you go ? please don’t go / i found your glove with the leather torn , five fingers that i’m counting on , smoke signals to call you right here .

ALBUM TWO - ACTOR .

THE STRANGERS . clarke said she’d written this song about a woman who’s spoiled by decadence and leisure , but is desperately sad by her situation . which , in all honesty , fits veronica to a t - exhausted by the picturesque garden , and unwilling to continue being trimmed to fit in paradise . important lyrics to note : lover , i don’t play to win , but for the thrill ‘till i’m spent / you showed up with a black eye , ready to go start a fight / desperate don’t look good on you , neither does your virtue / paint the black hole blacker .

THE NEIGHBOURS . the song paints a picture of a hatred of suburban sedentary lifestyles ; partial arson , partial alcoholism , all very accurate to the way ronnie feels being stuck in sherwood ohio . important lyrics to note : let’s pour wine in coffee cups and drive around the neighbourhood / i won’t believe not a word you speak just make it sweet to hear / these kids are foaming at the mouths , psychotropic capricorns / how can monday be alright , then on tuesday lose my mind ?

* BLACK RAINBOW . this is a portrait of one person in their isolation of an elevated comprehension above the brainwashed masses of average american life - the loneliness in their own self - aggrandizing thought processes , but also the pangs of hopelessness when they know that they’re still right . veronica is allowed an understanding that her parents and these remington assholes have chosen to ignore . important lyrics to note : think i’m glass , think i’m breaking it / let the children act like furniture for the ladies of the lawn / unkissed boys and girls of paradise lining up around the block / back pocket full of dynamite while the neighbours talk and talk / bird outside the kitchen , fighting his reflection , what’s he gonna win when he wins ? / if you want the neighbours woke , you’ll have to shout even louder .

* LAUGHING WITH A MOUTH OF BLOOD . clarke has described this song as a balancing act between the pain of the past and the uncertainty of the future , and the desperation that’s found when those two roads meet . ronnie’s got scars she’s healing from , but she’s also got no idea why and how to keep on living afterwards . important lyrics to note : just like an amnesiac , trying to get my senses back / laughing with a mouth of blood from a little spill i took / all my old friends aren’t so friendly , and all my old haunts are now haunting me / i can’t see the future but i know it’s watching me .

MARROW . a vague song , but one that resonates deeper with ronnie than she expected through its undertones of feeling as though she’s not in control of her body . important lyrics to note : i wish i had a gentle mind and spine made up of iron / mouth connects to the teeth and teeth to the loves and the curses / so i pretend there aren’t ten strings tied to all ten of my fingers .

THE PARTY . a dreamscape of a song that touches on her subtle alcoholism and desperation for connections that never come . veronica’s coping mechanisms lead her into bad habits in order to make connections , but ultimately leave her completely floundering after everything’s over . important lyrics to note : i’d pay anything to keep my conscience clean / there aren’t enough hands to point all the fingers / i lick the ice cube from your empty glass / honey , the party , you went away quickly / i’ve said much too much and they’re trying to sweep up .

* JUST THE SAME BUT BRAND NEW . this song is a floating heartbreak , following the descent into depression st vincent falls into after losing somebody she loves - did she do something wrong ? where do i go from now ? how do i fill this hole in my heart ? veronica feels this on a lesser level towards her friends , however few she may have had ; but in its fullest extent after jd , because despite everything ( fear , pain , abuse ) , she still loves him for what she thought she had . important lyrics to note : so i walked away all perfumed , felt just the same but brand new / and anything you wrote i checked for codes and clues / i changed my ‘a’s and ‘i’s to yours / i do my best impression of weightlessness now too / i might be wrong , i might be wrong , i might be wrong , but honey i believed i could just float away , dangling .

ALBUM THREE - STRANGE MERCY .

* CHEERLEADER . a determined cry to reject the role being forced upon her ; a final stand to shed the expectations thrown over her , while also reminiscing on how these constraints have forced veronica to become afraid of being vulnerable . important lyrics to note : i’ve had good times with some bad guys / i’ve told whole lies with a half smile / i don’t know what good it serves , pouring my purse in the dirt / i’ve played dumb when i knew better / i don’t know what i deserve , but your you i could work / i don’t wanna be a cheerleader no more , i don’t wanna be a dirt eater no more .

DILETTANTE . a brutal cutting slice of her and jason dean’s relationship - a desire to stay , but a desperation to bring their passion back down to earth . partially a love song , trying to preserve their fire without burning up ; partially a lament about overcoming the fear of stagnation . important lyrics to note : nobody’s winning , the sharks are swimming in the red / while you are sleeping , my mind goes creaking down the wall / slow down dilettante so i can limp beside you , i’m following your houndstooth / street savant , my bank in my back pocket , how far you think it’d take us ? / but let’s not forget why we crawled here .

ALBUM FOUR - ST VINCENT .

* PRINCE JOHNNY . this is the second song in a trilogy about an archetype of a friend clarke has named “ johnny ” - this particular angle focuses on the helpless desperation to stop someone you care about from falling down a dangerous , self - destructive path . in veronica’s eyes , jason is her prince johnny . important lyrics to note : prince johnny , you’re kind but you’re not simple , by now , i think i know the difference / saw you pray to all to make you a real boy / prince johnny , you’re kind , but do be careful / don’t mistake my affection for another spit - and - penny style redemption / i wanna mean more than i mean to you .

DIGITAL WITNESS . a cutting dialogue on the desperation for popularity ; in modern day , it’s a critique of social media and societal pressures , but in terms of veronica’s timeline , it doubles as a light on westerburg’s obsession with their queen bees . important lyrics to note : i want all of your mind / if i can’t show it , if you can’t see me , what’s the point of doing anything ? / this is no time for confessing / if you can’t see me , watch me jump right off the london bridge / get back to your stare , i care , but i don’t care / what’s the point of even sleeping ? so i stop sleeping / won’t somebody sell me back to me ?

REGRET . a self - explanatory song , in all reality ; you are afraid to move , and your�� anxiety keeps you away from opportunity - before you even realize you’ve wasted your potential , you’re doomed . veronica is trapped in a vicious cycle that won’t allow her to spread her wings ; fear begets fear , and life moves on without her . important lyrics to note : memories so bright i gotta squint just to recall / regret the words i’ve bitten more than the ones i ever said / i’m afraid of heaven because i can’t stand the heights / i’m afraid of you because i can’t be left behind / oh well , there’s a red moon rising / the door slammed and it felt like a cannonball .

ALBUM FIVE - MASSEDUCTION .

SUGARBOY . a mashup of a love song and an ode to vicious bisexuality ; a heart that is sharp and easy to slice yourself open on , but a reciprocal appreciation of the danger that comes with falling for someone . ronnie’s sugarboy is jason ; but she also learns to acknowledge that she wouldn’t have minded finding a sugargirl , either . important lyrics to note : sugarboy , i am weak , got a crush on tragedy / oh here i go - a tragedy , hanging off from the balcony / making a scene , oh here i am , your pain machine / sugargirl , dissolve in me , got a crush from kicked - in teeth / pledge all your allegiance to me / i am a lot like you , i am alone like you .

* LOS AGELESS . again - a mashup of a love song , and a loss of all autonomy . what have you lost ; a lover , or your sense of self ? veronica’s lost both , and she doesn’t know what else to do but fall into the ease of her prison position , following the orders of someone who claims to know better than she does . important lyrics to note : burn the pages of unwritten memoires , but i can keep running / but how can i leave ? i just follow the hood of my car / how can anybody have you and lose you and not lose their mind , too ? / i guess that’s just me , honey - i guess that’s how i’m built / i try to tell you i love you , but it comes out all sick / i try to write you a love song , but it comes out a lament .

SLOW DISCO . finding yourself in the crowd of a party , but not liking who you see - a contrast between the life you should be living , and the life you’re actually living . veronica falls to one side more than the other , and by trying to find herself in other people , she’s doing herself a grave disservice that leaves her feeling almost as if she’s a ghost . important lyrics to note : am i thinking what everybody else is thinking ? i’m so glad i came but i can’t wait to leave / slip my hand from your hand , leave you dancing with a ghost / there’s blood in my ears and a fool in the mirror / the bay of mistakes can’t get any clearer / don’t it beat a slow dance to death ?

* SMOKING SECTION . self - destruction . self harm . the call of the void . suicidal urges . it’s a song about trying to overcome these feelings by giving them a name , and remembering that they’re thoughts you can work through . veronica’s felt them her entire life . important lyrics to note : sometimes i sit in the smoking section , hoping one rogue spark will land in my direction / and when you stomp me out i’ll scream and i’ll shout “ let it happen , let it happen , let it happen ” / sometimes i stand with a pistol in hand / sometimes i stand on the edge of my roof , and i think i’ll jump just to punish you / and then i think , what could be better than love ? / it’s not the end , it’s not the end , it’s not the end , it’s not the end .

BONUS LEVEL - LOVE THIS GIANT .

* ICE AGE . written as a prequel of sorts to cheerleader off her album strange mercy , clarke has said it’s a get it together song of sorts . veronica’s in her own ice age ; she’s frozen over to protect herself , but in doing so , she’s deprived herself of the experience of living . important lyrics to note : oh , diamond , it’s such a shame to see you this way , your own little ice age / seams are showing , and you’re freaking me out / we don’t know how much we’ve lost until the winter thaws / it’s close to your bones , it’s far from your shell / feel it away , reason it out .

#❝ - 𝙄𝙏 '𝙎 𝘼 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿 𝙆𝙄𝙉𝘿 𝙊𝙁 𝙎𝘼𝘿 . / meta.#ok i just really love st vincent????#GOD i hope this stays under the cut when i post it since im dash only.....#P R A Y F O R M E #if not i will simply copy it into a doc and post a link #there was a POWERFUL LINE in a song that i just. couldn't justify keeping- but FUCK #in huey newton; the line 'fake knife / real ketchup' strikes me as a HUGE ronnie vibe #but like. the rest of the song is too disconnected to attach to her iuhrtkjgnd #and with THAT.... i fucking DISAPPEAR.....#and i made myself.... Anxious lol

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eskalations · 4 years

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Smoke and Gunpowder, Chapter 2

A/N: I was not going to post this chapter so quickly after the last, but life happened and I needed a distraction. Earlier, my sweet dog of 17 years, passed on and this has been just about the hardest day of my life. His passing was peaceful, but it didn't make things any easier. I was in the middle of writing this chapter when I received the news, so this piece will always have a special place in my heart. I'm still not sure if I'm back in the swing of things with my writing, but I'm planning on going back and editing when I'm feeling more like myself.

So, today we have the meeting of Ray and Raina. While I wanted to do a chapter where there was more interaction between the two, this chapter seemed necessary for backstory purposes. I also realized I never specified the age changes for our lovely characters. Since Roy was born in 1885 and Riza was born in 1889 (canonically), I just decided to swap their ages. That's pretty much the only big change there is.

Please let me know how you enjoyed this chapter! I love getting feedback!

AO3 | FFN

Tumblr: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

This chapter is dedicated to Skippy (May 18th 2003 - May 29th 2020)

Augenblick, East Area - Summer of 1903

The town of Augenblick was less spectacular than she could have ever imagined.

'Blink and you'll just about miss it' The man had said as she exited the train earlier that day. He must have seen the look of surprise on her face at such a small station existing in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. There was no town in which the station was on the edge of, no bustling streets with families doing their Sunday shopping, no cars puttering down the road to their destination – all she could see were fields stretching out endlessly in every direction.

The man who had gotten off the train with her was long gone by the time she pulled out the booklet the Madame had given her. Honestly, she should have realized what this small blip of a town was going to look like by the map in front of her – there seemed to be nothing but green bleeding across the wrinkled pages.

At fourteen, she wouldn't call herself incredibly resourceful – but at least she could read directions. The Madame had circled her destination with a fat, red marker – making it stand out amongst all the greenery it was surrounded by.

The girl started walking and hoped that she was traveling in the right direction.

The dusty road crunched beneath her shoes and she had to cringe as small particles of dirt made their way between her toes. Maybe wearing the new shoes she had bought for this occasion hadn't been the best idea...but it was too late to change them now. She had wanted to impress Master Hawkeye by dressing as professionally as a young girl could, but now she was beginning to see why the Madame had kept insisting that she needed to wear something a little more comfortable.

'I want him to see me as a lady,' She had shared with her foster mother while buttoning up her crisp new blazer. All her clothes had been starched earlier that morning before she was set to be at the station and even her usually black unruly mane was combed and slicked to perfection. 'I want him to see me as an apprentice worth taking.'

The Madame had simply smiled at her young charge's determination, smoke pouring from her lips as she spoke.

'My dear – with the amount I'm paying him for your lessons – he would take you on even if you were a newborn baby,' The words did little to abate her nerves.

She didn't want the man to pour his efforts into her because he had to – she wanted him to teach her because he saw potential.

The amount of information she had on Master Hawkeye was scarce. She knew that he was an excellent freelance alchemist, who's early research had been compiled into a single publication that had made waves in the alchemy community.

However, that was it. After his first work was published, he retired to the country and was now known as a bit of a recluse. From the Madame's information, it seemed the military had propositioned him multiple times to become a State Alchemist, but to no avail. Raina found it hard to believe that he wouldn't jump on the opportunity since with that grand title also came grand funds for research.

The only other piece of information she had received from her source was that the man had a son who also lived with him. The age of said son was unknown to her still.

'Now you must be careful, dear,' Her older "sister" Margaret had warned her that morning, patting her head gently in an endearing fashion. 'You will be the only woman in the house – so, you must make sure they are treating you right. If they try anything funny, you have to promise to call us immediately.'

Madame Christmas had scoffed at the idea.

'Once they get her riled up once, they'll know better than to mess with her,' Madame Christmas insisted without worry, taking a long drag from her cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke. 'We've taught her well. She knows how to defend herself.'

Her foster mother wasn't wrong; she could defend herself. However, it had been a long time since she had lived with a male counterpart. She couldn't remember her father (her parents had died when she had been just three years of age) and the Madame rarely housed young men in the bar.

The thought of living alone with two men had caused her quite a bit of anxiety, but she wasn't going to let it stop her. Even as she trudged down the road, sun beating down mercilessly upon the top of her scalp – her gait was confident as she embarked on this new chapter of her life.

She had been walking for about half an hour before she came upon a small town. A groan unknowingly slipped from between her lips at the sight of it.

Augenblick was small – so small you could hardly justify its place on the map. From what she could see, it was comprised of one long row of buildings lining two sides of a dirt road that spanned just about 100 meters. From the looks of the way the lots were set up, it seemed that they were all commercial.

A few people milled about, swinging bags full of produce as they went about their morning routine. There were stands set up in front of the buildings where farmers were selling their goods to residents and chatting merrily with their neighbors. This version of the Sunday Market was very different from the bustling one back in Central that Raina was familiar with.

Gripping her suitcase tightly in her sweaty palm, the girl continued to trudge forward. She had passed a school house and a general store before finally getting stopped by a curious shopper.

"Can I help you, dearie?" An elderly woman asked, taking notice of the map clutched in her hands. After giving the girl a once over, she continued with her line of questioning. "You don't look to be from around here – are you looking for something?"

Raina was caught between wanting to find the Hawkeye residence on her own – to prove her status as an independent young lady – and wanting to get some help since the map's lines were starting to bleed together in the heat of the midday sun.

"Yes," The girl said, accepting that this was a small concession to make in her journey to becoming a worthy young apprentice. She could always be independent tomorrow. "I am looking for the Hawkeye residence."

The woman looked at her strangely for a moment. Raina's confident stance did not waver though – she knew it probably looked strange for a young girl to seek out an older man, but she wasn't here to worry about appearances. After a brief pause, the woman answered her cautiously.

"It's just down main," The elder spoke slowly, still unsure of what the young girl's motive was. "If you keep walking that direction, you will come to a fork in the road. Take a right if you're looking for the Hawkeye residence, take a left if you want to traverse the desert."

Raina laughed nervously at her dark humor. At this point, she wasn't sure which path the woman considered to be more dangerous.

"Thank you!" Before she could take her leave though, the woman's hand reached out to grab her wrist. This stopped the young girl dead in her tracks as she was met with a serious set of dark eyes, concern evident in the way the woman drew her near to speak quietly in her ear.

"What do you want with that old man, child?" Her voice was low, suspicion blending with worry. Raina glanced nervously at the shoppers who passed them, but none even batted an eye at the strange scene in front of them. The woman tightened her grip again, forcing the girl's gaze back to her own. "If you need any help, all you have to do is tell us."

Shaking her wrist from the woman's grasp, Raina brought her hand protectively to her chest – map and all.

"I am an apprentice, ma'am," The girl insisted, tone bordering on rude. These country folks may be fine with lecturing young ladies and manhandling them in the streets, but she certainly was not. "I am here to learn alchemy from Master Hawkeye and that is all."

She could tell the older woman was affronted by such a brash response, not used to a girl speaking to her elders in such a way – however, she recovered quickly. The surprised look on her face morphed into one of sympathy.

"I didn't mean to offend you, child," The lady insisted, picking up the bag of vegetables she had dropped to her side at the beginning of their conversation. "I just know that the elder Hawkeye is not one to be trusted. Ever since the death of his wife, his behavior has been strange. We've rarely seen him for the past few years – the only one that ever comes into town is his son."

The people mulling around the market were now eyeing them – pausing at the stands nearby to watch the encounter while still attempting to appear casual. They would pick up an apple, turn it in their hands to check if it had any soft spots, and then glance quickly over at them. She could tell by her faces that, at the mention of Berthold Hawkeye, she had set the subject for Sunday gossip amongst the small populace.

"Just because someone does not wish to mingle with others does not mean they are any less trustworthy than you or I," Raina insisted, defending her new teacher from the accusations of the lady in front of her. Already this town was a little too judgmental for her taste. "I could care less how social he is as long as he is a dutiful teacher."

"Child," The woman pleaded, a hint of desperation in her tone as Raina made to walk away, suitcase swinging in her hand. Luckily, she did not grab her this time – however the fear that infused her tone, had the young girl turning to regard her once more.

"I know it seems like I am simply an old gossip who has nothing better to do," Raina fought the urge to raise her brows at the expression since that was precisely what she had pegged the woman as. "But you must listen to me – there is something wrong with that man."

The genuine concern in the woman's voice caused a shiver to run up her spine. Raina would have argued it was just a chill – however, in the middle of summer, that was unlikely. Seeing that she now had the young girl's attention, the woman continued.

"His son was so gaunt during the first few years after his mother's death, that it looked like a breeze would knock him over," The woman revealed, her voice so low that even someone walking past them would have to strain to hear her words. "He finished school early and after that – well he just disappeared. We didn't see him for months then suddenly one day he walked up to Mrs. Roth's stand to buy potatoes. By that time, he had filled out a bit – but there was a haunted look in his eyes."

Raina's curiosity was piqued, though she couldn't help but have some doubts in regards to the woman's claims.

"Madame," The young girl began carefully, lowering her tone to match the volume of the elder. The townspeople were still watching them – however, their interest seemed to have lessened once their conversation had become harder to hear. "I don't think it's fair to assume that something bad happened to him during that time. He and his father could have taken a vacation."

"No one left that house." The woman insisted, causing another chill to run through the girl. The older woman spoke with such conviction – like she knew that whatever it was she suspected was true.

"Maybe they were just enjoying some time alone together after the son finished school?" Raina tried to reason with the woman, desperately grasping for straws in an attempt to abate her fears. "Why does his disappearance have to mean something bad happened?"

The serious look in the woman's eyes was one that Raina would remember for a long time after.

"Because he was covered in bruises when he returned."

It was this conversation that had Raina shaking slightly on the doorstep of the Hawkeye residence. After the old woman had finally let her continue on her way, she was left with more fear and anxiety than before. She was more fearful now than she had been when she had originally been told she was being shipped out for alchemy instruction.

The house was nothing spectacular. It looked like it could have been grand once upon a time, but the broken shutters and overgrown garden implied that once hard times had hit, all efforts of upkeep had been abandoned. Even so, the view from the porch was one that's beauty couldn't be denied – the rolling green fields that surrounded the home for miles looked as though they were straight out of a painting.

Raina took a deep breath. She could do this. No amount of town gossip was going to keep her from doing what she had come here to do. She had been waiting her whole life for this and that old biddy was not going to ruin her chances of becoming a great alchemist.

As far back as she could remember, she had been studying alchemy. Madame Christmas liked to joke that the young girl had practically forced her to read alchemical essays to her at bedtime before she was able to read them on her own. One of her favorite alchemical works had always been the book of research Berthold Hawkeye had published a few years before her birth. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined she would have the honor of studying under him.

It was this realization that had her fist raising resolutely to the door. She was not timid. She was not shy. She was not scared. No one could deter her from the goals she had already set out to achieve. She would knock on this door and accept whatever fate lay on the other side.

But before her hand could even come in contact with wood, the door was swinging wide open in front of her.

Raina stood frozen. Well, she certainly hadn't been expecting that. Her fist fell swiftly to her side.

Standing before her was a young man only three or four years her senior. He was tall – certainly taller than she was – with a sturdy build that marked years of hard labor. His skin was golden, much like his hair, and there seemed to be a fine sheen of sweat covering him as if he had just come in from the fields. She watched as a droplet traversed down the weather worn features of his face before dropping off his sharp chin.

She had begun to sweat herself at his sudden appearance. She tried to tell herself that it was from the heat - but later she would question if that had really been it at all.

Despite his humble background, the man's spine straightened automatically at the sight of the young girl on his doorstep. Assuming the role of a gentleman – though looking nothing like one in ripped pants and a sweaty white shirt – he bowed his head in greeting to her.

"I must apologize," His voice was deep, much deeper than the voices of the boys she had gone to school with. "I did not realize you had arrived, Miss Mustang."

Being addressed so formally, she realized what set him apart from the boys at her school. He was not a boy; he was a man. His voice was too deep to be that of a boy's and his features were too hard to still be touched by the innocence of childhood. In the face of his own maturity, she puffed out her chest a bit before primly joining her hands in front of her.

"Hello, Mr. Hawkeye," She answered, clearing her throat to adopt a much deeper tone that would better match his own. "Please, just call me Raina. Miss Hawkeye sounds much too formal when we are going to be housemates."

The young man appeared unimpressed by her words, causing another bout of sweat to break out beneath her starched white shirt. Any hopes that she had conceived of the two of them being friends, seemed to be thrown farther and farther out the window as their staring contest continued. His amber eyes beat into her own, resembling those of a hawk's.

'Fitting,' she thought wryly to herself, as his gaze dropped to the suitcase she had laid to rest at her feet. Her hand itched to pick it up and turn right back around, leaving this house and his unnerving stare in the dust – but he surprised her.

Picking up her suitcase himself – the young man stood to the side of the doorway and gestured for her to make her way inside. The expression on his face was unreadable, but the grim lines of his face softened as she hesitantly stepped forward into the humid air of the home.

The inside of the house was much like the outside – dark and rundown. She could see a living area with a small stone fireplace off to the side, the furniture worn from many years of use. There was a door at the back of the room that she assumed led to a dining area and kitchen. The stairs were nestled in the corner of the area, leading to where she assumed the bedrooms and bathroom would be.

It was certainly different from what she was used to – but she guessed it could be considered cozy.

Careful to school her features, she turned back towards the younger Hawkeye. She didn't want him to think of her as a spoiled city girl. Despite their rough start, she still held on to the hope that they could be friends. She must not have covered her reaction quickly enough though, because when she met his gaze, there was a knowing look in his eye.

"I know it's not much, Miss Mustang," He emphasized his use of her formal name, pointedly ignoring the fact that she had asked him to call her Raina earlier. His words were polite, but she could hear a harsh undertone in them. "But I assure you that you will find everything you'll need to further pursue your alchemical studies within these walls."

Embarrassed at the censure evident in his tone, the young girl gave a quick nod of understanding.

"Yes, sir."

Satisfied with her quiet response, he gestured for her to follow him up the stairs. She grabbed her suitcase in her sweaty palm before following his orders.

"My father is having one of his bad days, so you will have to wait until tomorrow to make his acquaintance," Raina could feel herself deflating in disappointment, her footfalls heavy on the old wooden stairs. She had really hoped she'd be meeting her master upon arrival. "However, I am sure you are tired from your journey and will want this afternoon to rest."

"Oh, I'm not tired," Raina insisted, despite the aching in her feet. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Without batting an eye, the young man turned to look at her over his shoulder.

"I'm going hunting," His words implied that he figured this answer would somehow affect her sensibilities.

Being raised in a bar though, Raina had never been the squeamish type.

"Can I come?" She asked innocently, following behind him as he led her down a hall at the top of the stairs. The strong set of his shoulders stiffened in surprise at her request, stopping him mid-step.

"I don't know," He answered slowly, clearly caught off guard by her words. The surprise on his face was short lived though as his features quickly settled back into the stoic expression he seemed to be so fond of. "Are you going to scare off our dinner?"

"Our dinner?"

The young Hawkeye had to grin as he continued to lead her forward. Like a dutiful guest, she followed closely behind – waiting for an answer.

"Surely you don't think I am going down to the market to get our food for tonight?" He finally asked, his hand turning the knob of a door leading to what she assumed to be her bedroom. A few doors down, she could just make out movement underneath the door that resided at the end of the long stretch of hallway.

"Of course not," She answered evenly as she stepped into the room, setting her suitcase by her feet. There was a bed, a dresser, and a desk. It wasn't much, but it would do. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the young man studying her face. If he was looking for a negative reaction this time around, she wasn't going to give it to him.

"So," She started, crossing her arms over her chest and turning to meet his gaze once more. "When do we leave?"

His answering smirk made her heart soar – though she would never admit it.

"Half an hour."

Her heart continued to beat sporadically even after he had closed the door behind him, leaving her to unpack and dress for their outing. However, the heavy beating of her heart wasn't from the small smile he had given her or the moment of softness she glimpsed in his eyes before taking his leave.

No, her heart was beating because she had seen the bruises on the back of his arms through the material of his shirt.

Falling back upon the mattress, she stared blankly up at the ceiling. Just what kind of secrets were hiding within these walls and just what did it all mean for her?

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #genderbend au #royai fanfiction #royai fanfic #royai fic #fma #fmab #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma fic #fma fanfiction #fma fanfic #genderbend #my fanfiction

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naruto-oc-critiques · 7 years

Text

Haruka Inuzuka

This character is a more reworked version of an older character I made a long time ago, so I don’t quite have all the history worked out yet. But I’d love a review and some suggestions for what I have so far.

Name: Haruka (Meaning clear weather combined with fragrance) Inuzuka

Gender: Female

Age: 12

Time set in: Pre Shippuden

Birthplace: Konohagakure

Lives in: Konoha

Appearance: Haruka is around 5 feet and 2 inches tall, and 125 lbs. Her hair is a light brown color and reaches down to a little past her shoulders, with some loose bangs hanging over her forehead. She ties it back with a simple hairband, making a small, messy ponytail. Her eyes are dark brown, though this isn’t easy to see with her slit pupils, her skin is tanned, and her canine teeth are sharper than average. Like the rest of her clan, she has red fang tattoos on her cheeks.

C: 125 lbs is actually rather heavy for her height and age, with this BMI calculator suggesting that she is overweight by 2 centiles (childrens BMI is calculated differently to adults, with anything over the 91st percentile suggesting they are overweight). Obviously BMI isn’t foolproof, but if you bring her weight down to 120lbs she would be a ‘healthy weight’ for her height and age.

Her uniform consists of dark blue three-quarter long pants, with an equipment pouch attached to the back and a holster tied to her right leg. Her shoes are standard dark blue sandals/boots, and she wears a lighter blue open cloth vest that leaves her arms bare. Underneath is wooden chest armor and a simple mesh shirt beneath that. She wears a set of open fingered gloves, with built in blades that extend like claws. Haruka’s headband is tied loosely around her neck.

C: This is okay, though I wonder whether built in blades on gloves would be practical or too bulky. I’m also curious about the choice of wooden chest armour.

Family: (sentence or two for each immediate family member. No need to go into detail on extended family unless relevant)

Morina (ninja hound)- A light brown dog with pointed ears and a curled tail, based off the Akita breed. She’s small at the moment, but has much growing potential.

C: I like the choice of a Japanese breed. I’m curious as to how big she is at the moment, and how big she’ll be when she’s fully grown.

Gaku Inuzuka (Father)- A jounin who’s been in the field since at least the Third Ninja War, and fought directly against Kumo under Minato Namikaze’s command. He’s skilled and confident, but likes to take a slower, more careful approach to problems and is rather strict.

C: What dog(s) does he have?

Kaori Inuzuka (Mother)- A clanless chunin kunoichi that married into the Inuzuka. She works in the medical and science division, and is ocassionaly sent out on missions to gather data and samples when not researching.

C: It’s lovely to see someone working in this field. What does her research focus on?

Kiba Inuzuka (clan relative)

Tsume Inuzuka (clan relative)

Hana Inuzuka (clan relative)

C: I assume that they’re not closely related then.

Occupation: Ninja

Rank: Genin

Team: Kotetsu Hageta (OC clan), Yoshiro Hyuga, and their sensei Kenzou “The Tiger” Byakko

Friends: (still working on this area beyond her two team members)

C: No worries.

Personality: Haruka is a stickler to the rules, and does her best to treat all of her percieved elders and superiors with respect, politeness, and loyalty. In a way, this makes her idealistic, as she believes the best of people in those positions until she is proven wrong. She was raised to value teamwork, and even though she is a bit prideful and standoffish at times, she readily acknowledges that she’s stronger when she’s not alone. Leaving someone behind is a very last resort to her, and she’s more likely to fight to the end than retreat unless told to do so, as long as she feels like it’s still possible to win. She’s more analytical than hotheaded, though when her ego is bruised or she’s worried about something, she may snap at people and have to apologize later.

Haruka puts on a rougher persona around her equals to try and fit her clan’s reputation better, but she’s insecure about her own talent compared to her father’s. Also going against her image is her desire for neatness and order. Possibly because of having a scientist for a parent, she had an unusual amount of knowledge on medical subjects growing up, and despises messes, germs, and dirt in general. She sometimes chastizes people for unhealthy habits, and even washes her dog more often than usual to make sure she’s clean as well. When in battle, this uneasiness is pushed back by adrenaline, though she may complain about the blood and dirt and mess afterwards. She hates loud noises, insects, and chocolate too, though more out of preference than disgust and paranoia.

Haruka enjoys music to the point of using it as a calming tool, though she can’t play an instrument, and she likes trees and woods despite the less than ideal conditions of the outdoors. Her goal is to find her own path to strength and become as respected as her father, no matter how far up the ranks she has to go.

C: I like her personality, though the first paragraph gives me an ‘older than 12′ kind of vibe. I really like her goal too.

History: Haruka was born to Gaku and Kaori Inuzuka, a few months before the Nine-tailed Fox attacked. Both of her parents survived, but many ninja, some Inuzuka among them, died trying to push it back. Gaku became overprotective and stricter as a result, though he always seemed that way to Haruka growing up, and she didn’t push his boundaries much. Instead, she had a huge amount of respect for his past achievements, and wanted to be just like him for a long while. Her mother wasn’t nearly as hovering, but she let her read science textbooks that laid around the house, but she didn’t understand much of it beyond basics, and eventually decided it wasn’t the path for her once her “neatfreak” tendencies set in.

C: Gaku’s reaction is completely understandable here. I’m curious as to how much Haruka was actually able to understand of these science textbooks though. Most of the textbooks I have at home probably wouldn’t be accessible to anyone below 16 years old. It would be more believable if they bought her some age appropriate science books.

She went to Academy around the age of 6, and Gaku was supportive despite his worries over the village’s future peace. She picked up on the studied subjects quickly, and was consistently near the top of her class when it came to tests and sparring, though she wasn’t great with genjutsu or chakra control, relying on her family’s techniques heavily. She had a small collection of friends, mostly because she didn’t look easy to approach. She recieved Morina, who she calls Mori for short, as her ninja hound a year before her graduation, the same year as Naruto’s class but in a different room.

C: I checked with other mods, but we weren’t sure if the rookie 9 were the only ones to graduate from the academy when they did, or there could be another class to graduate from. Some more details about her academy friends would be nice, and maybe a little information on her contact with them after she graduated, though I know you haven’t really finished this part of her yet.

She was assigned her teammates, a quiet, but skilled clan boy named Kotetsu Hageta, and Yoshiro Hyuga, a cheerful member of the branch family who wasn’t very talented in the Gentle Fist arts. Under the leadership of the jounin Kenzou Byakko, a famous trap specialist and battle commander, they grew closer together and improve their skills. She does eventually befriend Anko Mitarashi and, impressed by her drive to grow stronger and diffentiate herself from her teammates, gives Haruka side lessons in poison usage as an unofficial student.

C: Does the team have any speciality?

Abilities:

Ninjustu- 1

Taijutsu- 2.5

Genjutsu- .5

Int- 2

Strength- 2

Speed- 4

Stamina- 1.5

Handseals- 1.5

Total- 15

C: These are reasonable stats for a genin.

Haruka fights like an Inuzuka, with sharp senses, quick reflexes, and hit and run tactics. She doesn’t have as much brute strength, but her speed is even greater to balance this out, and she uses quick accelerations to increase the power behind her blows. She also has a pair of metal claw weapons she extends to increase her reach and bolster her jutsu effectiveness. She’s great at tracking and flanking opponents, but suffers in prolonged direct combat and is best with backup. Her chakra natures are Fire and Wind. Haruka is also a rookie poison user.

C: Does she mix poison with her clan techniques?

Jutsu/Techniques list-

Man Beast Clone

All Fours Jutsu

Tunneling Fang

Fang Over Fang (Iron Fang Over Fang with her weapons drawn)

Fang Rotating Fang (Iron Fang Rotating Fang with her weapons drawn)

Wind Style: Tornado Fangs- Original technique that requires spinning upright and moving along the ground like a pair of tornadoes, slashing opponents apart with an added wind element. It can draw enemies into it at high speeds.

C: Adding in wind style would make it a high level jutsu and be quite hard to create (see Naruto adding wind nature to rasengan), so I feel this is probably something she wouldn’t be able to come up with as a genin and is best left until chuunin or later.

Tainted Claws- A technique that cuts the enemy with her poison tipped weapons, eventually causing their muscles to go numb and make them slower. This is more of a setup for more powerful attacks, as it makes the opponent an easier target.

C: Why did she chose that particular poison? A fast acting and fatal poison would seem a more sensible choice.

Overall, I like Haruka. As you haven’t finished working on her yet, there are bits of information missing, and I’ve tried to point out each time I had questions about her. Even if you don’t write out an answer to each of them, it would probably be beneficial to think about the questions to help develop her. I’d also like to know about any goals that she might have, and more on what made her choose to be a ninja, though it’s okay if she doesn’t really have long term goals considering her age. This is definitely a good start and I wish you the best of luck with fleshing Haruka out. If you have any questions please feel free to message us.

#submission #Naruto OC #c reviews #c answers #scorpio-rat

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lux-i-fer · 7 years

Text

In Sickness and Hell

Synopsis: Sickness never bothered Lucifer until it got ahold of Chloe.

Ao3 link

Rating: T

Notes: Oh my god guys I'm so sorry it's taken me this long!!! I've been super busy with my health, family health, vacation, and about 5 million other things, but I did it! A big shoutout to my beta because I deprive her of sleep about 5 days of the week. This was thrown in in a rush so be sure to check my paragraphing! ALSO SPECIAL NOTE: THERE IS ONLY ONE CHAPTER TO GO!

Chapter Number: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Dan always had had a few choice words to describe Lucifer Morningstar. Egotistical, pretentious, asshole; really the list went on. But he’d always supposed there was more to the club owner than just shallow smiles and mindless sex. Sometimes he would catch when his charming smiles twisted into ugly snarls or how his eyes bubbled with more than lust. There was something about the man that just seemed off. Dan wasn’t sure what exactly made him feel that way, but there was certainly more to him than he liked to let on.

Watching Lucifer talk to the nurse outside of Chloe’s room all but proved Dan’s theory.

He stood as he normally did; with a type of stiff-backed elegance that only came from cold, old money childhoods. Except there was nothing elegant and expensive about the scene at all.

Lucifer’s clothes were heavily creased and stained. The boot print on his chest and bruises on his jaw that Dan had been so proud of earlier, now seemed to sneer at him in disgust. A sharp kick of regret drove through his stomach.

The bruises were too purple, the dirt stain too prominent for Dan to be proud. What he had done wasn’t justice, it was brutality.

He scoffed at his mounting shame. What the fuck was wrong with him? When had he begun to tolerate and feel pity for Lucifer Morningstar?

From his spot around the corner, Dan studied the shadows under the club owner’s eyes. They weren’t dark and sickly like he would have thought, but more subtle and haunting instead. A passerby wouldn’t have noticed them, the hospital staff might not even notice them, but Dan did. And for some reason they unsettled him.

But that wasn’t what tripped Dan up the most about the situation, because clinging to Lucifer’s waist was none other than Trixie.

His long musician fingers tapped out melodies on the top of her head, in a way that a stranger might think it as endearing.

But Dan wasn’t a stranger and the motion just seemed out of place for a man who believed dogs and children were one in the same. Still, Dan watched as Lucifer let Trixie press her cheek against his hip and squeeze him tighter than what would be classified as polite.

A shudder ran up his spine and Dan finally made his way towards them. Honestly, the whole thing was so surreal that it made him feel like he was in a parallel universe.

As he neared the group, he caught snatches of the nurse’s speech.

“--s Decker is receiving blood and extra electrolytes just to make sure she’ll remain stable. The nurses believe the shock was caused by a mixture of fatigue, prior blood loss, and some sort of severe stress. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you Mr. Morningstar?” the nurse asked him almost accusingly.

Before Dan could stop himself, the question tumbled from his mouth. “Chloe went into shock?”

The nurse turned with bland amusement painting his features, to look at Dan. “Yes Miss Decker went into shock about twenty minutes ago. Fortunately it was an easy fix and she should be stable now,” he glanced from Dan to Lucifer. Dan didn’t miss the way his eyes traced the path from his bandaged hand to the bruises that stained Lucifer’s skin.

“As I was just asking Mr. Morningstar, do you know of any kind of stress Miss Decker could have had between 9AM and 12PM?”

Lucifer shifted his empty stare from the nurse to him and Dan couldn’t help but get another chill.

“Panic attack. Mid morning.”

Even though the words were meant for the nurse, he caught the double meaning.

The nurse was oblivious to the threat, of course, and scribbled it down on a bleached white note pad. He gave his required send off with forced cheer, but not before making note to tell them both that as soon as her IV finished, Chloe could be released. Without another word, he disappeared into the mass of medical staff, leaving Dan alone with Lucifer and Trixie.

They stared each other down for a few tense moments until Trixie interrupted it.

“Daddy can we stay here?”

Dan tore his gaze from Lucifer’s and to his daughter. She still clung to the other man like a lifeline. Her hands twisted into the expensive fabric of his shirt, adding new pathways to the roadmap of older wrinkles.

“No baby. Look I know you want to make sure Mommy is okay but I’m sure Lucifer wants to get some rest too.”

Trixie’s face twisted into a pout and refused to let Lucifer go. “Please?”

There was a tiny pang of jealousy that rang in Dan’s chest at the sight of his daughter clinging to another man. No amount of newfound respect for Lucifer could ever make that jealousy go away. Trixie was his daughter. He loved her so much. It was supposed to be his job to protect her, but lately all he seemed to do was hurt her.

“Trix,” he said, sterner this time.

“No.”

Lucifer laid his palm flat on her head. “Darling as much as I love seeing you rebel against your paternal figure, your father is right.”

“But what about you? Maze said you don’t look like you feel good,” she turned to look at Dan again, “Daddy, Lucifer’s sick too. We can’t leave him here.”

Lucifer sighed. Dan could tell his patience was wearing thin.

He tried to cajole her again. “Lucifer is only going to get better if you let go, honey. He can’t get better if you won’t let him go anywhere.”

“Daddy we're at the hospital, they can help Lucifer,” she said, rolling her eyes, “but if we leave he'll be all alone! Nobody should be alone when they’re sick.”

Lucifer was about to open his mouth when a familiar shadow silenced him with a hand on his shoulder: Maze.

A spark of recognition flashed behind Dan’s eyelids.

“You,” he accused.

Maze raised her brows in amusement. “Me?”

Memories of glances over his shoulder, dark tinted windshields, and paranoia flooded his mind. The whole time it was just Maze. She was his shadow that afternoon in the precinct; watching. He suppressed a shiver.

“You stalked me all afternoon, what the f--” he saw his daughter’s eyes widen, “ freak,” he quickly amended.

“What a valiant save, Daniel,” Lucifer muttered sarcastically.

Dan ignored him, but he couldn’t help the crashing wave of relief the remark brought. He would take snarky asshole Lucifer over solemn, unnerving Lucifer any day. There was something reassuring about the way the robotic respect was slowly changing back into his purposefully annoying personality. It was weird; Dan never thought he would miss basically anything that Lucifer ever did.

Maze shrugged from her spot at Lucifer’s side. “I’m impressed that you noticed in the first place, I wasn’t even topless.”

“Why in God’s name were you following me?” he asked in utter disbelief.

Lucifer carded a hand through his hair in annoyance “Saying things in his name isn’t going to get your bloody answer any faster, you know. His name isn’t some premium code.”

Maze barked out a sardonic giggle.

To Dan’s slight horror, Trixie joined in.

Dan was not the religious type. His parents were strict Catholics and ever since he was eighteen he’d always held a small kernel of resentment for all of the forced mass sessions. But that did not mean that he needed Lucifer’s own traumatic experiences rubbing off on Trixie; it was bad enough that his parents frowned upon Chloe’s atheism. He didn’t need Trixie going to Nana’s house and telling her that she was best friends with Satan.

Oh God, Dan could just hear the wine glass dropping out of his mother’s hand now.

Maze gave one last snort before sobering up. “Anyway I came out to tell you that Chloe’s awake.”

Immediately, all humor drained from Lucifer’s eyes. His shoulders strained with an invisible weight and the remaining mirth seemed to drain away.

Trixie, on the other hand, lit up like a Christmas tree. She smiled slyly up at Maze, who returned it with one of her own wolfish grins.

Finally, Trixie pulled away from Lucifer and both him and Dan let out a breath neither of them knew they were holding.

Immediately, one of Lucifer’s tics took over and he began smoothing out the creases in his shirt. Apparently it took more than exhaustion to shake that level of OCD.

Trixie sighed dramatically and tugged on Lucifer’s wrist impatiently.

“Beatrice--” he said, clearly caught off guard.

“Come on you’re taking too long,” she whined and tried to pull him in the direction of Chloe’s room.

He offered a few weak protests, but ultimately allowed himself to be swept away by the seven year old, leaving Maze and Dan alone in the hall.

Maze grinned and arched a mocking brow at him.

Dan glanced around. “What?”

The bartender just shrugged, “Nothing, just wondered if you were getting your panties in a twist over Lucifer and Chloe again.”

“Why would I do that?”

Maze glanced at his bandaged hand and gave him a look.

Dan covered it with his other hand. “Look,” he said defensively, “I got mad the first time--”

“And the second, and the third--”

He glared at her and continued with a little more force, “--but I don’t hate the guy.”

Maze crossed her arms and looked him over. “Could have fooled me.”

Seeing how the conversation was going to end, Dan scoffed and brushed past her and stepped into Chloe’s room.

The scene he walked into stopped Dan in his tracks.

Lucifer hovered around the foot of the bed, his hands fiddling with his cuffs as he paced back and forth.

“You’re certain you’re all right?” he asked timidly.

Chloe sat propped up on the bed with Trixie pressed into her side.

“Lucifer, come on you know the answer to that.”

He took an uneasy step closer to her. “Humor me Detective.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, alright? It was just shock, it happens to everyone.”

The rest of the conversation fell on deaf ears. Dan stood stupefied. Lucifer Morningstar did not do quiet. He did not act soft and he certainly had never been described as timid.

His shoulders were slumped, the perfect posture seemingly thrown out the window.

It was all too surreal for Dan when he realized that in some way or another Lucifer had always been like this. Maybe not to this degree, but the traces of it now stood out in his mind.

Before, Dan didn’t have a word for the emotion that he often saw in Lucifer’s eyes. He’d always passed it off as something simple, like lust or annoyance, but now he knew that it was far from that.

Whether he liked it or not, Lucifer Morningstar cared for Chloe Decker. And for some reason, Dan was okay with that. It was as if the proverbial glass had finally shattered.

After this blew over, Chloe was going to sign the divorce papers. Then he would sign them and that would be it. There would be no argument, no dramatic change of heart. This chapter on their life would be over in the matter of a week. The rings would be taken off and hidden away and slowly the rest of Chloe’s things would disappear from their house. And soon enough their house would turn into his house; wedding pictures swiped off shelves and the dress gone from the closet.

It would be polite smiles over break room coffee and late night cases. They would fall into comfortable silence but at the end of the night, Dan would go home alone and Chloe would go home to Lucifer.

There would be secrets whispered between silk sheets that he would never know and new recipes he’d never taste. Maybe there would eventually be a new ring on her finger; a new last name pasted over his.

Dan would never know because this was where their lives diverged.

And for the first time since the separation, Dan was okay with that.

Lucifer was an ass, but deep down Dan knew he would take care of both Chloe and Trixie.

Maybe that was why he found the strength to clear his throat.

The conversation in the room halted as three sets of eyes turned towards him. Unconsciously, he covered his bandaged hand once more.

“Uh, I’ll stay here if you want to go get her release papers,” he said to Lucifer.

The man in question stopped his pacing and glanced at Chloe. She looked confused, shifting her gaze from him to Dan. Clearly Lucifer had forgotten to mention him.

Silently, Lucifer gave her one final lingering look before squaring his shoulders, giving his cuffs one last tug, and heading for the door. Before he disappeared completely, he turned back towards Dan with a small, thoughtful smile.

“Thank you.”

Dan just nodded, knowing that somehow, he’d made the right decision.

Turning back to Chloe and Trixie, he sighed.

Trixie gave him one of her bright gap-filled smiles but the guarded expression Chloe had worn since Dan had come in hadn’t left her face.

He offered her a bitter smile that she didn’t return.

With the same precise steps Lucifer had worn into the linoleum, Dan made his way over to Chloe’s bedside.

Her blue eyes were still misty with sleep, but the question sat plainly in them. The last time she had seen him, he was a punch away from being escorted out of the hospital. She had every right to be questioning him.

“Hi,” she finally said, letting her questioning tone bleed through.

Dan couldn’t stop his smile from falling, “I’m sorry.”

Chloe’s frown deepened and she patted Trixie’s arm. “Trix-babe would you go see where Maze put your backpack?”

“ Mommy,” she whined, clearly not forgetting the last time she’d left the room.

Dan tried to step in once more. “Daddy just needs to talk with Mommy for a minute, okay? It’s going to be boring anyway, I bet Maze is way cooler.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Dan watched as his daughter crawled from the bed with a heavy pout and didn’t say another word until she was out of sight.

“Dan look if you’re here to give me more shit--”

“I’m letting Lucifer take you home.” It took everything he had to keep his voice low.

“What?” All of the fire in her words had vanished.

Dan drew in a deep breath.

“Chloe I know we thought that maybe the separation would help us--help me, ” he amended, “But it didn’t did it? I love you but we can’t keep doing this. It’s not good for us and it’s definitely not good for Trix. I feel like if we don’t stop it now--” his words caught in his throat, “we’ll just end up hating each other. I care about you too much to let us get that bad.”

Chloe’s eyes were wide, “Dan--”

“I wasn’t there. I was never there when I should have been, I know. That’s why I’m letting you go. After this blows over I’ll sign the divorce papers, I’ll move on. And that starts with letting Lucifer sign you out. I think he’s a dick, but he’s a dick who tore himself apart to take care of you. Hell, even now I wasn’t here when I should have been. So Chloe,” Dan’s voice broke, “I love you, but that will never be enough to fix us.”

Chloe sat speechless, unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.

Finally, she gave a stiff nod, “I think I’m ready to let you go too.”

With shaking hands, Dan pulled his ex wife into a tight embrace, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Bye Chloe,” he whispered into her hair.

“Bye Dan,” she rasped back.

As Dan pulled away, he felt an imaginary door close on the dream that was his marriage and nightmare that was his separation. But not without opening a new door that would lead to his bittersweet future.

#isah #deckerstar #lucifer on fox #lucifer morningstar #my fics #my writing

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