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talenlee · 18 days

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The Brilliant Fool

Normally when I write here about a Transformers character, it’s a character who has some significance to me as – well, honestly, as an example of a kind of person I could be, growing up. Blades gave me a lesson about quelling the want for violence inside me and also how defensive violent bf /softboy medic bf was a top tier pairing, and Dinobot gave me lessons about dying well in the face of oblivion, a lesson that I thought I needed really soon when I got it. There are Transformers I love because of jokes, Transformers I love because of association with toys and there are some Transformers that I love because they are, through no fault of their own, completely useless doofuses.

Let’s talk about Wheeljack

Wheeljack is an OG Transformer. Not only was he present in the original TV series, he was the first ever Transformer to be animated, the first one to appear on a cell and the first one to say or do anything. Wheeljack was also in this privileged position because he was from an earlier time, an earlier toyline, one of the diaclone toys that needed minimal changes to come on over. And not only was this the 1980s but this was a Japanese toy from the 1970s, so his toy was a really nice model that was also, coincidentally, made largely out of die-cast metal and had all sorts of lovely detailing and stickers that you could use to show how good you were at putting on stickers unless you were a fumble handed gallumphus like myself.

Don’t worry, I never had a Wheeljack, but I knew someone who did, and that toy was nice.

Anyway, Wheeljack as a character was one of the huge cast of Transformers who got a personality written up in what feels in hindsight like filling out a spreadsheet, where the writer got a picture of a character and had to devise a name and personality for them and keep moving, while also doing everything they could to keep them from overlapping with one another, which, of course, they did. Did you know that Grimlock (A t-rex) and Fortress Maximus (a city) and Brawl (a little guy about the size of a VW bug) are all listed as the strongest Autobot? Making sense of these original bios was like digging through Biblical harmonisation, but at least Transformers admit they’re making stuff up.

Anyway, Wheeljack got given the personality up front of being a crackpot mad scientist working for the good guys, which meant you took an archetype normally full of potential malice and potential goofiness and then just stripped out all the malice. Wheeljack in G1 was a guy who would invent things, and those things would have to be useful to pretty much only anyone in exactly one episode. This meant Wheeljack was either solving the problem of the episode by techno-babbling up a device that would fix it, or causing the problem of the episode by techno-babbling up a device that unfixed something, and sometimes both.

Wheeljack served a good, steadfast, mechanical role in the story of the show and to that end he hung around a lot. He also had a really easy face to animate – rather than flap a mouth or move a visor, his face lit up when he was talking, which meant you just changed its colour. Real convenient, real nice when you wanted to have him talk at length.

But this is just ‘why Wheeljack showed up a lot,’ it’s not by any means an explanation as to why I liked Wheeljack. What I like about Wheeljack is instead something created in the negative space of the character by what the people making it didn’t intend to do.

Here’s how it cooks out. First of all, Wheeljack is an inventor who is memorably depicted screwing up and eating dirt, regularly. He’s an inventor but it’s easy to feel like his hit rate is half and half, and a bunch of the things he makes have the weirdest solutions to them and ways they work. It’s not true in the comics, mind you, those are written a bit less for, y’know, four year olds in the 1980s, but the ‘crackpot inventor’ element sticks around.

The other thing is that Wheeljack’s disguise sucks.

It’s not that he doesn’t look like a car, he sure does look like a car! But Wheeljack doesn’t turn into ‘a car.’ Wheeljack turns into a sports car.

Well, so what you may say, it’s not like sports cars are that rare.

And then I go, he turns into a Lancia Stratos

And you’d interrupt me, comically, — Well, okay, no you wouldn’t, you’d say what and I’m embellishing for the bit — and say, hey, no no, see, you’ve got a specific name for it, a model, that means it got made in some degree of mass production,

And I respond with yeah, we know how many of his type of Lancia Stratos got made. He’s the Group 5 Lancia Stratos. He has specific racing regalia on him for sponsor material. Because he didn’t copy ‘a car’, he copied a race ready Lancia Stratos Group 5. There were only 500 Lancia Stratos made, and only a small number of them – like, less than ten – were ever put into racing colours, and then they were deomissioned. Imagine if while trying to blend into a location you picked the disguise of ‘recognisable celebrity,’ or maybe tried to blend in at the zoo as an endangered animal of which they knew they only had two. This means Wheeljack was in a position to scan the Lancia Stratos Group 5 (which wasn’t run in many races after it failed!) and then drove around after it left!

It plays into the way that his inventions seemed to fail a lot, or seemed to work in weird ways. It depicts a person who has somehow a skillset that’s suited to making big, impressive, technically challenging accomplishments and not a goddamn lick of sense about what he can do with it. This is a guy who can invent a teleportation machine and his idea of how to use it to solve the war is to let humans move more quickly to and from the base to update them on what the Decepticons are doing. This is a guy who makes a blender with a frappe setting that retasks a satellite. This is a guy whose first appearance on screen is using a machine he built that then immediately backfires and sets the tone for him for the rest of his life.

Wheeljack is one of my favourite Transformers, but only in the way that I love to watch the way fans talk about him, because of the beautiful alignment of super genius and fantastic idiot.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Transformers #Media

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henriiiii-1001old · 10 months

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tell me more about cesar in the fairytale au!! or anything about the uhhhhhh news cast au i cant remember the name of ti right now im sorry

i keep forgetting i need to make my fucking channel 3 subplot au masterpost ough </////3 i also just need to make more content abt it in general but fairy tale au got stuck in my headdd <//////3 (also nw on not remembering the name its fucking long as shit so i get it xdddd )

um i'll just say it here, theres this one tmc oc (he's basically an oc/self insert of a music artist. yknow the guy who did overthrone and intruder? yeah, that guy) i decided to add in bc haha funny news reporter. his name is langston solover (i fucking love that name idk why) and he's actually an alternate.

there used to be a real langston, but he got killed by some other alt who took his place. started spreading propaganda about like "the true savior" and shit and the newscast was like "nonono let him cook he's kinda onto something"

he is honestly also just a silly goofy guy i love him <3

ANYWAYS FAIRY TALE CESAR!!!!!

ok this will only make sense if i bring the other characters in so let me give a brief summary of one of the bigger moments of the au

SO, the fabled four solved the whole evie getting poisoned thing, and theyre all chilling. someone finds evie and decides to snitch on her being away from the castle for too long. things happen where evie and adam get taken to her castle, she gets locked in her room but eventually escapes w adam and all that (you know what im talking abt reaper but im just gonna keep it vague and i'll explain the full thing to everyone else later :3 )

cesar actually had become increasingly worried about evie since she had been missing for a few days. after hearing she was with a witch of all people, he was extremely concerned.

he does have a good reason not to trust adam though, cesar had saved mark and sarah from one who was literally about to kill them, and cesar also got cursed by the same one who tried killing them. he had stayed as a frog for years, and when he finally broke free of the curse, he had become so deformed that his family didnt even recognize him.

but no matter how hard he tried, evie wouldnt change her mind.

and neither would cesar for a good long time, especially since one of evie's castle staff ended up being on the witches' side gathering info for them. he'd eventually come around and trust evie that adam means no harm. he doesnt trust adam directly, but hey, that's a good start!!!

#station interviews #thanks for the ask man <3 #mandela catalogue #the mandela catalogue #tmc fairy tale au #langston solover #evidence reel #friend tag #cesar torres

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technicianuprisingau · 1 year

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Meet the Cast - Meta Knight

Alright, simpers, get ready. Here's your blueberry borb. Writing his weakness is... finicky. I honestly don't know how, unlike Team Starstruck that has glaring weaknesses (ex. Robobot Armor sucks at fighting speed-based opponents, Bandana Dee risks himself more when getting hit by a particularly strong attack, Kirby can face problems if you use another gimmicky fighter), this guy is just. Fast. Like, faster than Bandee, so yeah. Real hard to hit. Help. Feel free to hand over feedbacks, if you wish!

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"...why are people interested in me... oh well. I shall answer your questions then."

Basic Information

Name: Meta Alecta

Age: 43 [by the start of Planet Robobot]

Gender: Male

Orientation: Asexual

Hometown: [REDACTED] ("...I would rather not recall.")

Species: Puffball

Ability: Wing + Sword

Job: Star Warrior, mentor to Kirby Team Starstruck

Other names: Meta Knight ("This is my knighted title. Please refer me as such formally."), The Lone Swordsman ("...why do people gave me such fancy titles...?"), Batman ("...Galacta..." *sigh*)

Alignment: Lawful Neutral, leaning Good

A veteran star warrior who keeps track of Dreamland's defenses with a mysterious past and years of experience behind him. As Kirby's mentor, he acts as the uptight 'father' when it comes to handling Team Starstruck. His fears of getting his student into danger had only risen since he was brainwashed in The Technological War. He was even skeptical of the Technician ability at first but its first outing of successfully defeating several mysterious attackers convinced him it was for the best Kirby kept that helmet. Stern and logical, he fights with the legendary sword Galaxia, with the permanent Wing ability he has had since birth, and the Sword ability he learned along the way.

Detailed Information

Goals/Motivation: "I simply wish to do what I was meant to do as a member of the Galactic Soldier Army. It is true I am a Star Warrior, and thus my supposed job was to travel, but I have requested for extended stays due to my student, Kirby."

Hobby: "Reading. And baking, occasionally - but do not count on me doing so often..."

Favorite Food: "...grapes. If we were to go beyond that, I think we are getting personal here that-" {Kirby: "Hey, Mety, do you want me to buy you some sweets? Or the parfait from-} "Kirby! Not now!"

Least Favorite Food: "...licorice."

Favorite Game Type: "I don't play games." {Robobot Armor: "What are you, a f^cking boomer?"} "Would you please be silent for 5 minutes Robobot Armor, and cease that dirty mouth of yours..."

Habits: Rarely ever swears, tries to cook by himself [unfortunately they all taste bad], secretly hides sweets ("What is that you are writing?")

Other Liked Things: "I have not much to tell in this case."

Secret: All his hidden sweet tooth aside, The Nightmare War gave him scars he didn't want to remember much on, and he has been dealing with the pain he has for a long time. The existence of his crewmates, the Core Four of Dreamland, and Team Starstruck has helped him to lighten up things, even if he can't or won't admit it. He may have no incentive to love anymore, a part of him wants to feel such, but he couldn't. The people he actually loved either married someone else, died, or both, so he is afraid of that happening again. All he has now is platonic love.

Relationships

Best Friends: "...I have... a few. His Majesty King Dedede... my crewmates who operate the Halberd alongside me. And my... students." {Bandana Dee: "...students? I thought it's just Kir-"} "...I can't believe I have to say this in front of... Fine. Couldn't you appreciate yourself, Bandana? I have three students, that includes you and Robobot Armor. Now go back to your duties..." {Bandana Dee: "...s-sir, you are-"} "I said return to your duties... at once."

Rivals: "...I do not acknowledge any-" {Galacta: "Sup, batman!"} "Oh great... Can't you just leave me? For now? I am not interested in-" {Galacta: "Anyways, do you know that he wants to whoop my butt because I was-" *gets a book thrown to his face* "HEY-"} "LEAVE."

Enemies: "Any enemy to this planet and the Galactic Soldier Army is an enemy, as well."

Family: "...I have none. Not any longer. Except the people I know."

Crush/Love Interest: "I have none, as well."

Skills and Abilities

Overview:

Meta Knight is a very experienced swordsman. Due to his rough training in the GSA, he has learned several techniques, and the things he bring, including the Galaxia and his Dimensional Cape, helps him to combat efficiently. His speed is also amazing, able to outrun a lot of combatants, which he combines with his swordfighting to dispatch opponents much faster. He also has several minor skills that is nothing to laugh at, including being able to operate battleships as well as general knowledge regarding his own kind, such as copy abilities.

Apparently, he also knows some types of magic and while he usually doesn't use it on fair fights, if he has to, he WILL use them, especially in decisive battles.

Strength: Fast and accurate would be a good way to describe Meta Knight's battle style. The legendary sword he holds helps out inflicting damage both short and medium ranged, which can hit hard, especially the Sword Beam technique, one which has been horned for hit far opponents. Once he gets the chance, he can follow up with quick hits, making it difficult to find a breathing room at times. His knowledge on magic also helps him to find weaknesses, and there are times he does use spells of his own, which can complicate things. It doesn't help that he can fly too.

Weakness: Much like any speed-related fighter, if he is not careful, it tends to be that one mistake could mean fatal. Fortunately, he is actually very careful, and thus, this problem is easily mitigated - he has a great stamina and persistence to back this up. Problem is, attacks that have huge range can still trip him at times. Opponents that can outlast him is also a problem.

"I suppose that wraps up this talk. As of you... is there anything else? If not, the door is over there to your right - I shall return to my duties, as well."

#kirby #kirby au #technician uprising au #technicianuprisingcharacterbio #character bio #meta knight #look at this man #i feel sorry for him

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thenumbersgameif · 2 years

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since Five joined the cast a little later, here's a masterpost of answers for all the asks and scenarios they've missed out on:

Their MBTI type?

INFP-T Mediator

How were they pre-incident?

They were more open with their emotions; more vulnerable.

Coffee or tea?

Tea (with milk)

What gestures do they really appreciate? How do you get on their good side?

Acts of service--things such as things their clothes, remembering things about them, listening to them, helping them in small tasks.

How would they be in a Villain Path?

A manipulator who will have little to no mercy for others.

What are some signs they’ve fallen for someone? How do they show their affection?

The longing stares, the yearning expression of someone in pain but also in happiness; they show their affection by always standing by the person, literally and figuratively.

What pet names do their partner(s) use for them? How flustered do they get by them?

Zero calls them a Cloud and it makes them stammer; One calls them a Softie-Mallow which makes them huff in annoyance, and Three calls them Snowball which makes them roll their eyes

What’s something dumb they’re embarrassed about?

They've failed to cook rice; it was a disaster.

What do they find attractive about their partner(s)?

The eyes.

What are 3 things to put in a circle to summon them?

Moon sand, a butterfly knife, eyeliner

What would happen if on a mission they lose their power without any explanation, what would they do?

They'd cry--they forgot how it is to feel warmth and cold.

Five as a meme?

How would they react to a clingy Four?

They'd provide the comfort--honestly, they're secretly clingy too.

Their reactions to seeing Four in their clothes at work/in public?

They tilt their head, curious and confused at the same time. They don't say anything, but it makes their heart beat faster.

Their reaction to MC saying “I’m the boss here”?

"I think you overestimate your role and importance here, Four."

What would their reaction be to walking in on MC who clearly has been crying earlier?

They feel conflicted. They want to turn around, leave you be and pretend like they have not seen anything. Their heart, however, is not merciful enough to allow it. Your hurt is their hurt, and your sadness is theirs. You might not be close, but it does not change how their heart feels. "Four," they speak, voice calm and soft, "tell me what you need. No matter what it is, I'll do it."

How do they act when they are sick?

Miserable--you could've thought they're dying, with how dramatic they are. No matter if it's cold, sore throat or something more serious; they're too sick to do the most basic things.

What if someone flirted with Four in front of them, while in polycule?

They're the kind smile with a hint of a threat, as they suddenly appear by your side. They do not try to get the person to back off, merely engage in the conversation, shooting glances to the rest of the partners.

Their reaction in a polycule, to Four telling them that they don’t believe that they (Four) could ever be loved?

They're quiet--they relate to it too much to speak up. There's a shade of sorrow and understanding on their expression, as they act as a mere observer.

How would they take care of Four, if Four has fallen sick?

They'd offer company--reading to bed, hanging out, emotional support, listening to soft and quiet music together. They're not much of a nurse, but they try.

How would they react to Four who has no regards for their life?

They have never felt so enraged in their entire life, and so concerned. They want to cry and scream at the same time, throttle you even, but instead all they do is shoot you a crushing, disappointed glare. They avoid you more, as time goes by.

How would they react an MC who always says “I’m fine” even when they are not?

"Stop." They interrupt you abruptly. You've never seen them look so intense and on edge as you did now. Their hands are shaking, likely from the amount of emotion they're holding back. "Do not lie to me. I deserve the truth. It's the least you could do."

How would they react to MC who refuses to go to sleep, pre-relationship and in relationship?

pre-relationship

They do nothing. They do not convince you, force you. Your choices are your own, even if they're horrible.

in relationship

"Okay, then we're both not sleeping." They say, head tilting to the side, as a soft but daring smile arises on their lips. "I'm going to keep you company the entire time."

How would they react to having their cheeks pinched?

They let out a heavy sigh. "Are you satisfied, moon-beam?"

How would they react to painfully oblivious MC?

They are a little bit oblivious as well, so they're shocked you are even more than them. They don't even know what to say, so they're only staring at you in disbelief.

How would they react to Four stealing their clothes?

They shake their head. "If you asked, I'd let you borrow them, you know."

What if Four offered them a one-night stand pre-relationship?

They'd refuse, and avoid you for a week.

If Four could sing and had a nice voice, would they like to listen to them or join in?

They'd join in--they love to sing!

What if Four was hiding their injuries?

They'd hardly speak to Four--or even look at Four, to be honest. Their heart's been broken enough, and if Four wishes to endanger themself so much, then they will not stay here to watch them die.

#ro: five #if: the numbers game #ROs asks

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heyyyharry · 4 years

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Till Death (a Halloween one shot)

…in which Y/N and Harry share a flat but he cannot see her.

Warning: DEATH, MENTAL ILLNESS, MENTION OF SU1C1DE AND SELF-HARM (inexplicit). There's a happy ending tho 😬

Inspired by Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride and this song.

Word count: 3.9k

“Oh, you’re home!” she said as he shut the door and kicked off his shoes. His hair was a mess, his eyes dark and weary. He leaned against the wall and released a long heavy sigh.

“Trouble at work?” she asked. He didn’t answer. He never did. But it was okay. She was used to it.

She watched him trudge toward the couch and slump into it with his head buried in his hands. It was so quiet. It was always quiet here, and most of the time, she enjoyed the silence. After all, it was all she ever knew. But she also liked his laugh and his voice when he talked on the phone. He never talked to her. He was a great listener though, and she liked to talk anyway, so she had nothing to complain about. He never interrupted her, never commented; he only listened.

He rested his head on the couch with an arm over his closed eyes. She sat down beside him, her legs together, her hands on her knees.

“Guess what I did today,” she said.

He let go another long breath.

Silence.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell ya.” She rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin. “I made a new friend. A bird. I saw him on our balcony this morning. I named him Steve. Can you imagine? A bird named Steve. I think Steve likes me as much as a bird could like someone–”

“Oh, shit!”

She flinched as he jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, slightly worried.

“Shit, I forgot,” he murmured, shoving his fingers into his already unruly hair as he reached for his phone on the coffee table. He sat back down and unlocked the screen. His handsome face was illuminated as he typed something into the chat. She rested her head on his shoulder and stole a glance at the screen, just enough to see who he was texting.

It was that name again.

She’d seen him text this person every day for the last couple of weeks. She didn’t know who they were or what they looked like or if they were male or female. All she knew was that they always got Harry’s full attention.

She thought it’d be rude to read other people’s texts, so she never did even though he would never stop her. Still, it didn’t mean she wasn’t dying to know what they said to each other. She would watch Harry as he talked to the person either on the phone or through texts. And he would always look so happy whenever a notification came and he saw the person’s name.

She bet they talked about more interesting topics, not just birds with human names. That thought alone gave a throbbing feeling in her hollow chest.

Sometimes, when she was with him, she forgot about its absence, which was good, because she wanted to forget.

But whenever she saw his eyes sparkle as he talked to this person, she would remember that there was somebody else out there with that thing in their chest, somebody he could feel and see and hear…

...and love.

Then she would remember what he was, what she was, and what they could never be.

After all, she was dead.

She didn’t remember how long she’d been dead. She only knew that she’d been alone for too long. Time didn’t really matter when you stopped growing older. She was stuck like this. Forever 21, as she would joke to herself. She didn’t know how old Harry was, but he had a job that stressed him out every day, so she assumed he was older than she’d been when she’d died.

She’d been trapped in this flat ever since. She’d watched people move her stuff out and other people move their stuff in. She’d forgotten about her loved ones or if she’d ever had them in the first place. She didn’t have any recollection of the life she’d had. She couldn’t even attend her own funeral. If she’d known that she’d be stuck in the place where she’d died, she would have probably not chosen to die here. She missed being outdoors, seeing new people. She wondered if she’d still be in love with Harry if he weren’t the only person she knew.

Honestly, she had never been in love when she’d been alive. She knew that, because even though the memories ceased to exist, she still would have remembered what being in love had felt like. It was funny, actually. When she’d had a heart, she hadn’t been able to use it, and now that she didn’t, she could feel it every day. Could someone love without having a heart? She didn’t know what love felt like to be sure that this was love, yet she knew that she’d rather spend an eternity with this man than to reincarnate into someone else.

They’d been living together for two years. Before him, there had been an elderly couple and a family of four. They’d been fun and lovely. But Harry was...different.

He was alone like her. She felt a deep connection with him in that way, as it was rare to find a person who appreciated isolation and not let it drive them insane. Almost everyone was terrified of being alone. Harry, however, found comfort in being alone. He always knew how to entertain himself. He read books. He sang in the shower. He cooked dinner for himself. He’d call his family to tell them about his day.

Sometimes, as she watched him talk to his mum and sister, she wished she remembered her own family. Would she still want to be alone if she remembered them? Well, she didn’t want to be alone now that she had him. It scared her sometimes. An attachment was a scary thing when you knew that you’d forever be temporary to the people around you. Like the elderly couple and the family, one day, Harry would leave, and she’d have to get used to new flatmates who would most likely leave again.

But that was for the future. Right now, what they had was enough.

“I’m seeing someone,” Harry said one day.

Y/N didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she was sitting by the window talking to Steve while Harry was on the phone with his sister. It was the first time Y/N heard him say the person’s name. He was smiling the entire time as he talked about her. Y/N loved seeing Harry smile, so it didn’t matter what made him smile. She just wanted to see him happy.

He told his sister that the woman he was seeing was coming over tonight. He seemed excited. Harry had only ever looked this excited except for when his favourite show came on. That was how she knew he loved this woman as much as he loved that show, which was a lot.

“Can I join you guys tonight?” Y/N asked him when he ended the phone call.

He put his phone back down and looked right at her. If she had a heart, it would combust right then and there. But what she didn’t expect was him marching towards her, thrusting his hand right through her chest and shutting the window. Steve flew away. Harry turned and left.

The place where his hand had been burned with its absence, leaving her frozen as she watched the bedroom door fall shut. He couldn’t feel her, but she could feel much more than a dead person was allowed to feel.

Dinner was nice.

And so was the other woman.

It was funny how Y/N would refer to her as ‘the other woman’ when she’d been the one getting all Harry’s attention. She was sweet, blond-haired, great smile. She sat at Y/N’s spot at dinner. Y/N didn’t mind as she wasn’t eating anyway, yet it saddened her that she didn’t get to tell Harry her boring stories; the other woman was doing most of the talking.

Harry listened to her and laughed at her jokes. He never responded to Y/N that way. She’d been fine with it before, but seeing how he interacted with someone else made her want to vanish into thin air.

It was the first time in two years that she’d seen another living person beside Harry, and yet she had never felt lonelier.

After dinner, Harry asked if the woman wanted to spend the night and she said yes, so Y/N retreated to her spot – the bathroom. For some strange reason, she found comfort there. She would just get into the empty tub and lie there until morning.

Before Harry had moved in, she’d stayed in the bathroom at night while the living were asleep. Since Harry, she would usually spend the night outside his room. He’d always sleep with the door open and a lot of pillows. She didn’t want to be intrusive, but she’d heard him crying one night. His stepdad had just passed away and she’d stayed with him to keep him company, even though he hadn’t been aware of her presence.

She’d sat beside him on the bed as he’d cried. She’d told him that dead didn’t mean gone, that his stepdad might still be around, or have gone to heaven to get a new better life.

To be honest, she didn’t know if heaven existed for she didn’t get to leave this place, but maybe heaven only existed for the ones who deserved it. She was too good for hell, not good enough for heaven, so she was still here.

That night, as she was lying in the tub, gazing at the shadows of objects cast on the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen at dinner. A happy Harry. A truly happy Harry.

She’d always wondered what he looked like when someone made him laugh so hard he forgot about everything else, or when he blushed because of the things someone said to him, or when he looked at someone like they were the only person that mattered. Now that she’d seen it, it felt like torture.

She would never make him laugh. She would never get to hear him call her beautiful or tell her jokes just because he wanted to see her smile. He’d never get to know her. That was the worst part. It hadn’t bothered her before, and now it was too late to undo her feelings for him.

She didn’t have a heart, but as she lay her palms on top of her chest and shut her eyes, she could feel it breaking.

Ever since that night, the other woman would come over very often. It had hurt at first, then Y/N learned to get used to it. It didn’t mean it stopped hurting. She’d still feel invisible tears rolling down her cheeks every time they kissed in front of her. She’d spend most of the day avoiding them. It was hard to do so when she couldn’t leave the flat. She’d tried before. She’d tried to follow Harry outside, but the second she stepped through that door, she was back in the tub.

She was imprisoned in her own home where she felt like a guest. She had no one to talk to, and it had never been a problem before but now it was driving her insane.

Sometimes, she even wished that the other woman was dead. It was bad that love made her blind and envy made her cruel. Whenever that malicious thought crossed her mind, though, she’d think about Harry and instantly felt bad about wanting his girlfriend dead. It wasn’t a nice thing to wish onto anyone, especially when Y/N herself knew how overrated death was.

It wasn’t a solution. Just more problems.

And at the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter if she was hurt. After all, she was dead. Dead people couldn’t feel pain. This was just an illusion. Her pain wasn’t real. If Harry lost someone he loved, that would be real. And she’d take all the hurt just to keep him happy. Always.

Tonight, Harry came home alone.

She asked him what was wrong, knowing he wouldn’t answer. He went straight to the couch and buried his face into his hands. She wondered if he’d forgotten to take his pills again. She’d call them his happy pills. He’d been taking them for a couple of months now. He was always so sad and numb without them. Lately, it seemed like he hadn’t been taking them.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s on your mind,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

Silence sank in. The heaviness in her hollow chest became too much to bear.

Then, his shoulders began to shake.

He started crying.

She’d seen him cry before, but this time she could feel everything he was feeling. And it was even worse for her because she could not do anything about it. When a person cried, they’d feel better afterwards. There was no better for the dead. Just forever numbness. Forever pain. Maybe she hadn’t gone to hell because this was her hell. What had she done to deserve this?

Whatever. This wasn’t about her.

She wished she could wipe away Harry’s tears and tell him things that’d make him feel better. She felt powerless. There was nothing she could do to help.

She sat and watched him cry for what seemed like forever. When he finally stopped, he took out his phone and texted the other woman.

This time, Y/N read.

They’d broken up. The messages didn’t say why. All Y/N knew was that Harry was madly in love with the other woman. He’d sent so many messages asking her to stay, telling her he couldn’t live without her. And she never responded to a single one.

“Harry…” Y/N murmured.

Harry shook his head gently as if he’d heard it. Then, he got to his feet and padded to the bedroom. The door fell shut, leaving Y/N with the uncomfortable silence that could smother her.

She started pacing back and forth outside his bedroom. Her head swam with half-formed regrets. She wished she’d done something to stop him from getting to know the other woman and falling in love with her. But what could she have possibly done? She was dead. She was a ghost, floating around, haunting this place. She couldn’t keep two living people from falling in love. She couldn’t stop the woman from breaking Harry’s heart.

But that was one thing about not having a heart, you’d hurt twice as much trying to protect a heart that wasn’t your own.

Something crashed.

Glass shattered.

The world stilled for a second as Y/N burst into the bedroom.

There he was. Staring right back at her.

But there was also him. On the floor. The real him.

Those weren’t his happy pills.

“Harry!” she screamed and rushed towards the Harry on the floor. His ghost stood there watching in silence as she tried to wake him. She couldn’t touch him. She could only scream and if he’d never listened before, he wasn’t listening now. “Harry, please wake up...Please wake up…”

She lay her palm on his chest. He wasn’t dead. She could still feel his heart beating. His skin pale and his breathing slowed. Half of him was still fighting to live and as long as the other half didn’t overpower him, he might be saved.

“Who are you?” asked the ghost standing beside her.

She looked up. The other Harry was looking right at her, not through her. This one could see her.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, still in shock.

“Y/N,” he echoed.

She’d heard him tell the other woman that he would repeat a person’s name so he wouldn’t forget it. He could hear Y/N, see her and now he knew her name. Her invisible heart swelled for a second, but then she could feel it, the beating of that living thing under his chest. He was still half-alive. But he wouldn’t be for too long.

“You must hold on,” she told his ghost, panting heavily as she started freaking out. “You can’t...you can’t die...you must...I don’t know....get back into your body before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know how, and I don’t want to,” he said, staring at himself, and then at her. She didn’t like the look he was giving her. It was as if she was an exotic animal and he was a curious child going to the zoo for the first time. “Are you a ghost?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, rising to her feet, trying to avoid his gaze. “I-I died here…”

Silence.

“How long have you been here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember. When you’re dead, your memories start to fade. Now I don’t remember anything from when I was alive.”

“So there’s no afterlife?” Harry asked, his voice breaking a little. She looked up and saw him staring at his own body with a pained expression that could be regret. “You just...stay here?”

“I don’t know about the other ghosts, but that’s what it is for me,” she said, rubbing her arms.

“Aren’t you lonely?” he asked.

“Well, not really. I’ve got you.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him. He blinked. “But I couldn’t see you or talk to you.”

She raised a soft smile. “But I could see you and talk to you. That was enough.” Harry was giving her an expression she could not interpret, so she hurriedly went on, “Believe me. Death is overrated. You don’t want it.”

“But what if I do? I lost my job and someone I loved. I have struggled every day for the past few months, so why bother?”

“So you think it’s easy for me?” she asked. “I don’t have a heart, yet I still feel things and I can’t cry and the feelings won’t go away. They’ll still be here when everyone else leaves. Dead doesn’t mean gone but it’s the end of second chances. I’ll never get to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. I’ll never get to graduate. I don’t remember my family or if I ever had one. I don’t get to make friends. I don’t...don’t get to be loved…

“And if that doesn’t sound bad to you, just think about all the people you’d leave behind. Your mum, your sister. You won’t remember them but they’ll remember you. And they’ll have to carry the pain of losing you until it happens to them. I didn’t get to see them one last time because...if I tried to leave this flat, I’d just...just keep coming back here. I’d never get to apologise to them for abandoning them. I regret it every single day. And I don’t want it to happen to you.”

The Harry in front of her was quiet for a moment. The Harry on the floor was struggling to breathe.

“If I die,” he spoke, his eyes meeting hers, “you won’t be lonely anymore. Why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

She took a moment to think. Then, “Because I love you.”

His eyes widened as he parted his lips. He didn’t believe it. For the first time, Y/N could see herself in him. She wouldn’t believe it if someone told her they loved her, either. She thought she couldn’t be loved. That was why she’d chosen the easier way out. It wasn’t easy; she knew that now. So she wasn’t going to let him make the same mistake.

“You think no one cares, but I do,” she said, reaching for his hand. She held it, lacing her fingers with his. “So please hold on. If you fully give up, you cannot be saved.”

He looked at himself and then back at her. “Where did you die?”

A pause.

“The bathroom.”

Sadness set over his features. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “I’ve never been better than I am now.”

“Harry!” shouted a female voice as the front door burst open suddenly and frantic footsteps rushed into the room.

The moment Harry saw the woman he loved, hope lit up his entire face. The woman screamed as she collapsed by his body and pulled out her phone to call an ambulance. She kissed his face and told him how much she loved him, that she was sorry, that she’d take back all the things she’d said, that she wanted to spend many more years with him.

Y/N felt herself losing grip of the other Harry. He started to fade. She tried to hold onto him, but it was no use.

And before he was completely gone, he smiled at her and said, “Thank you.” And she thanked him, too. For seeing her. And not giving up.

Harry didn’t remember anything when he came back from the hospital. He got back together with his girlfriend, who finally moved in with him. They lasted for two years and their relationship ended on good terms. After that, Harry, now with the job that he loved, started seeing other people and stopped taking his happy pills. He’d got better. He was happy all the time. He didn’t remember his conversation with Y/N, but sometimes she’d catch him staring at the bathtub. She’d pretend that he could see her and she’d smile and wave. Maybe he could, but he didn’t want to freak her out. Who knew?

He moved out of the flat after a few more years. The last night he was there, she’d lay on the floor beside his bed as he slept.

The ones after him were fun. Y/N liked meeting new people. One couple even had a pet and she finally had someone to talk to. Still, sometimes she would think about Harry and wondered what he might be doing now.

One night, while lying in the tub, she discovered a tiny word someone had written on the bathroom wall.

Hello.

She’d been here long enough to know that it hadn’t always been there. She recognised that handwriting. Though she wished she’d found it sooner, it made her happy as she traced her fingers over it and imagined him thinking of her.

Y/N didn’t know how much time had passed.

But Harry did return.

When he came in, she almost didn’t recognise him. He was an old man in a wheelchair. She’d overheard him talking to his caretaker that he wanted to spend his last days in this flat. He stayed in bed for that whole first week and she’d lie beside his bed and talk to him each night.

He died of old age.

One night, he went to the bathroom and lay down in the tub and fell asleep and never woke up.

She stood in the doorway, watching him.

Then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. When she turned, she saw the same Harry who was young and handsome and wearing the same clothes as the day he’d first seen her.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

Apparently, when you died, you got to choose the age you wanted to be. She’d chosen to be twenty-one, the age she’d died. Harry had chosen to be twenty-four, the age he’d met the ghost girl who had saved his life.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #alliengn

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mxvladdy · 3 years

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heyy i just read your fic Case of the Munchies on ao3 and im Loving it!!!! its amazing!! i was wonder if youre accepting requests and if you haven’t done it could you write the same for the rest: mammon, levi, satan, belphi, dia, barbatos and smth for simeon and luke (ofc platonic) like how angles have a true form and that means they can never relax around mc and how solomon has so much power at his fingertips he can just snap and end them or smth like that? pretty please and thank you!!!!

A/N: Of Course! Of Course! I already did Mammon and Levi HERE so I’ll do the other four in this request! You sent me a lot of good ideas and I’ll sprinkle them out into other requests soon!

Hope you like it!!

Case of the Munchies prt 3!

Word Count: 4.2k

Characters: Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos

TW: Mentions of eating and cook humans, very mild gore

Satan

As the only full-blooded demon of the seven, he has thought about it...just hypothetically of course. When you were new to the Devildom he did find your scent more appetizing than the others. It’s a good thing he has the most restraint and control of all his kin, especially when it comes to his more base urges.

He doesn’t hide this knowledge from you. It’s readily available in the library and his own room in the history books. He just won’t bring it up. So if you don’t say anything, he won’t either. What would he say anyway? “Yes, I’ve thought about it, up until it was outlawed it was a staple of our diet after all…” Ye, probably not the best thing to say.

When you finally brought it up he was exasperated. Did you have to bring it up during the few hours he had alone with himself? He wasn’t going to lie but the thought of hurting your feelings would just about do him in.

He will alleviate your worries if you have any. If Satan was anything, he was genuine.

Mini Fic

His wine curdles in his stomach, turning sour along with the take-out he had nabbed for the two of you to enjoy tonight. Drinks and dinner were becoming a staple in your T.V. night tradition. If one of you had had a rough day you would drop by your favorite shop of the hour and pick up a meal to share while you vent.

Today in particular had been a shit day for him. Failed experiment after failed experiment, and one bottle that didn’t explode on impact with the potion he dropped. Sigh. At least your comforting words soothed his wounded pride a little. You chuckle at his escapades glad to see he is not hurt at least. It was nice to have someone to see the humor in something that normally would have dampened his mood.

“You’re a pest.” He laughs at you while snapping his takeout chopsticks in half to use. “I need sympathy-hours of work wasted.” You snort into your own bowl of udon.

“You need words of praise like Beel needs another stomach.” Satan gasps in mock insult pointing a sauce stained chopstick at you.

“How dare you insult your host! After I toiled over this meal of-” What did he get exactly? Honestly, when he placed the order he was near boiling with rage at his careless fumble. It was to be a surprise for you, something to give you a bit of magic while supervised by himself. He knew how frustrated you were with your lack of magical ability in class so he wanted to gift you something grand. Now he has to wait months to try again.

Ah, well...nothing ventured nothing gained as they say.

You watch him sulk over his soup dumplings, his mile away from the comfort of your company and his room. “Come on blondie.” You poke him with your foot before burying them under his pajama-clad thighs on the couch. “Eat your ‘hard earned’ meal before I do.” You snatch up his D.D.D forgetting your own food for a moment to set up your favorite streaming service to cast to his small T.V. “Want to watch a bunch of humans fail miserably at baking?”

"I thought you would never ask."

Satan feels you stiffen in his arms two hours into your bake-off marathon. Your takeout boxes are cold and forgotten on his coffee table, a bottle of wine gone between the two of you. He glances down at you curious.

You were transfixed on the screen. The novice baker on screen was struggling to keep his monstrosity of a cake upright. It was the annual Halloween episode and this fool went for a Silence of the Lambs inspired cake. A good concept really, but very poorly executed. The fake body parts and sugar blood weighted the pastry down dangerously. If he were, to be frank, the cake was also tacky as hell. Heh, he'd have to try to make this for Lucifer.

"Does his abuse of the piping gun offend you that much?" He jokes wrapping an arm around you.

Your laugh is breathy and lacks its usual warmth. "It is excessive isn't it?" You look up at him. "Hey, Satan-have you ever eaten people before?"

"Uhh…" Great, how eloquent. This came out of nowhere, did Lucifer set you up to this? No-no you wouldn’t. Would you hate him if you knew? “I have.” He admits through clenched teeth waiting for your reaction.

“Didn’t Diavolo ban it?” He can tell you are doing the mental math in your head.

He chuckles dryly. “Well, you never asked if I did it legally.” You move away from his touch and pause the show. “I mean...I did it legally! ” His mouth runs freely, his brain screaming at him to shut up.

“Satan.” You cross your arms unimpressed.

“It was a new law and I never meant to eat it for the most part. It was at a time where I was still struggling to control myself.” Young and stupid as Lucifer had said defending him every step of the way when he would slip up. Was it sold on the black market now? Yes. Did he know how to get it? Sure, but he would never nor would he tell you about it either.

You nod thinking about his words. “I can empathize.” Oh, thank the Devil. “Have you thought of eating me?”Ahhh. “Oh my God, you have.” You chuck a pillow at him with a laugh.

He catches the pillow and clutches it to his fiery hot face. “Everyone did at first!” If he was going down then he was going to take every one of his brothers down with him. “I wasn’t going to act on it! It was a spur of the moment-why are you laughing!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You wipe at the tears in your eyes wishing you had your phone to take a picture of his blushing face. “I kind of figured you did.”

Satan looks at you incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more torn up over this?”

You shrug. “After everything we’ve been through? I admit it was a shock to think at first but I mean, you would have done it by now right?”

“Well, thank you?” He flops back on the couch, still clutching the pillow to act as a barrier between you two. He’ll take it as a compliment.

You scoot close, nudging his knee with yours. “You ok?” He nods. “Can I touch you?” He nods again eagerly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Satan chuckled, dropping the pillow to hug you back. “It’s ok.” He peaks your forehead. “Now, with that out of the way. Shall we finish this?” He swipes up his phone to hit play. You nod, flinging your legs over him to snuggle closer. “Good, I’m dying to know how he tries to save that thing. I’m putting money on icing.”

“You know.” You break the silence once more, unable to stop yourself. “I wouldn’t be opposed to being eaten...in some ways.”

Belphegor

After your first *ahem* encounter, he doesn’t bring up the whole food thing. He is afraid that if you learned about it, it would be the last strike for you and his relationship. Perhaps it’s paranoia on his part but better safe than sorry.

In all honesty, he didn’t eat it that much anyway. Killing humans was something he did often in his youth as a demon. A stupid attempt at revenge on his part. It filled the holes in his hearts to hurt those he believed killed his sister.

But to eat their flesh? Disgusting. He tried it a few times and it turned his stomach with every mouthful. He just hated them too much to even stomach them. He’s mellowed out with time but still never got a taste for it.

When you asked it was a shock but welcomed in a way. Like he could finally get this weight off his shoulders every time he looked at you.

Mini Fic

“It’s gross.” Belphie yawns, jumping up to sit on the high garden wall. He bends down to help you up placing you gently next to himself. The wind catches you by surprise threatening to topple you back from the wall before he rights you. He tosses his sweater over you with a nod of satisfaction.

You snuggle into the fleece lining burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled of elderberries and honeysuckles. Belphie watches you curl up into his side with a fond smile. “Seriously, you all are nasty.”

“Ouch!” You push his shoulder with a grin. “I feel like I should be offended on behalf of all humans.”

Belphie snorts, looking up into the bright colors of the night sky. “Good. Be offended. You, humans, are slimy.” You squawk indignantly. “It’s true, never in all my years would I willingly ingest it.” He shudders theatrically.

“Rude.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Lest I eat you?” He growls playfully, taking a swipe at you. He pulls you close to kiss the pout off your face. He stops only when your face is hot and your smile threatens to pull a muscle. “I’ll keep you safe, always.” He vows resting his chin on your head.

“Do you think other demons would try to eat me?”

“Have you met my twin?” He teases. He takes your jab to his ribs with a smile. “But if one of those lesser demons even tries to breathe in your direction I’ll kill them.”

“Ok, Mister sleeps till dinner.” You joke. His vow warms your heart a little, chasing away the small bit of fear that had rested itself in your chest. You saw how some demons looked at you at R.A.D, the longing and hungry looks got to be a bit much sometimes. A few older demons would discuss it loudly when they knew you were close by. Apparently, it was a long standing tradition of demons eating humans both body and soul when a pact was concluded.

Imagine what those brothers would do to them…

You shake your head hugging Belphie closer. You had nothing but his word that he would keep you safe, yet that was enough for you. Besides, he wasn’t one to follow the rules even at the best of times.

“I’m serious. You're off limits for everyone.”

You nod into his shirt, closing your eyes to enjoy the peace of the moment. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Diavolo

It is so far from his mind that when you say something it is like a rug was taken out from under him. He could be diplomatic about it, but you deserve better than a half-truth.

He was a wild child in his youth. Sometimes he would overindulge in his father’s heritage and gorge himself on his newfound powers and privilege. He would dine with the elders and eat with abandon under their proud eyes.

He regrets it now, in your company it brings up a slurry of emotions. Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of his past behavior.

The urge is stronger in him than the brothers, a constant nagging tug in his guts, but he is strong. Stronger both in willpower and sheer physical prowess than them so the pull is more of an annoyance than a burning need. He can temper the hunger in other ways if need be *wink*

He fears what you might think of him if you ever found out the truth, but however you take it he will handle it in stride. He loves you too much not to.

Mini Fic

Dinners, when Diavolo could eat alone, were a rare and special treat. The solace of just being allowed to exist without constantly checking his posture or presentation was a blessing, just him, his thoughts, and a good meal. It was nice to have no paperwork to worry about staining this time or a tedious meeting where he couldn’t savor his meal. No, no this was good. He looks down at his heavily laden plate and smiles. Well, almost… Pulling out his phone he snaps a quick picture and sends it to you with a simple question. Join me?

Private meals were wonderful, but with you, they were perfect.

You arrive faster than he expected, flushed face and clutching a stitch in your side from rushing over. He almost felt bad before he saw the eager look in your eyes. Barbatos helps you with your school bags and coat before placing another plate of food across from the young lord. He winks at the prince before disappearing back through the door.

“Thank you for the invite!” You beam taking your seat across from him. “I hope you don’t mind that I'm not dressed for the occasion. I was just wrapping up a study session with the boys.” You look down at your rumpled lounge clothes.

Diavolo waved his hand disregarding your concerns. “I would emulate you if I had the time.” He looks at his own pressed school uniform. He had another meeting this evening, much to his distaste. “You look rather comfortable.” You smile in delight before tucking into your own plate.

You eat in a comfortable silence reading the room well enough to tell that he wished for some company but not needless chitter-chatter. Barbatos arrived moments after you put your fork down and left with the plate leaving behind a delicious smelling hot drink. You couldn’t put your finger on the flavor but it tastes spicy like cinnamon and coats your throat like warm honey.

Whatever was in the drink seemed to work some magic on the prince. His shoulder droop, his back sinking into the chair as his legs stretch out till they are close to brushing against yours. He starts talking over the drink, eyes slowly lighting up with delight. You drink, nodding along with him as he builds up steam. It was nice to see him so unguarded and light. You listen to him talk about simple innocent topics. You knew how he tried to have these conversations with the others to no avail. The brother’s always tried to stay clear of him, and Lucifer simply dismissed these things most days. Barbatos and the angels were a bit better but still listened mostly to placate him.

“Ah!” Diavolo stops mid-sentence as his door opens once more Barbatos holding a small platter in his gloved hand. Dia claps his hands in delight. “I’ve been wanting to have you try this with me for forever. The human palate is so different, but I hope this is tasty.”

“What is it?” You eye the covered plate curiously.

Dia says a word in infernal. It is harsh and guttural in his throat but his delight was evident in his tone. “It is like...a roasted nut? Sorry, it is difficult to explain but it has been a favorite treat of mine since I was a boy. I hope you like it too.” He opens the lid with little ceremony and tilts the bowl to you. Inside were several golfball sized pods piled on top of each other. Even from across the table you could feel the molten heat radiating from the porous black shell. It looked...ugly. Like a hunk of dried lava. You eye it suspiciously as Diavolo picks one up with his bare hands and bits it. The shell cracks under his sharp teeth, a fang catching in a weak spot with a noise that makes you shiver. Underneath the thick casing, you could see a dark red and fleshy core. He hums in delight pulling put the meat of the seed and discard the shell pieces onto an empty plate. He makes quick work of the innards already reaching for another by the time you casually pick up a seed.

The seed itself was dense and warm to the touch. You squeeze it, noting that the porous coating felt like a mass of steel in your hand. “Dia-how do I open it?” No way you could bite it, not without breaking your jaw in the process.

“Allow me.” He takes it from you and effortlessly cracks it. “It is a tradition to break them with teeth, instead of hands or utensils. Something about a show of strength. I just find it fun.” He shrugs, handing you the broken seed.

“Fun!” You marvel at his pearly fangs. “Those are some big chompers.”

“All the better to eat you with my dear.” He chuckles.

You blink in shock, eyes widening. “Would you? Eat me?”

Diavolo’s smile drops. “No.” He lies on reflex, his political nature kicking in. “No-no wait.” He shakes his head. “I...at a time would have without hesitation.” He feels you recoil. “It was common practice back in the day. To the common demon it was a great meal and for the ruling class a show. He looks down at the broken fragments of shell on his plate. Breaking the shell was far too reminiscent of other things. He squashes the unwanted wave of memories coming up. Instead, he looks up at you.

You sit quietly mulling over his words. You haven’t run yet. “Why did you stop?”

He leans back with a loud exhale. Why did he stop? There were many reasons, none he wished to divulge into at the moment, but he had to say something. “I grew up, and began to resent and regret it.” He used to read human stories of demons and his kind. They hurt their characterizations of him and his people. Yet, they had all been scarily accurate. He wanted to prove that they weren’t stagnating beasts, slaves to their desires. Even if it wasn't a popular opinion.

“I see.” You pick up the seed again. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to, and to apologize… such admissions must have ruined your appetite. If you wish to retire-”

“Is it weird if it didn’t?” You cut him off. You felt-not apathetic to the knowledge but close to it. It confirmed a lot of things for you and put certain things in perspective. You still felt safe with him even with this new bit of knowledge. Without a second thought, you pop the treat into your mouth. You gasp in delight. The flavor and texture were not what you were expecting, but was delicious all the same. “Can you open another for me?” You push your plate over to him.

“Of course!”

The food was as wonderful as his company.

Barbatos

You knew he cooked it. He probably knows a million different ways to prepare a human. He is also very blunt about his dabblings in the market.

He doesn’t eat it, hasn’t ever. He sees no reason to, especially since he doesn’t need to eat anyway there is no temptation. He did find the meals he created beautiful though.

Once he lived for the praises of the courts and his young lord. He was a master at all mediums he cared to work with. Time, decorum, or of the flesh.

He is 100% unashamed of his past with the dark side of the Devildom’s history. In fact, he is damn near proud of it. He is a demon and it was a part of his life, if that frightens you, well there is nothing he can do about it.

He’ll entertain your questions and will try to put any lingering worries at ease. Just don’t expect to be coddled when he does.

Mini Fic

Barbatos had very few personal pleasures in his life. His schedule simply didn’t have the space for such things. So why even bother looking for a pastime. It wasn’t until Diavolo gifted him with an old worn cookbook did he find it.

Cooking was a necessity for his prince, but with that little book, it became something he looked forward to doing. Slowly, he began to seek them out, filling his growing quarters with cookbooks and loose-leaf slips of paper. He enjoys reading them. Each book was a little time capsule into the cook's life and memories. Could a mix of spices really remind someone of the arid heat of their motherland? Or does following a certain way of aging meat really honor the writer's late grandfather’s memory? He tries them all, each recipe a little invasion to a happier time.

He wrote his fair share of cookbooks too in his day. Simple modifications to things the young lord liked to the odd machinations of his own imagination. He got good at experimenting with flavors and textures over the years, mastering certain cooking techniques and flavors just for fun. He didn’t share many of them, a lot of his recipes were just too complicated for most. Luke was allowed to look at his pastry books only. The little cherub was enamored with his techniques and wanted to learn as much as he could in the short amount of time he was in the Devildom. Admirable, but he made sure to keep some of his...less savory books away from the boy. He shudders to think what Simeon would do if he scarred the young angel.

You are the only one who has full access to his collections. Whether you liked to cook was inconsequential to him. He simply enjoyed sharing this interest with you. Some nights you would take it upon yourself to be his “sous-chef”. Which meant you sat in the corner of the kitchen and read out the ingredients and steps for a recipe he knew by heart. Sometimes you would add in extra steps in an attempt to stump it. Cute...but ultimately failed each time. So, most nights when you tagged along to the kitchens you just flip through his collection, reading his immaculate scribblings crammed into the corners of the pages or where he scratched out certain ingredients for more demon-appropriate foods and more sustainable options.

You had gone through many beautiful books before you found it. The cookbook was small and inconspicuous compared to most. Just a simple black cover with a well-worn spine. What made you take notice of it was just how dusty it was. That wasn’t like him to do. Barbatos would never let something get so dirty. You wished you never had opened it. You weren’t stupid by any means, but after reading a few pretty graphic recipes it had unsettled you. So you withdrew from Barbatos trying to forget about the book tucked away deep in the bowels of your school bag.

“You’ve been distant.” You choke, hand flying up to your chest as you swear your heart skipped a beat. Damn demon. Should put a bell on him. “What’s wrong?” His eyes are piercing, cutting away at your feeble defenses.

“Nothing…” You fiddle with your bag’s strap. Your eyes drop to the floor taking in the differences between his polished shoes and your scuffed boots.

“Of course not…” You could hear the skepticism in his voice. “I trust that if there was something wrong you would feel safe enough to confide in me.” His words hit like a ton of bricks on your shoulders. He sighs seeing that his words got no reaction. “Please?”

Wordlessly you rummage in your bag and thrust the book into his chest. “Sorry. It shook me up more than I thought it would.”

Ah. He knew this book all too well. For a time it had been his favorite, one to pull out with Diavolo had guests or a deal that needed to be sealed. He accepts the book, noting how much your hands shook. “I understand.” He slips the book into his breast pocket making a mental note to hide it in one of his lesser used rooms. “Would you like to discuss this? In my room perhaps?” You follow with a timid nod.

“Where shall we begin?” Barbatos asks the moment he closes the door to his room.

“You don’t seem perturbed.” You frown. Barbatos shrugs, pulling the book out and opening it. He had a lot of good memories stored here. Some of these were still considered signature dishes, oftentimes a visiting dignitary would lament to him about the good old days when he could show off his craft when flesh was plentiful. He takes pride in that still to this day even. For as much as he loved you, he would not be ashamed of this.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You shake your head when he says as much. “It just confused me. Do-do you see me as food?”

“I never saw humans as food, no more than I see demons or angels as it.” He picks at an imaginary bit of lent from his pant leg. “As for seeing you as food no. No matter how sweet your lips are, or how honeyed your words can be.” He smiles, taking impish delight in your squirming. “I merely did my job as a butler for my lord.”

“Oh- sorry for not coming to you sooner.” You felt foolish now. Barbatos waves it off, pleased to have this issue put aside so quickly and cleanly. “Wait-" You gasp as his words finally sink in. “Have you prepared angels before?”

He flashes you a mischievous smile putting a single finger up to his lips. “Perhaps~ do you wish to read that too?”

#obey me #om satan #om belphegor #om diavolo #om barbatos #fun request!

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collectivefandomstuff · 4 years

Text

Title: A Hindering Hand Type: Fanfic, crossposted to AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097) Status: Complete. Chapter: 1/1. Fandom: DC/Batman Rating: T Warnings: Language. Beta: No beta we die like Jason Todd and also Damian Pairings: None. Word Count: 4k+ Genre: Humour/Comedy Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne. Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.

Excerpt: Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him.

”You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason stared at what used to be his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit. Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.

He got through two rings before the line opened.

“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking done.

“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.

“He was raised by Alfred.”

“So was I. And you.” “Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.” “uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life. “I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim. “Why?” “I just made a video game reference in my head.” “Which game?” “Not the point.” “I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off: “I’m going to kill him.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “What did he do exactly?” “Hi Little Wing,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his brand new fucking oven pan Dick you bastard that was expensive. “I made you some brownies!” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit. “I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D.” There was a pause. “Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim. “No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.” “He’s really on a spree this week.” “Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse. “Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.” “Why haven’t they killed him?” “They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.” “Well I have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen. “Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.” Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment. “What did he do to you?” Tim was silent for a long while, then: “He tried to clean my apartment.” Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department. “And?” He prompted. “He moved everything,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.” Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even there and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble. “He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.” Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse. “Shut up,” said Tim grouchily. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were laughing at me.” How- Jason’s hand clenched around the phone. “I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.” Tim snorted. “So find them and take them down. Think of it as practice,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did. “You’re such a creeper.” “Says the murderous crime lord.” “At least I’m not a stalker.” “Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?” Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject. “Why?” “Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.” Oh, he had better fucking not. Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too. “Son of a-” “I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away. “This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-” “You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned. “I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.” Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”. “Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?” Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0. “Why is he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly. Tim sniffed. “Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.” Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you absolute nutjobs. He sighed. “So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly. “Yeah pretty much.” “I still think my first plan was better.” “If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.” That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit. “Can I punch him a little?” “I’d encourage it.” “Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are you planning to do him exactly?” “Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.” Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising. “Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-” He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel. “Would you knock it off,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach. Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce should not be allowed to procreate. Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red. “What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak. “We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed. “I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed. “Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone. “Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.” Robin stilled. “What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?” “He’s cooking,” Hood drawled. “And cleaning,” Red added. Robin’s whole body tensed. “I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously. Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the frills and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern. “Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now. “He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl. There was a pause. “It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time. “No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver. “But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far- “I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly. “He- you must be mistaken.” “Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will never unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.” “I see.” No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that crystal?! “You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure. “I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.” Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming. “Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we asked you to do, was to start hanging out with him again.” “-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!” “No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just call him and tell him you need help with your homework or something?” It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient. “Grayson needs to rest-” “Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!” Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected. Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him. In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment. Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“cheap decaf, Jason. Low-level, buy in bulk decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor. The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back. If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem. The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new. “He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone. “Who?” Tim asked. “Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be real ironic soon.” And whoa, Steph did know how to look properly intimidating. “What’d he do?” Jason asked her. Stephanie stepped back to let them inside. “There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily. “He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes. “He tried to laminate.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced. “Is Damian here?” Steph snorted. “Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike hard.” Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, apparently. Because Bruce was only one with any rights around here, that fucking- He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention. “-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this worse.” “I wasn’t suggesting we talk to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but- Hang on. “Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.” “What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms. “We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention back to Damian. We just need to redirect it. To someone.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to stop him.” Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces. “Someone who deserves to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently. “Someone who has time to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does nothing.” “Exactly.”

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them. “Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture. “Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating. “Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer. Hood crossed his arms. “You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end. “I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?” Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that. “N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we appreciate you trying to… help us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.” Nightwing pursed his lips. “You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off. “Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.” Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring. “Who? Damian?” “Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.” Nightwing crossed his arms. “You think B needs help?” And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat. “B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of us.” “He has Alfie though,” N argued. “Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And damn, blondie, good answer. “We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?” “Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed. “Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll. “You guys help each other out,” Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.” “Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.” Red nodded. “And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully. “And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.” “They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch. “Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?” Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes. “Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation. “But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move. “And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added. Nightwing bit his lip. “Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all good. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.” Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here? Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by Martha, Dick you absolute menace. “Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.” Martha. Think about Martha. “We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?” “Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.” “Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for li’l D, isn’t he?” He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for that stroke of genius. “Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nightwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus. N stretched. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?” They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”. Red cleared his throat. “So, good luck, uhm...” Nightwing grinned. “I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.” Fuck. N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it. “If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest. Triple fuck. Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions. “I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked. “You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?” “I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.” “Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table. “He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge. Jason sniggered. “It’s that bad?” “He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.” “Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?” “I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly. “Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. “Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?” “Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?” Tim gave him a deadpan stare. “Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.” Jason mulled that over. “Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.” Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply. “You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?” “Hell yeah I do.” Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he thought it was the cave. “Is that?” “He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved. On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Oh we are so watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.” “I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede. On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear. “You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.” “Why?” “Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.” Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth. “He…” Oh god. “That’s totally what he’s doing isn’t it?” Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, probably.” Jason slammed his bear down on the table. “THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!” Jason glared at Tim, the proof of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even like the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your life. "It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week." And yeah, that made it a little better, actually. "I still don't like you." He told Tim. "I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?" "Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad. The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit. Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad.

#fanfic #batfamily fanfic #batfam fic #pov:#jason todd #humor #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #Stephanie Brown #special appearance:#Bruce Wayne #rated t #for language #4k+ words #1-5k #oneshot

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silvercrystalwhump · 3 years

Text

The Death of a Tyrant

Vincent Shield belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow

TW: antagonising, bbu content warning, owen grant

The lights shine down across the stage, three cameras spin and whirl in the shadows beyond. Vincent can feel the eyes beyond the camera watching every hair on his head. He can almost feel the millions of eyes on the other side of the lens.

Today was a long day of interviews for the first television show that he’s ever been in and Ann’s, the young actress to his left, first-ever adult role.

Vincent can almost feel her anticipation through his skin. The poisoned nostalgia freezes the air in his already tense lungs. The interview boasts eyes of venom and they are poised directly at him.

This interview was supposed to be about the show.

It turned into a drama cast very quickly.

“So,” The interview leans back, eyes scouring across Vincent’s face. He can feel the resignation behind his eyes. Simmering coals eat under him. Vincent can feel the question before it leaves his lips, “How has the recent tape release affected you, Vincent. It must be rather hard to deal with the aftermath of being forced to come out.”

Vincent pierces his lips. Watching the lens on the camera pointed at him shift, Vincent draws up the mask, “While I would rather we keep this conversation on Iscariot and the Strings of Time, I will say that there has been many people who have been very helpful during a time that has been definitely stressful.”

The interview looks almost disappointed, eyes dropping into shadows before perking up as the focus returns to him. Vincent can really tell in these moments that this man sitting across from him and Ann was once an actor. Every movement in his face is planned and Vincent can see Ann’s gaze trying to avoid his.

She’s not used to this.

“Vincent, how do you feel about the Director’s new Box Babe, Kat?”

There it is.

Vincent sighs, “Han and I have had a conversation about this. He did not want his decision to get in the way of professionalism. He is aware that I will not hesitate to contact the Commission if I see any sign of abuse.”

The interviewer pauses, waiting for more words to come. They do not.

Then, Ann laughs, shifting in her seat, “It looks like he pulled an Owen Grant, Kat looks so much like his ex-wife to the point where it’s almost uncanny.”

The air stills for a second as the words settle into the floorboards. The sound of the lights quietly can be heard above. Those few heart-chilling seconds seem to eat at the very fabric of his turtleneck. It suddenly feels just a little too tight.

The interview picks up again, “Well, I believe that all of us can say that we are looking forward to seeing how you two work together in this new dynamic.”

Vincent draws a smile onto his face with an invisible sharpie. Ann scrambles to scoop up her own as the camera does doubt pans out to view them all.

“Are you allowed to reveal a date?” The interview leans in, the side of his face away from the camera twitching slightly.

Ann nods and nearly bounces out of her chair. Vincent remembers the excitement when he was younger that came with being the one to say the date. He used to itch for it when he was with his old studio. Something else I’ve lost.

“The first episode will be available on Netflix on November 1st!”

The interviewer sits up straight and clasps his hands together, “I cannot thank you enough for your time out here today, thank you everybody for tuning in and we all anticipate the debut of Strings of Time.”

Vincent watches as the cameras are shut off and pulled away. He holds himself in the chair until all of the cameras have been pulled away and the interviewer stands. In one movement he is off of the stage and talking with someone. Vincent brings his hands on the armrests and pulls himself to his feet.

Vincent floats for the door, plans to go home, and just passes out on the couch already bubbling across his vision. He hates the air conditioning here.

Why did he have to get brought up?

Vincent adjusts his blazer and steps out of the recording studio. Regretting wearing a turtleneck, he makes his way towards his dressing room. The sound of his shoes clicking against the tiled floor echoes around him. Air catches in his throat as the faint memory of a different set of oxfords walks down a hall only a wall away from him. The memory tastes like Coke.

Just grab your paperwork and go home.

A hand grabs his arm, “Excuse me, Vincent.”

Vincent spins around, panic, like an ivy spreading up his veins. Ann stands behind him, looking a bit flustered, “I need to apologies to you.”

“For what,” Vincent asks, forcing his muscles to relax.

Ann smooths out the edge of her blouse and forces her eyes, “Once the words came out of my mouth I realized how insensitive it was to just… nonchalantly mention the Owen ordeal as um.”

“Hey,” Vincent says, “I- You were nervous I could tell, I’m not offended.”

“Yeah, but especially since his mother just passed and he’s going to be working with us I- it feels wrong, I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry, what!

“I accept your apology, Ann. Don’t think too much of it. This is your first gig since moving into adult acting, right?”

Ann nods, leaning back on her heels. It is painfully obvious that she is very new to interviews that ask unscripted questions.

“It’s alright,” Vincent reassures, “Honestly Ann, don’t stress about accidentally stumbling over words. It happens.”

Ann relaxes just a little, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay, thank you,” Ann smiles, letting gallons of air escape her tense lungs. She turns around and trots for her room a few halls down. As he watches her walk away the nostalgia hits him like a truck. The people-pleasing, the desire to be perfect, to be without controversy, makes him flash a piteous smile and shake his head.

He straightens his spine and turns around.

A very intense woman is standing behind him.

“Oh, hello,” Vincent nearly exits his skin as she draws her gaze up to him, “I didn’t realise you were there.”

“Vincent Shield, am I correct?”

Vincent nods, squirming under her very intense gaze, “Yes, you are.”

She holds out her hand, “Keira Harker.”

He takes her hand and shakes it, “Pleasure to meet you Ms. Harker. How can I be of service?”

“You’re known to be very active in the Pet Lib movement and you were basically responsible for the creation of the Commision correct?”

Where is this going? “I wouldn’t say that I’m responsible, there are many people who helped put in place the building blocks that would lead to the Commision.”

“I am aware,” she responds, holding her gaze firmer than Vincent does, “However you have a lot of knowledge about the underground and many of the safehouses.”

Vincent raises a hand, feeling himself freeze under the delicate mask, “Ma’am, everything I have done has been within the limits of the law. I can assure you all of my associates are also performing their actions under the law.”

Her face hardens and she takes a small step towards him, “I am not accusing you of breaking the law.”

I have just gotten out of multiple interviews and a press conference and in the press conference, I was called a felon at least four times. I wanna go home and eat Dmitri’s chicken and rice soup.

“All due respect Ms. Harker that is what this is beginning to sound like.”

Keira sighs and relaxes slightly, “I am asking for your help, if I were to accuse you of being a criminal that would not be very productive.”

Vincent lets his body de-tense but he is in no way relaxed, “My apologies Ms. Harker. I have been on the butt end of those accusations for a better part of today. Just on my toes.”

“I understand,” she responds, almost mimicking his behavior, “My brother was… voluntold to join the pet program. I tried everything in my power to find him and I found out that he was sold to the son of a very powerful senator.”

“He was sold to Owen Grant.” Kauri.

Keira nods, glancing over Vincent’s shoulder, “While I wish not to speak ill of the dead, now that she is deceased. I believe it will be easier to discover his whereabouts without WRU getting involved.”

The weight of her words start to weigh on him. If she is looking for her brother, how many others are now looking for their family?

“Well, I agree in that sentiment,” Vincent gestures forward, “If I can have a name, I might ask around to some more of my well versed colleagues.”

Keira reaches into her purse and pulls out a white card, “So, shall we keep in touch.”

“Of course,” Vincent takes the small card and glances down at the contact information, “We’ll be in touch.”

Vincent steps inside and can smell something good. He faintly hears Dmitri moving about his kitchen, making dinner. The aroma of fresh bread makes his house feel alive. Dropping his stuff at the door to his office, he floats over to the kitchen.

Dmitri stands in front of the stove, wearing a faded Kiss the Cook apron. Vincent finds a small smile blooming on his face as he steps up to him.

“Soup should be done in five minutes,” Dmitri asks as Vincent leans up onto the counter next to him, “How was the interview?”

“We cannot be doing that the night before an interview,” Vincent mutters and he fusses with the turtleneck. “I have been paranoid that someone has seen this all day.”

Dmitri smiles and chuckles, “Vincent you can barely see them, I highly doubt they would notice.”

“Dmitri, the media would go batshit if I had hickies in an interview!”

Dmitri swills the spoon around in the soup before turning towards Vincent, “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

Last night, probably one of the first where he was both sober and relaxed. Dmitri had showered him in deep kisses. The two of them practically laughed themselves to sleep that night. They were so close yesterday.

Vincent had felt so. damned. cherished.

“Yeah,” Vincent pouts slightly while he leans into Dmitri, “I didn’t but I did this morning.”

Dmitri laughs, his chest rumbling against Vincent. His finger rests on Vincent’s hips and drums on his belt.

Vincent squints up at Dmitri, “If we get caught because of stuff like that I’m going to wring your neck.”

Dmitri leans down and places a soft kiss on his curls. His breath brushes across the strands and Vincent’s muscles relax. “I would love to see you try, cariño.”

The oven buzzes and interrupts their little moment.

“There’s the bread.”

Dmitri and Vincent sit out on his back porch, eating chicken and rice soup and just enjoying the crisp fall air.

“Can I ask you for advice?” Vincent says as he dips some of the bread into the broth.

Dmitri nods and leans in, “Always.”

Vincent rests his head back on the back of the seat, “Let’s say someone approached you and asked you to help them find someone. This someone has been missing for years but you’ve known their whereabouts for a while now. You want to reconnect them but you’re just not sure about what said ‘missing’ person would think? But you also don’t want to just completely cut of the person who asked for your help”

“Ask them,” Dmitri answers as he sips at his broth, “I’d just ask because they may not want to. They could have been trying to leave a difficult situation and don’t want to approach those who could have harmed them.”

Vincent sighs and tries to melt back into his porch cushions, “But what if he tells me not to talk to her at all, how am I supposed to explain that to her?”

“Improv,” Dmitri shrugs, “Lie.”

“Lie to someone who’s looking for her family?” Vincent blinks, “Isn’t that just cruel.”

“How do you know that she’s looking for them to be kind?”

Vincent pauses and lets his eyes wander upwards towards the dusk sky. The sky matches the color of the bottoms of the trees. The reds and oranges ripple above him and a sinking feeling eats in his gut.

“I don’t.”

Dmitri takes a final sip of his soup and gives Vincent a gentle smile, “Just ask them first, they might just wanna meet her and do it themselves. All else fails, just give them her contact information.”

I don’t think Kauri will. “Alright, okay.”

Vincent stands at the door to the safehouse. The sounds of the town around him drape the porch in waves of white noise, masking the sounds from within. Reluctantly, he raises his hand to knock on the wooden door frame. His knuckles barely tap it before two sets of locks are unlocked and Kauri opens the door.

They make eye contact and Vincent watches Kauri’s expression shift.

“Make this quick, I have stuff to do.”

Kauri lets Vincent step inside the safehouse. The air of the interior feels heavier than before, solidified by the sound of the deadbolt locking.

“I’m so-”

“If the words I’m sorry leave your mouth at anypoint, I’m gone,” Kauri says as he walks over to the kitchen, “Just get this over with.”

Vincent follows in his footsteps, glancing over at Jake who lays asleep on the pull-out couch. The makeshift IV step sits on the table next to him, out of use.

Remind me to send Nat money over to cover that.

Kauri places his hands on the counter behind him and shifts his weight into it. Crossing his arms out in front of his chest, he looks up over at AJke before returning his gaze to Vincent.

He looks exhausted.

“How has-”

Kauri raises his hand and presses his fingers together, making a “close your mouth” gesture, “Cut to the chase, I have errands to run today.”

“Alright then. A few days ago I was approached by a woman named Keira Harker who asked for my help in finding her brother, Liam Harker, who was taken by WRU. She said that she thinks the person he was sent to was Owen Grant and, now since Carlotta is no longer alive, she can try and find him without her getting in the way,” Vincent says, leaning his weight into the kitchen table, “She gave me her contact information and asked me to help her in finding-”

Kauri spins around and opens the cabinet behind him. Pulling out a white bottle, he sets it down on the counter and mutters, “So she’s looking for me?”

“Yes.”

“What else did you say?” Kauri asks as he pours himself a glass of water, “Did you tell her where the safehouse is? If you did I swear Vincent I’m-”

It’s Vincent’s turn to interrupt, “No, I didn’t say anything. All I said is that I would keep in touch.”

“Good,” Kauri says as he pours two pills out of the bottle and into his hand, “Cheers.” Kauri tosses the pills into his mouth and tilts the glass of water towards Vincent before drinking.

“What are you doing?” Vincent asks, tugging some at the sleeves of another turtleneck.”

“Migraine meds,” Kauri answers, pouring the rest into the sink, “I get them when I hear Liam Harker.” Just like clockwork, Kauri winces and rubs his temple, “Just something else to deal with.”

“I’m sor-”

“I will leave until Nat gets back.”

Vincent purses his lips and watches Kauri walk over to the fridge. The air stills around them in the way the air in a freezer is still. Something hangs over the room, could be the tension, could be the unease, could be the new presence in their lives, Vincent can’t tell.

“I have her contact information if you want it,” Vincent speaks, trying to shoo away the stillness, “On your time.”

Kauri pauses mid-reach. He rests his forehead against the fridge handle and says, “I- maybe later. I have far too much on my plate right now, running to the safehouse almost by myself. Nats with Jameson at her house, Jake is still recovering, the whole issue with Chris and Laken, the Oly- I just can’t take on something else right now.”

“I get it,” Vincent nods, shifting his weight onto his back foot, “I’ll keep it if you want it when all of this blows over. But, if she does try to press me for information-”

“Pretend you have no idea who me, Nat, and Jake are,” Kauri answers while pulling out a plastic pitcher of what smells like cold brew, “If I ever decide to contact her I’ll deal with it, okay? I’m just not ready or have the time right now.”

Vincent leans back on one foot to try and see the clock on the wall, “Um. what time is Nat supposed to get here, we have money stuff I have to talk to her about.”

“Around four,” Kauri answer while pouring himself coffee.

The sound of the deadbolt unclicking sounds softly crosses the room. Kauri barely glances over his shoulder.

“Is Nat back already?” Vincent asks as he tries to see the door.

“Nope,” Kauri says, popping the p. “Just Chris.”

“I- I’m back and I have Laken,” Chris beams as he dashes past with Laken in hand, “Oh hi Vince.”

Vincent gives Chris a small wave, “Hi Chris.”

“Wait- is that Vinc-”

But Chris has already whisked Laken away before they could get the last words out. Vincent follows them with his eyes for a moment before looking back at Kauri.

Kauri looks relieved. A tired smile adorns his face as he takes a sip of the cold brew.

Vincent doesn’t ask, he puts enough of the dots together to know something just fixed itself. Good for them.

“Anywho,” Kauri chuckles, looking back over at Vincent, “A turtleneck won’t hide your sins Vincy.”

“Shit, how obvious has it been?!” Vincent panics and readjusts the hem of his shirt.

“I was just joking...” Kauri’s smile deepens as the mischief returns to his face. He gives Vincent a look over and sing-songs, “...So, what’s Dmitri like?”

“We just kissed Kauri!”

“Sure, and I just kiss Jake.”

“Kauri!”

#forgotten to found #dmitri o'brian #vincent shield #interviews #box boy #owen grant should be castrated #kauri is my favorite little shit #kauri is also trying #guess who Vince is gonna have to deal with #:)

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all-might-can-smash-me · 4 years

Text

Homestay

You are on Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Taishiro Toyomitsu / Fatgum x Reader

Summary: it was recommended that the people involved in the huge incident be sent off to the country side to heal and recover from injuries. Fatgum, Red Riot, and Suneater find themselves in a nice home, living the simple life and enjoying their chores, but Taishiro can’t help but let his heart flutter upon getting to know the host

Got the idea after watching My Neighbor Totoro also phone fucked up Fatgum’s name but I’m too lazily to scour the one shot to fix it

Masterlist

“Hurry up boys and stop lagging behind!” Called out Taishiro as he paused his steps upon the dirt, gravel road that he happily hiked along. Though Kirishima and Amajiki lugged behind, suitcases in their hands hanging low as they heads hung back or low as the summer sun shown down upon them.

“Why couldn’t they drop us off at the place? This is a little...much...” Tamaki muttered out as he soon went to smack a mosquito that dared to try and bite his arm. Kirishima made a sound of agreement as he looked to the ricefields surrounding them that stretched on for miles and miles before looking back to the pro hero who was a few paces ahead of them.

“Drop us off at the place? You crazy? The little car that they were driving would have never made it down this road.” Taishiro said with a loud laugh as he slowed down to now be walking between the boys. “Guys, we aren’t in the city anymore...” He teased a bit as he nudged both of them with his elbows. “It’s fun though! Look how nice everything is! Farm land, trees out that way, little tiny shrines....” he said with a sigh, though he was soon smacking away a mosquito as well. “Well...those things aren’t great, but what would you expect next to so much water and moister?” He said as he motioned to the flooded rice fields that seemed to stretch on forever.

“Why are we here again?” Kirishima asked honestly as he looked up to the pro hero, his own hand swatting away one of those brave pesky mosquitoes, though they had no match for his hand that crushed it. “It’s kind of REALLY out of the way, honestly...” he mumbled out as shrugged his shoulders.

“It was recommended that we hunker down for the next week to rebuild, rest, and heal until they pick us up Sunday morning” Taishiro said confidently, casting glances to the two teens. “Which we desperately need after our last mission. It’s also better to do it in locations like these, it’s less likely. The others involved were scattered to different areas like these for the same reason.” Taishiro said, pausing to look at an old road sign, setting down his suit case to tug his phone out his pocket, reading the directions that were given to him before picking up his suit case again to turn down onto a small dirt road, tall grass swaying happily along side it.

“But I’m ready to go back to just...doing what I got to do!” Kirishima protested as he followed alongside the pro hero, Amajiki silently following on the opposite side. Taishiro only rolled his eyes with a snort.

“I’m sure you are, but as a hero, it is best to make sure and be sure that we are fit! If we don’t, it can only lead to further and or worsening of our injuries and can cause even bigger problems.” Tiashiro pointed out, which then it wasn’t surprising that Kirishima was soon agreeing with him. Though there appeared a house. The doors were slide open for the summer breeze to come in which also allowed the three to be able to peer in just a tiny bit. A women was soon hurriedly shoving her shoes on before making her way outside, already beginning to met the three.

“Hey! You must be...Red Riot?” You asked as you hugged Kirishima excitedly. “And you....Suneater!” You said with a laugh as another hug was giving, Amajiki was quite taken aback by it and was left a blushing mess. “And you are-“ though you were cut off by his words.

“Fatgum, nice to meet you.” He spoke out with a grin before excepting your hug as a greeting. It was nice, he had to admit, but you pulled away, already beckoning the three over to follow.

“It’s nice to finally have some people over to stay! It’s been awhile since I had any home stay guest! Never heroes either” you said with a laugh as stepped through the open doors, shoes slid off along with the other three. “Though I’ll go over the simple rules I have and where you will be staying, now follow me.” You said with a grin as you soon walked deeper into the home, now sliding a door open, revealing a room. “This will be your room, but if you find it too hot, I can set up futons and mosquito nets on the back porch area so you can get a breeze.” You said as you motioned for where they could set their suitcases down. You were soon moving again though, now stepping down a step or two into the kitchen area. “Of course, kitchen, dining room is that last room we past up, but here is the bath room.” You said as you shoved open a wooden door, pointing to the shower and then to the tub. “This house is really...outdated, sorry.” You said with a giggle. “Restroom is back in the main house across from your room.”

“It’s fine, I kind of really like it.” Taishiro spoke up with a grin. “It’s like getting blasted back into a studio Ghibli movie, right guys?” Tiashiro said as he looked down to the two teens who vigorously nodded their heads to the statement as they admired the home around them.

“Awe..thanks..” you said with a little laugh as you closed the bathing room’s door, now pushing another door that lead to outside. “Now the agreement I made was that you could stay here under the condition that you would help out a bit.” You said as you looked over your shoulders as you lead them out. “I need someone to pick the eggs in the morning and feed them, then feed them again at lunch, then again in the evening and then check for eggs again.” You explained as you you stopped, pointing to a chicken coop up ahead. “Then my little garden over there, I need someone to pick what’s ripe in the morning before the sun has a chance to kill it and then water it in the evening.” Your hand was soon pointing to the little garden in question. “Then of course when I do laundry someone we’ll need to hang it up on the clothes line, just leave your dirty clothes in the baskets I have set in the bathing room for you, and then washing dishes after each meal. You can help cook too, but I won’t really nag the three of you for that.” You said with a giggle as you turned to now face the three. “Deal?”

“Deal!” The three of them said with curt nods of their heads. Boy was it nice. Tiashiro was enjoying it, probably way too much. Lounging about on the ground in the large main room as the breeze blew in was nice. It was nice too that Amajiki was even sprawled about, Kirishima as well with his earbuds in listening to music. Though the two teens disappeared as the evening rolled in, going to check on the chickens and water the small garden. Tiashiro on the other hand, found himself in the kitchen, watching you waltz about to prepare things.

“Can I help?” He asked, you nodding your head as you motioned him forward. He did, now at a cutting board and cutting the vegetables you had placed before him, you at the stove, meet sizzling away in a pan. “Do you get a lot of people here?” Taishiro asked with a raise of his brow, glancing to you.

“No, but then yes? I get people who stay, but they stay for months, maybe even as long as a year, or then maybe a couple of weeks are two...” you said with a little smile, looking over and to him, though the look and the soft smile on your face made a blush crawl to your cheeks that made you quickly move away. “This must be totally different from the live that you three are use to.” You teased as you cracked an egg skillfully, shell tossed aside in a bucket.

“It is very different, but it’s a nice change, you know? No rushing, no noise, just a nice calm, which is awesome to experience after the chaos of the city.” He said as he soon handed the cutting board to you, you now making use with the cut vegetables, him now leaning against the counter as he watched you.

“Well I’m glad that you are already enjoying your time here.” The cooked dishes were now already being placed onto plates carefully, you handing them off to him. “Set this down on the dinner table please? I’ll be right behind you to set the table.” You said, the hero giving a nod of his head as he carefully the food from you, now in the dining room to set down the plates in the middle of the table, you setting down the plates and chopstick.

“Whoa...something seriously smells good!” Kirishima spoke out from the doorway of the dining room, Amajiki peeking in from behind him. “And your chickens? Those things are deadly!” Kirishima said with wide eyes, you motioning the two to come in and sit down. “They could have pecked my eyes out! But of course...I’m so manly...” he spoke out as he sat down.

“He ran away...” Amajiki softly spoke out, Taishiro letting out a little snort as saw Kirishima glare at Tamaki at exposing him, the four of them already beginning to eat. “I thought they were nice...” he added quietly, now silence by the food he placed into his mouth.

“Oh my gosh....” Tiashiro mumbled out as he ate, eyes wide as he looked up to look over at you. “This is good!” He shouted up excitedly as he continued to eat. You of course gave a soft giggle and a blush as you glanced over and to him.

“Yeah, when he says he likes your food, he means it.” Kirishima mumbled to you from beside you with a laugh, Taishiro giving him a playful glare.

“Well it was mentioned to me that you rely on food for your quirk, so I made sure to make plenty and to also keep a lot of snacks on hand. Also, cooking is a skill that I needed to master with having people stay and what not.” You said with a little giggle. The laughter and conversation was nice, but soon came to an end when the food had come to an end and Amajiki and Kirishima gathered the empty plates to haul to the kitchen to wash them, you standing off to the side to help dry and place away the dishes as Taishiro had took his chance to get clean up, but there was a problem....he was stumped as he looked to the bathtub, not really knowing how to work the spouts.

“Shit...” he muttered out as he wrapped a towel around his hips, pushing open the door to poke his head up, a sheepish grin plastered onto his mouth. “Hey...um....I kind of need help...” he spoke up, you tossing aside the towel in your hand.

“Shoot, I’m sorry, that’s what I forgot to go over” you said as you stepped into the bathroom, closing the door. Though you cleared your throat and quickly looked away upon seeing the man wrapped up with just the towel, his muscles now on full display to your eyes. “This knob is hot water and this is cold.” You said as you pointed to the rusting handles, now trying to pull the one for the hot water. “Sometimes it gets stuck...” you groaned out, Tiashiro’s hands now now coming out from either side of you to grab hold along with you, the knob now groaning as it was turned, water now beginning to pour out and into the tub. “Thanks..” you said with a little laugh, though was soon left blushing upon turning around, now coming face to face with his chest, but he only back up with an apology, you now hurrying out of the bathroom.

“Hey...you think we can get those mosquito nets and futons set up?” Kirishima asked, you nodded your head to his question.

“Of course! Come on.” You said as you motioned for them to follow, already motioning to grab the futons that were settled away in a closet in their room, soon grabbing the nets and leading them out to the back porch area, nets now carefully being hung up by your, helping Kirishima and Amajiki set out the futons.

“Oh this is so cool!” Kirishima gushed out as he let himself sprawl out on his futon once it fixed, Amajiki soon lowering himself down onto his own. “It’s like we’re camping! But nicer...” He spoke excitedly to Amajiki, who of course only nodded his head, you laughing as you stepped out from the net, closing it carefully behind you.

“Well I’m glad you boys are enjoying it, this would be my favorite thing to do as a kid! So I would hate it when the winter months would come.” You spoke with a little laugh as you were now heading back into the house, but of course, you almost embarrassingly ran into Taishiro, his hair still damp from his bath.

“Awesome! Fatgum is out!” Kirishima said as he was already out from the mosquito net, slipping past you and him and soon running to their bedroom until running out with clothes in tow, bathroom door already slamming shut. Tiashiro only laughed as he and you managed to shuffled past each other, he already making his way into the mosquito net and laying upon his futon that the two others had set up for him.

From then on....you found yourself casting little glances to the pro hero...but little do you know that he was just as crush stricken as you were. Watching you laugh along with the two teens as you helped them water the garden and tend to the chickens. Watching you show him how to check what was ripe or not was just.....embarrassingly hot? It just made him adore you that you just knew how to do it? Also he loved to make you laugh as he would help you hung the laundry to dry too. And he loved cooking with you. He would drop a flirt here and there too and that blush upon your face that would follow would just....send his heart fluttering.

“Let me get this, you can’t even reach.” He teased as he grabbed the sheet from you, tossing it over the clothes line, which you only giggle and rolled your eyes, pinning down the sheet after he did so.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to prove myself!” You accused, shaking your head as you looked up at him, but that look he gave you made your heart stop, breath being stolen from your lungs. The both of you had begun to gravitate towards each other, lips brushing up against each other....until the two of you quickly pulled away as the sheet had begun to be moved around.

“Oooh! Spooky! Did I scare you?” Kirishima childishly laughed as he lifted the sheet to reveal his grinning face, though it fell as he looked to Fatgum’s face that looked disappointed to almost....annoyed? Angry? “What?” Kirishima dumbly asked, now looking to you who only looked off to the side to hide your blushing face.

“Red Riot...you are in your first year of high school....” Taishiro commented as he looked down to the teen, though you only gave him a nudge in his side, you seeming to recover from your embarrassment as you grabbed a sheet, tossing it over Tiashiro’s head with a giggle.

“Oh...now that is spooky!” You commented as Tiashiro only huffed, lifting the sheet from his head to see you and Kirishima laughing away, which meant that Taishiro was soon laughing away along with y’all, he continuing to hung up the clothes to dry.

Though when night had come along and Kirishima and Amajiki had now fallen asleep and snores away, he tossed the blankets off of himself before getting up, walking past the flaps for the net, closing them carefully before making his way into the house, already slowly making his way to a door with a pounding heart, his hands sliding it open. You carefully leaned yourself up, heart pounding as you saw Tiashiro standing at the threshold of your room, giving him a nod of permission, which he now then stepped into your room, slid shut as he made his way to your futon, you now moving over to let him join you, both of your hands nervous with jitters from the intimate encounter.

That’s how the rest of the nights were spent, giggling away quietly in your room once the two boys would fall asleep in their deep slumbers from their day of chores and fun. Though the last night was here, Taishiro now playing with your hair as you rested your head upon his bare chest, eyes closed gently from the gently touches upon your hair.

“I’m gonna miss you...” you whsipered out as you soon moved your head to look up at him, pressing gentle kisses along his jaw and chin, he sighing in content as he caressed the side of your face.

“You have my number, so call me anytime you get lonely...” he whispered out before pressing all gentle kiss upon the top of your nose. “And then I’ll came to visit you....and then maybe you can come and visit me? See my agency...?” He asked hopefully, you nodding your head with a grin upon your lips.

“Most definitely so I can cook for you...” you teased, Taishiro smothering your face now with kisses.

“Please....I love your cooking....”

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theviolencedistrict-archived · 3 years

Text

what do i do with a love that won't sit still? written to: stray italian greyhound characters: mich/ael shell/ey (pre-distortion) & isaac campos (self-insert) words: 1,784 notes: How could he do that so easily? Michael was always the one in his place... walking on eggshells for other people who didn't truly care if he made it across the trap or cracked every shell trying. How was it so natural for Isaac to view him as his equal? As a human being?

Michael couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a date.

He figured it was during high school, and he recalled only one or two occasions where something akin to a date ever happened. With some other peon in the social caste of desks and period bells, desperate for positive attention as he was, and yet... They were always far more eager for his company than he was of theirs. It was never quite right. They were a lot like him in many ways, but they never clicked in a way beyond friendly classmates - not even really friends. He had few he considered that close, and though he realized it was fault of his own insecurities and doubts, it made him feel... guilt. Loneliness. He spent far too much time in those moments wondering if this was how life would be for him, or if he was born in a very wrong place, time, way, something -

"This is amazing!"

The blonde man blinked himself back to reality, as if waking suddenly from a dream. He saw sun rays on the backsplash of his cooking station, just above the oven. What had he been thinking about? He didn't know anymore. How could he? That special voice he could pick out in a crowd of a thousand people piped up behind him, and all he could do was smile and turn to face it, pulling mitts onto his large hands. His gaze met dull greenish eyes wide with enjoyment, a short man with a precious face and a soft sweater, sitting at his tiny kitchen table. It was lucky, he mused, that it was built specifically for two. What he failed to notice was that his smile was a real one. Not the tight-lipped, shy grin he gave to everyone he passed by at work, or to the archivist despite her never returning one. When Michael smiled around this boy, he showed all his teeth - the gap in his two fronts, the few slightly crooked on the bottom, and the snaggleteeth canines on both edges of his top lip.

He was so very sad about the state of those teeth, once. Not here. Not with him.

"Really, do you like it?" Michael's voice nearly cracked like a nervous teenager as he admired his companion sipping away at the contents of his patterned glass, "It's summer beer! Or, well, fruit beer - it's, ehm, lemonade and beer, fruit jellies, watermelon and pineapple and mint - with the other fruit there as embellishments - I-I felt you might be the kind of person who likes tropical flavors. Is it true, in America, lemonade isn't fizzy?" He rambled on, bright blue eyes bouncing from sight to sight, until he found himself calm enough to land upon that face once more... hanging on his every word.

"Mmmm... I never thought I'd like beer... You're very gifted, Michael," The dark haired boy spoke softly, "And of course lemonade isn't fizzy...! Once I find out who created lemonade first, we'll see who's in the right here." He giggled, and Michael felt his heart jumped as he gripped the oven handle behind him. There was nobody like Isaac. Nobody in the entire world.

"Well...! That's only refreshments, ahahah - I-I'm buzzing to see how you'll like the main course," He replied, taking internal note of the way his nervous stutters began to dissipate, and turned once more to let the hot air burst from behind the steaming door, "Hmm, which is better, though? In your American opinion, since you've had both?"

"Hm. I have always been a sucker for carbonated drinks..." Isaac answered honestly, pulling a high-pitched giggle from Michael. Isaac was sweet and carbonated, himself - the way he filled the tall man with tickling bubbles and smiles you just can't deny. With the heat wafting up into his face, the lanky man thought with a light blush that he wouldn't mind a long drink of that boy. Instead of dwelling on that, he allowed it to dissipate like the smoke, lips pursed in an embarrassed pout he hoped Isaac would mistake for focus. With this, he carried the full baking dish to the counter near the kitchen table, waving his mitted hands to help cool the food, though not quite well.

"Is that it? What is it? Can I see?" Isaac was chattery like a child, something Michael had never seen in him outside of their personal time together. It was precious, and it dawned on him that this was probably a side of the small man that only he got to witness. Batting his long lashes, the tall blonde hummed a familiar tune and playfully ignored the attempted peeks by the object of his affections. He professionally sprinkled honey over the main affair of lunch he had prepared for the two. Flipping it perfectly onto a large, kitschy plate, the smoke slowed and slimmed, leaving a trail of sweet scents on its way to the table.

"They are honey bread rolls," Michael began, smiling gently as the black haired guest stared in delight, "Rather simple, but a favorite of mine. It's... comforting. Like childhood... A-ah, ehm, it's, ah, hand-kneaded and baked with honey and sesame seeds. I-I made sure to find a gluten free flour for you, and it still turned out rather fluffy!" The unusual budding of pride germinated in his chest as he finished speaking. The way the other man's eyes glistened as he admired Michael's own home cooking, the genuine smile he wore... Nobody had ever made Michael feel like he did something right - like he was someone special, worth a damn - until Isaac.

"That's amazing! They smell so good! I can't believe you made this from scratch! We can just rip pieces off," The man's tiny hands reached for a corner piece of bite sized, browned bread, softer than sponge, and tore it from it's flimsy connection to the others, "Like this? Is that okay?" Isaac gazed up at the much loftier male with expectancy, as if asking for permission. How could he do that so easily? Michael was always the one in his place... walking on eggshells for other people who didn't truly care if he made it across the trap or cracked every shell trying. How was it so natural for Isaac to view him as his equal? As a human being?

He always did. Without fail.

"That's... Y-y-yes. That's just perfect." Michael uttered out, all effeminate and breaking, unable to will the red tinting his cheeks away. Taking his seat across from Isaac then, he took a piece of his own, happily taking questions from the man and falling into a conversation about cooking - as easy as pie. It was as if they had known one another since they were in cradles. From day one, their chance encounter and quick reunion, that bond weaved between them in the snap of a finger, the blink of an eye. Michael was so, so very grateful. They spoke, and they laughed, and the blonde's cheeks tingled each time his crush dipped a piece of his bread in his homemade cream. His bread, his cream. Those which he had crafted with his own two hands, the same shaky and nail-bitten hands which struggled with boxes and tea and everything in between at the Institute. Now... calmed. Warm.

It took both men by surprise when the sun began to set, the earlier yellowy white rays of sunlight now a dreamlike orange through the windows. The time for fun and games was winding down, and shortly, Michael would have to bid Isaac farewell until they next met - at work, most likely, in a day or two. The honey rolls were long since eaten, drinks finished, hearts full. The older of the two had begun to fiddle with the seams of his shirt, or the stitches of pockets in his pants, timid feelings creeping their way back into his ribcage. In truth, he knew fully - he didn't want to say goodbye.

"Thank you for everything, today. You didn't have to go out of your way for me, a-and it was all delicious. We have to do this again soon, okay?" Isaac smiled from below Michael, standing just outside the door to his flat. A slender hand reached to scratch at the back of his neck sheepishly, face full of starry feelings and most likely glowing. He nodded, chuckles escaping him.

"Y-yeah, of course! You're - you're always welcome back here, you know...!" Came Michael's response, grinning at the man he towered over. A small giggle came from the boy in the sweater, clutching the strap to his backpack. Then, the very same boy made a gesture that Michael didn't quite process at first. He beckoned him with his four little fingers, causing blue eyes to blink, but then obey. How could he not? Undone blonde curls fell over his shoulders and framed his face as he bent his knees and leaned over close to Isaac. Not close enough, clearly, as those same little hands grasped his shirt gently and pulled him down. Michael's mind swam, overcome with dizziness and confusion and rainbows.

This was definitely, definitely, not what he saw coming when he brushed his teeth and pulled on his trousers this morning.

Soft, sultry lips pressed momentarily to the corner of Michael's mouth. It wasn't quite a kiss, if anything at all, and yet his heart drummed maniacally through his entire body. Time stopped, and surely the whole earth did, as well. His face burned fiercely, and when Isaac released him at last, he got a front seat to watching the man lick his own lips.

"Sorry... You had a little bit of whipped cream there," Came Isaac's snicker and the flutter of his washed out green eyes, "I'll see you at work, okay?" He bit his lower lip and walked backwards in his worn down sneakers, watching his host tremble ever so slightly with his mouth ajar, before waving and making his quick exit towards the stairwell.

"T... T... T-t-text when you get h-home safe...!" Was the last thing that broke free from Michael Shelley's tightened throat, receiving a simple sound of understanding in the distance, sounding with echoes of footsteps down the stairs.

The poor man was going to lose his mind. Especially with the sleep he was not going to get that night. Swallowing hard, fingers upon the spot where his beloved's lips had been, he backed into his home and shut the door with a gentle click.

Michael couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a date. However, he was sure the only dates he'd want to be on for the rest of his life were with Isaac Campos.

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lyallblacklupin · 3 years

Text

Wolfstar x Friends (Truthful Thanksgiving Day!)

This is a wolfstar fanfic based on Friends’ season 6 episode 9: “The One Where Ross Got High.”

Remus realizes that he should go and check on Sirius and help him in setting the plates for today’s Thanksgiving dinner. Sirius has taken the lead in cooking department and was very emphatic about his dislike towards people interfering and commenting about his cooking skills, so Remus has been smart enough to steer clear from his way. However, as the game finishes at Marlene and Dorcas’ apartment, who were also their neighbors, Remus gets up and tells them that he’ll meet later. He is always hopeful when Marlene and Dorcas are left alone because there is always a chance was for them stop their pining and finally becomes more than just roommates.

He comes in his and Sirius’ apartment, and finds that Sirius is looking drop-dead gorgeous, wearing muggle clothes. Half buttoned red collar shirt, black pants and damp hair dripping into his silver eyes, which means he just came out from a shower as the scent of tropical shower gel is also mixing with the aroma of turkey filling the room. Sirius looks up when he senses his presence, and beams up with the widest smile. Remus smiles back but then the other one is smiling for too long, and also there is something strange about that smile—something uncomfortable—as if he is sitting on a cactus plant but struggling to pretend that all is well.

“So guess who’s coming to Thanksgiving dinner?” Sirius says, still smiling weirdly.

“Filch and Mrs. Norris?” Remus jokes, and flops down on the sofa in Sirius’ direction.

“I miss James.” Sirius rolls his eyes, “No, Effie and Monty!”

“Oh that’s great!” Remus relaxes, “They haven’t seen the place since I moved in.”

Suddenly, Sirius is grinning a little too wide, and looking anywhere but him.

“Yeah, and if you don’t mention that we live together that’ll be great! I was thinking about eating around 4!” He says all that in one breath, and Remus has to take a second to process of those words, and then it hit him.

“Why can’t I tell them that we live together?” Remus asks, trying his best to ignore the way Sirius was becoming jumpy and nervous as he starts to stir something white in the bowl.

“Cause they don’tknowthatwearedating. Do you think we should eat in the kitchen?”

“Why haven’t you told them?” Remus asks, a little confused.

“Well…ummm,” Sirius finally looks at him, his eyes guilty and soft, “I was going to, I really was, but at some part out of nowhere, I didn’t.”

Remus was too much concentrated on the way Sirius was becoming too much fidgety that it was almost entertaining to watch him, but he retaliates anyway.

“What!? Why haven’t you told them? Wouldn’t they be happy? I mean they mean so much to you! They are just as your parents as James’—“

“SO! DINNER IN THE KITCHEN AROUND FOUR! I’LL SEE YOU THEN!” Sirius’ voice is raised, and his face is a too sardonic to keep Remus from chuckling a little.

“Sirius…” Remus calls him in a singing voice which never fails to dissipate the tension from Sirius’ body, as he stops and looks at him with big puppy eyes, “Why wouldn’t they be happy?”

“Well, umm, because, umm mainly,” Remus is getting irritated until the other finally says, “They don’t like you.”

“WHAT!?” Remus is gaping at him because not even in his drunken mind he ever had the thought that James’ parents would not like hm. They were too good to take Sirius in as their second son, the Potters were the only pureblood family to be the best in their hospitality, and were very much embracing as they didn’t object when Sirius told them that he was gay.

“I’m sorry! Remus!” Sirius becomes jumpy again, advancing at Remus to calm him.

“Why! Why don’t they like me??”

“I don’t know…I mean maybe you are very quiet and sarcastic...and that may consider to be rude or something…or maybe because when you are reading, you don’t respond people who are trying to tell you an idea for making your bed a little hotter?”

Remus crosses his arms, looks at Sirius, deadpanned face.

“Is this why they don’t like me, or you don’t like me?”

Sirius smiles guiltily, “I know I should’ve told them, and I don’t really care what they think, love, but I’m sorry.”

“You know what, it’ll be okay!” Remus suddenly feels optimistic because of course, it’s not Sirius’ fault and he hates to see the guilt in his eyes, “Because when they come over, I will be all charming. I will make them fall in love with me, and then we’ll tell them.”

“You really think that would work?” Sirius’ silver eyes lights up.

“Hey, I can be pretty charming, babe. Won you over didn’t I?” Sirius laughs and leans in to brush his nose with his.

“I don’t think my parents would ever be a hopeless romantic like me.” They kiss the tension away, and then after waits for James, Peter and Marlene to come over for the dinner. Apparently, Dorcas have just moved in with Marlene, and according to her, she is going to meet some of her dancer friends to celebrate Thanksgiving, much to Marlene and Peter’s enthusiasm because Hot dancer friends and hopeless singles? Why Not?

The Potters comes to Sirius and Remus’ apartment, and there is all meet and greet session going on before Sirius exclaims, not at all coping with his subtlety, “Look! Look who it is! It’s Remus, Mom and Dad!”

“Oh it’s so great to see you, Remus.” Mrs. Potter smiles funnily, apparently not reaching her eyes, while Mr. Potter is just staring at him with his narrowing eyes but Remus is determined to change their impression about him.

“Mr. and Mrs. Potter, you look wonderful and it’s great to have you here! Let us take off your coats!” Remus can see the confused looking Potters, as he reaches for Mr Potter’s shoulder, “Woah! Snowing out in the Hollows?” He wants to slap himself for his needy sarcasm because there is a painful silence and Sirius is giving him THE glare.

“No.” Mr. Potter replies, walking away to sit in the living room.

“You are going to be fine, sweetheart.” Sirius slips his arm to tug Remus by his waist, “Just be yourself…but not too much.” He quickly pecks him on the cheek and scurries away to sit with the Potters.

In the meantime, Remus goes over to James who is in a heated discussion with Marlene.

“Hey, Prongs? Your parents like me, don’t they?” Remus asks.

“Pfft! Of course! They like you.” His eyes still on Marlene casting a delicate spell of the dessert Lily has made for the dinner.

“Pads just told me that they don’t?”

“Yeah, they don’t like you.” His eyes were still on the glass tray.

Sirius’ eyes are wandering around even though Mrs. Potter is talking to him with such amusement about her new neighbor.

“Honestly, Sirius, you should meet her! Her son is your age and is so cute—“ but she stops when Mr. Potter clears his throat a little prominently, slightly shaking his head. “Yeah I might stop myself, but you should meet him! He is such a nice kid.”

Remus can see the discomfort etched to Sirius’ face as he won’t stop scrunching his nose, but then he is gesturing him to come and sit among them. Remus does nothing but obey him.

“So, dad, Remus is one of James’ best friends! You remember him right?” Sirius beams up.

“James sure is a great guy!” Remus interjects, thinking hard of something eloquent and of course, charming, “I’ve always felt how a young man turns out as a reflection on his father.”

This pretty seems like a success, because there is nothing sarcastic about it. The tone was okay, the words were just fine, hope the smile is not too wide.

“Uh huh.” However, Mr. Potter doesn’t seem to cooperate with him as he takes a sip from his wine, and Sirius’ facial expressions are now coming out too strongly.

Mrs. Potter comes to sit beside Mr. Potter, and now James is here to with his stupid grin and messy hair.

“Oh, Mum!” Sirius jumps on his chair which almost jerks Remus out from his, “Remus was just saying that he likes your cardigan.”

“Oh, thank you, Remus. I just bought it.” Mrs. Potter is smiling which makes Remus excited.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s very beautiful! It’s crème colored and tight and—“ WHAT!? TIGHT!?

Now everyone is staring at him, and he couldn’t feel more mortified.

“I did not mean tight—I mean not too tight—not that I was looking—I mean why would I look because I’m—“

Sirius elbows him to stop. James doesn’t stop sniggering, and Mr. and Mrs. Potter has a resigned look on their faces.

“What’s the matter with him?” Mr. Potter is now whispering but werewolves can hear still, right?

“I think he’s stoned again.” Mrs. Potter whispers back before Sirius gasps. Oh he heard that, too.

“What?” He is glaring now.

“Dude! I need to talk to you.” James is flushed red as he grabs Remus by his arm, dragging him to the room. Remus is feeling hot and cold, and he has an urge to hit someone in the face. Maybe James.

Once there were in the room, James begins, “Okay…I think I know why my parents don’t like you.”

“You do!? Why?”

“Okay look, we were young,” James chuckles hesitantly but Remus doesn’t join, “Okay, after fourth year, summer holidays happened. I got high in my bedroom. And then my parents walked in and smells it. So I said that you were here who got stoned and jumped out of my window to escape.”

“What!? Why did you do that!?” Remus is almost there in hitting the other’s face.

“I don’t know…you were the first name that popped in my head. I’m sorry!”

“What about Sirius!?”

“I knew that wouldn’t be believable because he comes from Noble house of Black! But look I didn’t think it would matter—“

“How can that not matter!?” Remus is surprised at his voice becoming so high-pitched.

“How was I supposed to know that we’ll become closer after you told us about your furry little problem? And also and most importantly how was I supposed to know that you’ll end up living with Sirius after Hogwarts, who happens now to be my adopted brother!”

“What about that all Friends Forever stuff?”

“I don’t know…I was all high…” James is trying his best to make out puppy eyes, but no, Remus is not going to fall for them

Then the door is slammed shut as an angry looking Sirius is in the room. Remus turns to face him, and he looks very cute. Is this the time? Says a small voice in his brain.

“Mum and Dad sent me here to find out that if you” He points at Remus, “were getting James stoned!?”

Remus tells everything in one breathe, and is little entertained to watch Sirius getting enraged as if someone has lit him up by fire. Before Remus knows it he is lunging at James to rip him out.

“You’re—dead! Son of—“ He is hitting, but more like pinching, squeezing James, who is murmuring ‘sorry’s’ Remus pulls his boyfriend back, as much as he is enjoying the fight, he knows that it’s no use of getting defensive at each other because the problem still lies within.

“Look, that’s not going to help. James, you tell the truth to your parents.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay I’ll tell them.” James sets his dangling glasses on the bridge of his nose, while Sirius is still glaring daggers at him. He slips out of the room carefully away from Sirius’ thundering rage, leaving him and Remus alone in the room.

“Okay, so I guess it will be alright.” Sirius sighs, looking extremely tempting. Remus holds him by the waist which seeps away the tension from Sirius’ body. He makes a humming sound and buries his face in the taller boy’s chest.

“I’m glad you’re shorter than me.” Remus says in his hair

“Why?” A very grumpy and muffled voice reaches him, immediately making him laugh.

“Because you can relax your whole self in my arms when you are having a tough day.”

There is silence but Sirius has held him a little tighter now, then the muffled voice returns again, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The dinner goes on, and clearly James is trying his best to avoid the conversation with his parents.

“Why is it so important for Sirius?” Marlene says to Remus while eating the leftover yams from Lily’s plate, “I mean he doesn’t have to care. Just tell Mr. and Mrs. Potter that you guys are dating and living together, going to get married soon, and have kids like a happily after…”

Remus is staring at her how she is not at all interested, while making eyes at Dorcas who has just stopped by to borrow a bowl for her party.

“Is there something in your yams? Or is that just the effect of pining after your roommate?”

“Shut up.” Marlene scoffs, finally meeting his eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“The Potters are Sirius’ only family. Can’t you see they call him ‘son’ and he calls them ‘Mom and Dad.’ He needs their approval too, and I understand that. I would have felt the same if my parents didn’t like Sirius which they don’t the way I want them to, because apparently he is a Black.”

“Yeah, but come on, your parent at least know that you guys are serious about each other. I meant SIRIUS.”

“Ha-Ha. That joke’s a hundred million years older now.”

The dessert is served, and nobody is looking forward to the mishap Lily has done. Trifle! Who doesn’t like a trifle? Except that it is not a complete trifle but also a shepherd’s pie. So it’s a no-no.

“It tastes like feet!” Peter whispers harshly when everyone has left from kitchen to the living room.

“I like it.” Remus snapped his head up from his plate to see Marlene eating it passionately.

“Are you kidding?” He snorts.

“Well, what’s not to like? Custard? Good! Jam? Gooood! Beef? GOOOOOD!!”

Remus can say he is not that surprised because Marlene has two most foremost things in her life which includes food and being a raging lesbian.

Sirius has thrown his dessert from the balcony, and is currently convincing Lily that a pigeon ruined his dessert.

“So the bird grabbed it? And try to fly away with it…and then just dropped in on the street?” She asks, utterly confused.

“But if it’s any consolation before the pigeon dropped it, he seems to enjoy it.” Sirius replies while Remus has to keep a hand on his mouth to secure the laughter bubbling out of him.

James is still sitting with Marlene and Peter, not making any effort to do his job. Sirius glares at him probably the fourteenth time.

“James, let’s go.” He says, as Remus is sitting in the living room, watching the scene.

“Oh yeah, about telling Mom and Dad, I was thinking maybe writing a letter.” He tries to laugh with Sirius who has a stony face.

“You know what, you had your chance.” He turns away to step towards Mr. and Mrs. Potter sitting on the couch. “Mom, Dad, James smoked weed in fourth year.”

“What!?” They both says in a unison.

“You are such a tattletale!” James hisses, and then sheepishly sits in front of his parents, “Mom, Dad…umm remember in the summer holidays, when you walked in my room and smelled the you-know-what.”

“Yes.” His parents says in unison again, but this time their glares are fixed at Remus.

“Well, I told you it was Remus who smoked it but it was me…I am sorry…”

“It was you?” Mrs. Potter looks hurt. However, Remus can see Sirius still not looking contented with the situation.

“And, Dad, you know that employee who you fired from your hair potion company, he didn’t burst the batch of glass bottles, James did!”

James looks stunned as Mr. Potter is looking at him with a disappointed look.

“The chandelier in the dining hall didn’t break because of the thunderstorm coming from the opened window, Sirius’ spell did!” James retorts.

“James has been suspended from working in the Ministry for eight months!”

The Potters gasps.

“SIRIUS AND REMUS ARE LIVING TOGETHER!” It was Remus’ turn to gasp, but Sirius was raging like a dog who has been hit on its tail.

“JAMES MARRIED MY BROTHER WHILE HE WAS DRUNK, THEN GOT DIVORCED!”

“I’m in love with my roommate!” Marlene yells from her table.

“I wasn’t supposed to put beef in the trifle.” Lily says apologetically.

“I WANNA GOOOO!” Peter shouts, looking bored.

Remus is taking a while to process all of that has happened but eager to see how the Mr. and Mrs. Potter are going to deal with it.

“That’s a lot of information to get in 30 seconds.” Mr. Potter is rubbing his temples.

But then Mrs. Potter stands up, “Peter, if you want to leave just leave.”

“And no, Lily dear, you were not supposed to put beef in the dessert. It did not taste good.”

Lily looks sad, but Marlene is convincing her that she loved it.

“And I’m sorry, Marlene, but I think you should start by confessing your feelings to your roommate.” Mrs. Potter continues. “Sirius, love,” She smiles at him, “Why did you have to hide the fact that your important relationship is beyond me?”

“And we kind of figured about the broken chandelier, son.” Mr. Potter is also smiling now.

“James…” Mrs. Potter turns to her son with an upset look, “Drugs…Divorce?”

“What happened, son?” Mr. Potter asks.

“I got tricked into all those things…” James tries to defend himself but actually trails off.

Remus feels his heart thudding in his chest.

“Remus!” Mrs. Potter exclaims and he abruptly stands up from his chair, “You’ve been James’ best friend all these years, stuck by fighting his drug problem!”

James huffs while Sirius snorts.

“And now you take in up on Sirius as well! I don’t know what to say...” Mrs. Potter chuckles and then says, “You are a wonderful human being!”

Remus almost screams, “Thank you!”

“No, Thank” Mr. Potter gets up and kisses Remus’ cheek, “YOU!”

Remus can feel that he has never smiled so wide.

“James and Sirius, I don’t know what I am going to do about the two of you.”

They both look miserable, and Remus can recall their Hogwarts times when they would receive detentions and Mcgonacall would ask him to make the two of them realize their mistake and never do it again.

“I’ll talk to them.” Remus says, smiling ear to ear, as he is sandwiched in Mr. and Mrs. Potter’s embrace.

#wolfstar #Wolfstar fanfiction #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #wolfstar x friends #thanksgiving #James Potter #magical au #post hogwarts #Lily Evans #dorlene #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #peter pettigrew #Potters #Sirius is Monica #Remus is chandler #James is Ross

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whythinktoomuch · 4 years

Text

~pArT tWo~

(pt. i)

Lena’s jaw is broken in two places. Her right elbow and ankle fractured. Three ribs bruised, one broken. There’s a scrape running down her entire right side that’s still fighting a nasty infection. And, to top it all off, she’s also sustained a severe concussion and even coded twice on the operating table.

The information is communicated to her in a curt, clinical tone that Lena can actually appreciate, but Alex seems to be leaving out one key detail. The only one that really matters to Lena at the moment.

Lena fumbles with her marker, scribbling on the provided mini-whiteboard with her left hand in large jerky letters.

HOW

“You were attacked.”

Lena would roll her eyes if the very notion didn’t make her stomach lurch. She smacks her marker onto the whiteboard, huffs insistently.

HOW

“… You don’t remember,” Alex says in soft realization, rubbing her eyes.

Lena just stares, watches as Alex jots something down on her clipboard. She wonders if a practically one-sided conversation could be any less productive.

“You were attacked three, four blocks from Kara’s apartment,” Alex says. “Do you remember that? Why you were there?”

Lena releases a frustrated breath through her nose. She looks to Kara, who’s quietly standing in the corner, lips pursed and arms crossed. Heavy rounded tears are sliding down Kara’s cheeks, and Lena feels a sympathetic spike of heat high in her nose because, oh, Kara must have found some way to blame herself for this entire thing… Which, she shouldn’t.

“All right then,” Alex sighs, drawing Lena’s attention back to her. “What’s the last thing you do remember then?”

Lena thinks about it until her head starts throbbing, then scrawls a clumsy word right underneath the previous.

WORK

With another sigh and a nod, Alex moves on. She doesn’t answer Lena’s question no matter how many times she angrily taps at the HOW on her whiteboard. Eventually, Lena’s too tired to protest, and soon after that, she’s too tired to even answer any more yes or no questions.

Alex leaves. But not without saying they’ll get more done in the morning and reminding Kara that Lena needs her rest.

Once they’re alone, Kara slowly shuffles to the foot of Lena’s bed, fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt. “Can I stay?”

Lena closes her eyes for a pronounced beat, then opens her left hand in invitation. Kara jumps at the opportunity, nearly crushing Lena’s hand in her abrupt eagerness. It hurts enough that Lena grimaces, but not nearly enough for her to renounce the welcomed pressure, even for a moment.

“Sorry,” Kara mumbles, hastily adjusting her grip. “Better?”

Lena squeezes at Kara’s fingers with what little strength she has left.

“Okay, okay, good… You know, I’m really glad you’re okay, Lena. I just… want you to know that, okay?”

In a wholehearted attempt to be encouraging and perhaps even a bit funny, Lena concentrates on crooking her right thumb up. But Kara never notices, much too occupied with running her eyes over Lena’s face, again and again.

It’s a lot of attention. Maybe too much.

But Lena decides that she doesn’t really mind.

—

When Alex walks in the following morning, Lena’s prepared. She raps her marker insistently against her whiteboard, at the message she’s painstakingly crafted.

WHO ATTACKED ME

“Lena, for now, you just need to focus on getting better, okay?”

Lena glares, traces a multitude of crooked circles around the WHO in emphasis.

“It doesn’t matter.”

But of course it does, and Lena is determined to convince Alex of it. But the instinctive jaw clench—a natural byproduct of her exasperation—is exceedingly and immediately regrettable.

“Hey, hey, no! Stop.” Alex is at her bedside, one hand cradling Lena’s head, the other gently pressing a tissue to the corners of her eyes because apparently, somewhere along the way, Lena’s started shedding tears of pain. “I know it hurts. Look, I know. But I just need you to breathe for me. Come on.”

Alex continues to address her in firm, yet soothing tones—the words secondary to the intention behind them—until Lena’s breathing returns more or less back to normal. The examination continues with Alex checking on her infection, gently applying a balm to Lena’s mouth, giving her casts a once-over, etc.

Her question doesn’t get answered.

—

Lena’s new routine, though somewhat forcibly established, isn’t all that bad.

There’s stuff to be learned. For example, DEO is in possession of at least one black site hospital. Another example, Alex Danvers apparently has a legitimate medical degree. Yet another example, Alex has such a soft spot for her sister that she’d let even a card-carrying journalist of a civilian drop by at said black site hospital whenever she wanted. Lena can’t fault Alex for that last one though; she could relate.

Plus, with all the downsides that come with her hospitalization—No, you can-not work, Lena’s been told, repeatedly, by every hospital employee she’s come into contact with—the upsides more than make up for it.

Just… so, so much quality time with Kara.

Kara’s often already there when Lena’s waking up or holding her hand when she’s dozing off again from the meds. There isn’t much to talk about, nor much Lena can talk about, but there’s an endless reserve of activities to be shared. Drinking smoothies. Playing hangman on the whiteboard. All manners of card games and round after round of chess. Not to mention, perhaps way too much daytime television for two women who surely have better things to do. Lena quickly gets well-acquainted with a near obscene number of competitive cooking shows in the process.

“Hey, I missed you, you know,” Kara says one day, looking over at Lena all soft and smiley.

Lena snorts, shakes her head a little. From what she’s gathered from Alex’s recounting, she’d been unconscious for all of 18 hours following the attack. Not nearly enough time to admit to missing someone, honestly.

But that doesn’t stop her from tapping twice on her own chest before holding up two fingers.

Me too.

—

On one of the quieter afternoons, Lena passes her whiteboard onto Kara’s lap with a single word carefully written on it.

WHO

“It’s in the title of the show,” Kara says with a laugh. “They said his name like 20 times already just this episode alone.”

Lena shakes her head firmly, underlines the WHO with her marker, and stares at Kara with an unwavering gaze until it sinks in.

It doesn’t take long, and Kara straightens up in her seat straightaway, sneaking a glance at the door. But nobody’s there. They’re usually left to their own devices during her visits.

“I shouldn’t be telling you.”

Lena writes out a quick reply—PLS—and draws a messy heart right beside it. She even gives an encouraging smile for good measure. Kara doesn’t smile back, not even instinctively.

“Are you sure?” Kara asks, and Lena taps at the PLS ♥ and takes her hand, which seems to be convincing enough. “Okay…”

Kara shifts a little, facing her body toward Lena with a grim expression. The silence lasts so long that Lena considers tapping on her whiteboard again. But then… the name slips out, so quietly that it’s almost lost in the static of the TV.

Lex.

Lena blinks then, out of necessity, and falls slack against the bed. Kara’s saying more, but Lena raises the volume on the TV to discourage her. Eventually, Kara gives up and settles for climbing into Lena’s bed, curling into her side with one hand resting atop Lena’s as a gentle reminder.

Kara stays over for the first time that night, snoring lightly into Lena’s shoulder, glasses drooping precariously off her nose.

All things considered, it ends up being a pretty good night.

(next part here)

#my words.

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tomhollandnet · 3 years

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Vanity Fair: How have you been doing this past year? I mean, what has life been like in these COVID times for you?

Tom Holland: I got to say, Richard, I’ve been very fortunate during these difficult times. For me, my career hasn’t really halted. I’ve been lucky enough that I’ve been able to continue working. I made a film called Uncharted with Mark Wahlberg last year. I’m currently shooting Spider-Man 3 at the moment. So I’ve been very lucky.

It put a pause for a while, and I went home and we locked down in London, and I had a few months where I was sort of kicking about the house. But all in all, I’ve had a great time. And I’ve really enjoyed the jobs I’ve been working on. And I definitely recognize how lucky I am to be working, when so few people are at the moment [and are] really, really having a hard time. So I’ve been very lucky, and I’ve been enjoying myself.

And now you have this whole different kind of work, promoting Cherry and kind of getting the word out about that movie. I have a bunch of questions about this big epic. But I’m curious in terms of, what’s the origin story? Obviously you’ve worked with the Russo brothers pretty intensely for the past few years. Was it just kind of an automatic collaboration?

Yeah, basically as simple as that, really. I mean, I was working with Joe and Anthony on Avengers: Endgame. And Joe took me aside and said, “We’re making this film. We want you to be the lead. It’s a small, independent film.” He didn’t tell me what it was about. He just sort of told me that he wants me to be in it. And I was honestly just touched that they wanted to work with me. Of all the people in the business they could work with, I just felt really honored that they’d chosen me. And then when I finally got the chance to read the script, I was even more blown away, because I finally recognized the opportunity that had been handed to me.

As a young actor, you’re always looking for ways to challenge yourself. You’re looking for ways to push yourself you haven’t been in the past. And I think we could probably agree that this film achieves both of those goals. So as soon as I read the script and I knew that it was the Russos making it, it was a no-brainer, and it was a very definite yes.

It definitely does feel, I mean, in terms of its content and its style, even, like a big change for you. Do you at all view this as your first grown-up role, or your first adult role? I mean, is that how you kind of look at a project, or is it more just, this specific thing interests you?

That’s an interesting question. It depends what you mean by an adult role, but my agents and I are very strategic in choosing our moments, and trying to be really clever with when we decide to take that next step into becoming an adult and making films about real people and about real problems and getting messages across. And we did that a little bit with Devil All the Time, the Antonio Campos movie. That was kind of the first step, but Cherry is the big step. And that was why it was so daunting, because I haven’t done a film like this before. And I was nervous to see how the world would see me in that light and as that character. Obviously, the film hasn’t come out yet, but I am very apprehensive as to see how people respond to my work in this film.

There’s a lot of intense stuff in Cherry. What was, to your mind, when you read the script, the most daunting thing? What were you most scared to shoot?

I think it was probably the emotional aspect of the film. Physically, I knew I could do it. I knew I’d be able to do that. But emotionally, I’m very lucky and lived a very charmed life, and I’ve been an actor since I was 11. So I haven’t really had to deal with much trauma, or sorrow, or grief, or things like that. So I was worried that I wasn’t going to be able to maintain that level of emotion for a four-month period. That is where the Russos became so valuable, because they were my safety net. That’s where Ciara Bravo was so valuable. She was my partner in crime, and she’s absolutely astonishing in the film and a great friend. And I can’t tell you how lucky I am to have had her to help me throughout this process. So I think for me, yeah, the thing I was most daunted about was maintaining that level of emotion.

What kind of prep did you do? I think actors who are very good actors, they can fall into the trap of when they’re supposed to be acting high or on drugs or something, there can be a sort of showiness to that, as sort of theater. And something that’s really, I think, immersive and bracing about Cherry is that there’s none of that. It feels entirely credible when these characters are in these lows of their lives. Did you talk to soldiers, addicts, anything like that, in prepping to shoot?

Yes, absolutely. We did loads and loads of research. I mean, I must’ve sat down with 30 different people who are all veterans, who are all medics, all suffering from PTSD and substance abuse. And for me, the more information I could get about a problem that I knew so little about to begin with, the better. I worked with nurses. We worked with someone who was running a rehab clinic in Cleveland, and he became our consultant and would be there on set with us every day and would show us how to shoot someone up and show us how to cook heroin, or explain to us the feeling of what would it be like if you mixed a bit of crack with heroin.

There’s a scene in the film where I go to rob a bank, and I shoot up in the car just before. And he said to us that day, “You would never do that before you go into rob a bank.” But if you put a bit of crack in there, it would totally change your attitude and your physical prowess, I guess. So having people on set like that to kind of guide us through the process was so valuable.

I think I’m a bit older than you, and these characters are about my age. I was in college in the early 2000s, and 9/11 was my first week of college. And people in my hometown, well, my neighborhood in Boston, a lot of them were lost to opioids, either killed, or went to prison. And you’re younger, but did you see any parallels between this kind of half-generation removed and your age, the Generation Z? Do you think that a lot of these things are still kind of ongoing?

Yeah. I mean, arguably the opioid epidemic is worse now. And it’s affecting far more people. I think one of my favorite things that Joe said, Joe Russo, is the opening of the film is these swooping shots over Cleveland. We fly over Cleveland, and we see thousands and thousands of houses. And that is to convey to the audience that, yes, we’re telling the story of two people, but really, we’re telling the story of millions of people. This is one story amongst millions. And I really hope that this film can shed the light on a problem that’s invisible, and a problem that is mostly fought in the shadows. People are very ashamed to talk about their addictions and that sort of thing. So I hope that this will shed light on that problem, and people will change their attitude towards people who are suffering from addiction.

It almost feels surprising that there hasn’t been something about this very epic subject matter. What were the conversations like on set about the film’s style? I mean, it is pretty stylized. Did you feel that in the shooting, or is that kind of all added after the fact?

Absolutely. I mean, the Russos changed their way of shooting time and time again while we’re making this film, from different lenses they were using, from different styles of lighting, from different performance techniques. They would frame us sometimes very differently throughout the film. So we were very much aware of the different type of chapters we were trying to make.

Was that a real head-shaving moment in the film?

Yes. Well, we’d already shaved my head, because we were shooting prior. But what we did is we had about a week’s worth of work where we just allowed it to grow, and then he shaved it down to a one. But I actually loved having a shaved head. It was so nice. It was so refreshing to wake up, get out of bed and realize that your hair was already done. It was one of the only luxuries of playing this character.

Yeah. I let my hair get too long during quarantine, and then said, “Screw it. I’ll get the shortest haircut I’ve gotten in years.” And it is liberating. You just wake up, and you’re done.

Totally.

You’re on set, filming something else now, in very changed times from when I think Cherry was filmed. What is it like being back on a set? I mean, I’m not asking for spoilers or anything, don’t worry, but just in terms of the actual day-to-day of filming a movie with all these new restrictions, how has that experience been?

I mean, I love being on set. It’s where I feel most at home. It’s obviously limiting, with COVID, and we’re having to be very careful and very responsible in the way that we behave. There’s certain protocols that we have to follow, to make sure that we maintain this level of safety for the cast and crew. It can be a little tedious at times, but it’s so necessary. And we all recognize how lucky we are to be working right now. So it’s a necessity that we don’t mind taking on because, as I said, we’re also lucky to be here.

#tom holland #interviews #long post

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drrrsankai-blog · 3 years

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Reality TV Show Writing Meme!

Rules:

- Choose 6 OC's canon characters.

- Put your OC's names in list of numbers and answer the questions with your OC's names instead of the number, write at least 100 words to answer.

- Once an OC is evicted, you must choose the next consecutive number to fill in the question. E.g. If [1] is evicted, choose [2]. If [6] is evicted, go back round to [1]. (I fucked this part up but idc)

Cast:

1. Aoba

2. Shizuo

3. Namie

4. Ran

5. Shingen

6. Erika

Warning:

OOC (gets worse as it goes along honestly), c r a c k, dark humor, insanity, and Namie being Namie (and Erika being Erika...).

1. Welcome to the House! Introduce the OC's and what their luxury item would be.

[1] Aoba: Luxury item? A pool.

[2] Shizuo: Another pack of cigarettes. *doesn't know what it is*

[3] Namie: Well, there's not much of anything that comes to mind... except a fine night out with my darling Seiji~

[4] Ran: Fucking ew.

[5] Shingen: Hmm...hm, hm, hm. I need to think about this one...

[6] Erika: All the doujinshis on my wishlist!

2. There are 3 bedrooms, 1 with 2 double beds, 1 with 2 single beds and 1 with only 2 matresses on the floor. Who pairs up with whom, is there an argument over who should get the better room, and how is this resolved?

No one's happy, except Erika who comments that it feels like a sleepover (and Ran who yells out that 'we're literally living together for this'). However, Namie has already grabbed Erika's arm to lead her into the room with two single beds, because 'the only man she'll sleep in a room with is Seiji'. Erika doesn't get time to object before the door slams behind them. Leaving only the other four...

Shingen rubs his chin, trying to decide which remaining options were better. If he chose the room with the double bed, he surmised he might get lonely since there'd be no other weight in it, so the mattresses on the floor sounded like a better option.

Shizuo heads into the room with the double beds. No one follows him in.

Aoba and Ran look at each other, mutually scowling the thought of having to share a room with the blonde, then scowl at each other. Ultimately, they decide on taking the room with the mattresses on the floor.

By the time Shingen makes his decision, he finds everyone gone and the room he had decided on occupied. With a droop of his shoulder and a small, disappointed sigh, he heads into the double-bedded room with Heiwajima.

Then...

"Wait a minute, this is my house! Why the hell don't I get to call the shots?!"

Namie, laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, hearing Shingen's voice: What an idiot.

3. Now they've decided where they're sleeping, they make their way to the living room but find that it is empty expect for a few large and heavy boxes which hold the furniture which [1] and [4] have been told to put together within a time limit, how well do they do?

Aoba: Do I look like someone with a body who can handle all this hard labor?

Ran: Thanks a fucking lot, pipsqueak.

Aoba: Seriously. Why can't we make Heiwajima do it?

Ran: Because he'll crush our fucking skulls?

Aoba: Oh.

Aoba: Well, if I told him you asked, then I'll both live and not have to do it.

Ran: *throws an empty box at him*

4. The furniture's together, now for dinner and a rest! [2] and [5] are designated for cooking first. What do they cook? Do they work well together? Does their cooking go down well?

Shingen: *wearing an apron, flattening dough with a rolling pin* I'm baking a cake~! Teehee~

Sheenwuh: *walks through the door, notices Shingen, and then walks back out it*

Shizuo: Um.

Shizuo just sits on the couch eating potato chips instead.

5. A few days pass and a relationship is growing between [3] and [6], is it a good one or is it a bad one? What measures are made to make their relationship blossom, or stop them from attacking each other on sight?

Erika: *talking nonstop about BL, cosplay, and anime*

Namie's internal dialogue: [shut up shut up SHUT THE FUCK UP]

Namie ends up leaving, throwing Shingen out and angrily informing Heiwajima he has a new roommate.

Shizuo is actually taken aback and does not argue.

6. A week has passed and it's time for an eviction! Someone hasn't put in their penny's worth and needs to be gotten rid of. Choose one OC, and have them say their weepy, or exuberant, goodbyes.

Ran: Good fucking riddance.

Namie: *bored voice, dull tone* I'm so sad.

Erika: Aw, maybe next time. :(

Shizuo: Do I know you?

Shingen: Do I know you either?

Aoba: I'm a student. I don't have a job. I can't pay rent. What do you expect?

7. There's a siren in the middle of the night! [1] has tried to escape with [3] as accomplice, however they are both caught, who blames whom, and what is their punishment? Do the other house-mates suffer for it?

Aoba: I'm still here?

Ran: You're still here? Great.

Namie: Why did I agree to this...?

Shingen: For money?

Everyone looked at the floor where there were several pieces of glass from the window having been broken.

Shingen: Well, if you win, you can use it to pay me back~!

Namie: Can't wait...

8. The next task appointed for them arrives in the form of a letter and a pack of bendy wires. They pick up the letter and read that housemates [2] and [4] must make a cube using the fewest number of wires possible within 30 minutes of time. Do they manage it?

Ran: What the fuck? Why?

Shizuo: Uh, nah.

9. That evening, they find alcohol in the refridgerator and a karaoke machine in the living room. However, it is incredibly hard to set up and it's instructions are in Japanese. [5] and [6] are bullied into geting it sorted. How do they get on?

Erika: *staring hard at the instructions* Well, I recognize the characters... It's just...

Shingen: Those bastards! This isn't the version I ordered!

Erika: ...this is in Chinese, not Japanese.

10. Eviction time! Eviction this time is based upon house-mates behaviour and performance in the last week, and sadly, [1] and [3]'s escape attempt has not impressed the higher hand. [1] or [3] must go, choose, and have them say goodbye.

Aoba: I thought I left 6 questions ago...?

Namie: *leaves without a second thought*

Shingen: What about my window???

Shingen looked at Aoba who merely shrugged his shoulders. Then it occrured to him...

"You two were really going to climb down from a 30 story building...?"

"The danger makes it exciting."

Namie, thinking to herself: I was thinking of just going down the fire escape, but okay.

11. Confessions Time! Having been together for two weeks, how do the house-mates feel about the others? How do they feel about the evictions? Let's listen to them now.

Erika: Kishitani-san is okay for a roommate. He's kind of odd, though...

Ran: You want to talk about being weird?

Shingen: You're okay yourself, Karisawa. A bit hard to follow, but okay.

Ran: My little rat-think of a brother is finally gone. Couldn't be better.

*phone rings*

Shingen: Hold on a moment.

Shingen: Hello?

Sheenwuh: Dad, when can I come home?

Shingen: Anytime, son.

Sheenwuh: No, I mean, when is whatever's going on over?

Shingen: Can't hear you either, son, roger. *hangs up*

Shizuo: ...

Shizuo: Do I have to be here or can I leave too?

12. [1] and [4] have become very close, and [6] is jealous and decides to confront [4] about it, what happens?

Erika: Wow, so you miss your brother after all~!

Ran: What??

Aoba: *peeks through hole in the wall* Peekaboo!

Ran: *screams*

Erika: Ah, brotherly love... I think that'll be the next BL manga theme I read about...!

Shizuo:

Shizuo: I've decided that I'm killing myself instead.

13. Their next task is to simply tidy the house, however, they have to do it blindfold, [5] cheats and [2] does nothing, such disobedience so late in the game earns them a time-out and their luxury item is taken away, how do they cope?

Shingen: Ooh~! Kinky.

Shizuo: I'm going to be next to jump out this fucking window I swear to god--

Erika: (But nobody actually jumped out the window...);

14. Due to the cheating in the previous task, the electricity in the building is cut, and the living room is locked off from them. [4] suggests a game of hide-and-seek, does anyone get injured in the dark? Does anyone take this moment to be naughty with another housemate?

Ran: Anyone wanna play Hide-and-Get-Hammered?

Shingen: Is that a drinking game, I see?

Ran: Heh.

Erika: I'm pretty that's not how it's played... or what Izumii-kun means... *she inclines her head, trying to see if Ran's holding something behind him*

15. The living room is open to them again and inside is a television, an XBOX and four Guitar Hero guitars, a not stuck on the television let's them know that it is a play-off between [3] and [6].

Who wins, and did they realise the loser would be evicted?!

Neither of the two are particularly interested in video games, but it gets pretty heated between them (Ran and Erika). Ran calls her a "fujo bitch" throughout, and Erika wins by sticking her bare foot in his lap and freaking him out, causing him to fall onto the floor (and into the loser's seat).

Ran: Yeah, whatever. Fuck this.

Erika: Well, Kishitani-san, it looks like it's just you and me.

Shingen: That it seems.

Shizuo: Uh, guys... I'm still here...

16. With only three house-mates left, tension starts to rise, [1] becomes super-competitive and starts taking over any tasks given to them. [1] accepts a task before even hearing it, and it's challenging them to sit in a bath of maggots for half an hour.

How does [1] react and do they complete the task?

Shizuo: That's fucking disgusting.

Erika: But you said you'd do anything...

Shizuo: *stares at her, eyebrow twitching*

Erika: ...OK.

17. Another Confession. Poor [2] is starting to suffer from cabin fever and is sure the others are out to get them. Let's listen to their ranting.

Shizuo: You know what? Fuck these nutjobs. *leaves*

18. The house-mates realise they are quite quickly running out of food, and find three unlabelled tins in a cupboard, with blindfolds next to them and a letter explaining that two tins are sliced peaches, one is dog-food, they must each choose a tin with their blindfolds on.

Who gets the dog-food, and evicted?

Erika: *walking in the direction of Kadota's place, smiling* Aw, I hope Dotachin's dog will like this brand...

19. The final task denotes the winner of the entire game, the final two house-mates are given an envelope, inside is the instrutions of their last task, they simply are.

"Choose."

Does this shock them? Do they choose themselves as the winner or the other? Do they give their own victory up, or are they selfish?

"Dad, I fucking live here."

"Hmm. I guess that makes both of us the victors, then?"

"Dad, why is there no food in the house?" the brunette asks, looking through the fridge. Then he looks towards the balcony and nearly screams.

"WHY IS THE WINDOW BROKEN???"

20. Now it's (quite abruptly) over, tag someone!

I will not but you can steal it. xD

#Aoba #Shingen #Erika #Namie #Ran #writing memes #I am tired goodnight

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