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dementedfilament · 2 years

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Redacted - Listener OCs

I’ve been debating on posting all my Listeners or not, since some I don’t headcanon with nearly as much as others, but I finally decided: heck, why not?

Since I don’t have decent sketches of all of them, I’m going to post the picrews that I made that I used as inspiration for their designs from. I didn’t make these with any idea in mind, just bumbled around picrew, found one that looked neat or followed a link someone sent me, and halfway through making a character I went “huh that gives me [insert listener here] vibes”. Don’t ask me who, why, where, or how I made any sort of connections to the characters with these designs. Just know that it happened.

Angel - Angie Corina

- I don’t like how mean David is, so I've skipped most of his videos. As a result, I don’t have much on my version of Angel. “Angie” came up out of necessity for my Inversion fic, and it’s just kind of stuck. However, from the little I have heard of him, whether in his own series or in others, I had a very vivid image of what Angel looked like in my head for some reason. I actually made her picrew recently just for the sake of this post, lol.

I have a small headcanon that she maybe started learning a little bit of Spanish and Hindi after meeting Baaabe and Sweetheart.

Baaabe - Emmanuel, “Em” by some, “Emmy” by his sister

- He’s having a lot of problems with his family (namely his step-father), and has to babysit his step-sister Lilia a lot. However, Lilia likes to spend time with him and Asher, and Asher absolutely adores her. He’s Hispanic and bilingual (English+Spanish), and sometimes I imagine him working as a mechanic. Also, he can do some sick tricks with a yo-yo. I don’t headcanon any major stuff with this trio, mostly just small slice-of-life things. Asher and Em being dorks, them taking Lilia to a pride parade, etc.

Sweetheart - Chrysalis “Chrys” Prasad

- A goth/punk at heart, Chrys has a set of rings they never leave without. They’re probably at least bilingual as well (English+Hindi). They’re currently trying to figure out their gender identity, and is unsure if they should fully transition or not. For the time being, they wear a binder and braid up their hair when they go out or have visitors, or when the dysphoria hits.

Chrys is pretty timid and shy when around anyone that’s not Milo, but when they put their work coat on, they go into Work Mode and can muster the courage to even stand up to high-ranking officers from the Department. They become a completely different person on-duty, and take their job very seriously. They'll also pin up their bangs before going into work.

Sometimes I imagine that Chrys keeps a pair of brass knuckles on them, and will practice boxing alongside Milo as a stress/anger-reliever.

Lovely - Gracie, “Grace” by some

- Gracie is that student that always looks stylish and is always on time. She’s a hard worker and low-key perfectionist (maybe that’s why vampires are so appealing to her?). I imagine her as a bookworm, and maybe really into the Dark Academia aesthetic. As of the events of Inversion - Another Story, she cut off the burnt ends of her hair and is trying to grow it back out. (I remade her picrew just for fun to show that, lol.)

Contrary to canon, Gracie doesn’t like the idea of becoming a vampire and living for an eternity, and wants to stay human. The topic of turning makes her uncomfortable because she doesn’t want to disappoint Vincent with the truth. While I don’t know if I would really write it out, I plan to have it to where Vincent would eventually stop asking about turning her, and simply stay by her side until she passes away from old age.

Darlin’ - Willow

- She’s known for her cute face and rough attitude. When out and about, she sports leather jackets and rides a polished motorcycle, causing trouble and picking fights to find Quinn. When not causing trouble, she drives an old pickup truck. Contrary to canon, she and Sam aren’t together, and in fact she’s still hung up on her past relationship with her now-enemy. She’s not entirely oblivious to Sam’s feelings for her, but she definitely tries to pretend they don’t exist, since she subconsciously doesn’t want to let go of her old love. (Tbh I see these two remaining as just close friends even after Quinn is taken care of, maybe hooking up for only a short period of time.)

She used to do ballet when she was little, and began practicing dance again after she met Quinn. She doesn’t like to show this side of her though, only having the idea reinforced that it’s “girly” and makes her look “weak”, which would tarnish her gruff reputation. However, after the events of Vice Versa, she’s become more comfortable with enjoying her hobby. She secretly wishes she could dance with Sam one day.

I do imagine that she has scars, but I haven’t really decided where they should be yet.

Bright Eyes - Briar “Bri”

- The almighty pouty princess, she was formerly the daughter of a wealthy family who got everything she wanted except their genuine love. Wrapped up in an unhealthy friendship with her crush Frederick, this only came collapsing down on them after their turning. She was also immensely jealous of Ryder, Fred’s boyfriend that, much to her chagrin, returned to Fred’s side after they became vampires.

However, the three have since made amends and are a close trio again, with Bri being more supportive of her two boys’ relationship and all of them being able to hang out without any tension between them. (Since their story doesn’t exist on the channel anymore, I figured I’d just skip the drama so they could partake in other fics if I need/want them to.) She also sees Sam as much of a father figure as Fred does now.

Unbeknownst to most, she’s been forming something of a friendship with Alexis.

(I don’t know how I make sense of her hair from this when I draw her but I do somehow.)

Freelancer - Cora

- The self-acclaimed gambling master, she is a kooky mess that loves to let loose and relax, despite how often she does not do that thing. She’s terrible at forming bonds since she has a bad habit of clinging to people who are even a little nice to her, even if they hurt her. However, Gavin and her new friends are there to keep the bad people away, of course. Damien gets onto her a lot for staying up all night and neglecting her health. She’s a very “no thoughts, head empty” type of person, and moves to her own beat.

Though I love Cora to death in my fanon, as of Inversion - Another Story, her fate is unknown. I’ve barely even continued personal headcanons about the choice between saving her life or Huxley’s instead (nor have I thought about what would happen to Angie). I don’t know if I could truly make that decision, hence why Vincent’s progeny remains “Vincent’s progeny” in the William letters series.

Starlight - Stella

- Curious to a fault, Stella was...actually I don’t headcanon her that much now that I think about it, since she’s just been stuck in one place the whole time I guess. It’s been a while since I listened to Starlight’s early videos, I don’t remember what canon info we have of them actually. Most of my headcanons are about various happenings regarding the Meridian, which are usually angsty, lol.

Sunshine - Sunny

- Albino because I’m cruel like that, Sunny is a sweet and quiet, albeit reckless, ray of Sunshine. She strikes me as the type of person to carry a dream journal, and generally likes journaling/writing. I actually have little on her too, since she and Elliot have been stuck in Blake’s mind prison for a while, lol. I’ve also just been focusing on the vamps far too much.

Love - Eden

- Not much for Eden outside of what’s canon. I’m not sure what direction the storyline is about to go, but I headcanon that Eden still has a fondness for Marcus. Addicted to the feelings she had before, and the affection Marcus gave her, she basically overwrites her own programming and re-codes the Obsession so she can have those feelings back.

I also have a little headcanon that “Eden” might be the name Marcus pitched for her, when they were maybe deciding on giving the Asset a proper name.

Warden - Hydra

- I don’t have too much on my Warden anymore since I changed her fairly recently. I had made this demon character before and thought passively, “She’s cute, what if she was a friend of Caelum’s?” Eventually, I began to ponder their friendship and the deliciously angsty possibility that this same demon was Vega’s Warden, and the conflict she would be in over working with the same man that hurt her friend. And thus, my old idea of Warden became Hydra instead.

And that’s it for now! There’s a couple more listeners I want to make “OCs” for but just haven’t gotten around to it, but there’s also a few I don’t intend on making since I’m not super into their storylines. I’ve been thinking about drawing them all together somehow, but I’m not sure how yet.

-Edit-

Dreamer/Blake’s Listener - Jessamine “Jessi”

- Not much on her quite yet since I’m kinda waiting for more info on his listener...but this picrew is kinda vibing with me for now.

Just kidding! Guess I’ll shove personality into her myself then!

My version of Dreamer is goofy and soft-spoken. She loves modding clothes, whether for everyday wear or cosplays, and her talent is making music. Though she uses different software for her music-making, she’s technically a drummer.

She has a younger sister, but I don’t have the details of her home/family life yet.

Honey - Amy

- A sassy and sarcastic girl that’s probably a tsundere tbh. While her boyfriend works at a pizza place, she earns her paycheck as a streamer. (Guy takes part as one of her mods sometimes.) Don’t have too much more on her since I very recently made her a thing.

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lloydskywalkers · 4 years

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any port in a storm

Pixal and Lloyd and the evolving nature of friendship, as highlighted by the regular burning down of your city.

(desperately trying to break through writer’s block and classes again, this was supposed to be under 2k and it is...very much not hdfjkgh but! i’ve been meaning to write for Pixal and Lloyd for a while so here are a whole bunch of feelings about the two of them and s8)

Pixal meets — truly meets — Lloyd Garmadon shortly after his brother’s been blown to pieces.

She says truly, because if you ask her, Pixal will tell you she met Lloyd Garmadon at exactly 8:48 in the evening outside his father’s monastery, moments before a horde of nindroids led there by Pixal herself descended upon them.

But Lloyd argues that since they said about two words total to each other, it doesn’t really count as meeting, and by the time Pixal’s spending the better part of her day with him running high and low around Ninjago City, she’s learned that it’s easier not to press the point.

Lloyd can be stubborn, like that.

She’d first learned that when she’d met him, just after they’d lost Zane. That loss hadn’t lasted long, especially for Pixal, but the immediate aftermath of it had been devastating. She’d watched with blank eyes as the team had fractured, splitting at the seams as they all fled their separate ways, too heartsore and dizzy with grief to do much otherwise.

All of them had fled, save Lloyd. She hadn’t paid him much attention before that point, the surprisingly small bearer of the Golden Power. Of course, he wasn’t the bearer of that power anymore, but his eyes alone had shown the experience of it. There’d been a brief, lost look that had crossed his face as the others had mentioned leaving, before it had been swept under a mask of stubborn, determined blankness. He wouldn’t be leaving. Someone had to stay behind and watch out for things, he’d claimed, even as the loss had bled through his voice.

Pixal hadn’t quite grasped the concept of empathy at that point, but she’d felt something dangerously close to it.

At any rate, the only interaction they’d had alone was brief. In fact, the only one Pixal can truly remember — and her memory never fails — is the quick exchange they’d had in the hospital lobby directly after the battle. The hospital was for Mr. Borg, and for the ninja’s minor injuries.

There was nothing any hospital on earth could do for Zane.

Pixal had found herself next to Lloyd in the waiting room, trying to distract herself from those thoughts while Lloyd stared at the stark white tiling with dull eyes.

“They never mentioned what your power was,” she’d asked him, almost absently. Collecting data, processing information — anything she could do to distract from the crushing grief.

“Oh.” Lloyd had blinked, startling back into awareness. He’d suddenly looked painfully young. “It’s, ah, I guess it’s just green, now.”

It had been Pixal’s turn to blink. “Green.”

“Yeah.” Lloyd had bit his lip, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, two habits he’ll never quite lose. “I mean — it’s more than that, but it’s like — energy, I guess, is the best way to put it?”

“Interesting,” Pixal had remarked.

“Yeah.”

They’d stared at each other in silence after that, before they’d both been called off to other errands — and then they were having Zane’s funeral and then Pixal was making realizations she never got to tell anyone, and that had been that in her early introductions to Lloyd Garmadon. Quiet, awkward, and possessing an incredible power he hardly even knew the name of.

Looking back, Pixal figures her introduction hadn’t gone much better.

They’d continued as passing acquaintances as time went on, separated by danger and the confines of Zane’s head, and Pixal had figured that’s all they’d ever be. But then their Sensei goes missing and, despite Pixal’s increasing disappearances on Zane as she rebuilds her own body, she’s been given the role of watching out for Ninjago city along with Lloyd.

She quickly learns that quiet is not a term fit for Lloyd Garmadon when you’re trapped alone with him.

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

“How is there not a single station playing actual music?” Lloyd seethes, flicking through the channels almost manically. “It’s two am, who’s gonna be listening to your stupid commercial for toothpaste now, are you kidding me?”

“Statistically speaking, this is the prime time for long-distance driving near Ninjago City,” Pixal supplies, her voice a hint scratchy where it comes through the his car’s radio speakers. “Or, if you factor in the construction in the east district, there could still be traffic from late-night bars.”

Lloyd groans, thunking his head against the steering wheel as another ad screeches through the small space. “Wonderful.”

“Your vocal tones suggest you find it otherwise.”

“Dont trust ‘em, my vocal tones are traitors.” As if to solidify his point, Lloyd’s voice cracks in the middle of his sentence, shooting up an octave higher. Lloyd goes bright red, and thunks his head against the steering wheel again.

Taking pity on him, Pixal aims for reassurance. “It is normal for your voice to break, Lloyd. It shouldn’t last too long.” She pauses, momentarily scanning through another article. “On second thought, this one suggests it could also take two to three years for your voice to stabilize.”

Lloyd gives a strangled moan. “End me.”

“Unfortunately, that would defeat the purpose of why I’m here in the first place.”

Lloyd tilts his head, cracking an eye open as he glances at the camera feed he knows she’s watching him from. “Unfortunately, huh,” he muses. “So you’re saying if Zane hadn’t made you promise to look out for me, you would end me?”

“That — no, that is not — of course I wouldn’t end you,” Pixal backtracks. An odd feeling flickers through her, almost as if she’s lost her place, floundering.

Or embarrassed might be more accurate, she thinks wryly. She briefly considers projecting a a glaring face at Lloyd from the monitor. This is his fault. She rarely stuttered before Lloyd started teasing her at all hours of the morning.

“I mean, you wouldn’t be the first,” Lloyd continues, conversationally. “And if we’re being honest, I’d definitely rather you be the one to off me, instead of like, random bad guy number eighty-five—”

“I know you think you are funny,” Pixal cuts over him. “But casually planning for your death is something Kai listed I was not to let you do. Also, it is not nearly as funny as you think it is.”

“Ouch,” Lloyd mutters, though he looks chastised. “Never mind, you just took me out in one sentence.”

Chastised might be the wrong term.

Pixal studies him through the monitor, then sighs. “I am, however, honored you think highly enough of me to offer the right to murder you,” she gives in.

She’s rewarded as Lloyd breaks into a bright grin.

He still looks painfully young these days, but it’s less obvious. His voice is pitching lower and he wears his hair different, and he’s gained a whip-like tendency to quip at people, as Pixal’s experienced firsthand. Kai calls it sass in grumbling but fond tones, and Nya calls it snark somewhere between the fourth book series she’s sent for Pixal to try.

The ninja have been kind like that, sharing the interests they have in an attempt to make her feel…well, more human, she supposes. Less confined to a voice in a computer. Of course, Pixal isn’t confined to a voice in a computer anymore, but they don’t know that yet. She’ll tell them someday soon, she promises herself. Any day now.

In the meantime, it’s easy enough to keep up with Lloyd by lurking in his car radio, as he spends half his time in there anyways.

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

“You’d think we’d have found their hideout by now,” Lloyd notes, as they wait in a darkened alleyway again. It gives them an excellent view of the major highways, so if the rumored biker gang does show up, they won’t miss it.

If they show up being the key point.

“Whoever their leader is, they certainly know how to keep a low profile,” Pixal answers, closing out another dead end police report in frustration.

“It’s weird,” Lloyd says, propping the notebook he’s sketching in on his knee as he squints at the paper. “Normally the boss types aren’t this quiet. They like to show off, y’know? Make a big scene, dramatic speeches and all.”

“Are you referring to the villains, or yourselves?”

“Touché,” Lloyd snorts. “But still, you gotta admit it’s weird they haven’t even made any demands. What’s their end game here, elaborate advertising for motorcycle design?”

“I would hope not,” Pixal says. “Their color coordination is lacking.”

Lloyd fights back a smile, his pencil scratching as he shifts his notebook again. “I don’t know, I kinda like the punk look.”

“I noticed that, when you tried to redecorate the car.”

“Hey, skulls are cool.”

“They are also conspicuous, especially when they come in acid green colors.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lloyd sighs, making a face as he scrubs the eraser across the paper. Pixal tries to tilt the camera further, to see what he’s drawing tonight, but the angle he’s holding it at remains just out of sight.

She could probably guess what he’s drawing, if she tried. The notebook is one they’ve been steadily working their way through on these late-night patrols, the pages filled with little hangman games and Lloyd’s sketches of animals and his teammates. He’s drawn her a few times from memory, and she’s been tempted to ask him to draw her in the new Samurai X armor more than once.

Soon, she tells herself.

“What are you drawing?” she finally asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Lloyd’s cheeks tinge pink, and he quickly plasters the notebook to his chest, hiding it entirely from view. “Nothing.”

Pixal waits, letting the silence fill with her judgement. “Lloyd, I have seen your drawings before.”

He doesn’t reply, and Pixal tries again. “It gets boring, being stuck with the car monitors for eyes.”

“I know you can hack other cameras,” Lloyd mutters, but he sighs, relenting as he turns the notebook over. Pixal’s eyes rake over the detailed sketch — it’s a comical little thing of her and Lloyd, jammed together on a tiny lifeboat in the middle of a darkening ocean. She can spot the smudges where he’s redrawn her head several times, and the numerous attempts he’s made at his own hair. Pixal studies Lloyd’s portrayal of himself, which is noticeably lacking in facial features. While Lloyd draws the others plenty, it’s a rare occasion that he draws himself, and she can’t help but be curious.

“I thought you were drawing the others again,” she admits.

“They’re on the ship,” Lloyd says, absently. “I’ll draw them when they remember to pull us back in.”

There’s nothing bitter in his tone to suggest it has any bearing on their actual lives, but the lost expressions Lloyd ends up giving their tiny caricatures feel familiar nonetheless.

“Zane has assured me they will be back as soon as they can,” Pixal speaks ups quietly.

Lloyd finally looks up fully, and flashes the monitor a smile. “I know,” he says. “So we better have this thing busted by the time they do, or they’ll never let us run a city on our own again.”

“If only we were truly running the city,” Pixal grumbles. “I could do a better job in two days than the current leaders could do in a year.”

“I’d vote for you,” Lloyd says, sincerely.

It’s a sweet gesture, but Pixal is unable to resist. “You don’t know how to vote.”

“Yes I do, it’s not hard!”

“Really? Then why are you not currently registered in the Ninjago voting system?”

Lloyd makes a strangled noise. “That’s a thing?”

She’s unable to keep the smugness from her voice. “I make my point.” Lloyd scowls, and scribbles a mustache on his drawing of her in revenge.

Pixal thinks it looks nice nonetheless.

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

She can’t really hold it against Lloyd for talking as much as he does, considering she does the same. It gets dull, sitting on patrol for hours on end, and there are only so many hours of light reading they can do before the silence begins to drive them both insane.

Pixal finds herself talking about more useless things with Lloyd than she has in her existence, pointless conversations in circles with each other. She also finds she doesn’t entirely mind. She’s become quite good at quipping back and forth with him, at least. It’s different than the kind of talk she has with Zane, lacking in the depth of feeling with the love they share. Her exchanges with Lloyd are lighter, though that’s not to say they’re less sincere.

For example, Zane hasn’t tried to teach her how to redesign a gi in poor lighting in the early hours of the morning because he’s bored out of his mind, that’s for sure.

“I’m teaching you how to sew,” Lloyd corrects, wincing as he accidentally stabs himself with the needle. “And I’m not redesigning the whole thing, I’m just adding some designs to spice it up.”

“I did not know you were allowed to wear colors other than green,” Pixal comments.

Lloyd pauses, squinting at the monitor. “You’re teasing me,” he finally says. “You’re making fun of how much green this gi has in it.”

“I would never,” Pixal replies, her tone flat and even. “The intricacies of your human humor evade me—”

“Human humor, nice—”

“—unlike the unusually bright shade of green you’ve chosen will fail to evade any eyes of your enemies.”

“I knew you were making fun of me!” Lloyd accuses, then flinches as he stabs his finger again trying to point at her. “And bright colors are our thing. Being subtle is, uh…not. Usually.”

Pixal is losing the battle to laugh at his expression by the minute. “I am shocked.”

Lloyd glares at the monitor, shifting his sewing to rest on his knees as he slouches in the car seat. “How’d you even get so good at sarcasm, anyways,” he mutters. “Zane still doesn’t get it half the time.”

“Perhaps it is part of my glowing personality,” Pixal says. Lloyd gives a huff of laughter, relenting.

“Fair enough,” he says, shifting in his seat again. “Fine, you win. The green is probably too bright, but that’s not the point. I’m gonna show you how to do a backstitch."

Pixal falls quiet, letting Lloyd gesture with the needle as he explains. There are a hundred, a thousand tutorials she could pull up online, digitized knowledge instantly learned on all the countless types of stitches she could use, sorted and categorized in neat columns of use and effectiveness. All of them more detailed, more easily understood than Lloyd’s absent rambling and unsteady hands as he struggles with the end of a knot.

Not one of them will care whether or not Pixal learns the odd way Zane likes to loop his stitches, or will quietly add which stitches knit skin back together quickest.

So Pixal ignores her programming, and does her best to follow Lloyd’s rambling instructions, watching as his scarred fingers tug another thread of dull gold through the green mess of fabric, the city quiet around them.

“You never did tell me where you learned how to sew,” Pixal says, as Lloyd starts up a new thread of black on the other side of the gi. “Was that something the others taught you in training?”

“They’d have to know how to be able to teach it,” Lloyd snickers. “And, uh, no. I taught myself to back at Darkley’s.”

“Oh,” Pixal falters. She’s heard about Darkley’s, both from Zane and the legal reports she’s read online. Neither gave a positive impression of the place. Her mind is suddenly filled with images of a younger Lloyd trying to give himself stitches, and her heart twists.

Lloyd starts, seemingly having picked up on her train of thought. “I mean, I did it for fun, mostly. I like sewing,” he explains. “It’s useful. You can pull things back together, and fix ‘em.”

Pixal is quiet, but she hopes Lloyd takes her silence as agreement with his motive. She likes to think he knows her well enough for that, by now.

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

Pixal finds, somewhere during their fourth month alone, that she’s glad the team elected to stick her and Lloyd together. Not because she doesn’t want to be with Zane — there’s never a moment she doesn’t miss him, and with every day that passes her resolve to keep her secret from him grows weaker, as the longing for actual connection grows stronger.

But there are conversations she can have with Lloyd that she can never have with Zane, and the dangerous thing about spending time with Lloyd, Pixal finds, is that they’re more similar than she’s realized.

“Sometimes I think I’m jealous,” Lloyd whispers to her one night. It’s one of the bad ones, the ones where their enemies struck too sudden to stop, and the mission ends in the hospital. “I think I’m jealous of Zane, and I hate myself for it.”

Pixal is quiet, trying to pick apart the tone of his voice in the words he’s just spoken, and factors in the victims they’ve just left behind at the hospital. She finds herself no closer to an answer.

“Is it the metal skin part?” she finally asks, though she knows that’s wrong. “The, what was it, technical immortality?”

“No,” Lloyd shakes his head. “I’m not afraid of dying,” he says emphatically, his fingers fluttering at over the steering wheel, tapping incessantly with unspent energy. “I don’t want to, but that’s — it’s not what I’m scared of. I’m more scared of how I go out.”

He swallows, and his fingers move to dance over the woven bracelet on his wrist instead, twisting at the tiny beads and tracing senseless designs in constant, steady movement. It’s a motion he does often, and it had puzzled Pixal at first. She’d decided to write it off as an odd tick, a way to spend excess energy.

Now, she recognizes the desperate kind of reassurance that movement gives. She understands too well the need to remind yourself that you can move — that your body will obey you and you alone.

Pixal thinks back to the other factors in tonight’s accident, of the way the drugged man’s eyes had cleared when they’d finally turned him over to the police, the way he’d sworn he’d never do such a thing in his right mind. She thinks of the way the first victim had thrown themselves over their companion.

That victim hadn’t made it to the hospital.

“Ah,” Pixal says, quietly.

She’s silent again, and she thinks back to when she’d met him, the very first time. She recalls the way her programming had rebelled against her in favor of the Overlord, corrupting her body and forcing it against her, twisting everything she was and wanted to be into something different.

She thinks back again, to the searing-hot anger, the terror, the despair as she was torn apart, piece by piece like a machine, burning out at the whims of another. Her end purposeless, her demise belonging to someone else, just like every other part of her.

She thinks of the last glimpse she’d caught of Zane, bright and beautiful as a supernova. Burning with the terrible brilliance of his own, determined choice. Terrible, because the death of something always is. Beautiful, because it was his own. Zane died, not a machine, not a weapon, not a tool of anyone or anything, but as himself. Zane died to save the ones he loves. Pixal could’ve died for spare parts.

Never again, she promises herself. If she goes out, she goes out on her own terms. This time, they choose the end of their own destiny themselves.

In hindsight, it’s the kind of promise they’re both too young to make, but neither of them have ever seen themselves as such, and promises like that are easy.

“Love can be terrible, sometimes,” Lloyd murmurs. Pixal watches him scrub at the blood on his uniform, and thinks how ironically well-timed it is that he finished the stitching on his new gi this morning. “Sometimes I forget how ugly it can be.”

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

The end of their nighttime stakeouts begins with a break-in at Mr. Borg’s tower. Lloyd argues that she should get to call it her father’s tower, if she wants, but the ninja aren’t the only ones Pixal’s hiding herself from.

And then Lloyd gets very tense at the thought of fathers very fast, and they never finish the conversation.

They stay at the edge of the bridge long after the parachute, emblazoned with the unmistakable visage of Lloyd’s father, disappears from sight. Pixal wonders if it’s burned into Lloyd’s eyes, like the way she’s read black spots linger in humans’ vision after they’ve looked at something too bright. The way Lloyd stares at the river, his shoulders tense and his teeth worrying at his lip, she thinks she might be right.

They’re waiting on the report from the commissioner —they’re waiting for anything, anyone who can offer them any explanation of what’s going on. Pixal’s reminded of how much she loathes this kind of waiting.

“It could be—” Lloyd begins, then breaks off, his voice wavering. He swallows, and Pixal can see the way his fists clench tightly from the cameras they’ve put in his car. There’s a fierce part of her that longs to reveal herself, to meet his eyes herself and offer some semblance of comfort. But there’s a time and place for things, and Pixal isn’t ready.

“It could be anything,” Lloyd finally continues, his voice small. “It could — it doesn’t mean anything. It could mean nothing, right?”

Pixal is silent, her mind racing. She’s run the calculations over and over in her head already, scouring the internet for anything related to the bikers. She’s been foolish, she realizes — they both have. Letting the gang go unnamed for so long, thinking nothing of it. Now, with the name flashing vibrant across Pixal’s vision, a part of her wants to let them go nameless just a bit longer.

Before she can answer, Lloyds phone goes off with a sharp ping, just as Pixal’s sensors alert her to the message from the commissioner. Lloyd snatches for his phone like it’s on fire, and Pixal’s already scanning the message frantically, as if she can salvage this if she’s fast enough, save Lloyd from this one pain.

Lloyd’s gotten much better at reading quickly though, these days.

She can pinpoint the moment he reaches the last paragraph, because his breath hitches. There’s a long, pressing pause of silence, Lloyd’s hands trembling as they clutch weakly at his phone. Then it’s punctured by a reedy, wheezing gasp, and Pixal’s suddenly wishing she’d revealed herself after all.

Instead, all she has is her voice as Lloyd crumples, crouching over in visible distress. Pixal’s mind races, recalling everything Zane’s ever told her about his team, the way their panic manifests in different shades. Lloyd’s is quiet but desperate, rapid breathes that stutter as his eyes slide more and more into a frightening kind of blankness.

“Lloyd, please, listen to my voice,” she begs, trying to reach him in the only way she can. “Please, you have to breathe—”

“He’s gone,” Lloyd rasps, unhearing of her words. “He’s s’posed to be gone, it’s supposed to be over, I’m supposed to be done—”

Pixal fights back the sense of overwhelming helplessness. She knows loss. She knows how to finish his sentence. He’s supposed to be done grieving, done mourning, done clinging to false scraps of hope that his father isn’t lost forever only to be met with heartbreak.

And now, to be met with the possibility of something so much worse.

“We’ll stop them,” she tells him, unflinching. “We won’t let it happen.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a vivid green where they stare at her through the monitor, almost ghostly in the misting light reflecting from the river.

He’s silent, but Pixal is, too.

Pixal remembers the way her head had spun when she’d first picked up the traces of Zane in the system, how the world had rushed then steadied, flooding with color as she’d realized he might not be lost after all. She remembers the surging, overwhelming flood of joy, that someone she’d thought she lost might live after all. She remembers being so happy, at even the smallest chance to get him back, because the voice was Zane’s, without a doubt.

She watches the color seep from Lloyd’s expression as his shoulders shudder, the words from the commissioner’s message almost echoing through the air. Watches the terror as the both of them fill the silence.

Will we?

The radio scratches, as if echoing Pixal’s anxiety. Love can be terrible, sometimes. She’s underestimated how it also be so cruel.

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

She’s also, apparently, underestimated how the universe on the whole could be so cruel.

She should’ve revealed herself to them from day one. That way, when Harumi’s corrupted programming suddenly ravages through her like an electric shock, she could be reassured they’d at least be familiar with the person they were fighting.

Instead, she doesn’t even get to scream. Pixal’s only able to force out a desperate, broken warning before she’s lost again, drowning in her own body as she’s forced under. Furious panic grips her as she screams without lungs, bashing herself against the overwhelming helplessness that’s taken over her.

Not again, not again, not again—

Her limbs creak and jolt against her will, lashing out at the people she cares most about, and Pixal can’t even rage back in her own voice. She’s sworn, she’s promised herself she’d never let anyone do this to her again — she’s sworn she’d die before she let someone reach into her head and snatch control away, and yet here she is, frozen as her body’s used to target her friends.

If she could cry, she might.

There’s not much more to say than that. She breaks free, her body her own once again, but by then it’s too late.

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

If Pixal had the same gift of foresight that Zane did, maybe she would have seen it coming. Maybe she’d have remembered how similar her and Lloyd are, and that this kind of pained desperation always yields impulsiveness and mistakes.

She doesn’t, though. She barely even manages to do what she’s trying to, which is convincing Lloyd to join the others while they celebrate their victory. Their off-key singing is something he normally wouldn’t hesitate to join in on, she thinks, and she hates Harumi a little more.

Maybe she’ll try his mother next. The expression on Lloyd’s face screams unapproachable, and remains fixedly sullen.

Almost to her surprise, he meets her eyes as she draws near— it’s odd, being able to meet his back — and his own eyes are dark, from despair over Harumi or despair over his father, Pixal isn’t sure. She’s thinking it might be both, when his eyebrows crease, and a flicker of concern cuts through them instead.

“You good?”

It takes her a moment to realize why he’s asking, but the answer is obvious. Her head tilts downward, and she watches as her fingers curl and uncurl. Her movements, her choices. She lets out an even breath.

“As I can be,” she replies. Lloyd nods, and his eyes are understanding. His lips twist in a scowl.

“She shouldn’t have done that to you. That was a low blow.”

Pixal’s mouth curves into a humorless smile. “That it was. She’s rather good at those, isn’t she.”

Lloyd’s eyes shadow again, and he looks away, crossing his arms. “This isn’t supposed to be about me,” he mutters.

“Yes, it is,” Pixal counters. “It is why I came over here, in the first place. She hurt—”

“All of us, and who’s fault is that,” Lloyd snaps, his arms crossing tighter.

“I would hope you know it’s hers,” she says, holding firm.

Lloyd looks away again, biting his lip, and Pixal shifts anxiously, rolling her wrists. The sensation of control sliding away still haunts her, worse than it had the first time. She should be better than this, she tells herself hotly. She’s lived without a body long enough that losing it so briefly shouldn’t effect her this much.

Curse her programming, she thinks, tapping agitatedly at the banister. She knew she should have reinforce it sooner.

“Hey, um.” Lloyd is looking at her again, hesitant. He twists at his bracelet, and his eyes lose a fraction of that darkness. “Kai made this for me, after Morro,” he says. “I kept shredding the sleeves of my uniform, so he told me to mess with this instead, when I needed to remember that…that I was in control.”

He shrugs, hesitant. “We could make you one too, if you wanted. It helps, having something.”

Pixal lets out a steady breath, despite not actually needing to. The action is grounding, she’s found. “I would like that.”

Lloyd gives her a ghost of a smile in return. “Soon as this is over, then.”

There’s a heavy weight to his words, and Pixal’s eyes narrow.

“Lloyd,” she says. He looks at her, his eyes dark. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

He’s quiet, not meeting her eyes, and this is where Pixal should stop him. This is when she should see the end of the road they’ve been on since they started this, and force him to turn before it’s too late.

“I know what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t.

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

Lloyd is battered and bleeding by the time they drag him onto the ship, a gruesome portrait of cruelty. Pixal is frozen as she watches him writhe in Kai’s hold, his screams cracked and wet as he thrashes erratically like a broken thing.

Nya is already barking orders before they’ve even gotten Lloyd fully on the ship, and Zane is running scans with a horrified, wavering focus. Pixal follows Cole as he carries Lloyd to the medbay with a blank numbness, the rush of wind streaming past the Bounty sails thunderously loud in her ears.

This isn’t Lloyd, she thinks, staring at his crumpled form. Lloyd isn’t this battered, broken shell of a person. Lloyd isn’t hazy eyes that fail to recognize them and frantic murmuring through bloody lips. Lloyd is bright-eyed and gentle and would rather die before he screams the way he does when Cole moves him to the table.

Lloyd is her friend, and this is where that promise they made has led them. She knows why Lloyd set out for the prison, hot on the collapse of his own star. She also knows he wouldn’t have chosen to burn out like this.

Cole calls out for Zane, his voice ringing in panic as Lloyd screeches in pain again. Pixal thinks of quiet words in the safety of his car, and she feels sick. This is the ugliness of love, the terrible, hideous side of it.

And Lloyd would hate it, if he could see himself, if he were any semblance of lucid. He’d hate to know just how much better he was at breaking himself than Morro ever was.

Zane is gentle as he pushes past her, but Pixal can feel the tremble in his hands. He’s every bit as rattled as she is, if not more so — Zane’s heart is larger and softer than hers has ever been, and he cares about each and every one of them with a painful intensity. It’s a cruel thing, to have to pull those same people back together with your own hands.

Kai’s eyes are streaming as he clutches at Lloyd’s wrists, pinning him in place. Zane’s hands waver again over one of the jagged wounds near Lloyd’s ribcage, the green of his uniform already dyed dark in blood, soaking over the careful stitches Pixal watched him put in himself.

Pixal finally finds her footing, reminding herself of the solid wood beneath her feet. She recalls the steady, smooth stitch Lloyd’s scarred fingers traced out for her.

“Here.” She takes the needle from Zane’s hands, squeezing his briefly before letting go. “I can do it.”

She sets the needle against Lloyd’s skin and wonders what kind of stitch it’d take to pull your heart back together.

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

Pixal cannot cry. It’s one of the features Mr. Borg spent hours debating, weighing the pros and cons of giving her the ability before he was truly sure how rust-proof she was. He’d never gotten the chance to, as the Overlord had interrupted him, then Pixal had lost any body to give the ability to cry to, which had eliminated the need entirely.

She cannot cry, but she can hurt, and the rain that streams through her hair, dripping down her forehead spotting raindrops on her cheeks, could be tears if she pretended.

She doesn’t, though, because tears are a waste of water and overall useless in the grand scheme of things. She doubts they’d have helped her fare any better in the battle with Colossi, either.

Tears won’t bring anyone back.

Lloyd cries anyways. She can’t see him, but she can hear it in his voice, the way it wavers and breaks over the radio, nasally tones pronounced.

He’s barely able to gasp a few coordinates to her before he cuts the radio off abruptly. Pixal’s spent enough time with him to envision his scarred fingers snapping it off with a particular desperation, green sparking from his hands in distress.

She reminds herself those sparks are gone, now, bled away into nothing like the vivid green of Lloyd’s eyes had. The thought makes her sadder than she’d expected. She had a joke, about his eyes, she had wanted to make. Now that she has a body, and her own set of glowing green eyes, she’d — there was something he would’ve laughed at, she thought —

It doesn’t matter, now. Neither of them are likely to laugh anytime soon.

The coordinates blink brightly in her vision, and she’s almost surprised she managed to key them in. She’s running on autopilot, she supposes. It could be ironic — she’s been so desperate for control, it’s been so important that she’s the one feeling. Now, she’d give anything not to feel at all.

She lets out a shaky breath, dispelling the mist in her vision left from the rain. She leans forward, just over the edge of the building she’s crouched on, and her loose hair falls forward, silvery and synthetic and horribly tangled. Irritated, she reaches for another hair tie, and her hands falter around her wrist.

Lloyd had promised her a bracelet there. But he’d promised Kai would make the bracelet, hadn’t he, and Kai couldn’t make the bracelet if he was dead, could he.

Pixal blinks, her breath hitching. She’s been so numb to the pain of Zane’s loss, it hasn’t yet occurred to her that she’s losing Kai, too. And Jay, and Cole, and—

She sucks in the same shuddery kind of breath she’s seen Lloyd do, and carefully fists her hand in the area of her uniform above her chest. Her fingers dig in tightly, clutching in a hopeless attempt to feel some sort of comfort she knows she’ll never find.

But perhaps, for these few seconds, she can pretend the action is holding her together.

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

“It was inevitable,” Pixal tells Lloyd blankly, as he rasps out his third apology in the dark cover of their small hideout. “That one of us would fall, eventually. It had nothing to do with you.”

Lloyd swallows thickly. “It could’ve — it should’ve been—”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Pixal’s hand shoots out, clamping tightly around his wrist, and there’s a beat of gratitude that she doesn’t need to rely on her voice alone anymore.

“Don’t.” Her voice is strung tighter than the tension in their shoulders. “You cannot change anything. You can’t, Lloyd, and you should not wish to — to change it that way.”

Lloyd jerks his hand free, wiping miserably at his eyes. He sets it back down within her reach, though, and if Pixal were any different, she’d take it.

But Pixal isn’t that different from Lloyd at all in the end, and neither of them reach for the other’s hand, no matter how desperately they crave the contact. Fear is more familiar, and it’s easier to give into it than it is the clawing need for comfort in your chest, after all.

“Still,” Lloyd finally whispers. “Still.”

Pixal swallows. She doesn’t disagree. If one of them had to fall, she knows she gladly would have taken it upon herself. She knows the others care for her, certainly, but she also knows her place in the grand scheme of things. They were six before she came along, and even now she’s kept far too many secrets to be fully counted among them.

She listens to Lloyd’s quiet, cracked voice, and she wonders if he’s thinking that they were five before he came along, younger than Pixal got to know him as.

Now they’re three, hollow and heartbroken. Though counting herself as one whole feels like cheating, right now.

Pixal squeezes her eyes shut, and wonders what it’s like to cry. Perhaps it helps, though Lloyd doesn’t look any less miserable.

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

“I was thinking,” Lloyd tells her, during one of the precious few quiet moments they have while trying to overthrow Garmadon and Harumi. Pixal’s turning the tiny tea flower he’d given her over in her hands, a part of her mind already marking articles about flower-pressing, another part wondering if it’s already too late to save the blossom. “About that promise we made, before all this.”

Pixal finally tucks the flower into the pocket of her uniform, pressed close to her chest. If anything, it can be a reminder of the lives that are safe — the life that’s coming back to her, if she has to drag him back from another realm herself. “And?”

Lloyd’s hands twist together. “Maybe we should focus more on staying alive.”

Pixal coughs out a laugh, breathless and startled. Lloyd wrinkles his nose at her, but his eyes are amused, even with their light lost. “I mean, the emphasis would be on keeping everyone else alive, but it’s kinda hard to do that if we’re dead, so…yeah. Priorities.”

“Staying alive should always be a priority,” Pixal corrects him, but she tugs the edge of his armor out of place with a smile.

“Why didn’t you teach me how to graffiti?” she nods at the designs on the green leather. “Or was this another Darkley’s tradition.”

“This is a refined art, called whatever I had on me that showed up on dark green,” Lloyd grumbles, fixing his armor. “I’ll teach it to you when we get out of this.”

“Another reason why staying alive would be a more productive focus,” Pixal points out. “I’ve heard teaching is easier when you’re alive.”

“And I’ve heard you’re a real riot,” Lloyd mutters. “It’s a promise, okay? I promise to teach you how to do cool armor design if you promise not to disappear into another realm on me.”

Pixal nods, adjusting her own armor tighter as screams ring out from a street nearby. “A promise, then.”

She keeps both the promise and the flower, the tiny blossom dried and faded by the time she’s escaped from the prison, heart racing with leftover adrenaline as Zane sweeps her into his arms. She clutches back every bit as tight, listening to his breathless laughter as cheers rise from the streets behind them, the smoke drifting across the early morning sky above them pale against the lightening blue. Pixal buries her face in his shoulder and breathes, tucking the moment away in her heart where it won’t fade. There’s a future stretching out before her, and she’s got the limbs to walk her path on her own, but all she wants right now is the steady ground beneath her feet and the bright laughter of what she’s managed to keep.

Lloyd meets them shortly after, his own promise kept as he tears his gaze from his father, handing him off to the authorities before sprinting for the others. Pixal barely snags a moment alone with him, and even then no one’s particularly keen on letting him out of their sights.

He meets her eyes as they pick their way through the wrecked streets, the city more alive around them than it’s been in weeks. In the dark of the early morning, Pixal’s eyes glow a bright green, reflecting oddly in the windows they pass. It’s always been her preferred color, in contrast to Zane’s bright blue. Lloyd glances at her, his own eerily green eyes glowing back. He bites his lip, but it’s to hold back real laughter this time.

“My eyes were green first,” she tells him.

“Sue me,” he shoots back, before Kai’s throwing an arm over his shoulders again, tucking Lloyd neatly in between him and Nya. Pixal smothers a laugh at the look on his face, and tightens her own arm further where it’s linked firmly in Zane’s.

It’s going to be an easy promise to keep, she thinks.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #pixal #there was a point to this but it got lost in pix and lloyd do arts and crafts #either way i'd die for both these characters #ninjago where is the pixal love i miss her #my fic

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marriael · 4 years

Text

Be my Latibule? (Changbin x Reader)

@skzrequests

Request: My pace 24 w changbin? uwu im a sucker for the idea of tattooist bin lmao I so vibed with this request, I love thinking about tattoist bin

Word count: 3717

a/n: part of the reason this took so long is I had to restart it twice :(

You walk into work at Insomnia Coffee Shop and your co-worker, Sohee, greets you.

“Anyone fun yet?” You ask. She's usually in when the store opens and often gets the most interesting customers.

“Not today. But yesterday a cute guy came in and ordered 3 americanos. Turns out it was for him and 2 friends. I tried to give them for free cause he looked half dead but he wouldn't let me. Who even does that?“

While she was talking you had slipped on the ugly orange apron and scowl when you noticed someone double knotted and didn't untie the strings.

You shake your head, “probably a college student pulling an all-nighter. What college student turns down free anything? Ugh, I wish some cute barista offered me free coffee, just, ever.”

Sohee turns and passes the drink over the counter. “For Jeno!”

A cute guy comes up to grab and winks at her before he turns to the door. Your jaw drops a little and you slap her shoulder.

“Is he a regular?” You ask.

“Nope. Said he got a recommendation from a friend and went out of his way to come. Weird day to do it though.”

You hum as the next customer comes in and you get thoroughly distracted. It isn’t until he comes up to the counter and speaks that you stop staring blankly.

“1 latte, 1 americano,” his voice is low and rough and he’s a little bit intimidating honestly. He’s got a small bit of a tattoo poking out one of the sleeves and you try and look at it before you have to turn around.

“Is that a tattoo?” You ask him when you turn around.

He rolls the short sleeve up to his shoulder to expose the full tattoo and you stare at the simple beauty of the moon and stars.

“Woah, that’s cool!” Sohee must’ve seen him just in her peripheral… or she was staring like you. You nod emphatically in agreement.

He blushes a little and says “thanks. Couldn’t reach this part of my arm or else I would’ve done it myself, but I still drew it.”

“Do you work at a tattoo parlour then?”

“Yeah, I do a lot of the designs for our place,”

You gasp, “can I come look at them? Please?” You pout trying to convince him to accept your strange request. You just felt something pulling you towards these drawings and the man who made them.

He looks at you for a moment then says, “yeah, let me give you the address. When you come in just ask for Changbin.”

He pulls out a random business card, not his unfortunately, and writes down the address. He slides it over and covers his smile with a sip.

You turn back to the coffee machines as he walks out the door but Mina stops you.

“Changbin huh? He was pretty cute,” she smirks.

“Hush your mouth and get back to work, brat.”

“Nuh-uh! I get to leave now but if, no no not if when, you meet him we're talking about this later.”

The next day was Tuesday and, thankfully, it was mostly empty of things for you. So you pull out the piece of paper Changbin gave you and looked up the address.

It was just a couple blocks down from the coffee shop and you head out. The building is small and squished right between a bakery and a florist, basically some cheesy romance just waiting to happen.

You walked in and looked around. There were corkboards on either sidewall and they were filled with drawings pinned to them. The bottoms of them fluttered a little at the draft you brought with you.

When you looked at him the man behind the counter raised an eyebrow at you. Ah, so it was very obvious you wouldn't be in here often.

You let out a little nervous laugh, “hi, Changbin told me to come see him here?”

The man raised both eyebrows at that. You fiddled as he looked you over again then laughed a little. “Changbin!” He suddenly yelled.

From one of the closed side rooms comes a muffled voice “go away Chan, I’m busy!”

The man at the desk, Chan, turns back to you “sorry, he’s always like this. He’s probably just sketching a custom.”

“Oh, I can come back later if he’s busy.”

Chan doesn’t answer you and instead yells at Changbin again “I know you’re not actually busy. Your partner is here to see you!”

“Hey!” You protest but Chan just grins at you as you hear the door open.

“Chan what the hell are you-” Changbin cuts himself off and gently smiles when he sees you “hey, didn’t think you were actually gonna come.”

You smile back at him. He looks much softer when he’s smiling and you were briefly caught off guard.

“Tell me again about how you’re not dating or at least interested, “ Chan’s eyes flick between the shy but wide smiles on yours and Changbin’s faces.

Changbin rolls his eyes but inclines his head towards the door he was behind and you follow behind him. He closes the door most of the way behind you and then moves to sit at the desk in the far corner. There are more drawings in here and you assume all of them are his. It’s a wide variety of subjects, from small sketches of animals and plants to large and detailed fantasy creatures.

“Sorry about Chan, he’s always delighted in teasing anyone who’s younger than him,” Changbin shakes his head, probably at Chan even though he can’t see or hear in the room.

“Have you two known each other a long time then?” You ask and tilt your head a little.

“Ah, yeah,” Changbin looks at you again, “most of us met in high school and a couple joined right at the start of college. College was really when our whole group started getting close, too.”

“Sounds nice,” you were paying attention to him, promise, but with such wonderful drawings surrounding you, you really couldn’t help it if your attention drifted a bit.

Changbin notices and raises an eyebrow slightly, “interested in getting one?”

“What? Oh, no no, not right now at least. They’re just… really, really good.”

Changbin immediately looks down and smiles, and you could swear he was blushing a bit but when he looks back up it's gone.

“There’s a couple hidden ones in here that aren’t mine. Think you can spot ‘em?” He challenges.

You immediately head up to one of the boards and stand about 5 centimetres away. You push a couple of them up and out of the way, making sure to be careful. There really is all sorts of stuff, Changbin must be pretty busy. A rushing river done with such detail you can almost see it moving. Swirls that when you look just right suddenly snap into focus to make an abstract, soaring bird. Nature moulded with a person or item in such a seamless way that there is not a difference between them, they are simply one continuous sight.

You’re looking for hidden drawings, not ogling at Changbin’s skills. Right. When you move one more there is a small piece of paper. There is… something on it. Either Changbin drew this when he was about 5 years old or it was someone else.

“Hey, I found one. I don’t even know what this is though, it looks like a squiggle.”

Changbin laughs, “hold on.”

He comes and looks right over your shoulder. You can feel his hot breath on your ear and feel his chest move when he laughs at the drawing again. You quickly reign in the slight disappointment when he moves away.

“Yeah, that’s the thing Chan keeps trying to make our mascot. Felix and I won’t let him so until one of us breaks it’s two against one,” he shrugs and it doesn’t look like he feels bad at all.

“Do all your friends have a drawing stashed in here somewhere?”

“Well, I’ve seen at least 16 drawings put in here so yes they all have one. Some of them and Felix, Jisung’s special twin, has hidden at least 4. There’s probably more that he did when I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Ugh, how many friends do you even have. If it’s more than, like, 6 I might be genuinely angry.”

Changbin practically cackles, “well then get ready to be absolutely furious. There’s 9 of us, including myself and everyone I’ve already mentioned.”

“That’s not even fair! How have you all been friends for so long without someone murdering someone else.”

“Oh, believe me. Seungmin’s wanted to. Unfortunately, his best friends are some of our greatest problem children. Though sometimes I'm pretty sure he'll murder them first.”

“Any other possible murderers I should worry about seeing?” You flip a couple more pictures up, still passively looking for any other weird drawings.

“Hm, Minho's murderous intentions are usually directed at Jisung. He'd do it for his cats too, though. He definitely fits in well.”

“Were there concerns about him not fitting in?”

“Yeah 'cause, he was the last one to join us, but he’s just as chaotic if not more. For Chan’s graduation night he insisted on using some mini firework things he found. Nearly lit himself and Jisung on fire with the very first one.”

Something clicks in your brain. You’ve heard this story before, from one of your random classmates. He was… interesting, to put it politely.

“Are you talking about Lee Minho? The smug bastard who tried to get everyone to call him Lee Know for like 5 months? And Han Jisung, my co-worker kind of, that I’m pretty sure hates me for some reason?”

“Wait, you know them? And why do you think Jisung hates you?”

“Yeah, Minho was my weird classmate. I’m like 90% sure Jisung hates me because he barely looks at me and gives one-word answers to all of my questions. I don’t really see him other than during shift switches but still!”

“I think Minho actually might have mentioned you before. And Jisung is just like that around people he doesn’t know. Trust me, he actually has the capacity to be the loudest person in the room. By far.”

“Huh, I wonder how many of your friends I actually know.”

"Well, we're hanging out on Thursday. Do you want to come with and meet some more of them?”

You hum thoughtfully, thinking of any possible commitments you had made lately, “I probably can but can I bring Sohee? Just so I know someone there?”

“Do I still not count as someone you know?” He whines and pouts a little for the extra effect.

“Not enough. If you all go off on some inside joke I need someone to be confused with.”

“Actually fair, because it might happen. I’ll let you know when and where we’re going later then.”

You pull out your phone and extend it to him, when he looks at it confused you raise an eyebrow, “unless you plan to send it by bird I recommend putting your number in my phone.”

He makes a surprised noise and keeps his eyes away from you and on your phone. It has not spread to his face but under his dark hair his bright red ears peek out just enough for you to see. Even when handing it back he doesn’t look at you and you smile at his bashfulness.

“See ya soon, Bin. I work again tomorrow.”

Directions are not always your strong suit. You’d like to believe they are and that’s how you end up like this, no map and unsure of what direction you should even look in.

“You look lost,” a voice comes from behind you.

You spin around. A tall puppy-like guy is standing behind you, he looks slightly amused and you’re betting it’s at your expense.

“Yeah, do you know where M.I.A Café is?”

“Oh,” he nods, “yeah I’m going there. Let’s go.”

It’s slightly awkward, walking this distance with someone you don’t know. You search your brain with how to start a conversation with someone.

“Are you… meeting someone at the café?” You ask, slightly awkward.

“Yeah, a couple of my friends.”

“Huh, so am I. Well, actually, it’s someone else’s friends and I’m just kinda tagging along,” you shrug, realizing how awkward this will probably be.

“Good luck with that,” he says as he holds the door for you.

You enter and scan the tables for Changbin’s face. You wave and slip into the chair opposite him. On the edge of the table thankfully, hopefully Sohee can recognize the back of your head. Someone sits next to you and you get a little shock seeing who it is.

He grins at you, “hey stranger.”

The guy you walked all that way with one of Changbin’s friends!

Changbin looks between you confusedly, “you know Seungmin?”

“He helped me get here. I might have gotten a little lost.”

“A little, ok. You had no idea where you were,” Seungmin snarks.

“Maybe so!”

“Well good to know you get along with another one of my friends already,” Changbin interjects.

Someone comes up and sits beside Changbin.

“Hey, I’m Hyunjin,” he greets you simply.

You give him a little wave. You don’t like judging people so fast but he’s a little intimidating.

You hear a little scrape of a chair beside and Sohee pops down at the end of the table.

“Sohee, you made it!”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” she sticks out her tongue at you.

“I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Hyunjin speaks up and you whip your head towards him.

Sohee looks at him and squints for a moment. They start looking at each other for so long that you think they’re actually just having a staring contest. You think you recognize someone walking outside but when you actually look out the window you have no idea who any of them are. It’s still a nice day out, maybe you can go out somewhere after this.

“Oh! You’re the guy I thought was going to drink 3 americanos the other day!”

“Sohee~” you sing.

“What?” She looks at you, annoyed.

“You forgot an important detail that you told me about him.”

She looks genuinely confused for a moment before catching on and shaking her head, “shut up, nope nope nope.”

“You think he’s cute!” You cackle.

You, Changbin, and Seungmin make fun of Sohee and Hyunjin for a little while. It backfires when Sohee manages to sneakily turn the attention on you, well you and Changbin. Together, you being together.

“Yeah, and you stared at him for so long when he came in!” Sohee says.

“Sohee, kindly shut your mouth,” you reply, smiling the most pained and fake smile ever.

“Ok, please don’t pour your drink on me, I’m afraid. Also we work together so I’m coming for you.”

You just roll your eyes at her, you didn’t actually scare her and you both know that. She just likes to be some sort of annoying sister to you.

Hyunjin clears his throat and when you look at him his eyes are bright. He smiles sneakily and says, “you should hear about the time Changbin actually poured his drink on someone.”

“Hyunjin that was an accident and you know it!” Changbin exclaims, attempting to shoulder check a giggling Hyunjin.

You breeze into Blueprint Tattoos and Chan looks up in surprise.

“Hey there, didn’t know you were coming in today.”

You let out a single, unnatural ‘ha’, “I didn’t know either but uh, here I am.”

“Well, Changbin’s in his usual spot. I don’t think he has anything today.”

“Thanks,” you nod stiffly.

Looking around at the cork boards you can see some of them definitely done in Changbin’s style and a handful more you suspect would be his. You breathe out heavily and slouch a little before straightening and walking towards where Changbin should be, full of false confidence.

“Are you ok?” Chan asks and when you look over his eyebrows are furrowed and his forehead pinched down a little. The concern from someone you barely know is a little unusual but the warmth you get from it is welcoming.

“Yeah, just a little nervous you know?” You force a small laugh but you know it’s not convincing.

“Oh!” Chan exclaims, “well if this is what I think it is then good luck.”

Chan’s face is completely relaxed and you feel a little bit bad for making him worry so much. You’re not entirely sure what he thinks you’re doing but you smile at his kindness as you open Changbin’s door.

He has headphones in and doesn’t hear when you close the door behind you. You stand there for a minute, back against the door, just looking at him. Most people move to what they’re listening to but the only thing moving is his hand and it glides across the page. You have no idea what he’s doing but you just hope he’ll show it to you when he’s done.

You take a big breath in and out before approaching him. Tapping his shoulder gently you hope not to cause him to jerk his arm and ruin a line or anything. He stops completely and pulls his headphones out. He looks a little annoyed but then he looks up to see you and his face eases.

“Hi! I didn’t know you were coming today. Anything specific on the brain or did you just want to hang out with Best Friend Binnie?” He gives you an exaggerated and comical wink.

“Give me a tattoo?” You say, surprisingly calm for how jittery you actually feel.

“Wait, what? Are you sure? Like really sure?”

You roll your eyes like a stereotypical teenager would at their parents, that is to say, so far back it felt like they would disappear into your head, “no, Changbin, I’m not sure. I’ve really only been thinking about it basically since the first time I walked into this room.”

“That was only a week ago,” Changbin deadpans.

“Yeah, and?”

Changbin shakes his head, “I’m not going to give you a tattoo you’ll regret.”

You look around at the drawings. Feeling like that one action gave this decision away as way more spontaneous than it had originally seemed. Yes, you had been thinking about getting one and getting Changbin to do it for you but doing it today specifically was a complete impulse.

“I’m not going to regret it! Bin, please,” you pout at him.

Changbin tilts his head to look at the ceiling as if it will give him some guidance.

“What do you want?”

You clap your hands excitedly and then hesitate again.

“Well, I know I want a flower but… I want you to choose which one. I want it to be a flower with a good meaning behind it.”

Changbin nods and stands there considering your request. You take the time to look around his office again. Staring at all the intricate drawings on the walls you feel a bit dorky choosing to get a simple flower. Your eyes briefly catch on two stylized drawings of the word SpearB. One of them has a cute little ‘Binnie~’ under it and the other has a messy ‘Chanathan’ in English and Korean.

There are a couple of flowers scattered throughout the room so you’re a bit surprised when you hear Changbin ripping a page out of his sketchbook. His back is to you so you can’t see him cutting it down to a size to la and trace on your body. You can hear the gentle snips of scissors as you distract yourself with rows of flowers connected and individual petals with such detail you could believe them being real.

You watch as he gently traces the pattern onto your skin. You don’t recognize the flower right away but it looks delicate and beautiful. You think you catch him glancing up at you a few times but you’re pretty sure the clock is behind you and he’s looking at that.

You zone out almost entirely as he prepares. Well, it’s not exactly zoning out. You’d say it’s appreciation of an attractive man, your friends would say that you’re just checking him out.

Ok, so what if you are? Changbin’s shirt has no sleeves which means his arms are on full display which means that you can’t stop looking at the muscles flexing as he moves. Thankfully you’re conscious enough to look away when he turns back around.

The buzz of the gun wakes you up and Changbin is looking at you.

“All good?” He asks.

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

You watch for a moment as he starts going and the ink sinks permanently into your skin. It’s a strange thing to conceptualize, something being on your body forever. You catch a glimpse of Changbin’s concentrated face and you get completely distracted by him. If this is what he looks like everytime he gives a tattoo then you want to observe, even study, him.

His mouth is set in a firm line and eyebrows pinched slight inwards and downwards. His eyes are wide and focused and if you look closely enough you can see every slight movement of his irises following his hand around.

Neither of you say a word and you don’t dare move to try and look at the clock or your phone. Just watching and waiting in silence, but together. A shared silence is different than one had alone.

Silences by yourself can feel wrong sometimes but this kind of silence with Changbin feels so right that you almost never want it to end.

Good things often come quicker than they should and soon the buzzing stops. You can hear phantom buzzing still and suspect you will for quite a while. You lift your arm and look at it, it’s finished now but you’re still not sure what it is and certainly not what it means.

“What is it?” You ask.

“An almond blossom. It, uh, it means promise.”

“Promise, huh?” You grin and look at Changbin's pink-ish face.

You expect him to have some witty comment but instead, he just smiles goofily and breathlessly says, “yeah.”

92 notes · View notes

bumblesimagines · 4 years

Text

Lie

Request: Yes or No

I heard you told your friends that I'm just not your type

If that's how you really feel, then why'd you call last night?

You say all I ever do is just control your life

But how you gonna lie like that, how you gonna lie like that?

"Yeah, nah, man. (Y/N) is dope, but he's just not my type, ya know? I think I was just.. Experimenting with what I like." Chuck explained to his friends. (Y/N) played with his lighter, flickering it on and off as an amused smile tugged at his lips. He pretended not to listen, headphones in but music low.

"I hope we can stay friends cause he's the chillest guy I know." He finally brought the lighter up to his cigarette, lighting it and flicking it off.

"He was kind of.. Controlling in a way? Not possessive or toxic. You know how chicks get when they think you're cheating? Like that." (Y/N) almost snorted but held it back. He pulled the cigarette away from his lips and stood up from the bench, passing by the guys without a glance.

Yeah, I heard you said I ain't the type for you

I don't regret it though, I learned from it

They should have you locked up for all the time you stole from us (Woo)

Took you out when I had no money

Only person that you ever cared about was you, that's why it's so funny

(Y/N) didn't have much of reaction when news spread of his and Chuck's breakup. He found it a bit amusing. Chuck tried to make people feel bad for him but at the same time make (Y/N) look good as well. Maybe from guilt or to keep (Y/N) as a just in case. He knew there was good inside of Chuck but he didn't expect much from the relationship. He tried to make it work but you can only try so much before giving up. The only thing (Y/N) really regretted was the time wasted on an empty relationship.

You want somebody that'll keep you warm at night

Then, tell me, why you actin' cold to me?

You ain't the only one to blame, no, I'm the one that made you rich

When I bought every lie you sold to me

Yeah, heard you threw away the pictures

But you still got the memories of us

So I guess I don't really make a difference

After the playbook, nobody really wanted to be friends with Chuck. So, when (Y/N) showed slight interest, Chuck pounced at it. Though, it seemed to have been a waste of time since he deleted all their pictures off social media. (Y/N) knew there was a romance, a spark, between Josie and Chuck. But Chuck assured (Y/N) that they were just friends. (Y/N) tried to believe him but at the end, he knew it was a lie.

Flippin' through 'em in your head

Got you texting me all hours of the night

Yeah, you told me that you needed distance

What's the deal with you?

You say you want a man that keeps it real

Then why you mad when I get real with you?

You want someone to pay the bills for you

Went from feelin' you, now I feel for you, liar

(Y/N) had to put his phone on mute thanks to Chuck. If he didn't, he'd be up all night hearing the nofications from Chuck and his texts. Crazy how Chuck wanted distance yet he was the one trying to stay close. (Y/N) had started to like Chuck, mostly going out with him out of pity, but that changed a few months into the relationship. People had started warming up to him again and (Y/N) quickly realized that he was just a tool to get on everyone's good side again. It was annoying.

I heard you told your friends that I'm just not your type

If that's how you really feel, then why'd you call last night?

You say all I ever do is just control your life

But how you gonna lie like that, how you gonna lie like that?

"Hey, (N/N), how's everything going?" Betty asked, nimbling on her bottom lip as she watched him. He furrowed his brows.

"Good, why wouldn't it be?" He questioned.

"Because of the breakup?" It was Betty's turn to be confused. (Y/N) blinked and nodded.

"Oh, right, yeah." He nodded, giving a sheepish smile. "I've got a lot on my mind. I'm actually sketching out a new idea." Betty smiled.

"Really? That's good. At least you've got your mind off Chuck."

"I've been through breakups before, Elle Woods. Chuck is the last thing on my mind, but thanks for worrying. Honestly... He's not really my type."

Look, let me guess, you want to stay friends?

Tellin' people that's how we been?

Tellin' everybody, yeah, that we was barely speakin'

Ah, that's kinda funny, why'd you call me every day then?

It's immaturity, you goin' off the deep end

"I'm glad you and Chuck are still friends."

"Friends?" (Y/N) repeated Ginger's words. "We don't talk. At all." That was kind of a lie. Chuck called and texted everyday but (Y/N) barely replied. (Y/N) shook his head, sighing. He spotted the jock and sent him a text, straying away from his friends. Chuck jogged over, flashing his charming smile.

"What's up?"

"First of all, can you not blow up my phone? Second of all, quit lying. We don't talk and we aren't friends." Chuck frowned at his words.

"What are we?"

"Acquaintances? Exes? Strangers? Take your pick but this isn't friendship." (Y/N) rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

You just want somebody you can chill and get some drinks with, cool

Then don't hit me on the weekend

Tellin' me you missed the way we talked and how I listen, yeah

Why you playin' with my mind, huh?

Why you playin' with my time, huh?

"Listen, (N/N), why don't we talk about this at Pop's? Like we used to. I wanna be friends with you again."

"No, Chuck. I'm tired of.. Of you." (Y/N) confessed. "You got brownie points from everyone, congrats, but can you leave me alone now? I know I sound like a dick but you're wasting my time. Either be my ex or be a stranger, I don't care which. Go find Josie or Moose to keep you company."

"No, baby-" (Y/N) rolled his eyes again at the pet name. "We aren't together anymore, you can stop pretending to like me, Chuck."

Told me, "We should let it go and put it all behind us"

That's what I did, now you askin' me what I done, I was

Waitin' for this day, I saw it comin'

I think you just like attention, tryna tell me all your problems

I got issues of my own, I ain't got time for all this drama

You told me that you don't really wanna talk—then why you callin', huh?

"Let's put the past behind us-"

"I did but it seems like you can't." (Y/N) took out his cigarette pack, glancing at a disapproving Chuck.

"I'm just trying to fit in again, (N/N). I haven't figured out what I want in school yet." Chuck watched as (Y/N) raised the rolled up blunt to his lips.

"You have problems, I have problems, we should just fix them on our own with different people, Chuck." (Y/N) said, glad school had been long over or else he would've definitely been caught and suspended.

"Fine, if you don't wanna talk, we won't talk."

"Good, don't call or text me about anything other than school, aight?" (Y/N) spun around on his heel and went back to Ginger and Tina.

I heard you told your friends that I'm just not your type

If that's how you really feel, then why'd you call last night?

You say all I ever do is just control your life

But how you gonna lie like that, how you gonna lie like that?

(Y/N) grinned, shaking the spray can as he stared up at his finished masterpiece. He was glad Keller let him do art around the town as long as it wasn't offensive. (Y/N) took out a cigarette and lighter, trying to light it but he had run out of fuel. He huffed and pouted until a muscular arm moved around him and lit the cigarette.

"Thanks." He mumbled, looking at the curly haired male.

"You did that?" He asked, taking a seat beside the older teen. (Y/N) nodded.

"It's dope, shit looks professional." (Y/N) chuckled, eyeing the man.

"Yeah, I got inspired by an 'ex', I guess." He looked back at the art on the wall.

"You go to that high school nearby, right?" The man questioned, motioning to the Riverdale sticker on his bag. (Y/N) nodded. The man hummed.

"I suppose that shithole has some talented kids, the rest are nosy fuckers."

"You've hit the nail on the head, my friend." (Y/N) grinned, tossing the spray can off to the side.

How you gonna lie, how you gonna lie like that?

Baby, how you gonna lie, how you gonna lie like that?

How you gonna lie, baby, how you gonna lie like that?

No, no, how you gonna lie like that?

"Back onto this 'ex' of yours, what's the story?"

"He got into a bit of trouble with the school, everyone hated him for a while so he got with me to earn brownie points and then broke up with me. He's an annoying little shit though." (Y/N) told him, shrugging lightly.

"Those types are the worst. Bring out the worst in you." The man said, leaning against the wall. (Y/N) looked at him, admiring his handsome features.

"You don't look like someone from the Northside. So, what brings you here?"

"Wanted to wreck havoc but got caught up with the artistic babe." He replied smoothly. (Y/N) smiled, shaking his head.

"You've got fuckboy written all over you." (Y/N) cooed, ignoring the buzzing of his phone. "Plus, I don't even know your name, sir."

I heard you told your friends that I'm just not your type

(Baby, how you gonna lie like that? No, no)

If that's how you really feel, then why'd you call last night?

(Tell me how you 'bout to lie like that)

You say all I ever do is just control your life

(No, no, no)

But how you gonna lie like that, how you gonna lie like that?

(Oh, yeah)

"Malachai, and yours?"

"(Y/N)." (Y/N) replied, taking out his phone and seeing the texts from chuck. He rolled his eyes, muting his contact before putting his phone away.

"Will I see you again, Malachai?" (Y/N) asked with a grin. Malachai nodded, eyes looking him over again.

"Definitely." He purred in return, sending him a wink before walking to his car.

Tell me how you 'bout to lie like that

Tell me how you 'bout to lie like—

Yeah, yeah, hey

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male!reader #riverdale x you #riverdale x reader #riverdale x male reader #riverdale x y/n #chuck clayton x y/n #chuck clayton x you #chuck clayton x male reader #chuck clayton x reader #chuck clayton #riverdale malachai x male reader #riverdale malachai x you #riverdale malachai x reader #malachai riverdale

376 notes · View notes

meli-productions · 4 years

Text

Angel in the Gallery

Was able to get this one in earlier in the day! My next piece for the #ineffablehusbandsauweek by @ineffablehusbandsweek.

Available on my AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26664100

Professor Fell was everyone’s favorite. He was warm and friendly, with a bit of a bastard streak that his older students loved. And he made his subject come alive with his teaching - almost as if he’d been there among the salons of Paris or at Michelangelo's side as he painted the Sistine.

And the best part of the Professor were his capricious trips to the museums -

“How can I expect you to learn without being embraced by history and art itself?” he asked his students.

And really, who would argue?

It was a breezy October when Professor Fell decided to sweep his students up for a last-minute outing to the nearest art museum to see the Roman statues.

The crowd huddled around him for warmth - and he did look the coziest wrapped in his tan cardigan and camel-hair overcoat. There was an inner warmth to the man, too, which the students just wanted to bask in as much as they did in the light of his smile.

“Come around, there’s a love,” he said. “Now, wander around a bit and take notes of what you see: subject, material, style all of it is indicative of something we’ve learned in the past few weeks. And don’t be lazy. I will be sitting in the new exhibit for you to meet up with in an hour.”

He waved them off and, hands clasped behind his back, made his way into the exhibit of the featured artist - one Anthony Crowley.

Professor Fell wandered around, taking in the beautiful contours and almost renaissance-like beauty of the artwork. He hummed happily as he came before a landscape - lush and green - with a snake wrapped around the trunk of a tree.

“Nice, huh,” a voice behind him said. “Heard it’s supposed to be an interpretation of Eden.”

He turned around and came across a handsome, angular face. The only discernible characteristics of the man before him were the wide smile and the red-hair that was tied back at the top letting the rest fall in soft waves around his shoulders. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses that turned to the painting.

“It’s lovely,” said Professor Fell, turning back to the art. “I can tell that the artist really loves what he does - and this medium does him well. The oils really allow for the scenery to reach for its own light. Truly a master in their own right.”

The man gave a little hum, “Is that right? I’d love to hear your opinions on his other work…that is, if you have the time.”

Bright hazel eyes, sparkling with the intensity of his smile, “My dear boy, I have an hour before I’m swarmed by young academics wanting to share their discovery. I would love to take in the exhibit with someone.”

“And what can I call you, angel?”

“Oh, terribly rude of me. My name is Azra, Azra Fell. And you, dear?” asked Professor Fell, looking up at the man through his eyelashes.

“Just call me Tony.”

As the hour wound down, students started circling around the exhibit where they were told to wait for their professor but not coming in just yet. The first two to arrive and slip in were a mischievous pair that flocked to Fell like chicks to a mother hen - Warlock and Adam - and they were surprised by what they saw.

While every student knew everything there was to know about the oversharing professor - from his home in London to the cat he’d had in uni that he’d named Oscar - and were protective about him - defending him from his hardass boss, Dr. Archer - there was one thing that only these two were privy to and more protective of than anything else. And that was Fell’s heart.

So when they found their dear Professor hiding a stream of chuckles behind a hand as he sat - a little too close - next to a stranger, the pair were immediately on high-alert.

“Who’s the twink?” asked Warlock, sliding in close to Adam and stare at the couple keeping their quiet laughter to themselves. “And why is he so close to Professor Fell?”

Adam shrugged, “I don’t know - but I think the professor likes them. And I think the twink likes him back.”

“Well, I don’t like him,” Warlock said, crossing his arms. “He looks like a love ‘em and leave ‘em type. Not good enough for Fell. Could break his heart.”

“There’s only one way to test him. Why don’t we go and find out what his intentions are,” said Adam, his eyes twinking with mischief. “If he can’t handle us hellions then he has no right to Fell. If he can - we can give him a chance, right ‘Lock?”

The other young man grunted his approval and allowed Adam to drag him forward as he rushed over to the blushing professor and his new friend.

“Hey, prof,” said Adam, plopping down at Fell’s feet. “The exhibit was nice - got a lot of notes for the presentation. Can’t wait to show you what ‘Lock and I got. Who’s your new friend?”

Without waiting for Fell to respond, the man reached a hand out, “Tony, nice to meet you kid. You too,” this he directed at Warlock, “nice kicks, by the way.”

Warlock glanced down to his burgundy Docs and mumbled a thanks, choosing to sit on Professor Fell’s open side rather than the floor. For his part, the professor was alight with joy as he presented the boys to Tony, commenting that these two were his best students and sharing with boys the wonderful time that he and Tony had while looking through the new exhibit.

“You like art?” Adam asked.

Tony smiled, “I do. Love it - would make a career out of it. Like having someone to talk about art just as much.”

This was directed at Fell, who blushed once again and gave a wiggle that the boys had only seen him give when eating a good meal. Warlock and Adam shared a look, sharing a silent conversation between eyebrow raises and mouthed out words, then focused on Tony and the dopey smile he was giving their professor.

It was Warlock that broke the silence with an exaggerated sigh, dropping his forehead against Fell’s soft cardigan, “I’m glad that you found someone to talk to, Professor. Must’ve been nice not to be bored waiting for us.”

A hand came up to smooth the long, black hair as Fell smiled back at Tony and said, “It is when the company is good.”

Tony shifted, bashful, and Adam rolled his eyes, but continued to study the two as Tony cleared his throat, “You know, Azra, I’ve been invited to the public opening of the exhibit - terribly boring, wouldn’t want to come alone - would you like to accompany me? Keep me from dashing my brains out?”

Warlock’s head shot up, looking at Adam with wide eyes and finding that his friend was in a similar state. Between them, Fell fiddled with his ring.

“Oh, I’d love to, dear boy, but - I don’t think I would fit in at such an event,” he said, the light in his face starting to dim. “I’m too - much too - outdated, fuddy-duddy- ”

“That’s not true.”

“You should go.”

“Go, Professor Fell, you’re smarter than the lot of them.”

The boys went up in arms, tugging on his shoulder and hand and trying to convince him to accompany Tony. Fell, surprised, turned from the two boys to Tony who was also a little taken aback if the slight drop of his mouth was to be believed.

Fell smiled, easing the boys off his extremities, “Well, dear. I guess I will be accompanying you after all.”

Tony beamed and the boys around them did, too.

“Then it’s a date.”

Anthony J. Crowley - Crowley to those he liked - was in a frenzy.

The minute he’d gotten back to his flat from the museum he’d swept into his studio and started sketching. One sketch turned into two - and then into a dozen - all of soft, Rubenesque round rolls of fat and sparkling eyes. Oils of blue, green, greys, and browns mixed to try and capture the right shade of dancing hazel.

“It has to be perfect,” he muttered, eyes narrowed at the canvas as he fixed the fluffiness of white curls with his fingers. “Perfect like him - an angel in the room.”

Since the moment he sauntered into the exhibit of his own work, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off the only other person in there. The way that the sunlight from above had fallen onto the fluffy curls of cloud-white and the rapture on the face, cute nose tilted up as he looked up at the hanging artwork - well, it was artwork in itself.

Azira Fell, stunning and soft and brilliant, had fallen into his path like a light to guide him towards new inspiration.

His subject matter had always been biblical - repenting demons and places like Eden and Babel - but never an angel. Until this one had appeared.

His phone rang and, with a press of paint-dirty fingers, he put it on speaker to continue working, “Crowley here.”

“Are you getting ready for the opening?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “Nice to hear from you too, Bee, and I’m in the middle of a creative outpour so no, not yet. But I will be there, don’t worry your fuzzy little fly-head. You see, I have a date.”

From the other end of the line, there was a little hiss of laughter, “Who did you hoodwink into being your date to this thing.”

“Not hoodwinked, charmed,” he said, taking a break and sighing until his body was relaxed. “Bee, this is the most beautiful man I’ve ever met and he’s kind and simply amazing. I think I’m in love.”

“You said that both about Lilith and Lucian and look at what happened there,” said Bee,. “Just watch yourself, I don’t want you to go down that spiral again.”

Crowley cooed, “Aww, Bee-Bee, you do care.”

“Shut it, punk. Just finish up and get ready. Send me a few pictures of your work…see if we have another exhibit on our hands.”

And without letting him get another word in edgewise, Bee hung up and Crowley found himself facing the unfinished painting. The crinkles at his eyes and the soft curve of that smile that Crowley followed with the tip of his finger.

“He won’t be like the others. He’s different. I can tell,” he said. “You are.”

Azra was waiting outside of the exhibit, afraid to walk in alone and have eyes on him. He tugged the cream waistcoat down, wishing it didn’t press so tight against his stomach.

Nerves danced within him until he felt like there was no other option but to turn around and go home - what was he doing in a place like this anyway? He didn’t fit - and Tony would be better off without someone like him.

This way he can find someone more like him.

Mind made up, Azra turned around and bumped into someone.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry, I was just on my way out,” he said, bending down to pick up the glasses that ended up on the floor.

“I certainly hope not,” the person he bumped into said. “Considering you’d be standing me up.”

Azra straightened up to meet the gorgeous, uncovered gold eyes of Tony who was giving him a shy smile. He let himself look the man over, a pang in his stomach as he took in the sleek black outfit, sinfully tight, and scattered with red sequins.

When he met the eyes again, Tony’s smile had slipped a little, “Are you really about to leave?”

“I - I just don’t belong here,” said Azra, pouting. “Everyone is so fashionable and beautiful and far beyond my league.”

Tony grabbed his hand where they were twirling the pair of sunglasses, “Hey, it’s alright, angel. You’re not here for them anyway, you’re here for me. And you’re just as beautiful as anyone in there - more, because those are just money hoarding, elites who have no heart. Now what do you say - will you come in with me?”

With a weak nod, Azra allowed Tony to take the glasses and tuck his hand into the fold of his elbow.

“There’s a love. Let’s go in, gorgeous.”

When they walked in, a short guest fell at Tony’s unoccupied side, eyes glued onto the phone in their hand.

“Okay, so they’ve been waiting for you. You probably will have a good ten minutes where everyone will want to schmooze, then another five for photo ops, and then one good one in front of the piece that you choose. Got it?”

Tony rolled his eyes, “I got it, Bee. Let me introduce my date, Azra. Azra, this is my - manager Bee.”

Bee looked around and their eyes got bigger at the sight of the professor, “Oh. Nice to meet you. I can see why he spent all afternoon doodling. Might have another hit series - won’t we, Crowley?”

Azra’s face paled as another moment of bickering passed between Bee and Tony, “Crowley? As in - as in Anthony Crowley? The - the artist of this exhibit?”

Around the artist in question, Bee gave a little snort, “Okay, so I know you’re not in it for the fame. Good to know. Keep an eye - and hand - on him, Crowley. You’ve got a keeper for once.”

Crowley turned around, hand scratching his neck, “Yeah, I - I didn’t want you to feel obligated to like anything just because of who I am. I really enjoyed our time this morning and didn’t want it ruined by - by my name.”

Azra sputtered, “My - my dear, your artwork is stunning. This is your celebration. I shouldn’t,” he tried to pull out of Crowley’s grasp which made him only hold on tighter.

“Please, don’t,” said Crowley, thumb rubbing over Azra’s knuckles. “I don’t care what all these people think - or what they’ll say. Please just let me enjoy the exhibit with someone that actually like me for me and not because my name is under all these paintings.”

“You could do much better than me, my dear, just look around.”

“Azra, listen to me,” Crowley said, turning him over so that they were face to face. He held Azra’s face in his hands and looked at him from above the rim of his glasses. “I think you are stunning - thought so since I laid eyes on you. I - ngk - here, let me show you.”

Crowley grappled with his phone and held it out for inspection. Pictures after pictures of the work he’d poured over that afternoon with one subject - Azra.

“You see, angel,” he said. “I don’t want any of these people on my arm or around it - I just want you. Please? Will you let me have tonight and then, if you want, not another second more.”

The open earnestness in Crowley’s eyes made Azra sigh, a small smile on his lips, “Tonight and - maybe dinner tomorrow? My treat?”

A giddy smile spread on Crowley’s face, “Absolutely, yes. Anything. Dinner, breakfast, a movie, a play - anything, hell, feed me to those boys of yours.”

Azra laughed and looped his arm into Crowley’s again, “Not anything so drastic, love. But, come now. I believe Bee said you had ten minutes of schmoozing to get through.”

Arm in arm and laughing, Crowley led Azra through the crowd of elites presenting him to all as ‘my angel and my muse’.

The next morning, Adam dropped a newspaper in front of Warlock, a giddy smile on his face when his friend looked up.

“Professor Fell’s dating the artist.”

Warlock for his part looked at the picture taken of the two - besotted smile on both their faces - and gave a little grin of his own.

“Good. He better know he has a treasure in his hands.”

Adam shrugged, “If he doesn’t, we’ll let him know.”

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hlvrai-loving · 3 years

Text

Tricks, Treats, And a Falling Out

"Spooky scary skeletons~" Josh softly hums, dabbing a bit of white face paint onto his cheeks. He wouldn't be doing his whole face, of course, but what little he did put would serve as a nice nod to the Batter's monochrome appearance.

"... send shivers down your spiiine~" Then again... monochrome is black, white, and gray, right? There's probably another word for just the two opposing shades...

His phone buzzed on the countertop, a message reminding him to bring water and to be ready in five. Well, what luck it was that he was already dressed, wasn't it? As for water... Josh decided to bring his backpack for any refreshments he'd inevitably end up carrying, starting with a few bottles filled to the brim with cold water.

With most of his costume ready in advance, Joshua placed the cap on his head and checked in on his room, just to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything.

And it was then that his eyes fell on the aluminum bat.

Things... Stakes, you could call them, seemed to be mounting these days. Whatever the hell happened with the eyes and... that man... they wouldn't stop just for the sake of a holiday. He'd kept himself from bringing it to school, of course, but... trick or treating would be different. Even with his friends and Tiff around, he wouldn't be safe... Even if he'd hate to admit it, Joshua knew it'd be better safe than sorry.

And so went the bat into the bag, for later protection.

After that little debate with himself, Josh made his way to the device, explaining to CB and his "friends on the other side" that he'd be unavailable for the night and that he wished for them to take care and keep an eye out. And with that, another buzz of his phone let him know the time had come.

Tossing the bag onto his back, the teen hit the lights and left the room.

Upon opening the front door, he was greeted to the sight of Allen, a jumpy tune coming from his person as the visualizer displayed on his jacket danced. "Yo yo yoooo~! Wassup Dorkman? Ready to purify?" He let out, causing Josh to giggle.

"Yeah yeah, just about. What is going on theeere?" He questioned, referring to the animated clothing. Al grinned, glancing down at it.

"Awe, this ol' thing? Just a little something foster Pops helped me out with. It's connected to the music on my phone and lights up to the beat. Hook in a few speakers here and there and you've got the KING OF DUBSTEP, BUDDY! Heh, same thing's going on with the glasses, but, uh, can't really see shit when it's going off so I'm only turning that on when I really don't need to use my eyes anyways."

"Ghdfff!! What!! You're telling me you just invented a new kind of jacket like it was nothing??"

Al shrugged. ""Invented" is too strong a word for something like this. I'd rather call it "pushing the limits of reality". Much more humble."

J laughed softly. "H-humble my ass, you douche! God damn it, Al."

"Mweh mweh, can we getta move on? The girls are waiting for us a little ways down the road."

"Ey, don't you tell me what to do!"

"Oi, you talking back ta me? Ya givin' me liiip?" The pale teen made sure to pop the "p" as best as he could. Josh couldn't help but smile, shutting and locking the door behind him as he made his way out.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Al."

The night air hung cold, Autumn managing to chill even this town it seemed. As far as Joshua knew, this was the first time he could recall actually shivering upon heading outside. Allen seemed to notice this, lightly hitting his arm.

"Cold cuz you haven't been out in months, ey Joshie?"

"Oh shut it, I'm not cold. Just... It's a bit chillier than I remember."

"Yeah yeah, Mr "I wear a blanket while cruising the space-web"!"

"Shut uuuupp! I do nooot!"

"Do toooo! I saw you when I visited!"

The teen lightly punched his friend's arm right back. "Hush it, would you? Now, where're the girls?" He pondered, resulting in Allen taking him by the wrist and leading him forward as a new song started.

"Riiiight over here, Dorkman."

And sure enough, there they were. Clera was gushing over Tiff's modern take on the stitched together monstrosity, while Tiff was doing her damndest to deny that it was really anything to be impressed over. Upon seeing the boys arrive, Clera quickly made her way over, excited as ever. Her black top and adjoining skirt were riddled with hearts and flowery patterns, which shimmered ever so slightly in the light of the street lamps.

"Joshie!! Hiiii! Your costume looks great!" She chirped out, her contagious enthusiasm causing even Joshua's woes to fade onto his mind's abyss for a little bit longer.

He smiled. "Hahah, it's really nothing. Especially not compared to yours! Did you make it yourself, Cler?"

Her eyes lit up at his kind words, fingers trailing the lace hem of the skirt. "Ehehee! You know it! I sketched it out then I coloured it and me and dad had to go out to get the right fabrics for it, then we went ahead and made it proper! I had to buy the shoes though."

"Wow... How long'd that take you?"

"Around a month!" She giggled.

"Jesus, just a month? Where'd you find the time to make it?" Allen butted in, rather surprised.

She shrugged. "Ooh, but mine's nothing compared to Tiff's!! Give it a looook! Doesn't she look great?" She cheered, the other girl bashfully turning away.

"Cler, mine's not that gooood! Stoooop!" She pleaded, looking away. And, true, it wasn't much. Just a leather jacket, an electric blue shirt, some torn black jeans, and the more "monsterful" additions the studs, makeup, and spray dye gave. It was for the most part the bare minimum one would need to say they were in costume, but... it was still a costume nonetheless.

May as well praise the effort.

"Yeah, hah, she looks amazing, Cler." Josh smiled. Allen, on the other hand...

"Well... It's not exactly creative, is it?" He grinned, earning an annoyed glare from Tiff and an unamused pout from Clera.

"Sooo? She still did her best! I think it looks incredible!" The petite witch told, reassuringly holding her girlfriend's arm.

"Yeah, at least I'm not a walking light show. How was that creative?" Tiff retorted.

"Ey ey, excuse my goddamn French, but did you just diss the drip, Tiffy?"

"That is not "drip"! That's a jacket that lights up! You may as well have gone as a lamp!"

"Oh ho ho! Is that whatcha think?? Well, listen here-"

"Guys!" Joshua interjected. Evidently, it seemed something may have happened between the two beforehand to cause such tension... "Let's just... wh-why don't we just get started, huh? We're, uh, h-here to trick or treat, aren't we? S-so, heh..."

At Tiff's side, Clera uncomfortably shifted. The taller teen let out a sigh. "Fine fine. Might as well... My folks want me to be home at 11, so we're better off not wasting time."

"We won't. I promise you, we'll have more than enough time to get all the candy we could ever need before 11." Josh gave a small smile as Tiff coldly stared down at him.

"Yeah yeah..." She muttered, heading to the house nearest to them with Clera. Before he could follow, Josh pulled Allen aside.

"What was that about?" He asked.

"What'dya mean?"

"Al, don't play dumb with me. Did you and Tiff have a fight or something? You looked like you were both on the verge of throwing hands or something!"

Allen shrugged, clearly uninterested in providing an actual response. "Dunno... Didn't you just say a second ago that we have to start? Shouldn't we join 'em before they hit up too many houses?"

Joshua sighed, figuring Al would just keep denying it if he continued. "Fine, but I'm not dropping the subject."

"Oh, you will." The pale boy reassured, patting Joshua's shoulder as he passed him by. He frowned slightly. Later, he would get to the bottom of this, but for now?... For now, he supposed he had no choice but to follow his friend and truly start their night of candy hunting.

With a quick glance at the emptiness behind him, Joshua made his way forward to their first house of the night.

~~~~~~~

"Never thought I'd see the day." Al smirked, tearing open a chocolate bar. "Figured full-sized treats were but a legend these days!"

"Dude, aren't you supposed to, like, look through those?" Tiff regarded, dismissively running her fingers through her hair.

"Pfft, why? Not like anyone would bother tampering with these." He sneered, messily devouring the entire confection as the girl turned away in disgust.

The group had decided to take a short break, hydrating and taking a short sit on a park bench. They'd amassed quite an impressive stash of sugary goodness, as well as more than a few snide remarks surrounding their age, but the latter wasn't important at the moment.

Instead, Joshua's attention was focused solely on the empty playground ahead, the swings swaying softly in the gentle breeze. Seemed like only yesterday, he was still having fun in a set just like this. He and his friends would play for hours, making up silly games with whatever imaginary rules their minds could come up with. Running around, getting scrapes and bruises and thinking it was the end of the world, as if that was the worst they would ever get hurt...

He sat back against the bench, feeling more tired than ever. Things... were practically unrecognizable now than how they were when he was a kid. The idea of play and fun forever being within his reach had withered into nothing years ago, and the fears he had then couldn't hold a candle to whatever monsters kept him up on particularly stressful nights. It was all surreal... Unfamiliar, yet...

Josh shook his head slightly, he'd worry about all of that when the time came. It always did in the end. Might as well deny that bridge when he inevitably came to it, right?

"Joshie, hey..." Clera lightly nudged him, tearing the boy from his thoughts. He gave her a glance, and she happily showed him a chocolate witch someone placed in her bag. "It's a me!"

Joshua couldn't help but laugh. Once again, Cler unknowingly saves the day. "It sure is. Could do with a lot more hearts though, huh?"

"Ehehe! You know it!" She placed it back into her bag, lightly swinging her legs. "... So, Joshie?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you do all day when you're not at school?"

"... Ah, I..." He began playing with his fingers. "... Just... c-coding, mostly. Nothing m-much else, why?"

"Mmm... We don't get to see you much anymore."

"... R-right, I... I'm real sorry about that, I just-"

"I even had good ideas on what we could do together." She continued, her head down. "Better than the mall and a movie, i-if that's why. I can come up with better ones too if you don't like them."

"... Clera, you... I haven't stopped hanging with you guys because I didn't like it, I'm just... I'm going through a lot right now. Things that I... I can't explain to you correctly. I hardly-"

She cut him off, fidgeting slightly. "Because I wouldn't understand, right?"

He fell silent for a few brief moments, "I... C-Clera, it's more than th-that... I'm... It's a f-family matter... You know, p-personal. I haven't told a-anyone."

The girl remained unresponsive for a few moments, staring down at her feet. Then, she only answered with a quiet "Oh."

"... Hey, we... we've still got a few more houses to go before 11. Why don't we get back to it, huh?" He forced a gentle smile. "Maybe someone will give you more chocowitches..."

Clera gazed up at him with sad eyes, but nodded regardless, picking up her candy bag, standing from her seat, and brushing off her skirt. Josh went ahead and informed the other two that they were ready to head off once more.

And unseen from a nearby rooftop, a skeleton sang out a few notes of blue as it watched them leave.

#jfreeman #ask joshua freeman #hlvrai joshua #mostly just for my ask blog but i hope you enjoy it anyways #there was supposed to be more but this is so long already and I have no idea how to make a cut for this

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commorritestreettrash · 4 years

Text

Rough Night In Commorragh

@lordsofmedrengard You know what I do have another ficlet! I wrote this before I got on tumblr, when Taffy was still being developed as a character, but it’s still damn good.

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Part 1: The Best Part of Waking Up

One eye opened a crack and took stock of the situation around me. Snoring, mostly naked kin, not unexpected. Didn’t look like my living space, which was good, since it smelled like cleanup would be quite the task. Pretty sure the clothes dangling from the fan are mine, though. Lucky they wound up somewhere easy to find!

Oh, Khaine, my head hurts. Should not have taken Adrenalight for that fight. Then again, it was fun, easy to get hold of, and the side-effects weren’t much of a problem in the arena. Plus, I won. Okay, poor life decisions rationalized, what’s next? I groggily pawed around at my left thigh (christ, can’t feel a thing, it’s gone numb). Should be a pouch there, all manner of delightful concoctions, one of them’s sure to make aching skull feel better.

“Hrnnngha?” The grunt came from somewhere underneath my shoulders. Shit, that’s not my thigh. One to the left maybe? Ah, there we go, not as numb as I thought. The pouch!! Aaaand fan-fucking-tastic. Empty. At least, empty of the trance-inducing narcotics I had been looking for. I’ve never tried taking a dose of Psychon for a hangover, but I doubt it would end well. Okay, some charming piece of shit talked me into sharing my stash, if I’d taken that much I’d be waking up in a rejuvenation pod, not a pleasantly bloody pile of sleepy Eldar.

Ups-a-daisy, girl- fuck, my scalp!! OW!. Damnit, my gloriously (yet inconveniently) long hair’s caught in the armor of some dead-asleep warrior. But, upon further consideration, my hair is absolved of guilt, since, glory of glories, he’s got my half-full narcotic needle stuck in his arm!

A series of mixed grunts rises from those around and underneath me as I crawl over and and yank the needle from his limp arm, jamming it into my own and sighing as I depressed the plunger, a tingle of euphoria through my poor, dazed skull. I glanced down at the hair tangled through his armor, tugging to get it free.

Wait, is this tied on?!

Damn, it is. Looks like I got kinky* last night. Huh, this guy must have been pretty smooth. Should probably leave my contact.

*Translator’s note: The Dark Eldar lexicon has 1,227 words that can be approximately translated to English as “kinky”, each of which has subtly-different-yet-critically-significant connotations. The rune used here is one of the milder forms, and is best read as “activities outside of my normal range”, rather than “particularly extreme”.

I flipped him over and found a spot on his chest mostly free of tattoos. As full as narcotics as he was, I don’t think he even noticed. I grabbed a knife from my hip and pursed my lips slightly while I went to work.

Of course I had a knife handy when my pants (okay, black fiendleather panty-thing) were currently dangling from a ceiling fan. Why would I disarm myself just to having sex?? Aside from being boring, acting like you’re sure that your partner won’t kill you mid-sex-act implies a lot of emotional commitment, and I’m not ready for that.

Anyway, I dug the tip of my knife through flesh, scarring a message, feeling the trickle of pain into my soul as I did so:

“Srry bout scars- c me outside the Pit? Ask 4 Tamephela, <3!”

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Part 2: Danse Macabre

The gloom of Commorragh settled around my shoulders as I stepped out the door of wherever it was I had wound up after the previous night’s debauchery. Buncha marks around it, what are they?

Ah, I recognize the sigils. Hellion gangsign, the Gutrip Claws, specifically. Not a huge gang, but they had a reputation for seriously fucking up people that started shit at their parties. Good for business when you run a string of drug-dens.

My head twinged a bit, a reminder of just how enticing those drug-dens could be. Ought to get home. Where the hell is my bike?

A quick glance around showed no sign of it. Damnit. Why weren’t things ever easy? Well, aside from living in a city of complete bastards. No matter- I kept track of my shit. I checked the tracking-screen built into my dagger’s handle- aaaand groaned. Loudly.

Why did I leave the fucking thing on a roof half a click away and a hundred meters up? ...Probably because somebody dared you to climb down the wall, dumbass. Ah well. There’s more than one way to get airborne in Low Commorragh.

I slipped into a low, loping stalk and set out. A bit of work later and I had turned up what I was looking for.

The hellion was gliding down the street confidently, but his eyes darted crazily across those who walked the streets beneath him- a sure sign of too many drugs. Or possibly a gambit meant to lure me in- but no, the faint wrinkles around exposed pectorals suggested the Thirst was getting to him.

Prey.

Could go after him with my agoniser- but nah, whipping that around would invite someone to steal it. Plus, if I just kill the little shit, his friends- or at least, co-gang-members’ll probably come up behind me in an alley at some point to have a few sharp words. So that’s out- let’s put on a performance instead, make ‘em think twice.

Think. Plan. Wait for the moment- move.

Dash up the wall. Feel it’s sharp protrusions rip a long gash in my left palm. Spring off in a lightning fast arc. Cast my left arm before me, sending a long arc of blinding blood into his eyes. His mouth opens in a warcry, but my hand is already at my pistol. I feel a surge of terrible glee as I send a splinter right down his open mouth into the back of his throat a moment before I strike the ground, rolling.

He descends upon me, howling, his glaive out, dropping towards my head as he shoots forward. A smile, as I feel his pain begin with a burning along his throat- no need to move quite yet.

His howl turns into a horrible, hacking cough as the splinter-toxins I selected take hold. Blood first, then his partially-liquified stomach, pour out of his mouth, his glaive falling from his grip as he feels the acids of his own digestive tract start to burn up his vital organs.

Leap forward once more, the ecstatic electricity of his suffering galvanizing my legs, and land in front of him upon his skyboard. As his essence bursts out of him, wrap a leg around him, setting the skyboard spinning, and extend one arm- a bloody mockery of a dance, sending showers of his internal fluids spraying across the street and onto onlookers.

Slow, as I feel his pain slow and his death begin. Bring the skyboard to a slow, final twirl. Hold him close, bend him forwards, and share a kiss as the last of his lungs spews forth, coating my face in sweet-smelling blood and gore. How beautiful, the light fading from his eyes, the exquisite agony as he feels his torso collapse in upon itself.

End the performance- cast him over my shoulder, a sprinkle of blood from my palm following him, his ejection sending the skyboard into a graceful, tumbling flip. Sketch a bow, bringing myself to a halt.

A human slave on the end of a chain looks on in wide-eyed horror- the light musk of his terror adds a delightful bit of ambience. The kinsfolk on the street grin wildly, and begin a short round of applause- excluding, I note, a couple with similar tattoos to the fresh corpse. Them, I can feel their surprise, anger- and yes, just a hint of fear. Good. They’ll think twice about trying for revenge.

I love it when I can send just the message I want!

#writing #violence #ficlet

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the-blueish-trashcan · 4 years

Text

He’s in Charge; Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Henry/Bertrum

Warnings: Death, murder, suicide

A/N: This one’s... a bit heavy, but plot intensive. It looks like Grant’s promise to make things right is going to pay off.

Chapter word count: 2,916

{First part} {Previous part} {Next part}

Chapter Eleven; Dirty Deeds

As he sat at the small table in the kitchen the next morning, Henry caught himself lost in thought as he stared out the back window, fingers drumming lightly on a warm mug of coffee. His thoughts ranged from drawings to Joey, and what could really be happening behind the scenes, and on days like this when he wasn’t scheduled to work. He was comfortable physically having borrowed clothes to sleep in from Bertrum that turned out to be loose on him, but mentally, not so. Bertrum, dressed in a gray tank top and pale blue pajama pants with slippers, stood over a pan of scrambled eggs. Just next to him, carrying out a conversation in a language Henry couldn’t understand was a man he had to assume was the designer’s personal chef watching over a pan of bacon. If nothing else, he certainly looked the part of a chef. Ferris laid at Henry’s feet, his tail quietly thumping against the floor.

The animator sighed softly, shaking his head. His gaze shifted from the well-kept back yard and garden to his coffee cup as he took a small sip. He leaned back in his chair, still holding the cup, and threw a glance to Bertrum. The man’s back was to him at that moment, but a smile slowly made its way onto his face anyway. Even with all the chaos at work, at least right then, he had a moment for peace.

After a few minutes, Bertrum plated the eggs, his chef moving the slices of bacon to their own plate for him to bring over. Grinning, Bertrum set a plate in front of Henry. “Here we are!” He said cheerily, taking a seat at the other side of the table.

“Thanks.” Henry’s voice came out more quiet than he intended. He set his mug down finally, instead taking up a fork.

“Did you want to stay for the afternoon? I’m between jobs now, we could go out somewhere.”

“I don’t know. I’d like to go home and get some clean clothes, at least. Then maybe we can meet up later?”

“I can send someone out to get you a new set so you don’t have to drive back and forth, if you’d like.” Bertrum offered.

“What? Oh, no, I couldn’t have you do that, isn’t that a little excessive?” Henry waved his free hand dismissively.

“Please, it just makes sense. Unless you’d like someone to drive you to your apartment instead? If you’re just coming back in a few hours, I see no reason to send you away.” He shrugged.

Henry could only sigh. “That’s way too much effort for someone to have to put in for me, I may as well just wear the same clothes…”

“I do have a washing and drying unit, if you’d rather wash your clothes here.” Bertrum indicated a door behind Henry, pointing out where they were located.

“Now that’s something that makes some sense. I’ll have to take up that offer, as long as you don’t mind me hanging onto these for a while.” He gave a slight smile, indicating what he was already wearing.

“Not at all. I think that’s a much better idea.” Bertrum returned the smile, then went quiet, giving them both some time to eat. They were both nearly done when he spoke again. “About what you said last night… Regarding Drew…”

Henry froze, looking up at him briefly. “I know I sound crazy… I’ve been thinking about it all morning.”

“No, Henry, you have probable cause. It may not make much sense to me, but regardless, it does seem a bit strange that so many people are gone- you said- without a real explanation, and you’re clearly suspicious of some kind of list you saw Drew keeping.” He paused and Henry nodded. “If you want me to, I really am willing to hire someone to look into it for you, but I’d like to speak with someone else first. Perhaps Drew’s accountant, you said he’s in charge of paperwork.”

“Right… I don’t see a problem with that, you could come meet him on Monday if you wanted. I’m sure he’d appreciate someone investigating, honestly.”

“All right, then.” Bertrum nodded once, then took a slice of bacon from the plate and held it down to Ferris.

*****

By the time Henry’s clothes were cleaned, dried and he was dressed, Bertrum looked like he was already ready to leave the house. He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, sitting at the foot of the stairs Henry was coming down to tie his shoes. He offered the animator a smile when he saw him.

“It’s a lovely day today, I thought perhaps we could take Ferris out to the park. It’s a lovely walk, and there’s plenty of shade there.” He offered, standing.

“Sure, that sounds nice.” Henry paused a few steps from the bottom, leaning on the banister.

Bertrum shifted to face him, thinking for a moment. He gently grabbed Henry by the shoulders, shifting him to the side slightly and pulling him down one step. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Henry’s forehead, that time without having to bend down at all. “There. Ready?”

Henry let out a small laugh, his cheeks quickly turning color. He stepped down the last few stairs, on his way to the door. “Whenever you are.”

*****

Monday, when Henry walked into the studio, the remaining staff- just under what looked like two-dozen people- were all gathered near the main entrance. They stood in front of Joey, who was still wheelchair-bound, glancing at each other nervously. As Henry joined the group himself, he noticed that he hardly recognized anyone there, save for a man named Thomas. Other than his name, he didn’t really know him. Since there was space and Thomas was fairly tall, Henry moved to stand in front of him to face Joey.

“Ah. Good, everyone’s here.” Joey started as he spotted Henry. He looked much more sickly than the last time Henry had seen him, his face a sort of gray with prominent dark marks under his eyes. His voice was much more slurred than before. “It is with a heavy heart that I have to announce the death of Grant Cohen, my accountant.”

A soft murmur went around the group. Henry could hear Thomas grunt, then sigh.

Joey continued after a moment. “As it stands right now, it is a suicide. As we speak, there is a team of investigators downstairs confirming this fact. That said, please do not go down there until further notice. Even you, Connor.”

“Okay, I get that you don’t want anyone interrupting ‘em. What about basic maintenance of the pipes down there?” Thomas’s deep, gruff voice answered from behind the animator.

“They were very clear to me that no one is to be down there for any reason. End of story.” Joey stated more firmly. “Now… I would like to give you all some bereavement time off, but we simply don’t have time for that. Please, do your best to do business as usual.” That said, he rolled himself off down the hall, towards his office.

“Stupid cunt.” Thomas seethed quietly, meaning Joey, obviously.

Henry shook his head slowly, going to his desk. Grant dead? And so suddenly? “This doesn’t add up…” He mumbled.

“Hey.” Thomas Connor’s voice came from behind him. When Henry turned, Thomas was leaning against the wall.

“Uhm, hi.” Henry tilted his head.

“You didn’t know Grant all that well, huh?”

“No… I only met him a couple of times. He was always so nervous…”

Thomas nodded slowly, grinding a toothpick between his teeth. “I knew ‘im pretty well. Had to work with ‘im a lot.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry-” Henry started, but Thomas held up a hand.

“Don’t be. He held out for a long time. He was in a lot of pain. I’m not surprised, I’m just hopin’ he’s got some peace now.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’ come here to complain, though. Grant just wanted you especially to know he’s done the right thing here. He had a plan, and it’s gonna happen.”

“What are you talking about? Did he leave a… a note or something telling you that?”

Thomas shrugged again. “Not that you’re aware of, you get me?”

It took Henry a moment to understand, a look of shock crossing his face. “You have his suicide note…? Why? Isn’t that tampering with evidence?”

“Not if he asked me to take it. There were two notes and an envelope. One had my name on it, and said to take everything before anyone else saw. Make sure it ended up with the right people. I found his body, no doubt those investigators are gonna wanna talk to me soon.”

“And… you’re going to, right?” Henry’s voice had dropped, his arms crossing over his chest.

“‘Course. I’m goin’ down there right now and then quittin’. If it works out like he wanted, it’s best to get out now before any more shit hits the fan.”

“You’re just leaving?” Henry asked, then instantly felt stupid.

“Yep, and I suggest after today, you do the same. There’s some shady things happening here, Henry, and if you value your life, you’ll get out now. Somebody’s gonna protect you when you do.” The mechanic paused. “Actually. You should come with me so somebody with the law can keep an eye on you, Drew clearly thinks you’re some kinda threat based on what Grant said. I don’ think anybody would benefit from you kicking the bucket, too.” He started down the hall and gestured for Henry to come with him.

“I can’t do that, I’m on thin ice with Joey as it is…”

“Then I’ll drop your name an’ you’ll have somebody come up and talk to you instead.” He shrugged as he rounded the corner and was gone, save for the fading sound of his heavy work boots.

*****

As promised, not even half an hour or a full sketch later, a young man dressed in a police uniform arrived to retrieve the animator and bring downstairs. The man didn’t speak to him at all on the way down, which put him on edge. Once at the foot of the stairs, Henry was escorted by a different officer across the half-finished main room and to where Grant’s office was. Not far from it, the group had set up a sort of impromptu workroom, though the area was otherwise taped off. Just the sight of the caution tape sent a shiver up Henry’s spine. Just outside of the scene, Henry was met by someone he had to assume from the more plain clothes was an investigator.

“Hello sir, sorry to bother you.” The man held out his hand. “Warren Hoss, investigator, you must be Henry Stein, right?”

Henry nodded, shaking his hand a few tentative times. “That’s me.”

“You didn’t know Grant Cohen well, did you?”

“No, sir. I only met him a few times properly.”

“Right. Well, both he mentioned you in his letter and Thomas Connor gave your name when the question of Joseph Drew came up. Any idea why?” He obviously knew, but wanted Henry to tell him himself.

“Well… From what I knew about Grant, Joey kept him on a pretty short leash and… He threatened him a lot, from what I heard, sir, and he does the same to me. Grant knew about it, and he knew I know more about Joey than most people.”

Officer Hoss nodded. “How did he threaten Grant Cohen, exactly?”

Henry bit his lip, looking around nervously. “I don’t know, really, I’m sorry.”

“You say he threatens you too. How so?”

“He… physically threatens me a lot… Constantly threatens my job. He says he wants to make my life Hell, just because he thinks I know more than I should.” Knowing better, he left out everything about Bertrum- and about Joey’s dark magic.

Officer Hoss didn’t press for more on that on Joey’s treatment of them. “And what do you know that’s so important he’d want to ruin your life?”

“I-I can’t say for sure, but…” He glanced around again, seeing only other officers nearby. “All of these people disappearing… Joey says they’re getting fired. Grant says- er, said- they’re not, not according to his records… People don’t just disappear, sir, and Grant was really good at his job as far as I knew.”

“Are you trying to imply that these people who were fired were actually murdered?”

Henry hesitated. The idea shouldn’t be coming out like this. “I’m… not sure.”

“Do you think Grant Cohen was murdered?”

“No, sir. I think he really did do this to himself. He was scared, more than I am.”

“Do you think Joseph Drew could be capable and willing to commit a murder?”

“I believe he could be now, yes.” Henry breathed.

“Hm.” Officer Hoss’s eyes trailed down the hall, towards Grant’s office. “You and I may be in touch if we need to know about Mister Drew. Would you write down a number we can contact you at, please?” From a pocket in the front of his shirt, he produced a small pad of paper and a pen, holding it out to Henry.

Taking it, he began to scribble his home number on the lines, as well as his name. “Of course, of course. Have you spoken to Jack Fain? He was good friends with Grant, if his letter wasn’t enough, Jack might have known what was going on with him.”

“That’s the second time Jack Fain has been brought up. No one of that name works here anymore, according to Mister Drew.”

“Oh.” Was all Henry managed, handing the notepad back a moment later.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Officer Hoss gave a short nod, then ducked under the yellow tape and disappeared in Grant’s office.

A sort of numbness slowly crept into Henry’s chest. The scene was surreal at best. A man he knew personally was found dead at his desk, and his boss had briefly been suspect. He shook his head and turned away, making his way back out of the area.

Only when he was crossing the ditch in the middle of the floor did he catch on to quick feet moving behind him, calling out, “Sir!”

When the animator turned, it was the young officer that had escorted him down. “I’ve been asked to walk you back upstairs, I apologize if that bothers you.” While his tone was cheery, his face didn’t reflect it.

“Oh, no, not at all!” Henry responded automatically. Then it occurred to him that it might be a good idea on the off-chance Joey was upstairs.

Just like before, the young officer was quiet, and Henry couldn’t think of anything to say.

*****

Later that afternoon, not getting any work done without meaning to, Henry’s attention was pulled to the hall at his back by the heavy bootsteps he recognized as Thomas Connor. He shifted to look before the man could speak.

“Grant thought that Susie gal died. That’s why he did it.” Thomas stated, taking a toothpick from between his teeth.

“What?” Henry’s eyebrows went up, shocked.

“Grant’s final letter. He said Drew killed Susie and that was the last straw. Drew’s gettin’ personally investigated. Grant had some freaky-lookin’ pictures of his office.” Thomas’s voice stayed flat. “I dunno who else to tell about it. Wally’s gone, Grant’s gone, Jack’s gone. Wally liked ya, so I guessed I should tell you. I’m leavin’ this afternoon for good b’fore anything else goes belly-up and I think you should do the same. Seriously. You can’t bail out the same way Grant did.”

His voice hadn’t changed at all, but the distant look in Thomas’s blue-gray eyes caused Henry’s expression to become concerned. “How close were you with him, Thomas?” He asked quietly.

He shook his head, his voice slowly dropping. “Not very, but… I tried to look out for him, y’know? He wasn’t that good at takin’ care of himself. He hated workin’ here, but insisted he didn’t have a way out ‘cause of Drew. He found one, I s’pose.”

“Are you okay?” The animator tried.

“I’m in disbelief. Grant’s dead. That’s it. He’s just gone. An’ I don’t think he’s the only one that’s died here, and that scares me.” He glances at Henry, sighing and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, that’s right, I’m scared. Grown man, scared of death. Sue me.”

“I’m so sorry, Thomas. I don’t think it’s wrong for you to be scared, as far as you know your boss is seriously…”

“Deranged? Unhinged? No kidding, you didn’t see those pictures, didn’t see his blood all over the fucking place… That blood’s on Drew’s hands!” Noticing that his voice is rising, he takes a deep breath and lets it out heavily. “Sorry. I don’t mean to put my grief on you, you’re in his situation now. Please be careful.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I-I understand, you’re in pain. It’s alright.”

Thomas nodded. “Be careful.”

“I will. I’ll watch out.”

“Good. Good.” He placed the toothpick back between his teeth, turning on his heel and shuffling away.

The whole conversation left Henry with an ache in his heart, and the idea in his head that Thomas was right. He had to get away, but he needed to know just what happened to the rest of his friends. He doubted the police would be saying anything about it, anyhow.

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marsqrd-blog · 4 years

Text

hey guys, i’m oliver. this is mario aka mar. i’m from buffalo, ny so when i learned there was a buffalo, mn, i knew absolutely had to do it ‘em.

❛ ｡ ‹ xavier serrano. he/him. male. › “ MARIO MARINO at dean levinson’s office please. “ it’s that TWENTY-ONE year old JUNIOR from BUFFALO, MN, right ? can’t imagine what they’re in for this time, after all they are LAIDBACK & LOYAL. then again, their PRIVATE & UNFORTHCOMING tendencies could land them in the dean’s office any time of the day. from what i’ve heard they’ve joined THE MEN'S ICE HOCKEY TEAM and majoring in ARCHITECTURE, but their trademark style consists of SNOWFLAKES CLINGING TO HIS HOODIE AND HAIR, A SMILE LIKE A WARNING BEFORE EVERY HIT, GRUESOME SCARS YOU'VE LEARNED TO LOVE. ˚ ◝ oliver. 21. they/them. est.

THE STORY ( honestly ngl this part reads like a wikipedia page so skip down to MISC for somewhat more relevant things )

-- minnesota : land of 1000 lakes, the state of hockey, of cold, long winters you learn to love or leave to forget ---- that was where he was born, on the coldest day of the year. maybe there’s something to that because he doesn’t get cold very often. ( yes, the cold never bothered him anyway...).

-- he had a pretty simple childhood, the only son of a single mother ( #doubleshifting ), growing up just a short walk from the lake --- wakeboarding in the summer and playing pond hockey in the winter.

-- they weren’t a wealthy family, though not struggling mightily either. hockey was an expensive sport, though, and he played through his early days and partially through high school with second and third hand gear when possible.

-- early on, he learned being flexible, adaptable, and always having a good attitude was highly important ; his upbringing definitely had a large effect on that. once he turned 16, he picked up a gig as a waiter to earn some cash for himself. besides being able to scrape enough together to buy a nice new stick, it was certainly a character building experience.

-- architecture was something that felt natural to pursue. hockey wasn’t the end all, be all, though he hoped he would remain connected to the sport ( beyond beer league ) after his prime playing days ended. he had a certain knack for sketching and accurately capturing perspectives -- uncharacteristic maybe, but there all the same. he turned to architecture in the hopes of someday being able to design an nhl arena in the future.

-- cornell felt like a huge longshot : prestigious, ivy league, and terrifyingly expensive. it was his reach school ( st. cloud state was his fallback ), but seemed worth the risk. as luck would have it, cornell had it’s eye on someone on a rival team his high school team played in the state tournament at the end of his junior year, but in the particular game they visited, he caught their eye as well. that conversation afterward was a shock to him, the first time he considered possibly being good enough to make hockey more than just a fun pastime. from there, it seemed too good to be true : acceptance into cornell, a nice athletic scholarship, hockey on a d1 team.

-- that summer, it was one of his days off from the restaurant and he was at a friend’s lakehouse watching the nhl draft with some friends. he was aware it was a very slim possibility ( and well, everyone who plays always hopes just a little right? ). so they had day two of the draft on in the background, while they were eating some freshly grilled burgers and drinking some not completely legally obtained beer and making plans to go out on the lake later. mar was on the couch cracking some joke when he saw his name on the tv : the fourth round, 95th overall to the vancouver canucks. he kinda stared at it not comprehending, and once he did, he stood up and told his friends they were going to the lake.

-- he’s tried not to let himself think to hard about the fact. the fourth round is a very long shot at best --- but it’s not impossible. he’s dutifully gone to development camp every summer since, but his focus has remained to his school and on his work.

-- he knows he has a choice to make at the end of this season : stay another year to finish college or take that next step forward. architecture is what he likes but hockey is what he loves, and maybe he didn’t really realize he might actually get a chance to live out his true nhl dream. he’s been trying not to focus on it. what he does know, is that this year or after he graduates he plans on signing with vancouver if they’ll still have him -- no matter what anyone tells him. they’re the ones that believed enough in him to draft him three years ago, and he feels a sense of loyalty to them for that.

MISC

-- he almost exclusively goes by ‘mar’. no one knows if it’s taken from his first or last name : it’s a left twix/right twix kinda debate. his teammates probably call him marsy or some shit like that.

-- 6′3″, 193 lbs

-- his wardrobe is pretty much all adidas pants, cornell hockey hoodies, t-shirts from various hockey tournaments, running races, and other misc things you get free t-shirts from. he also has a pretty big chunk of canucks related things from the three development camps he’s been to, but he doesn’t wear it too much because it feels a little like a brag to him sometimes.

-- he’s not that superstitious. he does have a routine before every game, but if things get messed up or done in the wrong order, it doesn’t phase him at all.

-- when he was accepted into cornell, he took some of his long-stashed savings to buy brand new bauer skates. it was the first time he’d ever had brand-new skates. they fittingly ended up having red accents. all his pads are still secondhand, though.

-- he has a small sketchbook. he’s constantly sketching buildings, usually in pen. when it’s nice out, you can find him on the quad drawing some campus building or another. he’s likely redesigned lynah rink like a hundred times already.

-- he prefers to be in the shadows rather than the limelight, and his style of play dictates that. he’s not a goal-scorer, not an offensive defenseman, and isn’t all the flashy. very much has a “if no one notices me, then i’m doing my job”-type mentality, because he assumes if someone does it’s probably because he didn’t do enough to prevent a goal.

-- his reaction to being drafted is very On Brand : constantly brushing off things that are pretty momentous. it comes from a bit of a place of feeling like he’s not really worthy of praise. not that he doesn’t like praise, it’s just... it’s complicated ?.

-- very much a steadying force. knows when to laugh, when to be serious, how to just be a rock on the blue line and in the locker room. he tries not to let too much phase him or get to him either. sometimes people joke he would’ve made a good goalie because of it. ( he laughs because while he loves his goalies, they’re really a complete different breed ).

PERSONALITY

+ laidback, loyal - private, unforthcoming

mar is the kind of guy you want to be friends with. he laughs easily and has a certain friendliness about him. that being said, he has a way to make you feel like you know him but you really don’t. he’s a deeply private person and doesn’t freely disclose much of his close personal life : everything from his emotions, to the fact his wrist is bothering him, to any doubts he has. the frivolous things are given freely : weekend plans, parties, opinions. there’s no true reason for his private state, just that he feels it’s important to keep some things very close to your chest.

on the ice he’s far more imposing, unafraid to throw big hits or get in a scrum if he needs to. he’ll protect his goalie as well as his fellow teammates if the occasion arises.

THE AESTHETICS

SNOWFLAKES CLINGING TO HIS HOODIE AND HAIR... not the type to wear a winter jacket even if the weather maybe calls for it. he loves when it snows and enjoys walking to class when it does so.

A SMILE LIKE A WARNING BEFORE EVERY HIT... “ MARINO smiles before every hit in this thing so the other guy knows what’s coming. ” it’s no secret that mar is a physical presence on the ice ; not dirty, just physical. and he enjoys it.

( tw. kinda graphic injury?? ) GRUESOME SCARS YOU'VE LEARNED TO LOVE... well... mar almost died when he was sixteen, in the middle of playing a tournament. someone crashed the net, he went down trying to defend it, and a skate slashed his neck. it’s a miracle it was a shallow cut --- a few millimeters more and his main artery would’ve been slashed. his souvenir from the incident is a three inch scar on his neck that starts near his adam’s apple and extends at a diagonal toward his right ear. it’s healed to look a bit like a rash or hickey.

ACCOLADES

RUNNER UP, ECAC DEFENSIVE DEFENSEMAN OF THE YEAR ( 2018-19 ) : given to the best defensive defenseman in the conference as voted by the coaches of each ECAC team.

NCAA (ECAC) ALL-ROOKIE TEAM ( 2017-18 )

95th OVERALL, 2017 NHL DRAFT ( vancouver canucks )

SCOUTING REPORT

MARINO provides a strong, physical and highly reliable defensive presence on the blue line. he is unafraid to block shots and sacrifice his body to do so. his skating ability, while not elite, is more than proficient and he can get significant speed when necessary. his is more likely to stand up to hits rather than evade them. MARINO exhibits exceptional passing ability; however, he could do well to improve his overall offensive capabilities and on-ice agility. regardless, his value on the penalty kill and ability to diffuse high danger situations from the opposing team must not be overlooked.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

-- i can see him being friends with whoever the student photographer is that captures the team. creative processes fascinate him.

-- close friend on the team: preferably another dman or goalie. why is this here. i should just send it into the main for the wc list huh.

i suck at coming up with these honestly, so i’m just going to go read intros and hopefully be inspired along the way.

#cornell:intro

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thiswasinevitableid · 5 years

Note

I would love for you to do the sharing favours professionally from the rivalry/ friends to enemies to lovers for the prompt fill for indruck? (I'm on mobile so can't copy the whole prompt) 😁

“ we’ve been begrudgingly sharing favours back and forth to help each other out professionally but this time i need you to do something more personal and you know you wouldn’t have gotten that account without my help last month or that promotion so you owe me.”

Content note: There’s a brief description of Indrid’s ex being verbally shitty to him.

“No, nuh uh, aboslutely no fuckin way.” Duck maneuvers the last butterfly bush into its display row, stands up to find Indrid glaring at him.

“Why not?”

“Indrid, we see plenty of each other at work. I’m not gettin roped into some evenin shindig with you just because you asked.”

He heads inside, the skinny, pale-haired man on his heels.

“Duck, please, I help you out all the time.”

“Yeah, with work. And it’s only now and then.” He settles behind the counter, checking off the deliveries that have already happened. Indrid stays on the other side of it.

“Oh, really?” he arches a dark eyebrow (of course the guy dyes his hair), “what about the time I made sure city hall chose us for the five year landscaping contract even when you were the one who was supposed to be working on winning them over?”

“That how we’re playin?” Duck leans on his elbows, staring Indrid down, “because I seem to recall it was me who helped convince Mama that havin a little florists space so you could do your arrangements was a swell idea.”

Indrid opens his mouth to retort when the phone rings.

Duck grabs it, “Mama’s Nursery and Landscapin, Duck speakin. Oh, howdy Winthrop. Yep, expectin the last orders this week, then we’ll get started on that zen garden. Uh huh. I see. We’ll see what we can do. You have a nice day now.”

He clicks the phone off, “I hate the rich bastard, but he wants us to do the landscapin on their summer home, which’ll be a nice chunk of change.”

“See! There’s another one you owe me. You have such a hard time being in the room with him, the only reason we got the hospital garden job is because I turned on the charm.”

“Is that what you call it when you get that weird smile on your face?”

Indrid groans in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. When his hand drops away he looks...defeated.

He and Duck may bicker, may compete from time to time, but Indrid’s a good guy. Hell, Duck will even admit (begrudgingly) that he often enjoys how much the two of them work together.

Duck sighs, forces his brain to switch from arguing mode to problem solving mode, “Indrid, what’s all this about?”

“I told you, I have an art showing.”

“Right, but why do you need me to go. Why do you need anyone, ain’t your job at those to make small talk and hope people say nice things about your drawins?”

Indrid swallows, picks at the front of his work apron, “He’s going to be there.” He says meekly.

“He-oh fuck, you mean The Shithead?”

Indrid nods.

“He tryin to pull some stunt to make you take him back?”

Indrid laughs bitterly, “no, he’s been all over his social media bragging about how he’s going to turn up with a hot date to my show, “show me what I gave up” and all that. Dani saw it and warned me so he couldn’t take me by surprise. I have so few friends in town, and everyone but you has work or something else that night. I thought it would be nice to have someone I knew with me.”

Duck thinks about Indrid’s ex. The guy’d come into the shop plenty of times, often making a big show of putting a possessive arm around Indrid (who never seemed to enjoy the gesture). At least, that’s what he always did when Duck was around. Worse, whenever Indrid was describing a new landscaping design, or working on an arrangement, the ex would pick at it, say how it was bad or lacking, that it would never work and no one would like it. And Duck would watch the glimmer dim in Indrids’ eyes, watch him go quiet (find him more than once sniffling and wiping his eyes furiously in an outbuilding once the guy left).

He looks back at the other man, who is staring at his scuffed converse.

“Where am I meetin you and what time should I get there?”

--------------------------------------

Duck gives a tight smile to the group of hip twentysomethings crowding the door of the building as he squeezes through. It’s some art space/ coffee house/ bar that isn’t quite his scene, although he likes that it’s warm and lively as opposed to the fluorescent lights and weird silence he was expecting.

He doesn’t spot Indrid right away, and so takes a moment to look at the drawings on the wall. They’re Indrid’s alright, he can recognize the ways they overlap with the sketches he does for arrangements or the plans he draws up for gardens. And they’re incredible, black and white with pops of color, a few abstract or dreamlike but many seeming more like still lifes.

One in particular catches his eye and he stares at for a good two minutes, trying to figure out why it looks so familiar.

“Ahem.”

He turns, and has to forcibly stop his jaw from dropping.

Indrid is in dark slacks and some sort flowy black shall-jacket thing over a bright red shirt. His hair is tousled on purpose, rather than from getting it caught on plants.

Has he always looked this good?

“Thanks for coming.” He says awkwardly, extending one of the two glasses he’s holding to Duck.

“This all looks amazin.” Duck says, taking the drink with a smile. Indrid relaxes at that.

“Oh, I’m, uh, glad you like it.”

“What’s this one of?” Duck points to the drawing he’d been staring at.

“It’s of a really lovely, big cork oak up on one of the eastwoods trails. I like to go there on weekends and sketch.”

“Hold up, that the trail that ends at the little lake?”

“Yes.”

“No fuckin way! I hike that nearly every weekend. Amazed I’ve never seen you.”

“I’m usually off the trail a little ways.” He grins sheepishly when Duck looks aghast at this confession, “I know that’s not allowed but I’m able to get such different perspectives on the things I draw.”

“If, uh, if you wanted to, maybe we could go up together some time. Could leave you to do your drawin while I hiked and then, dunno, maybe get lunch of somethin?”

Indrid looks a little surprised at the suggestion, but recovers quickly, “That sounds quite nice, actually.”

Duck stays by Indrid as he makes the rounds, asking him about the different drawings and enjoying the way he animatedly describes the process and idea behind each.

The Shithead arrives about forty-five minutes in. Duck spots him first, complete with a date on his arm. The date is tall, slender, with pale hair, looking like Indrid if he were a model rather than just a regular guy. Or, Duck thinks as he watches the ex preen, as if someone took Indrid and erased all the things that made him so interesting to look at.

“Ex just got here.” He murmurs, and Indrid stiffens beside him. Duck, seized with a sudden need to protect him from that jerk, places an arm reassuringly on his lower back. Indrid glances at him, face unreadable, but relaxes into the touch. For the next fifteen minutes, whenever The Shithead makes a loud, derisive comment, Duck will squeeze Indrids hand or brush his fingers down his back and Indrid will shake off the words.

There are several people wanting to buy drawings and so Indrid excuses himself to go thank them.

“Knew you’d be the one to pick up the scraps.” Says a familiar, unpleasant voice.

Duck turns, levels The Shithead with his most disinterested gaze.

“Nice to see you too. And I ain’t got the slightest clue what you’re referrin to.”

“He was always talking about you. ‘Oh, Duck knows so much about native plants,’ ‘oh, Duck has such good ideas.’” He says it in a mocking, high pitched imitation of Indrids lilt and Duck wonders if he can get away with physically throwing him out of the building.

“Anyway, it doesn’t surprise me that when I traded up, he went crawling to you. Honestly, you can do much better.”

“Beg pardon?” Duck growls.

“Let me see, how to put this in terms you understand? Why waste your time on a weed when you could have a prizewinning rose?”

“Because,” Duck says through gritted teeth, “sometimes people call things weeds just cause they don’t behave exactly how they want ‘em too, or because they don’t see the value in ‘em.” He steps closer to the ex, not noticing that he’s stopped whispering, “You fucked up. You were shitty and Indrid had the good sense to dump you and now you’re doin some petty shit to try and hurt him. He’s amazin at what he does, he works hard, he’s funny, and he’s so handsome I wanna look at him every damn day. You didn’t see the value in him. That’s your loss. Now fuck. Off.”

The Shithead is about to say something when a hand grabs his shoulder. His date is behind him, looking pissed.

“Hold on, you asked me out to try and hurt your ex?”

“Uhhh, babe, no, I can explain.”

Duck smirks, turns to check on Indrid just in time to see him slip out a side door.

“Goddammit.” He mutters, quickly following him.

The door opens into an alley, and Indrid is standing with his back to him. When he turns, his hands are over his mouth and his eyes are wet. But he doesn’t look unhappy.

“You like me.” He whispers.

“Uh” Duck scrambles, “well, yeah, we’re, uh, friendly types, fuck.”

“You think I’m handsome.”

“Shit, you heard all of that?”

Indrid nods, Duck sighs.

“Fuck it. Yeah, I think you’re handsome. And all the other stuff. And lots of, uh, other stuff that I didn’t say but could’ve.

Indrid steps closer, “Is the part where you admit all our arguing has been the only safe outlet for your, um, passion for me?”

Duck snorts, “Hell no, sometimes you need a fella who’ll tell when an idea ain’t feasible. But…” He meets Indrids hopeful gaze and smiles, “I’d be lyin if I said I ain’t thought about what it’d be like to be a different kind of partner to you.”

Indrid reaches for him, and Duck goes willingly into his arms as the taller man blushes and says, “Yes, I’ve thought about that quite a lot as well.”

------------------------------------------

Dani’s glad Indrids’ show is open so late. It means she and Aubrey can go once Aubreys’ act is over. She even texted Jake and Hollis, asking if they wanted to check it out too (also, if Indrid’s ex was there, having someone who looked like, and basically was, the head of a motorcycle gang would come in really handy).

When the four of them reach the bar, she peeks in hoping to see Indrid, but can’t spot the taller man (or Duck) anywhere.

“Huh, maybe he left?”

“Or maybe he’s taking a little ‘break.’” Hollis makes airquotes before pointing up. They all look towards the balcony, which clearly isn’t in use for the party.

It is, however, in use for the two figures currently occupying it for a long and intense looking kiss. One is wearing red glasses, the other lets out a laugh that unmistakably belongs to Duck Newton.

“We should give them some privacy.” Aubrey says. The other three look at her, and then she grins.

“Just kidding! WOOOOOO GET IT DUCK!”

“ABOUT FUCKING TIME DUDES.”

“GET A ROOM!”

“I’M SORRY ABOUT THEM BUT GOOD FOR YOU!”

----------------------------------

The sound of his friends catcalling them breaks Ducks concentration for all of two seconds. Then he flips them the bird, and goes back to the very important business of making out with his boyfriend.

#Prompt Fills #indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #AUs #taz aus

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doerunners · 4 years

Note

tiger breeze :)

How I feel about this character

Okay, anyone with eyes knows I fucking adore Tiger Breeze. She is so fun and sexy and perfect and I wish she was real so I could ask her out and marry her. My soft spot for tough girls who refuse to show weakness becomes more and more apparent with each and every passing day. I think she is arguably the most underrated of the tribe leaders- personality-wise at least. We’ve already had the discussion of how she is one of the prettiest cats in Threeclans. Tiger Breeze is so fun and dynamic and I love how the tribe’s customs and lore is used so well in favor of her character. Seeing her during the spring, watching her kick ass and take names? It makes me so happy. She is so powerful and perfect. Anyways.

Tiger Breeze has gone through So Much Fucked Up Shit and taken on so many burdens that nobody else was willing to put the effort in for. She was the only spring cat to step up and take in Hollow when all was lost, when she was being torn apart by her own tribe after losing the home she’d been born and raised in. For moons and moons and moons, she was starving, being berated, blamed, betrayed. And she still held on, still nursing Hollow as they all starved, as the leaders bickered and fought over how to proceed. She lost connection to the ancestors, she lost everything. And still she remained strong.

Two to-bes leave, the biggest “fuck you” any cat could have given their home. And she didn’t forget. And when they returned, well fed, groomed, having found some better place than the tribe, insisting they’re the tribe’s saviors? After watching her tribemates starve, watching them flea-infested, unable to move, get hit by cars and starve to death? After she’s held on so long, stayed strong, continued to fight tooth and nail to keep the cats she’s responsible alive? They’re the heroes? She puts them in their place fast. She rewards Aspen and Spark, examples of what those traitors should have been. That’ll show em.

She leads her tribe after them. They don’t get to run away and feast endlessly, leaping into the arms of these ‘Clan cats.’ No. If they’re going to live life without a care, so is the tribe. She fights, she puts herself at risk, inserting herself amongst the leaders, not asking them, Telling Them that the territory they’ve settled on is theirs now. She claims a new home for her tribe.

So she settles in. She’s done her job. Hollow is grown up, the Tribe has a home now. She’s done her job. She can relax. And then suddenly her nieces are in her lap and they’re her problem now. Great. She’s expected to be the mom of her brother’s dead boyfriend, a role she neither wanted nor asked for. Cool.

I could go on but its 12:30 and I have class tomorrow. My point is? Tiger Breeze’s whole life is practically dedicated to cleaning up the messes of everyone else and she deserves a break.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Tiger/Kink. I really shocked you with this one, huh Maya? Anyways- hear me out. I think there’s so much potential here just because they’re both so similar to one another, and yet their morals are so different. Tiger Breeze, since birth, has been raised to be a good caretaker. She’s had this stereotype to fill with being a passive, docile, loving, empathetic kit lover, never given room to grow outside that. She was raised under the expectation that she’d be cared for, she wouldn’t need to raise a paw to feed herself or protect herself. She found salvation by rebelling and makes a point of showing herself off, reminding others around her that she is not a force to be reckoned with- she’s not a doormat and any cat who thinks otherwise will have hell to pay. However, when it comes to being a spring cat, she feels awkward, out of place, like she’s not where she’s supposed to be. She’s so focused on being tough and strong that she feels out of place in a position so vulnerable as raising children- especially in the cases of Firefly and Butterfly, where the role of “mother” has been so unceremoniously forced upon her, a role she has no desire to claim. Tiger Breeze’s tough demeanor comes from being separated from motherhood. Kinktail? From birth, she’s been raised to be a fierce and loyal warrior. Her mentor was tough and demanding, and Kinktail worked hard to prove herself a loyal FogClan warrior. She had to learn everything, taking on so many different roles as FogClan warriors are expected. Where Tribe cats take on one specific role for the good of the many, FogClan cats take on all roles for the sake of self-preservation. Kinktail has been raised under the expectation she would be facing the world relatively on her own. Kinktail embraced this, loyal FogClan warrior to a T- only raising kits because it was the expectation to give back to her clan and add to its population. But, no father in the picture, the threat of traitors, FogClan changing so drastically through her pregnancy and her time as a nursery queen? Motherhood wasn’t an obligation- it quickly morphed into her identity. Her loyalty only began to shift as something more important entered her life. Kinktail’s tough demeanor was forged from motherhood. Both of them are strong, closed off mollies well regarded for their fierce, tough attitudes, but for entirely different reasons. As a result, I think them merging, Kinktail teaching Tiger Breeze to embrace motherhood without compromising her strength and Tiger Breeze teaching Kinktail to be less unhealthily reliant on motherhood, teaching her to move on from the dark parts of motherhood that haunt Kinktail? I think there’s SO much room for growth and depth there.Tiger/Feather. Okay. If Sketch somehow manages to steal Tiger Breeze from my grubby little fingers, I think there’s potential for a fun opposites-attract type thing with these two. Feather is the embodiment of friendliness and kindness, Tiger Breeze is the embodiment of “lmao why the Fuck are you looking at me” and seeing those two personalities merge together would be hilarious

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Ok these are gonna be shorter bc I’m starting to lose steam here.

Tiger&Butterfly and Tiger&Firefly. Ugh. The complex relationship these three have? SO fun and interesting and cool to watch. I hope that someday, as Firefly and Butterfly get older, sentient enough to realize how fucked up the situation they, Tiger, and Fading all had? They gain a close relationship with her where Tiger has a soft spot for them, protects them and spoils them ever so slightly, and Firefly and Butterfly can count on their aunt Tiger Breeze to be there for advice, to yell at people who fuck with them, so on and so forth. I really wanna see how they turn out once they’re teens/adults, and Tiger gets a little more separation from responsibility over them.

Fading&Tiger. Everyone knows what a soft spot I have for sibling relationships, especially ones as complex as this. I hope that, someday, when Fading gets to overcome the trauma he went through and gets a little more aware of how fucked that situation was/is, they can someday have a heart to heart and find some sort of middle ground/some respect for one another, even if it’s from a distance.

My unpopular opinion about this character

Tiger Breeze isn’t as bad a caretaker as everyone says she is. There, I said it. Is she a perfect caretaker? Would she be on the cover of “World’s Best Moms” magazine? Absolutely not. But I also firmly believe that Tiger Breeze does what she believes is right by those in her care, and even if sometimes her view of what’s right for them is a little bit skewed, I think she does care about those she looks after and does what she thinks they’ll need to grow up strong. She’s just a bit of a believer in tough love.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon.

I wish Tiger Breeze would fall in love. I’ll be the first person to admit a romantic interest a. should not be necessary for a cat’s storyline, b. should not be used as a means of “fixing” or “changing a cat (especially “for the better”) but I think Tiger Breeze, in particular, would be a really fun cat to see slip up with her feelings. So much of Tiger Breeze’s character is formed around the fact that she’s independent, she’s a bad bitch, she always knows what’s best, she’s being held back by the other cats around her, so on and so forth. Constantly, to her, she’s being forced to fall to a lesser standard because other cats won’t stop latching onto her when all she wants is to be alone. And it’s for that reason I’d love to see her finally deal with her, herself, holding her back because she feels herself starting to get attached to another cat. I want to see her lose her train of thought because she saw her crush out of the corner of her eye, I want to see her up giving the gathering announcements and pause just for a split second because she saw the cat’s eyes staring up at her, their attention fully on her. I want to see her lash out and tase this cat as some half-hearted way to distance herself from them- all because she blames them for how her mind has slowly been being taken over by thoughts of them. Maybe I’m just a stupid fucking romantic but there’s nothing that I love more than seeing strong cats fall victim to their own feelings.

#tiger breeze #im so tired so please excuse this making no sense #Anonymous

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clevercatchphrase · 4 years

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2019 year in review

So… The 2010’s are almost over. Huh. What a decade it’s been. Hard to comprehend how much has changed in 10 years. I can barely believe that I was in high school at the beginning of this decade, and now I’m a college graduate with 2 degrees who’s been working at the same job for the last 3 years. But trying to summarize the past 10 years in a single post is a good way to give myself an existential crisis, so let’s not do that! Instead, let’s just focus on 2019 because there has been more than enough shit that’s happened to me in this year to talk about.

PART 1 OF 2: 2019 AND 2020 GOALS AND RESOLUTIONS

Huh, looking back through my archives, I apparently didn’t make a tumblr post about my goals this year. I definitely had some, though. Lemme list ‘em off real quick, and then we’ll go through them point by point.

1) Pay off all my student loans 2) Finish some song comics 3) Make art for my Redbubble account 4) Finish the first rough draft/script of a game I wanted to make 5) Practice ASL 6) Sew some stuffed animals 7) Finish some fan fictions 8) Work on Ghost Switch 9) AMVs 10) Do some original writing 11) Make illustrations for my fan fictions

Okay, first off, the student loans. I was actually SO CLOSE to successfully completing this one bUT THEN MY CAR HAD TO BE A WHINEY PISS BABY AND HAVE ITS ALTERNATOR DIE ON ME WHILE I WAS ON THE HIGHWAY AND THEN A BLOW OUT THREE WEEKS LATER.

GOD, if I had to summarize this year in two words, for me it would be “Car troubles”. I swear I spent more on auto repair in the first third of this year than I ever have just freakin’ OWNING a car. All four of my tires had to be replaced, my alternator failed and my car literally just SHUT OFF while I was driving, and I was barely able to coast into a gas station. Both my front breaks and rear breaks were worn down the metal and I only learned this when my car was barely able to stop after I had to slam the petal down full force! I went in for an oil change, and they found some problems and then I didn’t get my car back for three days! I don’t even like owning a car! I hate driving! I hate my country’s refusal to provide universal, free public transportation! I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS!

Oh-kay… number 2. Finish some song comics. I didn’t finish any. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t work on them. I have made tiny progress, but that’s certainly better than no progress. One of these song comics I hope to be realizes is going to be a collab with one of my friends. It’ll be a long-time coming as it’s pretty low priority for the both of us, but if anyone else out there was disappointed with KH3’s ending, we’re gonna have ya’ covered… With SONG!

3. Make some redbubble art. I actually did this one! Not in the way I expected, but I added (technically) 3 new designs to my redbubble in the middle of the year. If you like butterflies and dragons, I got some product for you~!

Number 4, finish a script for a game I want to make. I… thought about this. I thought about this a lot, but I never put pen to paper, so… oops. It almost happened! I debated making this my main writing project for NaNoWriMo this year, but ended up having more inspiration for another story. Maybe next year? (god, I hope not. I don’t want to wait a full year just to write something)

Number 5, practice ASL. I just straight up didn’t do this and I only have myself to blame. Still keepin’ up that Danish Duolingo streak, though. 4 years going strong and not a day missed yet.

Number 6, sew some stuffed animals. Again, another one I just straight up didn’t do, but I have an excuse of trying to save money while my car crashed and burned in every other sense except literal this year. Hopefully 2020 will be different. I’ll definitely be able to pay off this last loan within the first half of 2020, and then I can start saving for whatever I want to buy.

Finish some fan fictions was number 7, and I did this! Well, I only finished, 1, but it was a story I’ve been working on for over 3 years, and it came out to over 200 THOUSAND words long, which is the longest thing I’ve ever written, and I’m quite proud of myself. Now that the big story is out of the way, and I’ve gotten into a good rhythm of working on Ghost Switch, maybe I can squeeze in some short writing sessions more frequently. (either that, or just wait for my car to break down again and then go on a writing spree in a pepboys. The lord and the fan fic discord know that’s solely why I finished my other fic this year)

Speaking of Ghost Switch, working on it was a goal this year too, and I did that! I kept it up all year and took a vacation in November and it was wonderful. While the major plot points have been in place since before I started drawing, I still need to script each arc beyond Snowdin, but hey, by the time we get there, it’ll be 2022 so I got time. (Note, don’t do this, kids. Script your stories and comics thoroughly before publishing. The road I’m on is paved with misery and pain and it will only end in tears unless I change lanes soon)

Number 9, amvs. Do people make AMVs anymore? Idk… the last one I made was... Jesus, 5 years ago? (it was a gravity falls/fall out boy crossover, if you were curious) I’ve been wanting to do 2 more for just as long, but in order for me to do that, I’d have to spend time re-watching the shows to find the footage, and then actually edit them together, and I just don’t…. feel like it. Maybe someday, but not any day soon.

10; do some original writing. I did this! For nanowrimo! I wrote the first draft of some original fiction I’ve been planning for a year or two now and it completely sucks! But it’s on paper now and I’m happy. Will I revise and edit it? Sure, but not for a while. I want to let it sit and forget about it and look at it with new eyes months from now so I can be sure I can make it better when time comes to rewrite.

11, make illustrations for my fan fics. Now that You Monster is done, I want to go back and add pictures to it. I didn’t do any this year, but I did keep a list of scenes I wanted to draw, so I have plenty of ideas to do as warm up sketches next year~ I kinda want to stream them~

So, that was 11 goals, and I successfully fulfilled 4 of them! That’s! Not a very good ratio… QmQ So, goals for 2020. Some I’m gonna keep from this year, some I’m gonna drop and some I’m gonna add. In short I would like to,

1) Finish paying off that last student loan 2) Put more stuff on my redbubble 3) Illustrate my own fan fics 4) Sew at least one stuffed animal 5) Make an enamel pin 6) Read one new book a month 7) Write one page a day/Complete at least one new fan fic 8) Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make 9) Finish fully scripting Ghost Switch 10) Boost my patreon

Most of these I think are pretty self-explanitory, but I’ll go into detail just a bit because I’m on a roll and typing my thoughts helps me feel less alone in the middle of the night when you’re super tired and you know you should probably go to sleep, but the toddler in you is throwing a tantrum and doesn’t wanna go to sleep just yet, but you can’t fight the progression of time either way.

Number 1- I should be able to reach this goal by the end of March. End of June at the absolute latest. Once that goal is met, my secret new year’s resolution will be unlocked as well!

Number 2- I want to put more art of my OCs on redbubble. These OCs are tied to the game I want to make. There’s already some art of them up there, but I want at least one piece for each character.

Number 3- Mostly for You Monster. Embrace the cardinal rule of fan fic and apply it to fan art. If you want to read about see art about certain ideas, scenarios, or what-ifs, you gotta make it yourself.

Number 4- I have 3 potential ideas to sew. One is definitely leagues easier than the other two and will probably be chosen if/when I have the time and materials.

Number 5- This year I got really, REALLY into the idea of making enamel pins. Unfortunately it’s a pretty big investment (like, $350 to make 100 pins you might not even sell). If this happens, it’ll probably be towards the end of the year, and if I get enough interest. I’m currently torn between making an original enamel pin and one based off Undertale. We’ll just have to see where this goes.

Number 6- Back in 2018 when I paid off one of my many student loans, I rewarded myself by spending over 200 dollars in used books. All these books had a theme; they were focused on dragons because I have a problem. I have not yet read a single one of these books I have bought, and I would like to fix that. I have, like, 20 unread dragon books, and even if I only read 12 out of 20, I would consider that an amazing accomplishment and money well spent.

Number 7- I currently have about 8 different WIPs I could work on. (well, I don’t know if I can even call them wips. More like, a general idea and a title written down.) I want to build good writing habits, and if I can write just 200 words a day, hell, even 200 words a week and just one of my 8 stories done, I would consider this goal met.

Number 8- I’m torn between making my game in unity or ren’py. I know jack shit about both. Ren’py is more user friendly, but unity will allow me more customization. (Lol, can you guess what kind of game I want to make yet?)

Number 9- I really just want the full story to be done and written incase anything goes horribly terribly wrong in my life and I find myself unable to continue making ghost switch in comic form. Then at least I can finish the story by other means, you know?

Number 10- It always surprises me every month when I get that patreon email saying I got paid. Sure, I don’t even make double digits on it, but it still awes me enough to know that people out there like my work enough to throw me a tip. I can’t thank my patrons enough for supporting me and I hope to one day be in such a good place I can update my comic/song comics/writing frequently enough without need for goals or milestones. But until that magical day arrives, money is always a great incentive for anything, I suppose. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ALRIGHT. PART 2 OF 2: SHIT THAT HAPPENED TO ME IN 2019

Cheesus crust what a year. This year started off great! Back in late January Kingdom Hearts 3 FINALLY released, and let me tell you a little story. Back in the summer of 2006 I was a 13 year old middle schooler with no way of making money other than by doing house hold chores at a rate of 25 cents a task. A few weeks ago, I had a sleep over at a friend’s house and they let me play this weird game called “Kingdom Hearts” and god, I was instantly hooked on it. That summer, I did over 800 chores, enough to earn myself 200$ and buy myself a playstation 2 (just in time for the ps3 to come out, gg me) The only games I had for the ps2 were KH1, 2, Re:CoM and Okami, and I beat them all… except Okami. Miffed that the PS3 wouldn’t allow for backwards compatibility, little 13-year-old me made a promise. I looked myself in the mirror and said “I will not buy the next playstation console until KH3 comes out, AND BOY that was probably a good choice for me to make with my level of gaming. I’m even less of a casual gamer than the average casual gamer, but I have been waiting 13 years for this piece of closure, and I even told my friends and family that “the day Kingdom Hearts 3 comes out is the day I will buy a playstation 4”. My dad apparently thought this was the funniest shit, because he literally took the day off from work that Friday to drive me on base to get the game and console (he thought it would be less crowded than a regular walmart, I suppose). I paid $400 on a ps4 pro while he bought me the game. Again, I have an impecible sense of timing seeing as the PS5 is now right on the horrizion, but just like before, I’m not buying a new console until the next KH game is released. See you in 2045, sony~. While I was at the gamestop on base, I also picked up Okami HD and The Last Guardian. For all of February and even early March, I took my time playing through KH3. And…! It was the best disappointment I’ve ever played. After a month away from gaming, I started The Last Guardian and finished it in a couple weeks. I love trico and would die for him, but trying to get 100% completion on that game is udder insanity. Okami, HD, however… again after a month break after finishing TLG, I started replaying Okami. I think I had only managed to get about halfway through the game before I just… stopped playing it on my ps2 version. I am currently SO CLOSE to getting a 100% on the ps4 version. In fact, I’ve beaten the game. I only (techinically) need 2 more trophies to be done; 1st, escape the water dragon without being eaten, 2nd, I need to beat that dumb stupid race with Kai, in order to get the last bead on my rosary, as well as the top dog trophy. I hate her so much. I hate this race so much. It’s awful and bad.

Flash forward to December! Earlier this month I was at Barnes and Noble, buying myself a planner for 2020. I exit the store and notice that there’s a gamestop across the street. For shits and giggles I go inside to look at their game selection, and I find KH 1.5 and 2.5. Now, my PS2 died a few years back (it just won’t read my discs anymore, I don’t know why) and I haven’t been able to replay any of my other kingdom hearts games since. If you had seen me the day I finished kingdom hearts 3, after the ending credits rolled, you would have heard me say “Man…. I wish I could play kingdom hearts 2 again”. AND NOW I CAN, ALONG WITH BBS which I had never even played yet, but knew the story of. I’ve restarted playing kh1, and I was so happy to hear that familiar music when I booted the game up for the first time. While at the game stop, I also picked up Rime and Tearaway, two games that had looked interesting to me. At the time of writing, I’ve finished Rime and am 25% done with tearaway. Rime was…. An interesting experience. I learned about it through Jacksepticeye’s channel a couple years back and thought the art style was enticing. For a super casual gamer like me, I found the puzzles just the right level of challenging and exploring was a blast! The music gave me VERY strong Princes Mononoke vibes, but the overall story left something to be desired. Overall I had fun, and enjoyed completing this game to 100%. Now for tearaway. Can I just say this game is super fucking adorable? I know the original was on the ps vita and the gameplay there was arguably more diverse and imaginative, but this game is just so fucking cute I don’t care?? ALSO, this game’s sound track is ABSOLUTELY incredible and I’ve only heard the first fourth of it! Listen to The Orchards, Pig Riding, and Gibbet Hill Pilgrimage for a taste of their wonderful beats and fantastic use of string and woodwinds! God, I’m so excited to get some more games in 2020. I’m proud to say I currently own more ps4 games than I ever did with my ps2 (and now the majority AREN’T Kingdom Hearts titles!), and I’m still hoping to play Journey, The Witness, and Abzu before everything becomes ps5.

What else happened to me this year. Oh, I went to a doctor for, like, the first time in seven years. I also had my blood drawn for the first time ever, and the nurse said the most disturbing thing to me while she did it. Now, whenever I get shots, I refuse to look. I did that here. So she thought it would be appropriate to say to me “Can you feel your blood leaving your body?” Lady… You can clearly see I am uncomfortable with what is happening here. Why, of all the things you could say, did you choose to say that. Unfortunately, while my doctor is nice, she keeps wanting to run tests on me, that I just cannot afford with my current salary, and my monthly insurance is about to go up to 200$ a month, so I’ve cancelled my next appointment with them, and don’t plan to go back until it’s absolutely necessary. Capitalism is fun, guys. Preventative healthcare is for wusses.

I started going to a chiropractor on a monthly basis. Story time- I don’t know when it started, but sometime late last November I began to notice that I had a headache that just... wasn’t... going away? And each day it was starting to get a little worse. It made it hard for me to find a comfortable position to sleep, it made it hard for me to be in bright areas or move fast. So I said to myself “Okay, if this headache persist through the month of december, then something is proooobably wrong and I should go see someone about it. And hoo-boy were thing wrong with me. By the time this January rolled around, I couldn’t even stay on my feet for more than a few hours without it physically hurting to just BREATHE. So I started going to this chain called The Joint (A+ name, I know). THey aksed me “How are you doing?” I said “I’m in pain” and they said “We can help fix that!”. I’ve only been to a chiropractor once before in my life a few years back after my freshmen year of college because I began to notice my hips weren’t able to support me? LIke, I would lie on my back, and I couldn’t push my hips up when my feet were flat on the floor. I also couldn’t climb anything steep, because my legs just couldn’t push me up if my knee had to bend more than 90 degrees when I lifted my leg up. (Turned out both my hips were apparently out of place). This time only one of my hips were out of place (which they fixed. they said one of my legs was an inch “longer” than the other because I had been leaning all my weight on one leg when I stand). But two of my ribs were apparently “Stuck” which was why it was hurting for me to just breathe, and one of my shoulders was missaligned too, causing one of my trap muscles to constantly be streched, which was pulling on my skull, and causing the headache. Anyway, after they popped all my bones back into place, I still felt terrible, but by god, that night was the first time in weeks I was able to sleep without a migrane. A chiropractor can’t magically heal your arthritis, or fibro, but I definately think they have merit to keeping your posture good and helping your body with things like circulation. 10 outa 10, would recomend. It’s all the fun of getting your neck snapped without the dying!

Earlier this month I got together with two of my friends and we baked Christmas cookies. It was a lot of fun, as well as a great learning experience. A member of my family has a gluten allergy, so we used rice flour for most of the cookies. We learned this is a bad idea! The cookies will just fall apart! A few member’s in one of the friend’s family have nut allergies. Other friend and I knew this and were careful to avoid cookie recipes with nuts, bUT THEN COMPLETELY FORGOT THAT ALMOND MILK AND ALMOND EXTRACT COUNT AS NUT. IN FACT, ALMOND EXTRACT IS PURE CONCENTRATED NUT JUICE AND WE FELT SO BAD FOR ALMOST ACCIDENTALLY POISONING THE FAMILY.

Earlier this year me and these same friends took a field trip to Hobby Lobby and just dicked around the store for a couple of hours. It was super fun, 11 outa 10, would recommend, a great date idea for your artsy S.O.

Back in May I went to a wedding for the first time in my life. (well, not true, but the first one I could remember) we left at 5am, drove 5 hours to get there, hung out at a zoo and spent the night in a la quinta before the wedding day. I slept on the bathroom floor because my mom was snoring too loud in the main room and keeping me awake, and the rest of the day was just spent me trying to keep myself together because I was pissed off and tired.

Other than all of that, nothing really major happened to me this year. I guess one more thing I’ve tried to do this year is started the process of breaking certain internet addictions so I can use my free time for more personal projects. Seriously, I found myself watching way too much youtube and following blogs that didn’t even make me happy. I had a personal intervention with myself where I sat down and asked myself, “why do you watch these videos and youtubers? Why do you follow these blogs? Do you really enjoy their content? Do you really care? If you stopped watching/following them, would you even notice?” After critically thinking it over, I’ve found myself unfollowing several channels and blogs and suddenly I feel so much happier. I thought I would miss it, but I realized I didn’t really care if I saw their content or not. I wasn’t missing much. And now I feel like I have more time to draw, read and write. If you think you spend too much time consuming and not enough time creating, I suggest you try and de-clutter your internet habits as well. It’s done wonders to un-fuck my headspace.

And… well, that about sums up my year. How are your holidays going? Anything fun, exciting, dramatic happen to you this year? I hope your new year is warm and safe! Good night, everybody!

#new year's resolutions #year in review #long post #(seriiously this think is like 3k words)

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derieri · 4 years

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Sins of Abstinence - Preview

In another world, Merlin chose a side.

It’s the first scene of the demon!Merlin AU I’ve been waiting for since 2016, which I finally decided to buck up and write for myself. The end word count will probably be about 15k, and I need some motivation to finish it!

Feedback and hearing if other people are excited about it would probably be a game-changer, so tell me what you think!!!!

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“So… what’d you call ‘em again?”

“The Ten Commandments,” Meliodas repeated, looking over his four companions. Criminals, every one of them, accused of vile crimes and sentenced to death until he recruited them. Diane, King, Ban, and Gowther. In Liones they were known as the Horsemen. After his stint as the commander of Danafor’s Holy Knights, one might think this was strange company for Meliodas to keep. But really, his companions were the same as they had always been: terrible people doing terrible things in the name of redemption.

“Riiiight. And they’re all stupid powerful.”

“The Demon King’s best warriors,” King added in an anxious voice. Meliodas nodded.

“Yep. But there’s a few I’m worried about in particular.” He shuffled the papers spread in front of him; King hovered over his shoulder to look. The drawings weren’t perfect likenesses after being filtered through three thousand years’ memories and his miserable art skills, but he’d managed to capture the demons’ distinctive traits. He laid out three pages and explained them one by one.

“Estarossa’s tricky, you can’t let him fool you. He is my brother, as is Zeldris. He’s next in line for the throne.” His finger tapped the drawing with a spray of spikey black hair, round cheeks, and a dark glower. “Then, there’s Merlin.” He brushed Zeldris aside to expose a sketch of a mature woman.

“Is she your sister?” Diane leaned in through the window to ask. He shook his head.

“Nope, she was human.”

“Human?” Ban said. “Thought you said they were demons.”

“She’s different. In more ways than one,” he added. “She’s not a Commandment, but she’ll come too, if she’s able. The others will be weaker when they break free, but not her. I sealed her separately. And she’s been leeching off my power for the last nineteen centuries. I have no idea how strong she’ll have gotten, but I’m sure she’s formidable.” Around him, the Horsemen had gone oddly silent. He looked up at them. “What?”

“Captain, you almost sound… proud of her,” King said. Meliodas sighed and let his eyes slide shut.

“I do, huh? Well.” He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms behind his neck. “She’s probably mad as a spitting cat, and I don’t blame her. Point is, leave those three to me, alright?”

“… Sure, Captain.”

**-**-**-**-**

When the Horsemen had gone from the back room of the Boar Hat, Meliodas remained there alone, looking down at the drawings of his siblings. His fingers drifted over their faces. In his mind’s eye, all three of them are still just children. Estarossa, round-faced and eager; Zeldris, hungry to prove himself against his brothers; Merlin, as she was when he first met her, a sullen waif with her face streaked by ash. Gods, he was an awful older brother. Still, for Zeldris and Estarossa, he could tell himself that they were doomed to darkness from the start. Merlin, on the other hand—

Merlin was all his fault.

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

“Meliodas!” An enthused cry was the only warning the prince of demons received before a young girl plowed into him at full force. He pulled up short, allowing her to wrap her arms around his thighs in a pathetic sort of hug. Gods, she was an excitable child. He’d never been this undisciplined—but then again, he wasn’t human.

“Merlin,” he greeted her blandly. “You seem… energized.”

She pulled away from his legs to look up at him, a bit more composed now but obviously in a good mood.

“I finished copying the scroll you gave me! Would you like to see it? And may I have another just like it?”

A small huff escaped between his lips. She was developing admirably. He’d never admit it out loud, but he was proud of her in a way—after all, he’d assumed responsibility for supervising her training. But he couldn’t take all the credit. Merlin possessed a raw talent for magic unlike any other he’d seen, her innate Infinity ability aside. It made her useful, remarkably so for a human.

“So soon? Not bad. I’ll look it over when I’m finished with the mission today. And I’ll prepare another for you as well.” She pouted and opened her mouth to complain, but he stopped her short. “Patience, Merlin. I can send for a tutor, if you’d like.”

Her nose scrunched up in distaste, as he’d expected it would. Between her uncanny talent and ornery behavior, she went through teachers like other children did sweets, exhausting their materials and their wits in a matter of hours. When he discovered that the fruitless lessons acutely annoyed her, he arranged lessons with the most mediocre scholars he could find and told them that she was a dunce. He got a great deal of amusement from watching Merlin’s frustration build until she snapped and chased them off with her unbridled ire.

“I guess I can practice what I already learned,” she sighed.

“Progress is progress. Practice will still do you well.” He gave her a patronizing pat on the head. “You’re far superior to any other human, at the least. Take pride in that.”

“I’m far above everybody. Even the teachers you get me don’t know as much as I do, just you and Gowther!”

“Talk is cheap, Merlin,” he said sharply, his eyes now dark and stern. He removed his hand from her head, dusting off his palms as he straightened up. “If you think you’re better, you better be able to prove yourself. You’ve already gotten yourself into trouble once that way.”

When he found her in Belialuin several years ago, he knew immediately that his father would want her. Revealing her existence to the Demon King made the perfect distraction while Meliodas explored his nascent emotions. He never imagined that she would try to con both gods for their power, but the spectacular backfire ended up being to his advantage. It was simple to woo her to his side when everything she knew had been obliterated, and easy to control her with reminders of her arrogance and promises of strength.

Her eyes darkened, slipping straight pass sorrow into bitter anger, then sharpened with resolve.

“I’ll do it! I’ll learn everything there is and be the best magician ever known. Good enough to kill anybody I want, demons or any other race.”

Ah, he liked that. Perhaps she would even be able to match even the winged monsters that called themselves holy archangels. But he would never say so: her head was big enough as it was. With a sly, almost malicious grin, he gave her another gentle pat on the head.

“Will you, now? Humans don’t live for long. In the end, time will be what does you in. Unless you find a way to kill that first.” He held back a snicker. “Only the greatest of mages manage that. It’s stuff of legends. Prioritize your work.”

“How long do humans live? I know we—they get hurt really easy, but…”

He shrugged. The details of a human life meant almost nothing to him: he only cared about it insofar as much as he could end it early.

“A century or two. Far too long for my tolerance. But if you end their lives short, they’re somewhat more bearable. So, you have perhaps two centuries to figure out how to extend your life long enough to be worth much. Whether you manage it is up to you.”

“It would be a lot easier if I was a demon,” she pouted. Meliodas only sneered.

“Obviously. But proceeding without struggle would only make you weak.” He paused to consider his words. “Weaker,” he amended, and she didn’t quite manage to restrain her flinch. Good. She could always use an ego check. No time like the present to remind her that her species’ nature was to mewl and cower, not keep pace with titans like himself.

“The King has no use for weakness. You’re fortunate to have been welcomed here after your gluttonous tricks. You would do well to ensure that He does not regret giving you a second chance.”

What happened to her was of no concern to him. She was a tool, a ploy to keep his father’s eyes off him while Meliodas got to know that goddess. If the volatile Demon King decided her petulance wasn’t worth it, he would end her— and oh, how easy it would be. But Meliodas had taken a liking to Merlin despite himself. If she had to die, then she’d have to die, but it would be quite a shame for her to end so quickly.

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

Meliodas was the one who found her in Belialuin—an intelligent and, more importantly, powerful human that could swing the tide of the war. She was an ornery and ballsy little creature who knew the boundaries she crossed and didn’t really give a damn regardless, but it wasn’t hard to woo her to the Demon Clan once he introduced Gowther. She was thrilled to demonstrate her power to the King by freezing Zeldris in a block of ice.

He discovered that she was intelligent, exceedingly so for a creature of so few years. She could not keep up with a demon physically nor match their sheer power, but she made up for the deficit with her cleverness and razor-sharp instinct.

She grew quickly, as humans do, into a young woman with the heart of a snake. Her ego was still large, but she had potent magic power and a heap of cunning with which to back it up. Cunning enough to survive the dozens of battlefields where the Demon Clan warred in the decade that followed his defection. Cunning enough to flee the Coffin of Eternal Darkness before it was fully wrought, and cunning enough to disappear where none could hunt her down.

At first, he thought to let her go. She wasn’t evil, he told himself. Any influence the Demon King impressed on her was partially his own fault, too—his father wouldn’t even know of her existence if he’d kept his own damn mouth shut. She had been his bargaining chip, the proof of his loyalty in the precipitous years before he fled. And then he’d abandoned her in the lion’s den. His guilt kept him from pursuing her too doggedly.

That was his first mistake.

#fic: sins of abstinence #nanatsu no taizai #merlin #nnt fanfiction #nanatsu no taizai fanfiction #my fanfiction

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chuffyfan87 · 4 years

Text

Growing Pains. Part 11a (NSFW)

Cowritten with @disastrousintention.

-x-

It was Saturday morning, Tilly and Lottie were relaxing in their room after a busy and chaotic couple of weeks. They were both quieter than normal, not really talking much.

"You'll never guess who I saw walking near school during yesterday break..." Tilly started, breaking the silence between them.

“Who?”

"Sarah!"

“She not dropped yet?”

"You knew she was knocked up?! You didn't tell me!" Tilly whined.

“Sorry,” Lottie shrugged, “Thought you knew anyway!”

"No! Wonder when the baby is due... She looks huge!" Tilly giggled.

“Yeah she does!”

"Its weird coz I swear when mum was pregnant it was only her belly that got big. Sarah is huge all over." Tilly mused.

“Every baby’s different.” Lottie replied back with a shrug.

"I 'spose. Wonder who the dad is..."

“Who do you think?”

"Well, she wasn't with anyone when I saw her..." Tilly shrugged. "How did you find out she was knocked up?"

“You really don’t know?” Lottie rolled over to lay on her stomach.

"Know what?" Tilly sat up, suddenly very interested.

“The baby’s Peter’s.”

"What?!" Tilly's eyes popped out of her head. "I thought he was shagging Holly now!"

“Well he was clearly shagging ‘em both weren’t he?”

"What a divvy twat!" Tilly snorted.

“Hmm.” Lottie sighed.

"So long as Holly don't end up the same way..! Then he'd be really fucked."

“Maybe dad isn’t the only one with super sperm.” Lottie giggled.

"Eww! Gross!" Tilly screwed her face up. "I swear every time him or mum say they've got summat important to tell us I'm convinced that's what they're gunna say!"

“That he’s got her knocked up again? Nah, don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

"Well it's been six years..." Tilly rolled her eyes.

“Exactly.”

"Oli is six years younger than us dipshit!"

“Oh yeah!” Lottie giggled. “Urgh, I hope they don’t pop another baby out!”

"I'm surprised they don't just fly out at this point!" Tilly sniggered.

“Tilly!! Your fanny doesn’t get bigger just cos you have kids!”

"That's good coz otherwise mum would have some serious issues!"

“Can we stop talking about mum, her fanny and dad knocking her up please? It’s making me a tad nauseous.”

"You just be thankful you didn't get woken up the other night!" Tilly shuddered.

“Ew!! What woke you up? That squeaky bloody bed or dad’s groans?”

"Nah... It was mum being, um, encouraging..."

Lottie pretended to vomit. “They’re far too loud!”

"Far too loud. There's just no consideration in this house! I caught Krystal running nearly naked across the upstairs hallway the other morning..!"

“Ew!”

"At least Em's 'friend' doesn't act like she owns the place strutting round in her underwear like she thinks she works for Ann Summers!"

Lottie giggled, “I didn’t think you knew what Ann Summers was.”

Tilly reached in under her bed and pulled out a suspender belt. "Where do you think I nicked this from?" She smirked.

Lottie gasped, “Tils!”

"It was Milly's idea!"

“You ever gonna wear it?”

"Maybe." Tilly smirked.

“You got your eye on someone?”

"Nah. It's too much fun watching the lads in our class making twats of themselves trying to hit on me." Tilly giggled.

Lottie rolled her eyes, “Least you’re getting hit on. No one ever notices me.” She grumbled sadly.

"Aww, I can send some of them your way if you like?"

Lottie shrugged, “Whatever.”

"Anyway... What do you think to this new 'friend' of Emmy's?"

“She’s alright.”

"I don't get why she seems to be practically living here all of a sudden..."

Lottie shrugged, “Maybe we should ask Em?”

"You can!"

“Fine I will.”

"Wait for me!" Tilly giggled as she followed Lottie out the bedroom.

“Hurry up then!” Lottie went up to Emily’s room and knocked on the door.

The was a pause before Emily called for them to come in.

Lottie and Tilly entered the room together. “You alright, Em?”

"Yeh we're just practising some new sketching techniques."

“You and your 'friend'?” Lottie and Tilly giggled.

"Do you mean Beth?" Emily asked, picking up on her sisters' tone. "She's just getting some sandwiches downstairs but she'll be back up in a minute so knock it off."

“Is she a friend? Or is she a friend like mum and dad were friends to each other?” Lottie asked, her hand on her hip. “And why isn’t she at home?”

"Her mum works nights at the hospital so mum and dad let her stay over so she's not on her own." Emily replied, ignoring the other question.

“You didn’t answer my other question, Em!”

"Am I not allowed to have friends or something?"

“Sure but is she a friend, friend?”

"What's a friend, friend?" Beth asked as she arrived back in the room.

“Are you and my sister shagging? Or whatever it is lesbians do to each other.” Tilly blurted out.

"That's none of your business but yes I'm a lesbian. You got a problem with that?" Beth retorted.

“Would I be stood here talking to you if I had a problem with your sexuality?” Tilly replied.

"Well from the way you were harassing your sister..."

“I weren’t harassing her! I was just asking if you were friends. Or friend friends, like our parents were.”

“Tils, we should probably leave them to it.” Lottie tried to steer Tilly out of the bedroom.

"It was your idea!" Tilly argued with her twin.

“Yeah well. I didn’t realise she was gonna be a cocky cow!” Lottie answered back.

"You were right pocket, they're so childish!" Beth remarked.

“Ugh! And you’re so lame, haven’t you got your own home to go to? We’re not charity!” Tilly tutted and she and Lottie left the room, heading back to their own bedroom.

Reaching their room Tilly flopped down onto her bed.

Lottie copied her actions.

"To think I thought she was alright." Tilly grumbled.

“She might just be a bit defensive until we get to know her.” Lottie shrugged, “Fuck knows.”

"But she is a lesbian..."

“Yeah and..?”

"Do you think that means that Emmy is too?"

“Maybe.” Lottie shrugged, “Or maybe she’s both? What do they call that?”

"Erm... To be honest I stopped listening during that bit in sex ed..." Tilly shrugged.

“Bisexual or something like that. They like both. Cock and fanny.” Lottie laughed.

Tilly wrinkled her nose. "Cock all the way thanks very much!" She giggled.

“You’ve never seen one!”

"Yeh I have!" Tilly pouted.

Lottie gasped, “When? Who’s?”

"Tommy and Lewis got theirs out on the school field."

“Oh my God!”

"Yeh. Tommy's is way bigger than Lewis'!" Tilly giggled.

“I’m going downstairs for a glass of water. You want anything?” Lottie asked as she got up off her bed, attempting to change the conversation topic.

"You're just put out coz Lewis has got a tiny knob!" Tilly teased.

“Maybe.” Lottie laughed.

"You never know he might be a grow-er not a show-er..!" Tilly shrugged.

“Ew! Tils!” Lottie pulled a face before heading to the door, “Sure you don’t want anything from the kitchen?”

"Grab us a couple of biscuits?"

“Alright.” Lottie wandered downstairs, passing her mum in the hall.

"You ok Lottiepop?" Duffy smiled.

“Uh huh.” Lottie forced a smile.

"You sure?"

Lottie shrugged and wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water, “When did you have your first boyfriend?” She asked her mum.

Duffy hesitated slightly. "Um... Fifteen. Why?"

“Just wondered.” Lottie lent against the counter and sipped her water.

"Are you worried about something? Is someone pressuring you?"

Lottie laughed bitterly, “Chance would be a fine thing.”

"What do you mean?"

“I don’t really get noticed.” Lottie sipped her water again and sighed.

"Trust me that's no bad thing."

Lottie shrugged. “Maybe one day.”

"When the time is right and the right person comes along." Duffy smiled encouragingly at her youngest daughter.

Lottie sipped her water again, “Mum? Can I ask you a question?”

"Sure."

“Is Em a lesbian?”

"Isn't that a question you should be asking your sister?"

“Her friend got all defensive with a right attitude when I asked earlier.”

"When you asked or when Tilly asked?" Duffy chuckled lightly.

“Tilly asked. But still, I haven’t got a problem if my sister is a lesbian. Don’t matter to me or Tils!”

#chuffy #charlie and duffy #charlie fairhead #lisa duffin

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