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temteno · 2 years

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Retrospective on Steve Leonard: the essay

There are some notions I want to make before I deep-dive into the subject itself. First of all, this is a retrospective focusing on the manga version of Steve. From what I heard, Takahiro Arai clearly wrote and drew Steve in a more sympathetic light. If you are strictly a novel reader, take everything I write with a grain of salt.

Second, I have never read novels. I don't have all the details of the character, interests, and past. I use the details that I have heard of, but I try to keep this mainly focused on the manga version of Steve. An exception to this is the short story “An Essay on Vampires by Steve Leonard” which I have read and will refer to.

Third, this touches only on Steve shown in the first volume and alternate timeline. My sympathies don’t apply to the adult Steve for very obvious reasons.

With all that said, I hope you understand that this is my retrospective and is colored by my personal experiences and how I have understood Steve’s character.

Part 1: Establishing Steve’s personality and building the road from there

Steve is a 12-year-old boy who is admired by his peers for his smarts and witty words, but also a bit feared by his friends and foes alike due to his unpredictable and occasionally violent nature. Steve is also a headache to adults and teachers due to not fitting into the mold, but he is also shown to be a bit of a teacher’s pet.

Smart and good at reading social situations, but also a sore thumb out who nobody can predict. I’m pretty confident to say that this is what you get when you read the first volume of the manga. Now, what do these personality traits mean together?

He is someone who revels in his obsession with monsters, particularly vampires, and doesn’t hide it. However, this can’t be counted on ignorance, as Steve is better at lying and reading social cues than kids normally are at his age. The more likely option is that Steve is actively aware that his heavy obsession with his interest isn’t normal, and is something people look at him weirdly for. This interpretation is the brick that I will base this house on that is this Steve analysis.

Steve is also hard to predict. It could mean that he will do things that would go over the heads of his peers and adults, even if Steve himself has a reasonable thought process for them. This could also mean that obvious rules and manners taught to other kids by adults are absent in Steve’s thought process, hence he thinks out of the box and breaks the invisible moral barriers easily. I’m betting on the mix of both of them, so put a pin on them too.

So now we have picked up Steve’s base traits and the implications of those together. I think we are good to go.

Part 2: Establishing Steve’s home life and continuing the road

Steve’s family doesn’t get much of a spotlight, and a lot of things are left up to interpretation. However, combined with the previously established personality traits and some known facts, we have enough to get the general gist of things.

It’s clear from the get-go that Steve and his mother don’t have a warm relationship. Steve outright says that his mother doesn’t care about him. She doesn’t clean Steve’s room by the looks of it and isn’t too keen on pressuring his whereabouts. Steve has seen at least 50 vampire movies and he is only 12 years old: any other parent would be mildly concerned over the content that he consumes. As we also earlier discussed, Steve’s actions show that there was no one to scold him whenever he did something inappropriate. However, it is shown that the mother is thoughtful when Darren comes to visit and is deeply upset when Steve gets taken to the hospital.

So Steve’s mother is thoughtful but neglectful. Then, for Steve to think that his mother doesn’t care about him means that his mother has not shown interest in the sole thing that’s important to Steve. To top all of this, Steve is shown to be highly imaginative and troublesome because of that (as the ketchup and plastic bat on sheets prove). The discussion on Steve’s thought process being obscure also comes into play here.

So, his mother finds Steve hard to handle because she doesn’t understand her son. If the mother doesn’t have the energy or time to try to understand her son, no wonder Steve might misunderstand her being dismissive and non-caring of him. This ends up with Steve distancing himself because their interactions end in miscommunication and the mother giving more space. After all, she doesn’t want to upset Steve more. It’s a vicious cycle that has made Steve resent his mother and his mother give up on him. They have never talked heart-to-heart.

There is barely anything told about Steve’s father. However, the final volume has Steve treating Mr. Tiny as his father the moment he learns the truth and he pleads for help. For him to do something so vulnerable and “out of character” shows how Steve had yearned for the visible affection of a family member until the bitter end.

Part 3: Steve lives in society too, the road continues still

Steve is smart to notice societal cues, so it would be clear that he knows how different other families are. Steve has around him people who have caring families: Tommy goes to box with his father and Darren’s father is supportive of his son’s dream of a soccer career. Even Allan’s family cares about his whereabouts. How would it feel for Steve to see other families show interest in their children’s hobbies or overall want to even know where they are? Good to assume not great for someone as young as him. It only empathizes with the feeling that he is not loved. It doesn’t help that other adults around him find his interests weird and morbid.

Feeling unloved by adults around him and then seeing others be loved must have awakened thoughts in him. Why is it like this? Is it my fault that I’m unloved? It’s hard to live with such loneliness and no way to vent it out: no wonder that he has created such elaborate delusional thoughts in his head.

Part 4: Steve’s coping mechanisms and delusions, we are at the end of the road

We have established that Steve feels unloved and like nobody would care about him. This has done numbers on his self-esteem to a point where he believes that nobody would truly miss him if he were gone, even if he hides it quite well. He has no control over if somebody loves him or not. However, he can control how he reacts to this feeling of being unloved.

Steve resonated with the monster media because of his loneliness and he started to build up his delusions. Steve resonated with the lonely creatures that could never be loved by anyone. It’s very clear in the essay he wrote, as he had empathy towards the monsters being killed and hunted for just existing.

However, rather than trying to become a people-pleaser and garner love, he started to resent humanity and become enamored by the thought of inhumanity and becoming a full monster. Thinking of killing people or sacrificing others truly showed how Steve tried to gain control and power over his feelings of abandonment and humanity betraying him through fantasies. As a monster, he would have control over the people, even the adults.

Despite wanting control, I don’t believe that Steve tries to control his friends (or at least two of them…we will come back to that later). He genuinely likes hanging out with his friends and works as a leader of the group only because he has the most imaginative ideas and clear goals. Steve is a bit self-absorbed and eccentric, so he has a clear idea of what he wants to do and doesn’t care if nobody else wants to join him. That kind of purpose attracts those who go by flow and don’t have too high of ambitions: Tommy, Allan, and Darren.

Indeed, Steve has a disdain towards humanity as a big concept but regards his friends differently. If somebody tries to pick a bone with any of them, he is ready to go and scare off the bullies. He might have grand ideas, but it’s important to remember that all of these are thoughts inside a 12-year-old boy’s head. No matter how he tries to become detached from humanity, he still holds his friends in high regard because all of them want to hang around with Steve for who he is - especially one of them.

Part 5: Let’s FINALLY address Darren Shan

The fact that Steve is unabashedly obsessed with Darren is the big element that drives the plot of the manga and books a good amount of time. It has been hard to avoid Darren as a topic, but it’s important to establish Steve and his mindset before going to explain what Darren means to him.

We know that Steve feels abandoned and wants someone to show interest in him. Surely, his friends are fun to hang around with and they like Steve, but if that was all it took then he would be as obsessed with Tommy and Allan. What sets Darren apart is that he knows how it feels to be interested in something to an extent that you can’t think of anything else.

For boys at that age, and at that time, it’s easy to assume that they don't talk about their feelings over topics like loneliness (nor they might actually understand how they are feeling). So far there has been nobody else that actually understands how Steve feels about monsters. He only gets a few laughs and remarks about how weird it is, but nobody takes him seriously.

However, Darren is the only one who genuinely asks about them and is willing to consume comics and movies. He remembers the things Steve tells him and shows that he is invested in what Steve likes. That’s the single thing that Steve ever wanted from his mother and any other possible adult. In a world where he feels alienated and mistreated by humanity as a collective, Darren is the only person that he feels genuinely seen by. He can be enamored by what he loves and Darren would listen.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration that Darren is the most important person in Steve’s life. A 12-year-old as invested as he wouldn’t want anything as much as somebody to listen to him seriously and even offer their own insight into the topic. Even if Darren’s existence in his life doesn’t heal the root of his loneliness and won’t change his mindset, Darren is the only one Steve can be around truly himself and still feel understood. Steve is at this point emotionally dependent on Darren.

Part 6: Steve is emotionally dependent on Darren and that is no-good

Remember when I mentioned Steve's need to control one of his friends? It’s not exactly as straightforward as actually controlling Darren’s movements. Steve trusts Darren a lot to the point where he confides his actual fantasies and wishes to him. However, all of this thought of being unloved and unwanted has sent his self-esteem to rock bottom. He doesn’t believe that Darren would even miss him that much in the end if he were to be gone, as he would have people to replace Steve. He wouldn’t be able to do that though if Darren were to go.

This is why Steve panics notably when he notices that Darren is acting weird and distancing himself. He had never expected such a situation to happen and it makes Steve act irrational. What would he do if the only person he can confide in abandons him? It makes Steve lose control and feel powerless simply because he is that much dependent on Darren’s existence in his life.

Because of this, he ends up trying to strangle Darren to gain some sense of control over his situation. However, he ends up breaking into tears when he realizes what he did to his best friend who was just as scared and confused. Steve jumping to conclusions immediately and regarding Darren as someone against him is simply his reaction to regain control over the new, looming abandonment. Spinning an idea that Darren was rotten from the start, as was everyone else, would make Steve feel like it wasn't the fault of his own actions that Darren abandoned him. Rather, Darren had bad intentions from the start and Steve was just a victim. This idea is especially reinforced by how Steve tries to egg Darren to “show his true self” during the showdown in the theater in the 11th volume.

The reason why Steve doesn’t spin this sort of idea over anyone else is simply that he is too dependent on Darren. As mentioned, he couldn’t take the hit if Darren were to abandon him. There would be nobody else to blame but himself for it: no matter how he dreams to become a monster, all Steve truly wants is acceptance and understanding. Darren going out of his way to abandon Steve would be too much for Steve whose self-esteem is in the deep end already. This inability to fully trust Darren because Steve has no high regard for himself is what makes their relationship unbalanced and Steve so desperate to have control over Darren.

Part 7: Why things went as they did

Things wouldn’t have spun so out of control if Larten Crepsley hadn’t rejected Steve so harshly. For someone who had dreamed of becoming a monster for so long, it hurt Steve to an extent where he even shed some tears. The thought that his best friend sided with a monster who rejected Steve harshly just sounds too much of a convenient accident in his head. All the things discussed before lead to this moment where Steve spun a story in his head out of desperation and panic. Because of feeling contempt towards those that had abandoned him rather than looking for their approval, his resentment only grew.

Later on, he had expressed that the story he made up sounds unbelievable, but at that point, it wasn’t about if it was true or not. No matter the reason, Steve would’ve been hurt over Darren leaving him and feeling only anger. With this reasoning, he at least personally felt like he wasn’t at fault and gained some control over the situation.

On the other hand, in the alternative timeline, Darren’s worry and clear panic were the things that sobered Steve from his hurt and anger. It shows that he only needed some assurance that there would be someone who would be genuinely hurt like Steve would be if he were to leave. We don't know how things went on from there, but I would like to believe that maybe Steve would be able to let go of his contempt towards humanity and finally start the process of gaining self-esteem and healing from loneliness. At least he could trust Darren more if nothing else.

TL;DR

Thanks to low self-esteem and the feeling of being unloved, Steve started to feel contempt towards humanity and coped with that by fantasizing about becoming a monster and killing people. Throw in too much dependency on his dense best friend and one insensitive vampire, and you get a hotpot of a horrible man who just needed one decent adult in his childhood.

#Darren Shan #Steve Leonard #Larten Crepsley #The Saga of Darren Shan #cdf #this was just a free-time project that got out of hand #if someone finds this insightful I'm just happy about it #I proofread this just once and said fuck it #quantity is there but can't say about quality

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luminnara · 3 years

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Goddamn, Shit-Sucking Vampires | lost boys x oc 18+ ONLY | Ch 3

Summary: Vera is an unusually vicious bloodsucker who's never stuck in one place for very long...until a mysterious feeling pulls her right to the murder capital of the world: Santa Carla, California. Now, she needs to figure out why exactly she's there, where she fits in amongst the boardwalk's nighttime denizens, and how to cope with her own personal vampire-related problems.

Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Taglist: @ilikechocolatemilkh

Warnings: smutty smut, language, blood

“Hello, darling.”

He had been quick to take her lips with his, kissing her hungrily as she moved to straddle his lap. Before they could get too comfortable, he stood, carrying her in the direction the others had gone but stopping in a room along the way. It had been a hotel room once, a bed covered in silks like the ones from the main cavern still sitting in the middle.

He tossed her down onto it, watching as she stretched out on her back languidly. She was so inviting. A low rumble rose in his chest as he took his coat off, leaving it on the floor with his boots and gloves. All he could pay attention to was her bare midriff and those exposed thighs, her crop top and short shorts barely leaving anything to his imagination. She sat up and shrugged her vest off, throwing it to the floor as she held eye contact with him. She was smiling the way someone did when they were keeping a juicy secret, a glint of something in her eyes as she leaned forward.

“David,” she purred, beckoning for him with her fingers. “Come and take care of me.”

He happily crossed the space between them, crawling over her until he could kiss her again. Her hands slid up his forearms, feeling his cool skin and the muscles underneath it. He pushed her back down and she complied, biting sharply at her bottom lip.

“I want you, Vera,” he growled, sending warmth spreading through her core.

She moaned, hands moving to his waist, slipping under his shirt. “Then take me.”

He couldn’t help himself. His hips met hers, his arousal grinding against her. He wanted her to feel what she did to him, to have some tiny inkling of what it was like to see and smell and feel her.

“You do horrible things to me,” he breathed.

Her nails were sharp against his skin as she lightly scratched down his sides. “You can handle it.”

Chills ran down his spine and he laughed, the little grumble returning to his chest as he pinned her against the bed with his weight. “You’re mine.”

Vera watched as his face vamped out, eyes blazing yellow-orange as he snarled above her. She shivered in delight, a smile on her lips as his claws tore through her shirt and raked down her belly, ugly red marks fading almost as quickly as they appeared.

“You like it rough?” She teased, moving her knees to either side of his hips.

With a playful snarl, he bit at her collarbone, earning a squeal. “I like it however I want.”

Vera gave a little growl and reached for his pants, tugging them open and slipping her hand in to feel him. His breathing grew heavier as he pressed his hips against her touch, desperately searching for more contact.

“A little eager, aren’t we?” She teased, giving him a squeeze.

“I can smell how wet you are,” his voice was husky, hand trailing down to reach her shorts. “Do you want something?”

She whined as he ripped her clothing, but she couldn’t be angry with him on top of her, nor could she be angry when he was pushing a finger inside of her. She let out the most delicious noise David had ever heard, her back arching as he pressed up into her. It had been long, far too long since she had had this.

“What was that?” He asked, twisting his hand.

She did it again, but louder, and he decided it was his favorite thing in the entire world.

“You’re awful,” she gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer.

He smirked as he explored her, feeling wherever he pleased, playing with her as she moaned and squealed on top of the sheets. He learned what spots made her make which noises, and he watched as she snarled and sneered and taunted him. She was feisty, clawing at him as she urged him to get on with it, reaching up to kiss him whenever she had the ability to do so.

It wasn’t until he made her orgasm that she vamped out, but when she did, she really did. She hissed and growled at him, becoming a wildcat that he was more than happy to subdue. He was losing control of himself as it was, chest heaving as he looked down at the most beautiful sight he had ever had the privilege of seeing. The swell of her breasts, the welts that formed and quickly disappeared whenever he bit at her boobs, the creamy, soft, gorgeous skin that he wanted to kiss and suck and maul all at the same time...it was perfect, and so was her muscular stomach, toned by so many years of being an apex predator, and so was her thick ass, and her thighs, and…

All of her.

When he kicked his pants off and finally got to hear her cry his name, he thought he was going to lose it then and there. She felt perfect, clinging to him with her nails in his back and her fangs in his shoulder as she sobbed and snarled against his skin. She writhed beneath him, twisting and constantly trying to flip them so that she could top him. Whenever he felt her tense up as if she was about to, he would thrust into her harder, making her forget that she ever wanted to be anywhere but underneath her new mate.

Until he finally relented and let her twist her hips, and then he realized he was absolutely fine with letting her call the shots.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She crooned, leaning down to kiss him. Her voice was raspy when she was fully vamped out, a monstrous, snarly, beautifully sweet kind of voice that mesmerized David and left him in a haze.

He only grunted in response, hands gripping her hips as she rode him. His eyes were glued to her as he took in the way she looked, her black hair a mess, her generous, perfect breasts bouncing slightly. He slid his hands up to cup them, squeezing and kneading and grinning when she bit her lip.

Blood ran down her chin, dripping down onto David’s chest. When he pulled her down to kiss her and get a taste, he bit her sharply, grinning when she squealed. She was funny, and delightful, and beautiful, and he had never felt that way about any girl he had fucked. There were beautiful ones, yes, but none like her. No one that he wanted to keep around.

He knew it was all because of his hormones, ancient vampire instincts that were urging him to make Vera his and impress her enough that she stayed. He didn’t know why he was so concerned with what she thought, especially because she seemed pretty content, based on her whines and moans, but he had the need to do everything in his power to show that he was worthy of her time.

They rolled again, David still sucking at Vera’s lip. She resisted a tiny bit, stubbornly locking her hips and thighs in an attempt to brace herself against him, but as he rolled his hips forward, she relaxed into a puddle of happy moans. When he felt her nails digging into his back, he knew she was close, and he was more than happy to suck at her neck while she said his name over and over and over.

He buried himself deep into her when he finally came, grunting and whispering “Fuck, Vera…” in her ear until he finished and pulled back, panting as he looked down at her. She was a mess, black hair splayed across the bed, blood running from her lip and throat.

With a smirk, David hooked his hand under her knee and brought it up for him to kiss, leaning his head against it as he watched her. “You’re beautiful.”

She opened her eyes, smiling and showing her bloody teeth. “Come here, big guy.”

David happily complied, releasing her leg and flopping down next to her. He didn’t bother looking for either of their clothes and just wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her up against him. He would have preferred to go roost with the others, but she was already dozing off in his arms, and who was he to try to make her move?

“Vera?” He asked, deep voice rumbling as she tucked her head in his chest.

“Hm?” She grunted sleepily.

He could tell she was barely awake, and his own eyelids were drooping as he pressed a kiss against the top of her head. ��Stay. Forever.”

“Mhm,” she mumbled, snuggling as close to him as she could get.

David made a pleased sound, not unlike a purr, and busied himself by playing with her hair until he passed out, surrounded by her scent, happier than he had been in a long time.

-0-

Paul woke up slightly warmer than usual, which was odd, considering how generally cool the sunken hotel was. His mind was heavy and fuzzy, but it felt warm, too, and when he finally forced his eyes open, he figured out why.

“Marko,” he slurred. “The hell you doin’?”

The smaller vampire only grunted and snuggled closer.

Paul sighed, but he really didn’t mind. It wasn’t the first time he had woken up to find Marko cuddling up to him. Sometimes, if he was a little drunk or high, Paul would even initiate it. David would rarely tolerate any kind of physical closeness, but if he was in a good mood, he allowed them to roost right up next to him. Dwayne was similar, rarely starting anything, but unlike their leader, he tended to growl and complain a lot less if Marko wanted some snuggle time.

With a yawn, Paul shook himself lightly, sleepily looking around the cave. Marko had tucked himself right up under Paul’s chin, already fast asleep again, and Dwayne was hanging nearby, arms crossed over his chest as he snored softly. David was absent, and Paul cracked a smile when he remembered why.

He searched for David’s mind and found him still fast asleep, but...happy. He could pick up the faintest scent of sex lingering in the air and it made his mouth water, hunger pains suddenly shooting through him. His turn with Vera would be soon, but he didn’t know if he could bear the wait.

A little growl rose in his throat. He wanted her. He hated that David got to have her first, when he deserved her more. Paul was usually a pretty relaxed guy, preferring to get high and fool around than do anything serious, but when it came to this...he was feeling oddly savage about it. He would probably never openly defy David, who always looked out for all of the boys and proved himself to be a good leader over and over, but Vera was making him anxious. The more he woke up, the more restless he grew, until he finally gave Marko a little shove and disentangled himself from his clingy brother.

Marko whined in protest as Paul dropped to the ground, dropping down after him just seconds later. “What’s the big deal?”

“I wanna go check on our new girl, bro,” Paul said, grinning as he dusted his sleeves off. “David’s had her all to himself long enough.”

Marko followed him out into the corridor, drooling slightly as the scents of Vera and sex grew stronger and stronger. “Smells like they had fun.”

“Too much fun,” Paul growled as they stopped in the doorway.

The bed was a mess, sheets and silks torn to shreds. The pillows had somehow survived, and the old bed frame was still holding up, and both Paul and Marko made notes to themselves to change those when they got the chance. In the midst of it all, though, was a sight that made them hum happily; Vera was curled up on her side, perfectly happy and perfectly naked, tucked safely up against David.

“Fuck off,” he growled sleepily when he noticed them standing there.

They only inched forward, Paul daring to venture further into the room while Marko hung back behind him. “You look a little exposed there, David. Why not take a break from guarding our little chickadee to go find some pants?”

The loud snarl that tore through David’s throat was enough to wake Vera, and she squirmed and whined in protest. Paul immediately turned his attention to her, bravely crossing the room and going so far as to lean over the foot of the bed, but David’s warning grumbles were enough to keep him from touching the female.

Vera was finally opening her eyes to take in the scene around her when David pulled her up against him. She gave a little growl and pushed him away, struggling to prop herself up on her elbow so that she could reach out to Paul. David was being selfish, and she was already getting the feeling that all four of them were going to be almost impossible to handle.

“C’mere,” she said tiredly, smiling and cupping Paul’s cheek when he rushed forward and leaned over her.

David huffed.

“You shush,” Vera snapped at him.

Marko snickered as he came up behind Paul, hoping to get some of the sugar that Vera was dishing out. David let out a dramatic sigh, sitting up and pulling Vera up against his chest while she cooed and taunted Paul, talking to him as if he were a dog while he just beamed at her adoringly.

“What a good boy you are,” she laughed as she pinched his cheeks. “Not at all snarly like that mean old David…”

Paul growled happily. If he had a tail, it would be wagging, and David rolled his eyes at the display. Instead of saying anything snarky, though, he just nipped at the back of Vera’s neck, hands sliding around her sides to rest on her belly. He was feeling mellower now that he could wrap himself around her, and when he caught Marko creeping up around Paul, he didn’t even growl.

“And of course, poor Marko, so ignored,” Vera giggled as she pulled him forward to kiss his nose. He and Paul were practically melting over her, happy hums and purrs filling the room.

“Good evening,” Marko said slyly as he nuzzled his cheek against Vera’s.

“Good evening, my little cherub,” Vera cooed, kissing his nose again and smiling when he scrunched it up. He was a mischievous little thing, but she was getting the feeling that he had to have a nasty streak, too; that sweet face and excited grin were both too innocent for him not to be hiding an ugly side.

“I’m starving,” David mumbled, leaning his chin on top of Vera’s head. Vera had almost worn him out, since she had woken up sometime in the middle of the day and demanded more from him. He had happily obliged, of course, but now he was hungry, and whenever David was hungry, David was irritated.

“You go get food, and I’ll stay here with—“

“You’re coming too, Paul.”

“But it’s my—“

“I would love a night on the boardwalk,” Vera interrupted, detangling herself from what was becoming a puddle of happy vampires. Marko let out a little whine as she slipped past him and began searching for her clothes, but Paul managed to grab her around the waist and scoop her up, one hand on her ass, the other on her back as he held her.

“Who says you need clothes?” He growled playfully, nipping at her cheek.

She gave a little squeak as she struggled against him. “I do!”

“I disagree,” Marko said slyly, slipping up behind her and kissing the back of her neck.

She swatted him away, wiggling out of Paul’s grip to search the floor and find whatever clothes she could still salvage. David had ripped a fair amount of them, but he had also been kind enough to bring her small backpack in sometime during the day, so she was at least left with one outfit.

Paul and Marko watched as she got dressed, Marko biting his thumb in an attempt to keep himself under control. She made him hungry, in a way he wasn’t used to. It wasn’t the same as bloodlust or even normal human cravings; it was something else entirely, but it still made him ache and whine and wish that he could make it go away already.

Vera pulled on a thong and a ratty pair of denim shorts, turning her back to the boys as she grabbed a bra and a tank top. They all had a good view of the tattoos on her back, snakes winding around skulls and portraits of women that were brightly colored and beautiful. Marko wanted to trace them, with either his fingers or his tongue, he wasn’t picky. Not very many girls around Santa Carla were marked up the way she was, and all he could think of when he looked at her was how she was such a work of art.

“Finished staring?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Paul slid up next to her, an arm around her waist. “Never, dollface.”

Vera huffed but settled in against his side. “I need more clothes. You guys got any cash?”

“Now that,” Paul spun them to face David, who was pulling his coat on, “is a question for papa bear over here.”

David gave a little growl, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash as he strode towards them. “Anything for the lady.”

Vera reached for it but he snatched it away, shoving it back in his pocket. She gave a little growl but followed at his heels as he left the room, Marko and Paul running along behind. They collected Dwayne as he was leaving their roost, and Vera was surprised when she caught his nostrils flaring and a quiet rumble rising in his chest. David smirked at his brother, lighting a cigarette as Laddie and Star met them in the main room.

Vera looped her arm through David’s when she saw Star, trying to remain civil. The Halfling put her off somehow, and it wasn’t just because she was so ungrateful for the offer of immortality she kept stubbornly avoiding. There was something else that was just pissing Vera off, something about the way Star moped and so clearly hated the people that gave her a safe place to sleep and protection from the rest of the world. She almost seemed dangerous, as silly as that thought was; she wasn’t physically strong enough to do anything on her own, but the fact that she was so vocal about her displeasure made Vera suspicious that she might just be capable of betrayal.

Or maybe she was just being paranoid.

“Chin up, girl,” Paul mocked.

Star only scowled, following them out to the bikes. She climbed on behind David when Vera strutted past her to accept Paul’s outstretched hand, grimacing but remaining silent after Vera shot her a little snarl.

Paul and Marko hooted with laughter as Vera climbed on and sat haughtily behind the former, unable to shake the unsettling feeling that Star was giving her. There was no logical reason for it; Star was only a Halfling, hardly anything to worry about. She had a fraction of Vera’s strength and none of her survival instincts, and should they ever face off, it would be a quick fight. All of that only made Vera more uneasy, but try as she might, she couldn’t figure out why.

“Cheer up!” Paul shouted as his bike roared to life.

“I’ll cheer up when I’m dead,” Vera teased, leaning up to kiss the side of his neck.

A little jolt of electricity shot through him and he whooped, the bike tearing off in the direction of the boardwalk, Marko close behind.

-0-

“Marko, be a dear and get me a lemonade?” Vera purred, leaning forward and brushing her fingers along his jaw.

Marko shivered but grinned, catching her hand to kiss her palm before bouncing off in the direction of the lemonade stand.

Vera smiled and sat back, hands clasped in her lap as she watched the crowd. There really were all types in Santa Carla, and she was surprised to find that she felt like she was beginning to fit in.

Paul threw an arm around her waist as he leaned back against the rail she sat on, a joint in his other hand. The boardwalk had little in the way of law enforcement, thanks to the Lost Boys themselves taking officers out whenever they irritated them, so Paul was left to smoke his weed in peace for the most part. “So whaddya think, babe? Enjoying the nightlife?”

“I can get used to it.” She took a deep inhale and her smile widened at all of the scents the boardwalk was offering her. “I’m starving.”

David raised an eyebrow from where he was leaning on his bike. “Already?”

“Yes,” she shot back defensively.

“We just snacked,” Paul laughed.

“And? I only had one boy.”

“You’re insatiable.” David said with the hint of a chuckle. Honestly, he was sort of glad that she was so much hungrier than he was. He was used to feeling annoyed at himself about it, but now he could just direct all of those thoughts towards teasing her.

Vera snorted angrily. “So? Don’t you know it’s rude to comment on a lady’s eating habits?”

“Just find it strange, considering how old you are.”

She growled. “It’s also rude to comment on a lady’s age, dickweed.”

He smirked in reply and she narrowed her eyes. She could care less about the age comment, because he was right; she wasn’t a newborn, by any means. She shouldn’t have such an unquenchable thirst for blood at this point. The boys all seemed content with one good meal a night, but she had already dragged one Surf Nazi into an alley and was on the lookout for another.

It sure wasn’t normal, and she knew it.

Dwayne was on her other side, leaning on the railing with his arms folded over his chest. He cast a glance towards her when he heard her huff and found that he couldn’t look away, and suddenly, he was busy memorizing every single detail about her face.

She was beautiful, and he understood why the others liked her so much. Her lips were full and her complexion seemed like it was olive at some point before she became a creature of the night. Arched eyebrows furrowed when she narrowed those hazel eyes, a classical nose scrunching with displeasure. She had tied her hair up on top of her head, leaving her throat exposed in what could have been some sort of a dare, and Dwayne had to stop himself from leaning in and taking a bite.

Maybe being patient was going to be harder than he thought.

“One lemonade, for the lady,” Marko snickered as he shoved his way back through the crowd, lemonade in hand. He had heard their little discussion, and as he brought Vera her drink, he made a point of kissing her cheek. You know, like a gentleman would.

“You little kiss ass,” Paul grumbled as Vera took the lemonade with a smile.

Marko just winked and settled himself between Vera’s legs, a hand on each thigh as he grinned up at her.

“Thank you, Marko,” she drawled, tangling her free hand in his curls affectionately.

Paul only rolled his eyes and looked the other direction.

David watched them with amusement. They had been there for half an hour, just looking at the crowds while Star was off somewhere with Laddie. He could feel Max nudging at his mind, as he had been for the past hour, and finally, he gave a little snarl and let him in.

What? He snapped.

I want to meet her, David. His sire answered. Bring her to me.

He couldn’t help but growl. After.

After what, exactly?

After everyone has had their chance.

David felt him let out an irritated sigh, but he was going to stand his ground. Vera was making him cautious, and he wasn’t going to introduce her to the most powerful vampire he knew until they figured out just who all exactly she was destined to belong with. It was hard enough wrangling his pack without having to worry about Max butting in.

Paul and Marko were fooling around and Vera was leaning against Dwayne when she was finally fed up enough to hop down from the railing. David raised an eyebrow at her when she put her hands on her hips and flared her nostrils in a not so subtle attempt to track down some food.

“I’m hungry,” she declared, cocking her hip to one side as she glared at David.

“Why am I the subject of your wrath?” He quipped, waving her away dismissively. “Go find a snack if you’re so starved.”

Vera growled at his tone, but she was too hungry to try to challenge him. She wasn’t even sure where she was falling on their totem pole, and she had better things to do with her time than stand there and try to figure it out.

“We’ll keep an eye on things.” David said with a glint in his eyes that revealed how much he enjoyed riling her up.

Vera’s nasty snarl turned into a grin as she reached up to let her hair down, hips swaying as she disappeared into the crowd to find a boy stupid enough to go after her.

“Is it a good idea to let her run off like that?” Marko asked, watching her go.

“Max won’t bother her.” David straightened up. “And besides, she needs some enrichment.”

“You talk like she’s a zoo animal,” Dwayne snorted. “She doesn’t need time to play.”

“You’re right.” David smirked as he started off in the direction Vera had gone. “She needs to hunt.”

#the lost boys #lost boys x reader #lost boys x oc #david lost boys #dwayne lost boys #goddamn shit sucking vampires #marko lost boys #paul lost boys #poly lost boys

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incarnateirony · 4 years

Note

Hi! I’m still not really over the last episode (and that happy montage in the end i-) and I’m feel confused about what’s part of the episode was fake. I mean the end totally is. But all Chuck scene was superweird too. And sometimes i think that it should be Cas instead of Lucifer and Jack felt him. I mean... confused! How do you feel about that?

Okay so here’s the thing -- this is a multifaceted episode--

BuckLeming, while often herded efficiently by Dabb, can muddy up the textual waters, leave gaps, and things unexplained.

However, that doesn’t account for Showalter’s choices in direction. Dutch shots out the ASS which are typically used to evoke that something is "wrong." Lots of panoramas, tracking shots, zooms and blurs in ways that simply are-not-standard for SPN. Extreme aerial shots.

One might even think “maybe it’s Chuck looking in on them!” but then you realize the same overhead view zoomed out on *Chuck* even and panned out to the horizon again.

One of the early mega-zooms literally zoomed out to The World, even. I’m just gonna gesture people to my tag on that and let them think on that, much less the empty world orbiting on the news or whatever the hell else.

There were *several* Cas-baits, yes. Yes, that was intentional from our actual authors.

But when it comes down to “fake episode”, here’s where we were at.

15.17-19 run immediately concurrently. At the end of 17, Chuck says this was his ending.

Now, the Winchesters largely derailed that ending, so Chuck was writing new material.

But Chuck is also seeking death.

He wrote a suicide note in 11. He wrote the story that would end in him and Amara being eradicated. And whatever influence he was exerting forcefully with Michael and Lucifer to bop the story around was all in the interest of seeing his book. One might think “to keep the Winchesters from killing him”, but he was desperate to see what his ending WAS, to know it and experience it and scream after them.

The dour taking of “no one cares” right after “I care(d)” about humanity is its own highlight going on. But wait, there’s MORE.

When Dabb dropped his pre-episode thing, we started talking before the episode.

So I mean, I think what we were *mostly* witnessing is the pen being ripped away.

But this is that emptiness that lingers even with Chuck generally resolved. They’re still kinda on the pages. The book is presented as shut, and the next steps are not taken. Development stops, if not drops.

This entire thing is so meta my damn head hurts.

Summarily: Is it just like, some weird AU that’s gonna go away? Not so much. Is it an incomplete portion of the story told from a skew? Absolutely. And is there still someone watching over them? T’would seem so. The whole World, even. Beyond Chuck.

Now the point at which we start blocking off issues of “eugenie writes like she’s 3″ is where we ask about things like “god power” or whatever else being thrown in the mix along with eugenie’s ki ball special effects that are literally always unique to her episodes, even if other people have to add the SFX.

So while it was a good bit of masterful work to do it via buckleming for this style of bump, it still inevitably has its flaws because... buckleming. But... Showalter was there. And one thing to note is almost every single scene entrance had some sort of major pan or zoom effect. That’s not typical for him.

The entire thing is designed to evoke, directorially:

One style: crooked shots, unlevel, unbalanced, uneasy feeling.

Second style: Over-under; some force is watching them on high, while others have a sort of brechtian absurdity, which seats it like a play on an elevated stage.

We are the audience, looking up at figures half the episode; but a second audience is looking in from “on high” and out over the world. As if perhaps even from the heavens.

Third style: CSI Miami, basically? Parts of this episode were sectioned off to be like a procedural crime drama in its cinematography and flashbacks. Which is ironic, because Dean loathes procedural dramas, but at the same time some of this fandom demands a procedural monster show instead of a family drama show.

Sam and Dean barely have any lines in the episode *until* we hit Crime Drama Time. Then suddenly, they reveal all of their case work. Despite Dean’s hatred of crime dramas, this is honestly when I feel like the brothers kicked in their own pen.

Let’s play a game-- the winchesters are aware they can write their own story. So they start telling the story they think people want to hear, or maybe just fill in the gaps from when Chuck gets dropped on his ass. Maybe Dean’s the one writing about how many times god punched them in the face whereas Sam is breaking down the crime scene investigation front. Another, where it feels like we’re loosely circling the war table as others lightly wander too.

But everything before that is the first and second style, and even after that, the overview-angle remains. The uneasiness is gone but there is an emptiness otherwise. But we are no longer spectators from beneath the stage, but staring into them.

I still very much expect everyone to “die” one more time and several specifics to choose to walk back into life at the end of it.

Is it a *complete* false narrative? No. We’re not just gonna turn around and be like “oh that whole ep didn’t happen.” But the writer lost his pen and got jacked at one point, while we also observed the stage from a series of angles as different audiences.

Riddle me this: Why show the World? “Because it’s empty and just them!” okay but there’s a lot of ways to show that which actually gets that point a whole lot better across than “here, here’s a planet that still looks lit up”--yes I know electricity is still running until stuff runs out but essentially speaking, the end of the episode shows us the kind of dramatic shots that could be used for that.

CASey just poofed in the World in the TV, seems legit.

Let’s see these overhead angles again, knowing it isn’t just Chuck.

This sort of overview is known for causing a “dollhouse effect” that derealizes the episode and makes them seem, well, like toys. Which is interesting. Because Chuck isn’t the only one watching them on high.

Cool, this is fine.

Either way, the entire episode is DESIGNED to cause some major uncanny valley. There��s a lot of parts that simply *haven’t been told or filled in.* It’s almost like evasive maneuvering, half the content just never made it to print, and what did wasn’t in its best draft. There may be battling authors, or a transition of authorship. But the thing is: this is not the complete story.

There is an entire missing section about Sam and Dean even finding out that Jack is a power siphon which they hadn’t witnessed yet much less arranged an entire plan.

Even Chuck’s episodes are generally told from the general POVs of the Winchesters, but this was absolutely not.

Matthew 28: 18: And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Put a pin in that one.

Unless CHUCK IS WRITING HIS OWN FAKE DRAMATIC END, the overhead view, however, IS NOT CHUCK PERSPECTIVE.

-- Regardless, the metaness of “fish in a toilet bowl BRL plot” stacked into this makes it very difficult to accurately decipher the lines, especially with only one watch so far--just skimming back through right now to grab a few things I remember.

Some parts are plot salad buckleming.

Some parts are us as forced spectators of a stage play.

some parts are shifting authorship

Some parts are the heavens looking out over the earth it loves.

------

It almost feels as if, within enclosed spaces, unsteadiness and stageplay, we have Chuck’s POV.

But by the end it ceases to have any relevance, as he is no longer the author, and instead, we have the Presence of Being overseeing them, letting the Winchesters argue for their own proverbial pen in their own storytellings between here and there.

ALTERNATE PROPOSAL:

it is all one point of view. All of it. Pretend you’re someone’s eyes on a situation, you just happen to be in the sky half the time, and the uncanny valley is pulling forward the concept of being a presence that simply isn’t *there.* For example we're looking extremely closely at passed out dean but the camera turns and raises to level with Sam before Dean gets up. Our viewership lens is rising to meet Sam.

The camera stays in motion to fill a role or slot of a viewer. At first it’s haunting and ominous, but at other times, it’s simply part of the room, when it isn’t hovering from on high. Rather than speaking of empty space, we are viewing The World through that empty space, as if it were a Being.

Just a few more eye catching shots.

But whoever or whatever frames the end, even without Chuck--like the story is still turning on the pages, roughly.

The montage at the end feels like the Swan Song one, more or less, but there’s no narrator, no chuck.

The writer, the writer we know at least, is Absent.

Men are writing their own Stories.

But they aren’t alone.

I know how you see yourself. Angry and dark like your father. You think that’s what you are. But you are the most loving man in the whole world. That is who you are.

Someone does care. Even if right now, Sam and Dean don’t feel like anyone does.

...Because of you. I cared. For you, for Sam, for Jack, for the Whole World.

I cared.

“That’s not who I am.”

I am.

I speak therefore I am.

#supernatural #spn #15.19 #meta #my meta #the world #world #absence #being #polol

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jokersmeowmeow · 3 years

Text

Apex Legends - affection hcs <333

Yooo y'all, I'm sorry I've been absent for quite a looong time, BUT I've been busy and unfortunately I still am, so here I can offer You some hcs with our lovely legends to recompensate my inactivity :3

Mirage:

Soft. Softer. THE SOFTEST!!!

Mirage is the most touch-starved person You've ever seen, but how can You possibly mind? He is an angel <333

He may make an impression of a laid-back alvaro, but he's actually really anxious about what he can and can't do with You - You have to state Your boundaries clear.

After You do this, he is STILL unsure about everything and in need of constant reassurance if this is okay if he touches You like this or kisses like that, but that only adds to his cuteness.

Simple gestures are able to melt him completely, just cup his face and tell him You love him, kiss the tip of his nose, nuzzle against him, and he'll be all Yours, almost in tears.

He longs for such affection and reciprocates every single act of it; for instance, he adores hugging You from behind randomly and hide his face in the crook of Your neck to breathe in the smell of Yours and feel the velvet softness of Your skin.

His growth brushing against Your neck tickles You and hence causes You to giggle - listening to Your laugh soothes him totally.

He does his best to complement You, as he thinks You deserve it and he regards You as the most perfect person he's met, even more perfect than him ;DDD (seriously, because he really thinks that, he's gonna boast about You being his lady all the time so that the whole world shall know You're a couple)

B U T

He's bad with words, we know that. Stuttering ruins and at the same time makes everything more adorable when it comes to Mirage

"Oooh sweety, You look so so extrard-ext-extraordrin... Just amazing, You look amazing..."

His face turns blood red in seconds, but to be honest with You, that's the moment in which You want to spread kisses all over his face the most.

After a long day apart, prepare for being trapped in a makeahift cage of his arms and arms of his decoys.

He just runs to You excitedly with his arms spread widely, wraps them around You, and then You feel more and more of them snaking here and there. He missed You and can't imagine not exposing his longing for You to You.

He tries to do his best in Your relationship, he really does, but his anxiety hidden under the veneer of pride tells him he isn't enough for You, so talk to him about that, learn him how to cope with feelings and not be ashamed of them; he'll be more than thankful, nothing solves problems better than honest conversation.

Moreover, after a hard "psychology session", he enjoys sharing a hot, steamy shower with You.

He rests his forehead against Yours and closes his eyes; now You can see him as himself, no pretending, no fake confidence, no armor, just his bare body, naked mind and boiling water streaming down Your chests and backs.

Bangalore:

This woman. She is tough. She has no weak spots... Apart from You.

She casually looks as if she was ready for murder, but when she looks at You, she immediately softens.

You're like pain killers to her; You calm her down in split seconds and it's amazing to watch her features soothe, one of the corners of her lips travel up in a delicate, hardly noticeable smile.

She isn't an affectionate kind of person, especially in front of the others, but she is more than glad to receive affection from You.

She gives the best bear hugs and let me tell You, the feeling of the warmth of her muscular, womanly body, the plush of her breasts and hard abdomen... It's irreplacable.

She doesn't say it out loud then, but You can perfectly sense how devoted to Your relationship she is, she confesses her loyalty to You with her whole form embracing Your own.

One of her favourite moments during the day are early mornings; she usually wakes up just before dawn while You're still deeply asleep. Then, she can adore Your peaceful face looming up from under the duvet and graced with first golden rays of sunlight finding their way to Your bedroom through the window.

Before she leaves, careful not to wake You up, she watches You for a while and tries to picture this beautiful view in her mind precisely and keep there for the rest of the day.

She kisses Your forehead gently and silently gets out of the room, one last time glancing at You behind her back from above her shoulder before shutting the door.

She's keen to talk to You about everything and she's beyond recognition then; You can talk to her about everything and nothing, starting from Your own serious issues and ending on exchanging some girlish gossips.

Whatever topic You throw on her, she's always willing to not only listen to You, but also actively partakes in the conversation.

During such talks, she really does enjoy having her arm wrapped around You whilst You're resting against her on the couch.

She'll most probably be caressing Your shoulder with her thumb without even realizing it.

Your laugh causes her to laugh widely, which is a wonderful chain reaction as she rarely smiles on her own.

I must mention jealousy here; Bang hates seeing someone flirting with You.

Her face lines turn even sharper, she grits her teeth not to let herself lose control over her emotions.

But if she has enough, she'll most certainly approach You two steadily, pull You to her side and glare deadly at the motherfucker daring to flirt with You as if she was looking at a pathetic pile of horseshit.

It's likely she'll warn them to fuck off before she shoves a granade up their ass.

I know this is amusing and boosts Your ego, but spare her nerves, she just can't lose You and wants to be the best version of herself for You.

Pathinder:

Cinnamon roll made of metal.

He loves everyone as friends and because, unlike the most of the others, You actually reciprocate his affection, he WORSHIPS You in particular.

He's a hug-person, that's why often he forgots how painful it is when he wraps his arms a little too tightly around You.

When You politely tell him to let You go and state why, he's a trembling mess.

He asks You questions whether he harmed You, made You uncomfortable and if You're okay. Reassure him everything's okay, please, all he wants is to make You feel loved and appreciated.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry, friend... Can I get a second chance? I promise I won't be uncomfortable anymore" 👉👈

You can't say "no" to him; he hugs You much more tenderly, he's calculating his every move when he slowly embraces You again.

He may be boxy and angular, but the metal he's build of is pleasantly warm, or at least it seems like it because of Path in general.

You press Your hands to his back and cheek to his chest, and when You open Your eyes, pink light radiating from the screen on his torso blinds You as a large, smiley face with heart-eyes appears on it.

This causes You to giggle, and then him; You two could stay like this for eons, him resting his head on the tip of Yours and just, laughing innocently like little children.

He's the number one comforter, this needs to be said. Whenever You feel blue, Path emerges near You out of nowhere and is ready to give his best to You.

His arm is instantly around You; he takes You somewhere peaceful and quiet, probably to Your bedroom, and sits You gently on the edge of Your bed.

He kneels in front of You, palming Your hands on Your knees and looking up at Your sorrow face.

"Hey, I don't like it when You're sad, it makes me sad, too. Path is here for You, and will be even when they break me apart. That'd be even better! There would be more of me to listen to You!"

His positivity, even in the darkest of times, is able to lift anyone's spirits in a flash.

While venting Your disappointment, anger, helplessness and other damaging emotions on him, he listens to You letting Your words sink in his mind and brushes single tears flowing down Your swollen cheeks every now and then with his thumb.

Surprisingly, he's more gentle than any man build of flesh, You wouldn't recognize whether it's the touch of his robotic fingers or soft human hands if You didn't know him.

He a l w a y s manages to make You laugh somehow, You actually don't even notice when Your mood changes from gloomy and suicidal to amused and happy.

"Low-five?" he asks, still crouching and showing his flat hand to You, so that You can give him low "high-five" and begin Your day again, but better.

Octane:

Speedy boi only You are able to slow down.

There's a significant spark of rivarly burning between You and keeping Your relationship sufficiently heated.

And that's why You enjoy competitive video games; You sit on the couch next to each other and follow the flying controllers in Your hands.

At some point You begin to interrupt each other's playing not only virtually, but in real life as well.

He nudges You with his elbow and You give it back by shoving Your smaller form towards him with the maximal strength.

Finally, You put the game aside and You start wrestling; it looks a little brutal, but You both know it's just fun.

You roll down from the sofa and fall on the floor, Your limbs tangled together, You two laughing and screaming at each other; an adorable picture of the pair of energetic fireballs.

You don't even care whether anybody remarks on Your playful joshing, at most You just stop for few seconds and simultaneously snap at them.

Then, You continue what You've started and what I must state here is the fact that Octane isn't merciful. He comes up with an idea of tickling.

You can't even attempt to grab his hand and stop him, he is already faster than You and he knows EXACTLY where to touch You to make You double up with laughter.

Only when he pins You to the ground by Your wrists and You officially give up, he lets You go, proud of his success.

He loves sneaking behind You and picking You up randomly during the day, making You shriek and swear in surprise.

He loves it when You swear at him in spanish, especially if it's him who taught You his native language.

You sometimes do this on purpose just to see him staring at You blankly.

He's also more than glad to give You piggyback; having You pressed against his back and giggle in his ear is pure bliss, what man wouldn't love that?

He may start spinning around or run with You on his back so be prepared, he's unpredictable, especially when excited, even without drugs.

Last, but not least, if You manage to somehow calm him down and sit him still, when You're snuggling against his side, he gets flustered by the view of Your leg caressingly sliding up and down his prosthesis.

"Ah, hermosa, eres mi mejor droga."

Fuse:

The daddiest daddy among all the daddies in the world. Lucky You!

He's the type of man loyal to You to the grave and he's more than pleased to show it; he rarely leaves Your side, places his hand on Your hip or loosely embraces Your shoulders with his arm.

He subtly establishes the boundaries of reciprocal contact between You and someone who might be potentially interested in You, but he's not possessive. This man doesn't lack finesse if he wants.

You kindle the flame of artistic creativity within him, thus he writes songs for You; he loves singing them and playing his guitar for You later.

He may forget to go on with the lyrics if You start swaying to the rhythm of his music. He knows You do this to purposely tease him and test his patience, but he's prepared for losing all of his attention divisibilty.

Focusing his gaze on Your effortless, wanton moves is enough to make his day.

When he's done playing, he expects appreciation with words ("Aaand? How was it, m'lady, eeh?") and with actions (he usually pokes his cheek and awaits well-deserved kiss).

For the first time, You fell for his little trick he pulled on You; when You were going to place a kiss on his cheek in rewarding gesture, he lightly grabs You by Your chin and makes You kiss him on his lips.

After that incident, every time You reward him, You intentionally "fall" for these tricks of his or it's You who pulls him for the kiss first.

You two giggle into each other's mouths and wordlessly swear to make that little game Your own ritual.

Often, when the situation gets heated, he finds his way to Your neck and the touch of his rough mustache on Your delicate skin sends shivers down Your spine - he loves it when Your throat vibrates because of Your sirenic chuckle.

You adore joking together; he's the master of pun and dad jokes, hence You two sometimes get trapped in a vicious circle of laughter.

Then, You just lean against each other and laugh so hard tears start flowing down Your cheeks, especially when each of You tell new jokes, funnier and funnier than previous ones.

Of course, You two enjoy a good, old game of poker, too; You sit opposite each other on the bed, legs crossed, and try so hard not to snort while glancing at each other's pokerfaces.

He attempts to distract You, make You laugh, cheat and make this card game the most ridiculous it only can be and You hit back, obviously.

If he wins, You throw cards in the air and make him pay for it; You jump on him, but he's quick to incapacitate You by lying his bulky body on Yours so that You have to haul Yourself up from under him to catch a breath.

If You win, it pretty much ends in the same way.

#apex legends #apex mirage #apex octane #apex bangalore #apex fuse #apex pathfinder #apex headcanon #apex hcs #apex game #apex fandom

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chipper-smol · 3 years

Text

Feral Vessel Chain 2

reminder that these are being posted by when they finish and not chronologically

Prompt: Herrah has a heart to heart with Feral about looking after Hornet once she’s called to fulfill her duty as a dreamer.

( @reverieriver )

“Feral one.”

Herrah’s voice, calm as it was, immediately had their attention. Ghost wouldn’t say they were afraid of the Beast, not by any stretch of the word--but they also weren’t inclined to go against her lest they get on her bad side. They’ve seen her bad side. It wasn’t something they wished to inflict on even the Radiance.

“Come with me. I need to speak with you in private.”

Respect, that was it. Everything about her presence demanded respect. That wasn’t something they gave freely, but they respected her. They nodded in silent affirmation, and followed as she led them away.

It was only when the both of them were settled in a quiet room away from the bustle of the Palace that Ghost noticed the tiny, red-cloaked form of a familiar spiderling clinging to her mother in her sleep. Their heart did a little jump inside their chest. It was still difficult to imagine this adorable being as the cold and stern sister that tried to kill them twice.

“Ghost.” Once again, Herrah’s voice redirected their attention at once, moreso now with the sound of their name. So she did know it. Father or Mother must have mentioned it in passing. Why did she need to talk to them, though? They watched her with intent curiosity. She said nothing at first, taking the time to contemplate her words before she spoke again. “You know what is going to happen.”

They tried their hardest to tamp down the sudden surge of panic that threatened to rise up. What did she mean by that? There wasn’t any way she could know, right? There might have been suspicions, of course, but they thought they were pretty good at hiding the whole “I’m from the future and know everything that’s going to happen” deal.

“You know of the plan the Wyrm has for us.” Oh. Right. That. That was something they knew anyway. Of course they did, they were technically part of it. But why bring it up now?

They watched as Herrah gingerly plucked her daughter from her cloak to cradle in her arms instead. The hatchling fussed for only a moment, scrubbing her eyes with tiny hands before nestling against her mother and settling into sleep again. There was a look in Herrah’s eyes that Ghost wasn’t sure they’ve ever seen before as she gazed down at Hornet. A certain softness, a mother’s affection... but also, fear. Uncertainty.

“I...” She faltered, and took a deep breath before continuing. “One day, I will enter an eternal slumber. On that day, and all the days after, I will not be able to care for my child. I will not be able to raise her.” She hugged her daughter a little closer. Her voice wavered in a way that made Ghost ache to the very core of their void. “I won’t see her grow up.”

Finally she looked at Ghost again, after collecting herself. “Someone will have to look after her, in my stead. Someone I trust enough to hold my child’s life in their hands.”

She moved in close to them. Something shifted, and their arms reflexively curled around a gentle weight placed in their grasp. Herrah pulled back, and Ghost realized with a start that Hornet now rested against them. The hatchling’s eyes blearily blinked open, looking up at Ghost... and then she nuzzled into them much like she had with her mother, and went back to sleep.

They looked up at Herrah again. There was something like a sad smile in her eyes. “Out of everyone here, I trust you the most. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Their gaze dropped back to the little slumbering spiderling in their arms. She was so small. So light, she barely weighed anything. But the gravity of the situation sat heavy in their mind, as they remembered again that she was one day going to grow into the Hornet they knew. They remembered again how she looked when they returned from the dream realm after breaking Herrah’s seal. They remembered her grief, and their own guilt.

They wanted more than anything to change that; to see her grow up with her mother; to see what kind of bug she would become if she never lost her, and never closed herself off to the world, cold and bitter. If they succeeded, and the Dreamers never had to Dream.

But if they failed, if they didn’t find a way to get the Dream Nail or some other means to fight the Radiance, then what would all this be for? Hornet would still lose her mother, their sibling would still be sealed away, everything would continue to fall apart in slow motion and there wouldn’t be anything they could do about it.

Ghost wanted to protect their family, but as things stood now, they couldn’t even protect them from their fates. Couldn’t even protect the spiderling in their arms, so small and so vulnerable, from the pain they knew she would suffer in the future. Vaguely, they were aware of Herrah beginning to say something when--

“No cry!” a tiny voice squeaked.

They looked down, startled. They hadn’t even realized that Hornet had awoken at some point. Worse yet, they hadn’t realized the moment that tears began spilling down their mask. But she had. “No cry,” she pleaded once more, a tiny hand reaching in their general direction as though trying to offer comfort. They dipped their head towards her, and she pawed at their tears.

It almost made them want to laugh, that their baby sister of all bugs would try to comfort them right now. They carefully shifted her weight to one arm so they could have a hand free to wipe their eyes.

“You... don’t have to, you know,” Herrah offered. “I simply thought that, considering how I trust you and how she adores you--”

Ghost raised their hand with a quick motion to say, stop. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to, that much was certain. But their resolve was set now; they were going to do everything in their power to make sure that they wouldn’t have to. Not that they could tell her as much. So they gave her a nod in answer. If, and only if, they did fail after everything was said and done, then they would take care of Hornet in her mother’s stead.

Herrah nodded in turn, and her relief was nearly tangible. They could only imagine how she must have worried for her daughter’s future. “Thank you, Ghost. Now, if I may have my child back?” She reached for Hornet, only for the spiderling to scuttle straight up Ghost’s head to settle between their horns in an attempt to get away. “Little one...”

“Wanna stay wif Ghos’!”

Herrah laughed softly. Ghost did as well, if only silently. “Well, alright, then. I suppose I can let you watch her for a while. I trust you’ll take good care of her.”

They nodded. No matter what happened, they promised: They would take care of their sister.

( @philliaesaya, https://twitter.com/ArtistPhillia )

( @ofstormsandfire )

If Ghost could speak, they’d have to say they very much underestimated just how high-energy their sister would be. But then, who would they say it to? They certainly wouldn’t admit it to the Pale King, who likely isn’t even aware of their current whereabouts, never mind Hornet’s. Herrah is a possibility. Their mother is also a possibility.

But due to a particular monarch’s insistence on his perfect vessel having no voice to cry suffering, Ghost is as voiceless as the day they were hatched. Never mind that they are, by choice, nearly as far from being that perfect, impossible vessel as anyone can be without actively colluding with the Radiance.

(That wasn’t a choice Ghost had ruled out, upon waking up in their past. They haven’t entirely ruled it out even now. But to do anything concerning the Radiance, Ghost would first need the Dream Nail. To get the Dream Nail, they first need to find the Seer. And, unfortunately, their drawings of moths when shown to others are always mistaken for surprisingly non-insulting caricatures of the king.)

“Ghostie! Be tall!”

Out of nowhere, Hornet leaps all the way from the ground to cling onto Ghost’s mask. She hangs there and giggles. Her giggles only intensify as she starts to slip.

If Ghost could smile, they would. As is, they catch her with a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, and deposit her once again in the space between their horns. Hornet grabs both of them with a tiny cheer, and they start walking again.

They still can’t quite decide what is stranger: Hornet being this small, or Hornet being this friendly. This is a Hornet long before her life and her family fell apart, before any of the things that make her who she becomes go horribly wrong. But they still see the Hornet they know in her own, clumsy attempts at pranking the king, attempts that are slowly but surely getting better and better.

The Pale King blames Ghost, as he does for even the smallest and fully unrelated inconvenience. Ghost strongly suspects Hornet would have turned out like this with or without their influence.

Their wandering takes them to the Resting Grounds, as it often does. Never before has it been with their sister in tow. They pass the space where Xero’s grave will rest, the not-yet-built memorial to the Dreamers. Both are reminders of time running out.

Xero did not turn against the king for no reason. He has not, yet. He will not until their sibling is sealed away, and it is becoming clearer and clearer that the desperate plan the king pinned everything on has failed.

There were Six Great Knights, once.

And the Dreamers… Ghost cannot speak for Lurien, as the Watcher is conspicuously absent from his Spire whenever Ghost comes around. Perhaps he knows, somehow, that Ghost would exact revenge for his knights in prank after prank after prank. Perhaps he doesn’t, but merely suspects what Ghost is up to and hides himself away in preparation. But even he does not deserve to sleep forever, no matter how many times they were reduced to shade and broken shell attempting to reach him.

They have met Monomon and Herrah, however. Monomon automatically earns a place on their List Of Bugs They Like, Actually by sheer virtue of unintentionally assisting them in their sacred quest of vengeance (and on one notable occasion, very intentionally assisting them.) Quirrel had already been there, and nothing short of him attempting to kill them would take him off that list. Their opinion of him had shot up with his involvement in the Unn Incident, however.

Herrah is so much like the Hornet Ghost remembers that it’s painful. They’d overheard her, once, saying that a large part of why she’d agreed to this was so Hornet wouldn’t have to go through the things she had.

There had been no crimes committed against the king that day. They had been too busy crying somewhere no one would find them.

Lost in their thoughts, they almost miss the flash of movement up ahead. Almost. They do not, however, miss the gasp, nor the… was that a purple cloak?

It might have been. It was certainly some dark color. The Seer wore a dark purple cloak, or perhaps those were the wings they never saw her use outside the realm of dreams. That might not be the Seer. That could be any other bug, or even just a figment of their imagination.

But if it is her… why would she be hiding from them?

The answer is so obvious, Ghost could kick themself for not realizing it sooner. Of course the Seer would hide from a vessel, now. For all she knows, they could be their sibling, but even if she has no knowledge of the Pale King’s plans, of course she’d hide from someone close to the king.

They have no voice to explain otherwise. Somehow, Ghost gets the feeling she won’t stick around long enough for them to sign anything, and even if she did, she wouldn’t know their signs! Only they, their sibling (who Ghost stubbornly refuses to refer to even mentally as Hollow, because they are not) and to a limited extent, their mother understand their signs.

They can’t exactly write an explanation, either.

Maybe they can steal the Dream Nail? They would feel kind of bad, but it’s for a good cause and they can always just give it back once they’ve dealt with the Radiance, however they’re dealing with the Radiance. That might be their best option at the moment, actually, but what if the Seer attacks them?

What if she attacks Hornet?

They reach up to their horns, disentangling the tiny presence there that had just begun to purr. Internally, they apologize for setting her down.

“Ghostie? Where you going?”

I’m sorry. I’ll be right back. They pat her on the head and pull out a charm: Nailmaster’s Glory, no longer in Sly’s possession and unlikely to be returned to Sly’s possession anytime soon. Ghost places it in her tiny grasp and closes her grip around it.

“Keep dis safe?”

Ghost nods.

“Like Ghost keep safe?”

Their shoulders sag, but they still nod.

“I’ll be right back,” they sign, even though it will be a very long time before she understands half of what they say around her. Somehow, somehow, Hornet seems to understand.

“Back soon,” Hornet says impatiently. That, Ghost nods to much more forcefully, and then they turn and run.

They do not find the Seer, though not for lack of searching. Unfortunately, they cannot fit into all the tiny spaces they could when smaller. After they’ve looked through what feels like the entirety of the Resting Grounds, they eventually give up and return to where they left Hornet. They can’t help but be relieved when they see her there, sitting on the lip of a tombstone, swinging her lowest set of legs back and forth without a care in the world.

“Ghost!” Hornet cheers once she sees them. “Wanna show something!”

Ghost nods wordlessly, and kneels in front of her. Hornet chrrs in concentration. She reaches back into thin air, but there’s something shiny in her grip. The charm they left with her, perhaps? No, that’s in her other hand, and honestly, Sly never kept it in as good of condition as they did.

Then pink light erupts from her back hand. Familiar pink light, in the unfamiliar form of a needle. For a few, brief moments, Ghost is the closest to truly hollow they’ve ever been from the utter confusion radiating from them.

What the fuck, they think as Hornet swings.

The Dream Nail—Dream Needle now, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, passes through them harmlessly. It tickles, actually. Apparently learn what the Dream Nail feels like on the receiving end is something they can cross off their bucket list, although there’s a distinct funny feeling after. If they didn’t know what it was and what it did, they would have assumed the Dream Needle was merely a trick of the light.

But they found the Dream Nail. Hornet has the Dream Nail. Needle. Of course it would take the form of a needle for her. Has she even seen a real needle yet?

Hornet blinks innocently up at them and says, cheerfully, “Fuck!”

Their sibling finds them on the outskirts of the City of Tears, nail strapped to their back in the same way Ghost’s stick is. Free from prying eyes, they cross their arms and tap their foot impatiently, as if expecting an explanation.

Ghost signs, Not sorry.

“Holly!” Hornet crows from her perch atop Ghost’s horns.

Holly… that’s actually a name Ghost can get behind, for their sibling. As usual, Hornet is the best at names, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

“Hello, little sister,” Holly signs back, having apparently deemed Hornet safe enough. Even if she isn’t, who would look at Holly next to ghost and honestly assume that they weren’t hollow either?

The Pale King sure wouldn’t, and right now, that’s all that matters.

Hornet doesn’t understand a word they’re signing. Dream Needle tucked carefully in her dress, she proudly proclaims, “FUCK!”

Holly looks at Ghost. Ghost shrugs helplessly.

“We don’t even have a sign for that. How?”

Ghost shrugs again, because they don’t have a sign for the explanation either.

Holly sighs. They resume their typical, supposedly hollow stance. “Let’s go home.”

The White Palace is not home to Ghost. It never has been, and it never will be. But when Holly extends a hand to them, they take it.

The Pale King’s reaction, once they return, is glorious. And he can’t even really blame Ghost, because no fucking voice to cry suffering, asshole! No voice to teach their little sister to curse, either! Of course, he blames them anyway, but it’s the principle of the matter.

And no matter who he blames, it doesn’t change the fact that Hornet has a new favorite word, and it’s going to be echoing through the palace for weeks. Maybe it’ll drive him crazy. Maybe it’ll distract him from Hornet’s newest toy.

Ghost knows where the Dream Nail is now, but that’s just the beginning. They still haven’t seen anything of the Godseeker. Without the Godseeker, how the—to quote their favorite sister—fuck are they going to find the Radiance?

There’s much to think about. And they’re slowly, oh so slowly yet oh so quickly, running out of time.

At least they have Hornet scandalizing nearly every adult in the White Palace in the meantime.

( @tangelojack )

( @idiotjuicyy )

( @dovalore, https://twitter.com/dovalore )

( @lesiasmadness )

Lullaby Lament

Nothing was ever off limits to the princess of Deepnest. The fact that she hasn’t grown to be spoiled rotten was great testament to her graceful and collected nature.

“Only proves that she does take after my dear Wyrm,” thought the White Lady as she gently cradled Hornet. A little while ago the Gendered Child was carried by her collar into the garden by the Pale King, after an adventurous day in the Palace with her half brothers. The King didn’t give his wife many chances to figure out what exactly transpired that finally got all the little ones in trouble, but it definitely involved Grimm’s spawn setting something on fire and sweets. The queen allowed herself to giggle softly now that her sweetheart was out of sight, her branches shaking a bit, causing the child in her hands to move a bit in her sleep, only having drifted off recently. Silence finally filled the White Palace, a rare occurrence nowadays, as Hollow was sent to his fathers office to wait for his disciplining, Grimmchild was tossed into the troupe masters hands like a naughty kitten to his owner, and Ghost ran off somewhere, no doubt to resurface soon and unite with his new found nightmare spawn friend. But for a short while, all was quiet.

Hornet brought a new kind of chaos to the Palace. Something the White Lady should have expected, but couldn’t have predicted the feelings it would invoke. Hornet was an actual kid. Unlike the two vessels who could, as soon as they hatched, climb their way up the ledges most adults would struggle with, the Gendered Child needed to be cradled and fed, supervised at all times. In other words, she was vulnerable. Anything happening in her sight left a mark on her, and seeing those changes filled the queens heart and mind with fascination and worry at the same time.

The first time Herrah brought her little one to a meeting, the baby wouldn’t stay quiet, and despite all the disruption it caused, the White Lady wanted them to stay for as long as possible. For the first time in many years, she heard a child’s laughter. Ever since that day, any time Feral shook his shoulder indicating a mischievous chuckle, the queen's mind goes back to that moment.

Not a sprout of envy ever rooted itself in the White Lady’s heart. It didn’t even cross her mind until Dryya asked if she might be resentful of the Deepnest’s queen for getting to hear her daughter’s voice, while she didn’t even know how it felt to hear “mom” once. Her answer was that Herrah would never feel the same euphoria that came over White Lady when she finally figured out how to speak to her child with their hands,

seeing them sign, “happy! happy! happy!” over and over. The joys of motherhood came in many unpredictable ways, and the journey would never be the same for any two families. But despite the differences, and despite almost never speaking to each other aside from diplomatic affairs, the two queens understood each other in the feelings that plagued them at every waking hour. First, it was a desperate desire to have an offspring of their own. Perhaps that understanding was why, upon hearing the request to have the king’s child, the White Lady agreed even before her husband did. Then, another feeling resonated between the two. Constant, cold dread. Dread of their time with their children running out. It might take years before the time came for Hollow to step into his role of being a sacrifice to the kingdom. But even now, there wasn’t a moment when Herrah’s heart didn’t ache, not for herself being deprived of both life and death, as a Dreamer, but for her daughter being left on her own. At least White Lady will get to nurture the feral vessel even after Hollow is reduced to a living gravestone. But even then, the queen would soon lose her only link to the child. As every new sign they learned together only reminded her of how fast her vision was weakining...

“Root lady!”

The queen’s wandering thoughts scattered like a flock of startled maskflys. She hadn’t noticed Hornet opening her eyes a few moments earlier.

“Have I disturbed your slumber with my light, little princess?” “Nu! I’m not sleepy. I didn’t sleep! Imma go play with Ghost.”

Ghost tried to pull the same bluff sometimes, as if the letters on his paper didn’t trail off the borders, turning into a crooked line ending where his quill lay as he dozed off right there on the table, sometimes right in his mother’s lap.

“Oh? You’re not sleepy at all? Goodness, Ghost must have been running way more than you today” - The queen made an exaggerated confused expression.

“No! I run more! And faster! Ghost can never catch me.”

To much of Hollow’s confusion, Ghost often play-raced with his little sister, and always lost on purpose. Something he suspected was that she didn’t get much slack back home, as it wasn’t customary in Deepnest to go easy on anyone, even if it’s to humor a child. No doubt once she’s old enough to train with a nail, she’ll know just how much building character is prioritised over mercy in those lands.

“That can’t be right,” - The White Lady put a hand to her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. - “They surely are more tired. How can it be that Ghost is already asleep, but Hornet isn’t even sleepy?”

“Ghost sleeps now? Bleh, baby.”

“Maybe little Hornet should sleep a little too. Your mother is talking to the king about important things, but they are taking a longer time because, can you imagine? While they were having a meeting, some kids made a fire in the palace!”

The humm of the garden filled with Hornet’s chiming laughter, as she flailed her tiny feet a little bit in amusement.

“That’s Ghost! Me, too. We made sticky sweets!”- the little spider announced proudly, showing her hands, still covered in bits of burnt marshmallow.

“Really?” “Ye! The flying... The flying bug... Lilpet made fire with his mouth!” “Lilpet?” “Ghost’s Lilpet. They can fly and have pretty eyes.”

After a few seconds, the queen deciphered that Hornet gave Grimmchild that name hearing her mother call it “Ghost’s little pet.”

“Ah, I understand. Do you like them? “Lilpet makes soft sounds. I like them more than sounds at home.”

From Dryya’s tales, the White Lady knew that from every tunnel in Deepnest you could hear the hissing of its wilder residents. Although she’d expect living there would make one numb to such sounds. However, the only noise in the White Palace was the one kids caused. Perhaps the difference is playing with Hornet’s ears. Hornet liked it in the Palace. So many spaces for her to climb and stick her silk to, and brothers to look after her, who would always find a way to catch up, even on the ceiling, getting them to chase her was almost its own game. Besides, she’s never forbidden from doing anything, as Herrah wouldn’t let the king boss her child around, thus White Lady being the only one he cpuld turn to to tame the rambunctious child. At home, she’s probably running wild as well. Herrah had no reason nor will to restrict her child from anything that’s not dangerous. She wanted to spend what little time she had left seeing her little daughter curious, free, and happy. So causing chaos at home wasn’t nearly as fun as raising the roof of the palace, though, as she won’t get the same reaction she gets from the Pale King. And having an accomplice in Ghost makes it double the fun.

The noisy mischief those two cause amused the queen every time, but the moments of quiet the two share are much more precious. Ghost would often try to teach their sister their signs, and being young and clever, she picks them up no problem, although the learning process resembled charades. Hornet is often Ghosts voice, and she cheers as much as the vessel does once they manage to communicate something to servants in the castle or the knights. Watching her child indulge in the process of teaching others the same way she does warmed their mother’s heart.

“...When will mom co-...?” - Hornet yawned mid-word.

“They need some more time, little princess. But I heard sleeping makes time go faster.”

“You made that up!”

“My-my, you are a clever child! People can tell you a lot of lies, but you can ask your mom if what I said was true.”

“I can’t ask her now.” “We’ll just have to wait then, huh. ... Or you could try and see for yourself“ “But I can’t sleep. I’m not tired!”

“Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?” “What is lulby?”

“A special song they sing to princesses when they can’t sleep.” “You made that up again!” “Well, I won’t sing it then.” “No, I wanna hear!”

“Lie down and close your eyes then.”

The queen wrapped her hands around Deepnest’s princess, dimming her glow, and a soft hum soon crept just at the edges of Hornet’s hearing. It grew into a melody, and somehow, a song, although the sounds weren't like words at all, they resembled ringing, resonating with the sound of the garden, and the specks of white glow seemed to dance to their tune. The pale beings song was not in any language, but the meaning of its lines Hornet would carry in her memory long after, and years later she’d put them into words she could actually sing herself.

Twist the spindle Round and round Princess sleeps Don’t make a sound Born of three

And left with none Stop the spindle thread is done.

In the darkness

Far below

Wishing star

Is born to glow

Thread by thread

The star has sawn Silky web

they’ll call their own

Soon came spring To be her guest

Gave her life Then left to rest Summer came Was brief and sad left behind

A cloak of red Autumn took The lone star in Made her strong Fit to be queen Winter shook The web star made Soon two bugs Came for her aid Hide the bugs

In her cocoon Safe from winter

Pale as moon Twist the spindle Round and round Princess sleeps Don’t make a sound Born of three And left with none Stop the spindle thread is done.

To the gentle hum of the song Herrah found her daughter sleeping in White Lady’s hands. No words were exchanged between them as she gently took Hornet and held her close, the little princess will soon be home.

( @huntersapprentice )

( @astronomicartz )

( @brimal-baspid )

#hollowknight #hollow knight #telephoneknight #otherart #otherfic #shitlordau #fanart #giftcorner #this one started off angst #but then went super wholesome #which i dont mind #long post #lets see if this one breaks tumblr mobile too #noticeablepronouns

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dabi-does-cocaine-fight-me · 3 years

Text

Hallucinations

Dabi x Shigaraki One-Shot

Warnings: So ooc, bugs, slight gore if you squint really hard, swearing, rOmAnCe, fEeLs, omg cliché

Shigaraki strolled into the League of Villains’ bar, wiping the blood off his hands with a discarded, musty towel. His gaze swept over those present in the room, hidden by the obstructing hand on his face. Toga was sitting at one end of the bar with Spinner, giggling obnoxiously at his dramatic hero imitations. Twice perched on a barstool at the opposite end of the bar, staring sullenly into the distance while puffing leisurely on a cigarette. Meanwhile, Kurogiri stood behind the counter, polishing glasses in a dutiful, restless manner, while Dabi lounged on an old moth eaten couch. Across from him, Compress made a move on the chessboard the two shared.

All of them eyed Shigaraki as he stepped further into the room, clearing his throat to get their attention. The effect was immediate. Toga and Spinner fell silent, Twice came out of his trance, and Dabi’s posture straightened slightly.

“News, Tomura?” Mr. Compress questioned. Shigaraki’s head turned in his general direction and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Different factions of the yakuza are still at war, competing for control now that they’ve removed Overhaul. One of the factions was delivering me a shipment of illegal drugs…I was expecting to use it to create more of those quirk destroying bullets, but it was intercepted by Ryukyu, Selkie and a few U.A. brats,” he reported in a bitter tone. He clearly wasn’t happy about how events had transpired.

“And all that blood on your hands, you slip and fall into Kool-Aid, boss?” Dabi snickered. Shigaraki turned to him and flexed his fingers, the unspoken threat apparent.

“How would you like to find out?” Tomura intoned quietly. Dabi scoffed, unfazed by the hostility.

“Well, you know, if you weren’t an insufferable dick and gave us straight answers…” he shrugged maladroitly. An unsteady and tense silence had fallen over the room, and everyone present was waiting to spring into action, should the need arise. Kurogiri inched closer, recalling the volatility present in the two’s previous encounters. Shigaraki and Dabi were continuing to stare at each other, Tomura’s demeanor calm and collected, Dabi’s wary yet relaxed. As they eyed each other quietly, Dabi realized Shigaraki was balancing all his weight on one leg and holding-no, more like nursing- his right arm. His gloves were absent. Tomura detected his examination and shot Dabi a nasty glare as their eyes met, daring him to say something. Kurogiri observed this interaction and decided it was time to step in, before things went any further.

“Tomura, where did all the blood come from?” he inquired, making sure to keep his tone level and to keep from sounding interrogating so as not to anger Tomura further. Shigaraki tore his gaze away from Dabi, muttering a response.

“One of the yakuza factions at war with the one I employed recognized me. Overhaul followers…one had a paralyzing quirk,” he seethed. It had hurt his pride immensely to have been surprised so easily, pinned so effortlessly, paralyzing quirk or no, and having that scarred idiot examining him only pissed him off worse. Kurogiri’s mist blew slightly, a draft from the open door causing him to dissipate and then reform as he spoke again.

“I see,” he soothed, “why don’t you go lie down, I’ll prepare you some food.”

Tomura nodded, looking rather beaten. He began to shuffle off to his room, Spinner and Twice both averting their gaze out of respect to their boss. Dabi sat thoughtfully on the couch, sweeping a hand through his hair as he rendered Compress checkmate.

A few hours later, Dabi was sauntering to his room in the evening, but as he passed Tomura’s room he heard muffled cursing. He turned around and rapped the door. The sounds quieted, and Tomura muttered gruffly for him to enter. Dabi obeyed, leaning against the doorframe.

“You okay in here?” he interrogated, already knowing the answer. Tomura was in bad shape. His food sat untouched, his laptop shut on the desk, no online gaming visible. He was sprawled on his bed, sweatshirt hood up, panting slightly.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, his face obscured by his hair in the dark of the room.

“Cut the bullshit handyman, what’s got you sitting on tacks?” Dabi shot back. Tomura huffed.

“Why the fuck would you care? Get out,” he barked. Dabi scoffed.

“No wonder no one wants to be around you. You’re so kind,” he murmured sarcastically, turning to leave. He was halfway to the door when Tomura spoke again.

“The attack….there were three people. One paralyzed me, another rendering me mute, I’m assuming those were their quirks…”

Dabi raised an eyebrow. “The third?” he questioned.

“The third…didn’t move until the other two started leaving…as they walked away, he threw something at me….I flinched, so I didn’t see what it was but I felt it hit me…like…worms eating into my brain. I didn’t think anything of it, because there were no unusual effects but now I…”

He trailed off, glancing at his food before quickly turning his gaze elsewhere once more. “When I try to eat the food is all…full of maggots, and mold. When I try to patch up my injuries from the encounter, all I see is…blood. So much blood…gushing, squirting, blood. Bugs. Lots of…”

He shuddered. “In the mirror…my nails turn to beetles and crawl away…my eyebrows, spiders…worms for-for lips. My gloves…they’re rats…”

His voice broke slightly, and he stopped speaking. Dabi sighed, observing him quietly. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that Shigaraki was trembling, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was scared. The kind of fear that you know is irrational, but it’s bone-chilling anyway. He knew that fear, he felt it roll through his body, consuming his thoughts every time he heard his father’s footsteps near his bedroom door when he was a small child. Something inside him tugged at his consciousness, telling him to comfort the man in front of him. He gave into it, strolling over to Shigaraki and perching hesitantly next to him on the corner of the bed. He clenched his fist, opening it to reveal a small, flickering blue flame.

“Focus on it,” he suggested quietly, softly nudging Shigaraki with his shoulder. Shigaraki turned his head, hyper fixating on the fire, anxious for his mind to be anywhere but on the events of the day and their effects. After a while, he sighed softly.

“Thank you, Dabi,” he murmured, looking up at the raven-haired male. His shivering had eased, and he felt slightly calmer. Dabi noticed the hand wasn’t on his face, as usual, and was surprised by how red Shigaraki’s eyes were. He’d been crying, for a long while. Dabi nodded.

“Anything for you, boss man,” he replied truthfully. He may act abrasive towards Shigaraki, but there was a fondness for him, somewhere deep inside. Shigaraki had accepted him, however slowly, and had given him a place to stay, a family, somewhere he belonged. Maybe that platonic feeling of respect and devotion had turned into something else…something more serious. Seized by a sudden inexplicable urge, he tucked a small portion of Shigaraki’s hair behind his ear. The smaller male turned to him, a soft vulnerable in his eyes that Dabi had never seen before. It made Shigaraki seem…almost fragile. Dabi slid his thumb over a scar on the man’s cheek, frowning slightly. Two imperfect beings, two scarred, broken creatures, adapted to the circumstances of the cruelty they were subject to…so perfect. Almost poetic, how they were frozen together in anarchy, yet the world kept spinning on its axis around them. And they were safe. Safe from it all, because, all though unspoken, now, they had each other.

He never thought Shigaraki would be so soft, so fragile, so carefully built. He wanted to accept Shigaraki as a part of him, to take him in, take his bones, his flesh, his mind and make the two of them one. To protect him through anything and everything, always. He’d break himself to keep Shigaraki intact, he’d never let the world touch him again. When his thought process broke, he looked up, only to find Shigaraki’s face mere inches from his own. The blue haired male exhaled slightly through his lips and Dabi could feel it on his own. Unconsciously, his tongue darted out to wet them.

“Why are you such an ass to me?” Shigaraki questioned bluntly. The flame in Dabi’s palm flickered once, twice, and blew itself out.

“I’m…afraid of what I feel.” The hand that had been holding the flame came to rest on his upper thigh.

“What do you feel?” Shigaraki asked, a note of gentle yet earnest curiosity in his voice. Dabi licked his lips once more, swallowing heavily. Shigaraki seemed much too close…

“Tell me,” he whispered when Dabi failed to answer. Dabi hesitated, visibly struggling before leaning in to capture Tomura’s lips in a gentle, tender kiss. Shigaraki gasped softly, but didn’t pull away, instead lifting his hand to hold the back of Dabi’s neck, pulling him closer. Finally. Finally, they both thought. Shigaraki’s hand came up to brush the stubble on Dabi’s jaw gently, and they were no longer aware of the passage of time. The stars whirled, the sun rose and set, a million years passed, and it made no difference. Their souls merged, never to be torn apart. They pulled away as one, exhaled as one. Their gazes caught each other, holding each other in a silent embrace, one that said everything…and nothing. They never left that place, that space of eternal bliss, where for once, everything was right.

THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE I’M SO SORRY- If you like this story, drop a request for part two, and if you like my work so far, send a request in for another story!! Remember to name the characters (or if an x reader story, who you wish to be paired with) and a situation I can build on; i.e hanging out at the mall. I love all of you, regardless of whom you are and I hope you all have a wonderful October!!

#shigaraki x dabi #shigaraki tomura #dabi #touya todoroki #shigadabi #oneshot #fluff fic #I'm so proud-

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sjmsstuff · 3 years

Text

Light And Dark

Chapter 5

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Warnings: same as always x

A/N: Here ya go folks! I rewrote this chapter twice and I still kind of hate it but it is what it is, enjoy!

Her first kiss. Gwyn kept her back pressed against the cool wood of the door. It was several seconds before she felt Azriel’s presence moving back down the hall.

She let out a long breath, and clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle the giggle that seemed to be forcing its way out.

Her first kiss and it was Azriel.

The shadowsinger, the big bad Illyrian spymaster.

It was the powerful male who cut people down without hesitation. The one who others whispered about.

The one who had held her so softly in the morning light. The one who had taken her hand so hesitantly as they walked through the halls...

The one she had to see for training tomorrow morning.

Nesta and Cassian would probably be missing, presumably still in bed. Emerie would be absent too if her friends smudged lipstick was anything to go by.

It was funny, Gwyn didn’t remember Emerie wearing lipstick earlier in the night, but when she came back after disappearing for two hours, Gwyn had politely pointed out the smudged crimson on her lips. A crimson that suited a ruffled blonde who entered the hall minutes later.

Gwyn couldn’t blame Mor, Emerie had looked fabulous in an orange gown tonight, wings gleaming, and hair braided with her Valkyrie ribbon. The blonde didn’t stand a chance.

Neither did Emerie apparently, as she disappeared with the Morrigan minutes before Gwyn herself had left the gathering.

Nesta too had been striking in a midnight gown. She had gotten ready in her own rooms. And if the the smug male air around Cassian was anything to go by, she had had to get ready a second time as well.

Gwyn was truly happy for her friends. Even if her only comforts were smutty novels, thoughts of scarred hands and her own fingers.

Alone with Azriel tomorrow. Maybe he’d pretend nothing happened. Maybe she should pretend nothing happened.

It was only earlier tonight she had been furious with him for ignoring her. It was embarrassment that truly fueled her anger, but the point remained that he had ignored her for three days.

It was Nesta’s idea to dance with another male tonight. Jurian was the first to offer, but when she looked up from her dance with the human, Azriel was simply in conversation with Rhysand.

So she drank and danced on. Only when he had slipped into a quiet hallway did she decide to follow him.

He was leaning against the wall when she rounded the corner. He had immediately uncrossed his arms, tucking his hands behind his back, under those magnificent wings.

Then she had taken his hidden hand and they had walked until her doorway. Then she had kissed him and everything seemed to fit into place.

Fit so perfectly that Gwyn had to flee before she decided to discover how other things would fit.

***

Morning dawned cold and grey. Gwyn slid into her leathers, ignoring the headache pounding through her temples. The other priestesses were attending an early morning mass, their own celebration of Starfall. Which meant it was only Azriel who stood in the early morning light.

The shadows clambered over his shoulders to reach out to her. She waved at one and could have sworn it waved back.

Azriel was fumbling with the handle of a sword, he quickly turned his back to her and Gwyn walked over to begin her stretches.

She began her own drills as Azriel ran through his. It had been about an hour and neither had said a word.

It was getting too awkward.

“Would you like to spar?” Her question cut through the chilly air like a sharp blade through paper.

Azriel started where he stood slicing at an invisible foe. “Of course.”

He replaced his sword on the rack and Gwyn quickly cast her own blade aside.

She had been suggesting sparring with steel but Azriel clearly wanted hand to hand combat.

They entered the small circle on the ground from opposite sides. A few feet away from him but she could’ve sworn she heard his heartbeat.

A blush was high across his cheekbones, probably from exertion, and it deepened as their eyes met.

Gwyn moved first, a feint, then a strike low to the abdomen. Azriel saw the move coming and his wings flared as he stepped out to dodge. Another strike but it glanced off his chest.

It was Gwyn’s turn to duck as a swing came next, then she was in close, fists ready to strike and the world tilted.

Gwyn slammed into the hard earth and rolled. She swept Azriels feet from under him, then swung herself over his hips.

Face to face, him pinned beneath her, hands bracketed in scarred hands. He didn’t even fight, just stared up at her. Breathing each other in. Feeling every inch of where they touched.

“Well done.” Azriel’s voice was oddly rough.

Gwyn unfroze and jumped up reaching out a hand to help him up. This had the fortunate side affect of placing them face to face while both vertical

Or rather face to chest as he was significantly taller than her.

Gwyn was being an idiot. He hadn’t said a word about the incident last night and she was still furious at him for… something. Her memory seemed to be impaired by his proximity.

Taking initiative, Gwyn stepped backwards, turned swiftly and snatched back up her blade from where she had left it. This occupied her hands so they would not find their way into his hair.

“With steel this time?” Gwyn’s voice sounded strained to her own ears, but Azriel seemed not to notice as he strode to retrieve his own weapon.

He fumbled slightly with the hilt again. If anything Gwyn would suppose he seemed nervous.

That was extremely unlikely. They’d sparred hundreds of times and he’d been to wars and back. Perhaps his shadows had whispered some dangerous information to him that he was still in shock over.

He seemed to gather himself, then marched resolutely over to her. She readied her stance but he didn’t even raise his sword.

Azriel merely stood in front of her and opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

Then opened it again.

This time he managed words. “I understand that you were tipsy last night, and that you may not even remember, but we kissed. You kissed me. By your door. Of your room.”

Gods was he embarrassed?

“I just thought,” He hurried on, “I’d let you know that should you want me to completely forget that happened, I will forget. Well maybe not forget but I swear I will never mention it again, and should-“

“Azriel,” Gwyn gripped his arm, “I was aware of my actions last night. I apologise if I put you in an uncomfortable situation-“

“No!” Azriel exclaimed, “No, not at all, I wasn’t uncomfortable, I just didn’t want to put you in an awkward position.”

He was blushing and that somehow emboldened her. Perhaps it was the hangover and leftover lowered inhibitions.

“Azriel, you can put me in any position you would like.”

His head snapped up, eyes darkening.

He stepped closer.

They were almost nose to nose.

“You, Gwyneth Berdara, are dangerous.”

She smiled softly.

His gaze dipped to her mouth.

His hand reached towards her cheek.

It drew back.

A noise behind her on the stairs.

Azriel’s eyes flicked over her shoulder and he stepped away.

“Azriel, Gwyn. I hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

Gwyn spun to see Nesta and Emerie climbing up the stairs.

“We can come back… if you…”

“No,” Azriel’s voice was low as he pushed past her, “I’m leaving now anyway” He turned back at the top of the stairs, “Goodbye Gwyn” Gwyn was close to punching her friends.

All malice washed away however, when Azriel had disappeared into the darkness of the house and the other Valkyries descended into fits of giggles.

Nesta was the first to surface, “Gwyn! What the fuck were you two doing up here?”

“Sparring,” came the indignant response. “Just training and drills!”

“Oh I’m sure,” drawled Emerie, “That’s why I can smell the arousal hanging thicker than cream in this air.”

Nesta snorted, “Must have been some very interesting drills.”

A/N: ooooo it’s heating up. Someone guide the two of them, they’re helpless.

Tag list: @bookstantrash @perseusannabeth @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @booksloverforlife @princessofmerchants @princessofmerchants-reads @azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @illyrian-valkyrie @lovelywordsandwine @thron3ofbooks @velaaaris @gwynkyrie @acourtofmidnightsnacks @simpforfictionalmenandwomen @bittermuire @mirubyai @velvetrays @tealnymph24 @dealingdifferentdevils @siyeoncruella @spookylightkidranch @cantkeepmyeyesoffofyou-x @claukiki @maja2801 @madie2200 @zaffydee @allisonmb2017

Chapter 6

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list for this fic or my writing in general x

#sjmsstuff writes #light and dark #light and dark ch 5 #sjm fanfic #gwynriel fanfiction #acosf spoiler

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

What Was Bound What Was Loosed 4

Rain did fall in the Infinite Realms. Not in all places. Not at all times. Well, except for those few places where it did fall at all times. The Realms were strange like that, often dictated and controlled by their inhabitants. In some Realms it never rained.

At least, that had been the case a few days ago. Now?

Now, it rained. Pouring from all angles, sometimes in accordance with local gravity, sometimes not. Great, heavy droplets, thin wavering mists, sporadic sprays, steady drums, cold, warm, boiling, freezing. Where it could not rain water, it rained fire, or stone, or air, or slush, or ice. But it did rain.

And the place it rained the most was over the heart of the Realms.

Their king.

Danny hugged his knees and leaned sideways against the arm of the chair. He was in the solarium, watching the rain hit the glass and streak down. He kept picking droplets to follow as they chased each other down the windows.

He kept losing track of them.

He sniffed and shuddered. He felt cold. He always felt cold, now, but he couldn’t stand to feel pinned down by blankets. Lately, they felt like chains.

He missed when they made him feel safe.

(He missed home. He wanted to go home.)

“Danny?”

“Hi, Ellie,” said Danny, listlessly. “What’s up?”

“I just… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up and then—” She broke off, and Danny turned to see her staring out the windows, floating just a little way off the floor. Plants with dark leaves tickled her ankles. “I don’t want you to be like Vlad.”

“Oh,” said Danny. “Is he still down there?”

“Yeah,” said Ellie.

“Do you think…” Danny frowned, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to retrieve them from the constant white noise. “Do you think he can get, like… liver failure?”

“Liver failure?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m… not entirely sure what liver failure is. Liver is, like, an organ right?”

“Right. Um.” Danny blinked slowly. “It is an organ. It,” he waved his hand vaguely. “It takes your blood and stuff and filters it and stuff.”

“Why would it fail?”

“It can get damaged by alcohol. Or something.”

“Oh. Huh.” Ellie approached him, slowly, keeping an eye on Fright Knight. “Do we even have livers?”

“I mean… maybe? Alive people have livers. But we aren’t alive people.”

“We are, though, right?” asked Ellie. “We’re… still alive.”

“Maybe.”

“Come on. We are. Right? Heartbeats and everything.”

“I guess,” said Danny. He checked his pulse, absently. “We should probably make sure Vlad doesn’t drink himself to death.”

“That’s possible?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. I thought that was a myth.”

“…No,” said Danny. “That’s, um. Yeah. If you drink too much alcohol you can die.” He looked back out the windows. “So, um. Yeah. Don’t do it.”

“Right. Anyway.” Ellie paused for a long moment. “How long have you been here?”

“Dunno.” With excruciating slowness, he unfolded his body from the chair. “We should go see Vlad. I guess.” He sighed, and the rain went sideways for a few seconds.

“We could do something else, too,” said Ellie, hunching her shoulders a little. “Like, I’m sure Vlad will be fine.”

“Are you okay?” asked Danny, concern breaking through his general malaise, however briefly. “Is Vlad being mean to you?”

“No, he’s just, you know.” She sighed. “Vlad.”

“Right,” said Danny. He rubbed the side of his nose, careful to avoid the looping vines of the crown. “Let’s talk to him.”

“Would you like me to summon him, my liege?” asked Fright Night.

“No,” said Danny, “I think I can make it.”

“I could create a portal,” murmured Clockwork. “You would only need to step through.”

“No, I want to walk,” said Danny, mulishly.

It was slow, but Danny didn’t have to rest as often as he did just a few days previously. His body was getting stronger, despite the depression he was currently indulging in.

Indulging. There was a word for it. It didn’t feel like an indulgence. He…

He didn’t want to be like this.

(He knew he was causing problems for literally everyone else. The Infinite Realms were vast and connected to the world of the living. Anything he caused here affected there as well.)

The rain began to fall harder.

“So… there’s a bar in here.”

“More like a kitchen that has booze in it,” said Ellie. Danny looked at her. Ellie shrugged. “What? I know what bars look like. I have traveled literally around the world,” she made a circular motion with her fingertip, “and I intend to – Oh. Um. Don’t, uh. Don’t read into that.”

“Okay,” said Danny. “We need to, like…” He gestured vaguely at Ellie. “Also get you, you know, education about human body parts.” He almost suggested Frostbite and the Far Frozen.

But then he remembered.

He shuddered. Someone else. Ghostwriter, maybe? He seemed like someone who would know a lot about things and be interested in teaching.

Then again, Ghostwriter had attacked him and trapped him in a poem, so… Yeah. He might not be the best choice.

There had to be someone out there, though. Some biology-obsesses ex-schoolteacher. Maybe Poindexter could give him some pointers.

“Yeah, sure,” said Ellie. “I’d rather look for things myself, all things considered. Being trapped in a school building is not for me.”

“Trapped. Yeah,” said Danny.

“Vlad?” called Danny, leaning against the wall. Vlad looked terrible, slumped down on the counter with a tall glass in front of him.

Vlad groaned.

“Vlad,” repeated Danny.

“Vlad, Vlad, Vladdie,” sing-songed Ellie, skipping over. “Time to wake up.” She poked him.

“Off with you,” mumbled Vlad. “Go research impossibilities or what have you.”

“Vlad,” said Danny. He took a few hesitant steps towards Vlad.

Vlad lifted his head, blinking blearily. “Daniel? Is that you?” he asked, incredulous.

“You should not take that tone with the king,” said Fright Knight.

“It’s fine,” said Danny. “Come on. Vlad. You’re messing yourself up.”

“You’re one to talk.” Vlad waved vaguely behind him. He might have been aiming at the windows.

Maybe he was.

“You can always tell the thralls not to give him any more wine, my liege.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” said Danny.

“Daniel! Don’t you dare.”

Danny bit his lip.

“Daniel,” said Vlad, his tone less biting. “I… you have to understand. I spent years building up my life and… It’s all gone, now.”

“So are our lives,” said Ellie. “You aren’t special.”

“Your life,” said Vlad, “you—” He sighed. “What does it matter?”

Danny sighed, too. “I don’t know,” he said. “But we’re all here. So maybe we can, like… I don’t know…” He shrugged.

“This is an entire world,” said Clockwork, carefully neutral. “A world that contains worlds. Infinite in nature. Anything you could find in your old world, you can find here.”

Danny spun, incensed. “Except for what matters most,” he hissed.

“I did specify things,” said Clockwork, “and I think Vladimir will find that the people who mattered most to him are, in fact, here.”

“He could act like it, then,” said Ellie.

“I will not argue,” agreed Clockwork.

Danny breathed in. The action felt shallow. Meaningless. Why had he come here in the first place?

“I’m going to the garden,” he said. He needed air.

“My lord, the rain—”

“Don’t care,” snapped Danny, moving as quickly as he ever could, lately. If anyone wanted to follow him, they could do that on their own.

(And, maybe, they did.)

#danny phantom #chains of kings #what was bound what was loosed #dannymay 2021 #dannymay 2021 day 27: rain #dannymay

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starcrossedkaiju · 3 years

Text

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Five

If you remember that post I made about the Red Resistance you’re a real one.

Notes: this one is very short. It’s just to move the plot along and blah blah blah. Next chapter is a good one I think.

The next time Scott showed up to the Red Desert it was for a petty fight that Scar had instigated by trying to steal directly from the Renchanting base. The situation made Scott face palm, and he contemplated not even showing up. However, when Jimmy offered to go in place of him, he told him not to bother. That he would be back in less than a day and night cycle.

Scott walked into the meeting just as the Red Army crested a hill. Which they stayed on. Scar yawned exaggeratedly and trekked up to his opponent, who was wearing a bandage on his left arm.

Cleo was also there. She seemed to be focused on drawing shapes in the cracked sand with the tip of her sword. Most likely feeling bitter about her former ally, Tango, joining Dogwarts. Everyone was paying as little attention as possible while Scar fired off false promises and white lies. Grian busied himself with apologizing to the nearest members of the Red Army for Scar’s embarrassment.

Scott was nearly falling asleep on his feet when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Tango.

“Hey Major, you got a minute?” he whispered.

“So many,” Scott responded, gesturing to the desolate state of their meeting.

The two of them quietly excused themselves from the group to speak in private. Scott didn’t know why he didn’t tell Tango to just leave him alone. Maybe it was because Tango had a certain air of reluctance about him, Scott was certain he pulled his punches. Maybe it was shear boredom.

“So, nice weather,” Tango observed the arid desert sky.

“Uh huh..” Scott provided, unimpressed.

Tango stared at him blankly. Awkwardly.

He cleared his throat, “so I heard about your battle with Skiz and Ren. Impressive,” Tango said.

“What is with you people and beating around the bush? We’re not friends,” Scott pushed Tango away by the middle of his chest, “Tango,” he reminded.

Tango looked hurt for a second, “ouch Major. Fine, I wanted to ask you to join me,” he said.

Scott burst out laughing, to which Tango scolded him and shook him by the shoulders. That shut him up, it also earned Tango a slap.

“Don’t touch me,” Scott ordered.

Tango put his hands up, “no touching here! But be quiet. I brought you over here alone for a reason,” he pointed out.

Scott glanced at his allies. Blissfully unaware of the possible treason he may have been about to commit.

“Nobody knows this yet,” Tango whispered, “but I’m spying on the Red Army,” he said.

“What?” Scott asked rhetorically.

“Yeah, I have a plan. It involves you,” Tango responded.

Scott paused to consider if he was really about to entertain whatever was about to come out of Tango’s mouth.

“How do I know you’re not just trying to get close to me and then kill me on behalf of him,” Scott pointed at Ren, who was rolling his eyes at Scar and animatedly conversing with him about something Scott forgot about a long time ago.

“You remember the cow farm right?” he said.

“Yes,” Scott nodded suspiciously.

“I let you take my cow, on the promise that you and Jimmy wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tango recited.

“And we didn’t,” Scott said.

“Exactly. I know I can trust you, and I can’t trust them, Etho tried to kill me remember?” Tango pointed at Etho and Ren.

“So I want you to join me. Not the Red Army, me. Impulse is doing the same thing,” he concluded.

“Didn’t Impulse actually kill you?” Scott pointed out.

Tango waved his hand, water under the bridge.

Scott drifted off into contemplation. Everything about joining a coup against the Red Army screamed danger. More than usual. Dogwarts was a force to be reckoned with. They had superior gear, defenses, players, and alliances. Maybe Scott could cheap shot Martyn and Skizzle, but he could not promise that same luck against Etho or anyone else for that matter. The thought of even trying made his stomach turn.

And then there was Jimmy. If their plan didn’t work, what would happen to Jimmy? The Crastle? Or the Red Desert for that matter? The target on their backs was large enough. Scott had to take a step back. Since when did he get himself involved in a war?

Since he started defending himself, his mind provided.

Since he started standing up for his own freedom. For their freedom.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“Really? You’re in?” Tango’s eyes lit up, his joy was a bit loud for Scott’s new predilection for secrecy.

“Shh!” Scott put a finger in front of his face, “that’s not what I said…” he averted his eyes.

“I want to, believe me, I do,” he said, “but I can’t.”

Tango’s smile faded instantly, his red eyes grew disappointed, “Why not?” he seemed hurt.

“I have too much to lose. I can’t risk this,” Scott held the charm of his necklace up, it’s gemstone still shimmered bright green.

“Scott, I admire your devotion, I really do; but this is a bit bigger than that,” Tango said.

Scott’s expression fell into shock and reproach.

That seemed like enough of an answer for Tango, who backtracked as he realized he’d struck a nerve.

“I mean!” he corrected, “I mean nothing will happen to Jimmy. Cross my heart, he will be under the Red Resistance’s finest protection,” Tango stood up straight and crossed his heart.

Scott decided that was satisfactory. He made a face that said the opposite though, just to make sure Tango’s pride wasn’t too uplifted.

“Fine. I’ll join you Tango, but if I get even the slightest inclination of funny business, I’m out,” Scott cautioned, but he agreed.

“Terms and Conditions, I get it. The Red Resistance will not indenture any of its members,” Tango responded with a gleeful grin.

“You guys and your red themed names,” Scott teased, but held his hand out. They ought to make it official before everyone stopped snoring.

Tango shook it enthusiastically. The two called it done and Scott returned to his side, and Tango returned to the Red Army.

*****

Scott traveled back home that day. No fighting had taken place, although Scar had decidedly talked himself into a hole and ended up giving Ren access to any sand Dogwarts and their affiliates needed for the next week. It was no skin off Scott’s back, he didn’t care. Not his sand.

Wearing so much armor and standing in place for two hours gets on ones nerves. Taking off his heavy diamond chestplate felt like enough liberation for the day. He expected to hear from Tango or Impulse at some point, preferably soon.

Jimmy asked him how the meeting went when he returned, holding out a cup of coffee.

Unsure of whether or not to tell the truth, Scott lied, he said nothing happened and made fun of Scar for running his mouth so much. He said he was tired.

*****

“Scott? That you?” Tango’s voice came through a small door in his abandoned cow farm. It wasn’t needed anymore.

Scott pointed his torch towards the voice, illuminating a door, which Tango had crafted into the side of the underground farm.

“Yes it’s me. Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.

“I don’t want people to know I’m still using this place, that’s why,” Tango motioned for Scott to come to him.

Tango silently listened for any sign that Scott had been followed, then pushed a stone slab in front of the hidden door with a silent thud.

On the other side of the door was a short hallway, then a very small room with some pillows on the floor and a table. A map of the server that included all the structures and members was pinned up on the wall. There was also a well loved notebook on the table.

“Where’s Impulse?” Scott asked, sitting down on one of the pillows.

“Ren needed him for something, he’ll probably be here next time,” Tango explained. He sat down and lit a candle to make more light.

“I thought we would start by going over the basics today,” Tango picked up the notebook and flipped through some of the pages absently.

Scott looked away and then back, “okay, shoot,” he said.

The “plan” centered around infiltrating the Red Army, convincing them (mainly Ren) that Scott had decided to switch sides. Then, him, Tango, and Impulse would eventually build their trust. Somewhere in there they would convince the Red Army to stop messing with people and come to an agreement with the rest of the server. Something about working together instead of against each other.

“We still have to work some stuff out,” Tango concluded with confidence.

“That’s the plan? You really think this’ll work?” Scott crossed his arms.

“If you can insult Scar convincingly enough, yes,” Tango said.

“Oh this’ll be easy!” Scott laughed, mostly to cover up his nerves.

Tango chuckled with him, then became serious once more, “I’m glad you have a sense of humor going into this. Even after what they did to you,” Tango said.

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he apologized.

Scott’s hands stung a bit in response, but he nodded a silent “thanks”.

They were quiet. Scott nervously fiddled with the hem of his coat, lost in thought, mostly regret.

Impulse did show up the next time. He arrived just after Scott did. Everyone sat awkwardly in the little room for a while and Scott was wrapped in nostalgia for a similar time. A time where the only threat was an obscene number of phantoms.

Over the course of their meetings, Scott observed his teammates and their actions. A far cry from who they used to be, including him. Scott’s hair had grown past his ears and turned purple at the tips, and he’d become rather paranoid about always wearing armor.

Tango spent much of their interactions lost in thought. The ghost of whatever was eating at him weighed visibly on his shoulders in the way his head was always bowed in a perpetual staring contest with the ground. He was irritable.

Impulse was a wild card to Scott, they’d never really met before; but it was clear he’d been changed as well. Illustrated by his long “mining” trips, which he only returned from to attend their weekly meetups with no resources to show for it, and a general aura of depression.

His mind was drawn back to the picture Cleo had taken of almost all his server-mates, together in front of the Vibe Machine. He’d studied everyone’s faces countless times. Mostly wondering where everything had gone wrong.

Had they ever truly been friends in the first place? Or was camaraderie a comfort when everyone else was just as weak as one another.

#finally. the end of act one.#also the end of me having to select from my notes app because #up until now I wrote EVERYTHING in the same document #never. ever do that.#kingslayer au #scott smajor #tangotek #impulsesv #3rdlife #3rd life smp #cas types #mcyt

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worldwidemochiguy · 4 years

Text

Love You A Latte (MFEEU! Jimin)

➵ You have always wanted a story book romance, no matter how many times your friends tell you it’s unrealistic, and even unhealthy to have such high expectations. You can’t help but yearn for the one who will make your heart sing, who will captivate you with one word, who will treat you like you’re worth more than anything else in the world... and then Park Jimin crashes into your life, with a pretty smile and a warm cup of vanilla latte with your name on it.

➵ Warnings: Yandere Jimin, Stalking, Daddy Kink, Masturbation, Unhealthy Idealisation of Romance

➵ Word Count: 9.1K

➵ MFEEU Masterlist

➵ General Masterlist

➵ a/n: it’s finally here!!! and i made it part of the mfeeu!!!! idk it just felt right also i actually finished this a few weeks ago but i wanted to add a bonus scene which had smut lol. buuut i was finding it hard to write and i didn’t want to make u guys wait any longer :/ so,,, sorry for the wait! but i hope you enjoy :D

“You do realise that kind of stuff isn’t real, right?”

Your head jerked up, fingers curling slightly around the dog-eared page you were just about to turn, leading you deeper into the intoxicatingly perfect story. Your friend looked almost concerned, worry digging a groove in between her eyebrows.

“Huh?” You replied absently, mind still fixed on the story beneath your fingertips.

“I mean, you’re always reading those books, where a perfect guy comes and steals the girl away into a world of love and happiness and all that crap. You know that won’t actually happen to you, right?”

“…Uh, yeah?” You laughed nervously, one hand releasing the book to come up and brush your hair out of your eyes. “Any particular reason why you’re saying this, Buttercup?”

Buttercup’s expression was pinched, almost painfully so.

“I just… I don’t want you to waste your life away waiting for a guy who’ll never come.”

‘I know.” You said, your throat uncomfortably dry, “I know. It’s just… it’s nice to imagine, right?”

Watching you was the most treasured part of Jimin’s day. Thanks to the multiple cameras he had installed in your apartment while you were out of town, he was able to spend many happy hours watching you, completely besotted.

If he ever missed you, maybe while you were in your classes or meeting with your friends in that ridiculous coffee shop — a practice he planned to stop as soon as he officially became your boyfriend — he could just open his laptop and watch endless saved recordings of you. He even had the cameras linked to his computer at work, though he had to make sure Jungkook wouldn’t peak over his shoulder as he opened the webcam viewer, the nosy little brat.

If he was lucky, you might have danced around to the music on the radio while you were waiting for the kettle to boil, or you would be on your couch, giggling as you read one of those romance novels you were so fond of. Little things. Domestic things, which made it easy to image the day when you would dance around in his apartment, safe and happy in his embrace.

Jimin was thankful you didn’t spend much time in the bathroom. He had refrained from placing cameras in that room because he wanted the first time he saw your beautiful body to be a conscious choice on your part. He would also do his best to avert his eyes whenever you got changed in your bedroom.

However, that didn’t stop him from shamefully imaging you in the privacy of his own penthouse apartment, when the nights became long and lonely without you, or any other human company. More often than he would like to admit, Jimin found himself fantasising about how tight you’d feel clenched around him, how sweet your release would taste on his tongue.

Though the two of you had never actually spoken, Jimin knew everything about you, from your favourite colour to the way you had your eggs in the morning. From a little extra research, made easy by your friends’ various social medias and the occasional overworked college administrator that was sweet-talked into giving out students’ personal information, he knew your birthday, your blood type, and many other precious facts that he wrote down in a diary personally devoted to you, containing his photos of you taken from afar and and Jimin’s records of what you did that day. He had filled up several diaries after having first laid eyes on you only a year ago.

The moment Jimin saw you for the first time was forever burned into his memory. He was waiting in front of the office building, checking his briefcase to make sure he had remembered to bring an important file in for that day’s meeting, when the shopping bag of a passerby had broken, spilling all of their belongings onto the ground.

Jimin had merely watched, unperturbed, as the stranger struggled to pick everything up, and it appeared everyone else was content to do the same. Well, everyone except you.

You descended like an angel from heaven, the only one to help him. Jimin could barely feel his heart pounding in his chest, he was so enraptured by your beauty, your kindness, the grace with which you held yourself. Even your scent, wafted over to him by a blessed breeze, was enough to make Jimin realise that you were the one for him.

The only one there could ever be.

Jimin had listened, captivated, as you comforted the stranger with your melodic voice, all the while helping them to collect their possessions which had spilled out across the sidewalk. You were just- ethereal, as you comforted the stranger — they seemed to be having a bad day, not that Jimin cared at all — introducing yourself as a friend. Your name was the most beautiful thing Jimin had ever heard.

Jimin repeated that name over and over again in his head, and with little difficulty he located you and immersed himself in your life. He had to make sure that when he ‘met’ you, he would not be like that bumbling stranger, too weak to even reply to your kind words. He needed you to realise immediately that he was the one for you, your soulmate, as you were his.

Jimin grinned as his laptop started up again, finally fully charged up. When he woke he discovered that the battery had died as he had it playing all night while he slept. Jimin loved linking it to the live stream while you were asleep and then listening to your cute mumbles and sleepy groans, imagining that you were lying beside him, safely wrapped in his arms.

Usually, he would remember to plug it in so that it wouldn’t run out of charge, but Jimin had been a little distracted that night after you released some… strange noises in your sleep, noises that sounded like moans. Jimin was glad you didn’t say a name — he really didn’t have time to murder someone, what with all the workload on his hands — though your moans slightly tarnished his innocent vision of you.

Jimin knew you were undefiled, a fact that brought him great delight and daily erections. He knew this because during that dark period several months ago when you had that despicable ‘boyfriend’ hanging around you, a constant source of contention between you and him was the fact that you wouldn’t let the bastard touch you.

After he drunkenly attempted to pressure you into making out with him on your couch — a proposal you strongly rejected much to Jimin’s delight — the drunk asshole had left you, sobbing into your hands, to ‘get his dick wet’ elsewhere.

It really was too easy for Jimin to follow him out that evening. To knock him unconscious and then drag him into his rundown car. To place his heavy leg on the accelerator and let it speed into a tree, and watch him regain consciousness a second before the car collided and a branch fell through the windshield, stabbing him in the chest.

Jimin watched it all, and smiled, knowing you were safe from that monstrous son of a bitch. You were safe from everyone, as long as he was there to protect you. Not that you knew it yet, of course.

The cops ruled it as an accident caused by drunk driving, a verdict supported by your testimony of his behaviour earlier that night and his general reputation as an irresponsible party-goer. How that scumbag ever got you to go out with him was beyond Jimin, especially given all the work Jimin was putting in to even be worthy of your attention.

But it didn’t matter. After the death of your boyfriend, Jimin watched as you became happier, rising out of the depression that asshole had put you in. Though, to his consternation, you were spending more time with other people, even widening your previously small friendship group, it was worth it given that he was able to see your bright, joyful smile all the more often.

Jimin let out a groan of frustration as the livestream continued to take its sweet time loading. Thankfully, he had a day off today so he didn’t have to worry about being late to work, not that Taehyung was particularly strict about that sort of thing.

It was now 10 in the morning, a Saturday, so according to the rough schedule Jimin had worked out, scrawled on the inside cover of his diary and imprinted into his brain, you should be just starting to wake up. You were a bit of a late riser, but that just made Jimin love you all the more, imagining lazy mornings filled with kisses and pillow fights that devolved into indulgent morning sex.

An excited grin spread across his face when the picture finally cleared and he got to see your beautiful face. The grin dimmed slightly when he saw you were just putting the finishing touches to your outfit, seemingly leaving your apartment to go somewhere. Jimin scowled.

Who did you have to meet that was so important you would wake up specially to see them? He hurriedly got dressed, eyes still pinned on the live feed which made putting on his trousers a tad more difficult than usual.

Thankfully, he was able to be out of the door more or less the same time you were. He followed the now well-trodden route of shortcuts and back alleys that led to your apartment. Or rather, the road across from your apartment.

Jimin followed a block behind you, baseball cap pulled low over his face so you didn’t recognise him, watching as you strolled along the avenues, smiling to himself whenever you saw a pile of autumn-tinted leaves and jumped into them, creating a cacophony of crackles which made you giggle cutely. He almost regretted not bringing his camera to capture these adorable moments, but he knew it would look strange to the other pedestrians if they saw him following behind you taking photos.

Jimin finally realised where you were headed with a bittersweet smile. The coffee shop you loved, The Roasted Bean, which you frequented with your friends. He was hesitant to go in there, worried that your friends, stupid though they were, would notice his constant presence and poison you against him.

He couldn’t resist strolling up to the window, though. Watching as your face brightened when you saw your friends (who had already ordered without you, the ungrateful swine). He imagined a similar look appearing on your face whenever you saw him — except happier, because obviously you would be more excited to see your boyfriend rather than your friends. Maybe when he was coming home from work to greet you in your and his’ shared apartment.

A handwritten note stuck to the window distracted him from his reverence, something which originally irritated him but what he soon realised was in fact a blessing. The ‘help wanted’ sign, proclaiming that the shop needed a new barista, and that they didn’t mind if the applicant had no previous experience, was all Jimin needed to situate himself in your life.

After all, if he started working at the cursed coffee shop, he would get to see you every day when you visited in the mornings, and after that Jimin was sure it wouldn’t take long to make you fall in love with him.

Of course, if Jimin wanted to get the job at the coffee shop, he would have to do something about his proper, full-time job.

“Uh, Taehyung?”

Two heads popped up as Jimin knocked on the office door. They must have been having a meeting. Fuck, Jimin really didn’t want to have this conversation with Jungkook as a witness, but it seemed he had no choice as Taehyung waved him in and Jungkook showed no sign of getting up. On the contrary, he settled into the office chair and looked for all the world as if he wanted a bag of popcorn to snack on while he watched the conversation.

“What’s up?” Taehyung asked, and Jimin felt a slight lick of heat paint itself across his cheeks. He cleared his throat and pointedly ignored Jungkook’s snort.

“I want to cash in my vacation days.”

“Oh, really?” Taehyung’s brows flick up, “It’s… September. Shouldn’t you save them for… I don’t know, summer?”

“No, I want to use them now.” Jimin asserted, and Taehyung gave a puzzled little frown, before shrugging.

“Okay, well, there’s a a form you’ll have to fill in. How long are you thinking, a week? Two?”

“About two months, I think.” Jimin said, less confident than he would have liked, and Taehyung’s jaw dropped.

“Two months? Why on earth do you want to take two months off all of a sudden?” Taehyung asked incredulously, before his expression sobered abruptly. “Is there something wrong with your health?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that, Taehyung-ah, don’t worry.” Jimin assured his friend quickly, “I just… want to pursue something else for a while, that’s all.”

“Want to pursue someone else, you mean.” Jungkook cackled, obviously casting off his role as a spectator, and Jimin fought to keep his expression unmoved. “You’ve been bright red ever since you stepped into this office.”

“It’s… warm.” Jimin muttered, and he wasn’t wrong, his cheeks certainly were warm at that point.

“It’s September, Jiminie,” Jungkook laughed, “and you’ve got a crush!”

“Is it true, Jimin-ah?” Taehyung asked delightedly, “You’ve found someone?”

“That’s hyung to you, brat.” Jimin snarled at Jungkook, ignoring Taehyung’s coos and his shouts to his girlfriend to come into the office. Jungkook stuck his tongue out at Jimin.

“Wow, look, hyung’s blushing.” Jungkook announced, before walking over to the office door and swinging it open. “Hey, everyone, get in here, look how red hyung’s cheeks are! Hyung looks like a strawberry!” Jungkook turned back to Jimin triumphantly as the rest of the boys came to the office to see what all the commotion was about. He gave Jimin a saccharine smile. “Is that better, hyung?”

“Respect your elders, kid.” Yoongi drawled as he reached the office, the rest of the floor in two. “Anyway, what the fuck is happening?”

“Yeah, why did you call me here, Taetae?” Taehyung’s girlfriend asked, who had come in from her section of the office and been promptly tugged onto Taehyung’s lap. He merely stared up at her, utterly besotted. Fuck, is that what Jimin would look like with you? Gross.

“No reason, I just missed you.” Taehyung smiled dopily at her, and she giggled, pressing a quick peck on his cheek and actually, Jimin would murder every single person in this room if you looked at him like that. Maybe affection isn’t so gross, as long as you’re involved.

But then Jungkook crowed, “Jiminie’s in love!” And affection very quickly became intolerable again.

“Shut up.” He snarled as they all begin laughing and cooing at him jokingly, “I’m just going to be leaving the office for a while.”

“What, so you can take a job at her favourite coffee shop and write love notes on her napkins?” Jungkook laughed, and Jimin-

Jimin looked at his shoes and used the age-old logic of if I can’t see them, they can’t see me.

“No-” Hoseok gasped, equally shocked and gleeful, but Jin interrupted him.

“Jimin,” He said calmly, and Jimin could just imagine his lips twitching up and down as he desperately tried not to break into peals of windshield-wipe laughter, “Look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t going to get a job as a barista as an attempt to get a girl.”

“He can’t look you in the eye, he’s too short.” Jungkook whispered, and Jimin generously refrained from hissing at him.

“I-” Jimin stuttered as he looked up and deep into Seokjin’s pitiless eyes, “I’m not-” He started to say, but… honestly no one can lie while looking at Kim Seokjin.

“She’s so cute!” Jimin bursted out, and immediately there was chaos. Several people were yelling. Hoseok somehow produced a bottle of champagne which he must’ve just been, like, carrying around with him, but Jimin simply did not care anymore.

“She’s so fucking cute all the fucking time and she goes to this coffee shop so fucking often, so if I become a barista there then I’ll see her every day! Do you understand?” Jimin asked, before shaking Jungkook — who had risen from his seat in celebration — frantically by the collar. “Every single day, Jungkook!”

“He’s worse than Taehyung!” Jungkook shouted gleefully, and Taehyung — who was still sat on his chair with his girlfriend — frowned.

“I- don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“You should always be offended when it comes to Jungkook.” Namjoon told him sagely, and Jimin yelled a wordless noise of agreement.

His yell seemed to remind Taehyung of why Jimin came into his office in the first place, and he starts rifling through his desk, having to shift his girlfriend off his lap slightly to do so.

“Here, Jimin- sorry baby, this’ll just take a second — here’s the file for the vacation days.”

Taehyung passed Jimin a sheet of paper, having to lean around Hoseok, who had just started a conga — where the fuck was that music coming from? Who the fuck brought speakers to an office? — to give it to him. “Take as much time as you need.”

“Thanks, Taehyung-ah.” Jimin grinned as he left the office, pausing half-way out the door as he heard Taehyung call his name. He turned around to see his friend grinning at him.

“Good luck, Jimin. I hope it goes well.”

So do I, Jimin thought as he left the building, calling a taxi to take him to his next job, and (hopefully) closer to you.

You sighed as your alarm went off, jolting you from your dream. It was another romantic one — what a surprise, your friends would probably mutter sarcastically — but it truly hurt your heart to let it drift as your mind fully woke up. That was always the way. Real life coming to interrupt what you dreamed your life could be.

Another sigh escaped your lips as you imagined him. The one who starred in all your dog-eared romance novels, who would sweep you of your feet and take care of you, both in the bedroom and out of it.

In your head, you knew that you should probably want to be self-reliant and independent, values that your family and friends and teachers tried to drill into you, but you couldn’t help creating day dreams of a man whom you could trust enough to let yourself be truly submissive to him, to allow him to make all of the difficult decisions and comfort you when you got upset.

You used to be certain you would find him, your soulmate who would do anything for you, who would be endeared instead of weirded out by your odd quirks, who would love you no matter what happened, but to be honest you were starting to lose hope. With the disaster of your first ever relationship — the one that ended abruptly with his death — you vowed to stay away from boys until you found the one.

This inevitably led to you spending more time indoors and refusing whenever your friends wanted you to join them in going to all the hottest clubs, simply because you were tired of the whole thing. By now, you had pretty much accepted that you would die a spinster surrounded by fourteen cats.

Your alarm blared again, somehow more grating and obtrusive than the first time, and your eyes flicked to the analog display, swearing quietly when you saw the time. You stumbled out of bed, internally cursing the day you decided to sign up to an early morning lecture class, a bizarre decision considering you were so much not a morning person that you gave Garfield a run for his money.

Speed-walking to class, you were thankfully ahead of schedule since you managed to get dressed at the speed of light, forgoing any kind of beauty routine beyond jamming a toothbrush in your mouth and scrubbing frantically. By a rare stroke of luck, this class was quite small so not many people would bear witness to the horror that was bare-faced you with partial bed-head.

Since you, surprisingly, had more than enough time, you decided to pop into your favourite coffee shop. The familiar tinkling bell went off as you entered but, instead of greeting your favourite barista Rosa at the counter with a sunny smile and your usual order already prepared, you came face to face with the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your life.

You locked eyes with him and watched, awestruck, as his full, pillow lips tugged up into a smile, exposing his perfect teeth. His eyes almost disappeared as he grinned, turning into twin crescents above mochi cheeks, so soft and adorable that you felt all the thoughts you ever had fly out of your head, all replaced by one overwhelming sense of… something.

Something strange, that you had never felt before, which made your knees weaken imperceptibly as you made your way to the counter, closer to this Adonis in human form.

He obviously noted your flustered state, which only intensified your embarrassment, and his adorable expression melted into a smirk that had your heart racing and your libido awakening with a vengeance. It was just unfair. The barista somehow managed to be cuter than any puppy you had ever seen in your goddamn life, and then turn you on more than you thought was physically possible.

If this was what a sexual awakening was, you didn’t know how people managed to refrain from having sex all day, every day. And then you were struck with the image of having sex all day, every day, with the Greek God of a barista, and decided there was not enough holy water in the entire world to cleanse you from your sins.

“Hello,” the absurdly attractive barista said, after several minutes of you wordlessly floundering in equal parts of embarrassment and arousal.

“My name is Jimin. What would you like me to make you?” I’d like you to make me come, your traitorous mind suggested, causing even more heat to rise to your cheeks.

“H-Hello… Jimin.” you stuttered, praying for the sweet release of death. The Adonis- Jimin - watched you expectantly, gaze fluttering from your eyes — wide as a deer’s caught in the headlights — to your cheeks — probably so red they had surpassed the visible spectrum and were now emitting radiation — and he chuckled. You wanted to cry. Of course he’d be one of those people with low, sultry chuckles.

“Do you want to tell me your order, Princess?” He questioned, when it became clear you were more focused on not melting into a puddle than telling him what drink you wanted, and you became certain you had died and gone to hell. This was torture, having this perfect specimen of humanity in front of you, having him call you ‘Princess’ with his bedroom eyes dark and mischievous, and choking on your own tongue.

His eyebrow quirked — and of course his eyebrows were just fucking perfectly shaped — and you somehow managed to pull yourself together enough to remember the order you had given every damn day of your life since discovering this godforsaken place, the place you would never come back to due to a mixture of shame and self-preservation (there was a real possibility you might just die if you ever saw Jimin again).

“V-Vanilla latte… please.” You practically whimpered, too distracted with your own internal chaos to notice him cooing over your choice quietly.

“A cute drink for a cute girl.” He smirked again before striding to the espresso machine to fulfil your order, leaving you shocked on the other side of the counter. He called you cute. Cute.

You had never been more aware of your makeup-free face and unbrushed hair, quickly swept up into a messy bun. Fuck, you could've had dried up drool on the corner of your mouth and you wouldn’t have even known it. He returned with your order just in time to catch you running your tongue over your bottom lip, the pink muscle darting out just in case you had missed any on the side of your face.

If you hadn’t been so focused on your own appearance, you would have noticed Jimin falter for a second, his eyes widening, fixed on your mouth.

You caught his attention and sealed your lips together firmly, determined to not let him think you were some weirdo who licked her lips excessively in public. His dark gaze made your mouth go dry. You tried to subtly swallow down the lump in your throat, but his eyes tracked the bob under your skin.

The two of you stood in an oddly charged silence for a moment before he remembered himself and handed over your latte.

Your skin brushed his and you held your breath, his hand pausing over yours for what felt like an eternity, but it was still too soon when you forced yourself to pull back. He smiled again, the adorable mochi-cheeked smile that still managed to turn you on despite its sweet and innocent appearance.

“There you go, Y/n.”

You were so flustered by the sound of his pillow lips curving sensuously over the syllables of your name that you didn’t even question how he knew it, content to stumble backwards out of the shop. You were still caught in his gaze until you backed straight into the door, knocking you out of your stupor and causing you to practically fly out of the shop, his warm laughter chasing you up the street.

You barely heard a thing during the lecture, your pen had dried out after you uncapped it and then did not replace the cap for a solid forty minutes, letting it rest on your blank notepad. The professor had given up calling on you and asking you to pay attention, drawing the conclusion that this was an off-day for his normally-attentive student. You were actually very focused at that moment, it was simply just not directed at the professor.

You were pouring over your memories of Jimin, recounting with perfect clarity how his soft-looking hair fell over his forehead perfectly. It looked so pretty and you would sell your soul for a chance to run your fingers through it. The corners of his perfect lips tugged upwards into a smile a million times in your imagination, and you wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by those lips, to have those lips running all over your body, dipping downwards and tasting-

The professor signalling the end of the class could not have come at a better time, and you rushed out of your seat as fast as your shaky legs could carry you, the heat coiling in your belly tugging you home. You spared a moment to thank past-you for not scheduling any other classes today, because, judging by the slight damp spot in your panties that was growing embarrassingly quickly, you would be quite busy for a while.

Jimin rushed home as soon as his shift ended. His elation invigorated his steps to the point where he was practically skipping. Holy shit. Holy shit. He had met you. He had talked to you and you had blushed and stuttered and been perfect in every single way. He always thought there was no way he could love you more than he already did but that was just another way you changed his outlook on life.

Seeing your beautiful face, devoid of makeup and yet still you put any work of art to shame, and hearing your soft voice speak his name — you knew his name, holy shit — and smelling your sweet perfume was a life changing occurrence for Jimin.

Of course, he had smelt your perfume before — he wrote down what scent you preferred when he broke into your apartment to place the cameras and he had a pillow at home that he doused with the stuff so that it smelled like you — but experiencing it in real life was on a whole other level.

He got back to his apartment and switched on the live feed just in time to catch you coming back from your lecture. Jimin cooed softly at the sight of you, your eyes were wide and vacant, distracted, and your cheeks were adorably flushed, like you had been rushing. You dumped your bag by the door — Jimin couldn’t wait until he could be the one holding your bag for you, having you tucked under his other arm — and went straight to the bedroom.

Jimin switched the feed to the bedroom cam, holding his breath in anticipation. When you came home and went straight to the bedroom, that usually led to-

You flung yourself on the bed and started working your pants down. Jimin stopped breathing entirely as he felt all the blood in his body, and possibly some extra, rush down south. He knew he should look away, should let you have this moment in private, but he found himself unable to stop palming his erection through his jeans.

He pulled his hand away briefly to turn up the audio feed, and your soft moans filled the air. Jimin almost came on the spot, but he forced himself to wait, he promised he would never come before you. Your lower half was entirely bare and Jimin’s mouth watered at the sight of your pretty pussy, wet and glistening, positioned in the perfect spot for him to see it, for him.

He tugged himself out of his jeans and spread the beads of precome over the head of his cock distractedly, watching as you teased yourself open with one finger. Fuck, you were so fucking tight. He could see the slight discomfort on your face as you thrusted your finger into yourself again and again, obviously trying to get yourself adjusted as fast as possible.

Jimin felt a curl of jealously flare up within him, even as he started pumping his fist up and down his cock faster. What had made you so desperate to come? Who had done this to you? As far as he was aware, there hadn’t been anything new that day so far, unless-

You started to relax, the finger gliding in and out so easily, aided by the slick coating your digit. His mouth dried up just thinking about the taste of you. Jimin watched as your head fell back, your eyes rolling in their sockets, and your perfect lips parted.

“Jimin,” you moaned, and Jimin almost blacked out.

He was so hard it was physically painful, but he gripped the base of his cock tightly, unwilling to come because he knew if he did he would miss the rest of your magnificent performance. You were properly riding your hand now, your hips rolling to meet your own thrusts, eyes shut tight, imaging something- imagining him. Jimin had never felt such sweet torture, needing to come so badly, but needing to watch you come more.

You moaned his name again, sounding more debauched than the first time, and Jimin knew you were close. He wanted so desperately to know what you were imagining him doing, so that he could recreate it with you once he had you. It was like you had read his mind, because a second later you granted his wish.

“P-please, daddy.” You moaned, and Jimin whimpered, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.

Daddy.

You were going to be the cause of his death and Jimin found that he didn’t mind at all.

“Ple-ease,” your begging was interrupted by a drawn out moan, and if Jimin could have thought straight at that point, he would’ve frowned. Imaginary Jimin was much crueler than Real Life Jimin. Real Life Jimin knew without a doubt he would give you anything in the world if you begged him like that.

“Fuck me, daddy, please,” You cried out, somehow managing to add a third finger, thrusting into your tight, tight wet heat, “Fuck your princess.”

You called out his name again as you came, and Jimin lasted a few seconds watching you pant and ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm before he simply loosened his tight grip on the base of his cock and finished.

When he regained consciousness, you were still splayed out on your bed, seemingly unable to move just like he was, but if he could move he knew he’d be jumping around the room in elation. This was undoubtedly the best day of his life, maybe even better than the one in which he first caught a glimpse of your angelic face.

He had met you in person for the first time, and you had been so obviously flustered by his presence, which was something that delighted him more than he could say and he had thought the day could not have gotten any better, but then you went home and masturbated and moaned out his name and called him daddy and then came with his name on your lips and Jimin honestly didn’t know how he was still breathing.

You were perfect, and amazing, and Jimin was almost mad at himself for not realising just how perfect you would be. He hadn’t anticipated you being this affected by him so soon. He had planned to gradually introduce himself into your life, ‘coincidentally’ running into you outside of the coffee shop after a few weeks, slowly integrating hang-outs and seamlessly turning them into dates. Shyly confessing his feelings after a month of being ‘friends’.

Jimin was not exactly a patient man, but you mattered more than anything to him, and he knew that he would have to be careful until you were so in love with him that you wouldn’t leave no matter what. That would be the point where he would break out the diaries and the videos, and bask in your gratitude that he was so enamoured with you from the very moment he met you, just like those romantic heroes in the books you were so fond of.

But at this rate, Jimin was practically ready to start shopping for engagement rings. He knew your ring size, of course, and your jewellery preferences due to studying your buying habits, but he managed to calm himself down enough to realise you probably wouldn’t appreciate a proposal just yet. But you were certainly attracted to him. Very attracted, Jimin thought smugly. He couldn’t exactly fault you though, since he had looked in a mirror before.

Jimin was an attractive man, he was fully aware many would call him stunning, and now he finally met his match: you. God, Jimin could not wait to see how amazingly perfect your children would be.

You chewed your lip as you ran over the dilemma in your head. It had been two days since you last went to The Roasted Bean. Coincidentally, it was also two days since you saw the most attractive man on the planet. And two days since you had the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced.

You were seriously craving your caffeine fix, and a small, perverted part of you that was heavily repressed was desperate to catch another glimpse of the beautiful barista, Jimin. But the last time you saw him, you embarrassed yourself so much you wouldn’t be surprised if he turned on his heels and fled at the sight of you.

It was so annoying. You had waited your whole life to meet the perfect guy, but the second you meet him, you realise that you can’t spend longer than three seconds in his presence without melting into a puddle of goo.

After another five minutes spent deliberating outside the coffee shop in the chilly weather, your nose had turned so red you could practically see its glowing reflection in the cafe window. You decided that the chances of Jimin even having a shift now were very slim, and it was even less likely that he would remember you.

He probably got reactions like that (maybe slightly less embarrassing ones) every day given how stupidly attractive he was. He probably had girlfriends to spare. You scowled. Getting jealous over a stranger’s hypothetical girlfriends? Wow, you really have hit a new low, you taunted yourself.

The door opened suddenly, shocking you out of your thoughts so much that you jumped, much to the amusement of whoever opened the door, judging by their chuckle. You looked up at them, and then regretted every life choice that brought you to that exact moment.

It was Jimin, because of course it was, and he looked as stunning as ever, his complexion glowing, his eyes shining, his existence in general devastating. He was in his cute little barista outfit, a fitted white button up and black apron that might as well be a runway look for how much it suited him.

“Are you going to come in, Y/n?” Holy shit he knows my name, you screamed to yourself, vaguely hoping your face had an expression of pleasant detachment and not the strange amalgamation of shock, delight and arousal that you were experiencing. He chuckled, shaking his head slightly as if privy to some inside joke.

“Yes, of course I know your name, Y/n.” You stopped dead in your tracks. Could barista boy read your mind?

“No, I can’t, you just say everything you’re thinking out loud, which is very cute. And you can call me Jimin, you know.” Oh, if you thought you were embarrassed last time, that was a sweet walk in the park compared to today. You cleared your throat quietly, refusing to let yourself be dumbstruck again.

“I do call you Jimin.” You replied, trying to make him believe that you remembered his name because God, you were unlikely to forget it. For some reason, this made him pause for a second, his expression darkening and his tongue darting out to wet his lip.

“I know you do, baby.” He said, low enough that you questioned whether he said it at all, and he had already moved past, slipped behind the counter as you advanced to be opposite him, just like you were when you first met.

“Vanilla latte, right?”

You really should stop getting shocked by Jimin’s seemingly eidetic memory.

“You remember my drink?”

“When a customer is as beautiful as you are, Princess, you tend to remember their drink.” You elected to ignore the way that nickname had your toes curling in your boots, and instead fixated on the pinch of jealousy in your gut.

“I guess you must remember many customers orders then.” You knew you sounded too jealous for someone he barely knows, but your strange possessive behaviour seemed to please him, for a small grin tugged his mouth upwards.

“Nope, just you, Princess.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

The question blurted itself out, bypassing both your common sense and your anxiety. Jimin, however, replied promptly.

“Yes.” His confidence, evident in the way he leaned over the counter and into your space, began to falter as you just stared at him wordlessly. “That is, if you want me to-”

“I do!” You blurted out again, and you really needed to gain a filter, but his confident smirk returned.

“Actually, I was going to say: if you want me to stop-”

“I don’t!” Jimin let out a laugh, eyes crinkling in the most adorable way, before he continued.

“Will you ever let me finish what-”

“No.” At that, he threw his head back, releasing a peal of laughter that you swore could’ve lit up the world with its brightness.

He finally stopped laughing, his eyes still swimming with ill-concealed mirth. You were pretty sure your cheeks were about three seconds away from setting the coffee shop and the surrounding neighbourhood aflame, so it was a relief when Jimin turned to the machine, snapping the mechanism into place, even if you felt a hint of disappointment when you lost sight of his beautiful smile.

God, even his back is sexy, you thought, watching as he tinkered with the various machinery behind the counter. At one point, he bent over to check the positioning of the cup and, well, you had never really paid attention to any guy’s ass before but maybe you should start because damn.

Finally, Jimin turned back to you with a perfectly made latte in his hands. You noted how cute his fingers were absently as they brushed yours. But, when you made to grab your drink, he retracted it suddenly, a Cheshire Cat grin on his face.

“Not so quickly, Princess.” You humphed,

“It’s funny, Jimin, you claim to know my name but you never use it.” He laughed again and you tried to convince yourself that your heart wouldn’t always skip a beat at that sound.

“Oh, so you want me to use your name, huh?”

“It’s only fair, considering you wanted me to use your name, Jimin.”

“Alright then, Y/n.” He purred, bending down to scribble your name on the cup, a bit unnecessary considering he could’ve just handed it right to you, but you got the sense he was trying to drag out your interaction for whatever reason.

He straightened up, the glint of mischief present again in his eyes, and you prepared yourself for another verbal sparring match.

“Do you not want me calling you Princess, then?” He winked at you as he said the nickname, which was frankly quite rude. You would have to send him a bill for all the batteries he made you buy, since your vibrator was definitely going to be running out of power soon thanks to him.

“I didn’t say that.” You hated how quiet and meek your voice came out.

“Oh, it sounds like poor little Y/n’s a bit confused. What do you prefer? Y/n? Or Princess?”

“S-stop it. You’re not funny. I’m going to class.” You spun around and marched towards the door, trying to ignore his laughter following you.

“Baby!” Jimin yelled, and, for some reason, you turned around.

“What?”

Jimin smirked when you responded to the new nickname. “Since you couldn’t decide, I thought I’d use Baby instead. Do you like it?”

“No! I mean, yes- no, I don’t. Goodbye.”

“Baby! Aren’t you forgetting something?” At that, you finally exploded, all the sexual frustration caused by him bubbling to the surface.

“What?” You yelled, “You want a kiss farewell?”

“I was going to say you’d forgotten your drink but, since you asked, I wouldn’t mind a kiss.”

You stomped back to grab your drink, avoiding his eye contact like the plague. As you took the cup your fingers brushed his and the odd, frustrated tension between the two of you dissipated into something almost tender. His skin was so soft and warm. Everything about him seemed so cozy and inviting, and hopeless romantic part of you wanted to sink into his arms and never be let go of.

You left before your tongue released the stupid feelings you were longing to express. Jimin couldn’t even watch you go because he was smiling so wide his eyes had disappeared into little crescents.

“-and then he called me baby!”

“Awww-” “Ew!”

Two very different reactions emerged from your friends as the three of you sat cross legged in your friend’s apartment, a haphazard ‘study session’ with open textbooks spread across the floor beside a half-empty takeout pizza box.

“Buttercup!” Two of you whined simultaneously at the third girl, who remained unbothered, tipping her head back to dangle a stretched slice of cheese into her mouth. The three of you had been practically joined at the hip since birth, and — due to an adolescent obsession with ‘The Powerpuff Girls’ — you each had a corresponding nickname, which had stuck as the years passed you by.

You had been nicknamed Blossom, due to your — usually — level head and desire to make peace whenever your two friends were fighting. Your friend — the one who had cooed at the ending of your story — was chosen to be Bubbles, given that she was the personification of candy floss and possibly the closest thing Earth had to a real life fairy.

Your second, much more cynical friend who was currently finishing her slice of pizza and determinedly not looking at Bubble’s puppy eyes, was Buttercup. Self-proclaimed hater of all romance. Given what happened with her parents in your teenage years, you couldn’t really blame her.

“That’s so romantic.” Bubbles sighed dreamily, before huffing slightly. “I wish you hadn’t told me that tonight. I have to study for-” She flushed delicately, “Mr Kim’s lecture and now I won’t be able to think about anything else but my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

“Hey!” Buttercup interjected, “I’m going to be maid of honour!”

“But you don’t even like weddings-” Bubble started to protest, and you cut them both off.

“There will be no maid of honour!” You announced shrilly, before forcing yourself to relax. “And also, Bubble, you don’t need to study for Mr Kim’s lecture. It’s not like it’s a class or anything, he’s just a guest lecturer.”

“Yes, but…” Bubble mumbled, docilely accepting the pizza slice that Buttercup held up to her face and continuing to speak through a mouthful, “I wuhmfda fimprsh im.”

“What?”

Buttercup scowled, but translated for you.

“She wants to impress him. Gross.” She turned to Bubble. “Isn’t he, like, forty?”

“First of all, he’s in his mid-twenties at most,” You admonished Buttercup as Bubble let out an indignant wail, “and second of all, we were talking about my problem!”

“Oh, what was that again?” Buttercup drawled. You snatched the pizza slice out of her hand in retaliation.

“Jimin! The hot barista! Calling me baby! And, just, existing in general!”

“Oh, that,” Buttercup sighed, as if you hadn’t literally just been talking about it. “That’s simple. Just bang him.”

“I- You- What?” You spluttered as Bubble giggled quietly.

“You’re thinking of this too romantically, like you always do.” Buttercup continued, sounding fantastically confident for someone who had even less experience with relationships than you did. “You just need to bang him and realise that the feelings you’re having are all just repressed horniness.”

“I mean, I would’ve put it differently, but… I agree.” Bubble chirped, paying no attention to your embarrassed whine, “He definitely… sounds attracted to you, and clearly he’s not alone in that.”

“But… I’m a virgin.” You argued dumbly, and Buttercup snorted.

“Do you want to stay a virgin for the rest of your life?”

“No,” You replied, frowning, “…but… it’s kind of a big deal to me. I want it to be special.”

“Haven’t you already said that the guy is like the hottest person on the planet or something like that?” Buttercup asked, raising a lazy eyebrow. “Isn’t that special enough?”

You didn’t reply, too busy blushing furiously, and Bubble squeaked with excitement.

“Oh my god! He’ll be your one and only! This is so exciting!” She cheered, before abruptly slumping down. “I really wish you had told me this after Mr Kim’s lecture. I can’t study now, I’m too excited.” She mumbled forlornly, shutting the textbook and grabbing another slice of pizza. Your mind was still stuck on Buttercup’s suggestion.

“I mean… I barely know him. I just know his name. And his smile. And the way his eyes twinkle when he laughs, oh my god it’s so cute-”

“Y/n,” Buttercup interrupted you, a rare use of your actual name stopping you in your tracks as she framed your face with her hands and shook it gently. “Bang. Him.”

“I-”

“No, no,” She chided you, putting a finger over your mouth, “No overthinking. Just… do what you want to do. Okay?”

Okay, you repeated to yourself. What you want to do. What you want to do…

But what do you want to do?

“I want you to ask me out!” You blurted over the counter the next morning when you walked into the coffee shop and saw Jimin’s back facing you as he cleaned out the milk-frothing machine.

It was only when he turned around that you realised the guy was decidedly not Jimin, and this random stranger was now looking at you confusedly as you debated the advantages and disadvantages of sprinting out of the shop and directly into oncoming traffic.

It would be a quick and painless death, you mused absently, certainly much less painful than this-

“Y/n?” A voice interrupted your thoughts and you whirled around to see Jimin standing in front of the staff door, seemingly just ended his shift with his uniform off. Oh no, he’s even hotter without the apron, you realised miserably.

His gaze darted between you and not-Jimin, something strange and unfamiliar solidifying in his eyes.

“I didn’t know you knew Sungwoon.” He commented mildly, before shooting an abrupt glare at the other barista- Sungwoon, who hurriedly went back to work.

“Oh, I don’t.” You told him immediately, feeling some kind of compulsion to tell him the truth, “I thought he was you.”

The — anger? you weren’t quite sure, only directed at Sungwoon though, not at you — on Jimin’s face melted as realisation dawned. “Oh-” Then his face did something strange, morphing into a smirk which had you biting your lip. “Oh.” He purred, stepping closer to you. “So… you wanted to tell me something, baby?”

Oh no. He called you baby again. Someone call Life Alert.

“I- uh-” You stuttered, thoughts grinding to a halt as he approached you. And then closed his hand around your wrist. He was closing his hand around your wrist. If Bubble were here she’d be having a fit.

“Let’s go and sit down in a booth, huh?” He said smoothly, before tugging you along to the most secluded corner of the coffee shop. After he guided you onto the cushioned bench, he didn’t sit across from you, sliding right in next to you so you could feel the warmth emanating from his skin. He didn’t let go of your wrist.

You were trapped between the wall and him, and as he smirked down at you, you thought that the wall was probably more merciful.

“Anyway, baby, you were saying?”

All the courage which had somehow flooded into you as you stormed into the cafe had abandoned you, wasted on the not-Jimin who had moved onto wiping down the tables, studiously avoiding your corner.

“I…um,” You mumbled, wringing your fingers together nervously. Jimin stopped you by releasing his hold on your wrist and moving his hand upwards to intertwine with yours instead. Your breath hitched as he smoothed a thumb over the back of your hand gently.

“It’s okay, baby.” He said, his voice soft and comforting, “Just say it. I promise… whatever it is-” His lip quirked up slightly, “I won’t say no. I would never say no to you.”

“Never say never.” You mumbled, and he chuckled. You could feel the warm puffs of air brushing your cheek.

“Okay, um, please don’t laugh. I know we don’t really know each other or anything, but… I… like you.”

“You like me?” Jimin parroted, and you would worry he was mocking you, but his eyes were far too happy for that.

“Uh huh,” You replied quietly, squeezing his hand. He took your other hand in his, and you squeezed that one as well.

“Like… like me like me?” He asked, and you could tell he was joking now, so you whined and gave him a half-hearted shove. He shifted slightly, only to rear back and cage you in his arms, dragging you onto his lap.

“I’m sorry, baby,” He murmured, burying his nose in your neck, and you felt like you were going to melt in the middle of the cafe. All those romance books never told you how embarrassing it was to have someone actually pay attention to you. “You just look so pretty when you get teased. My cute little baby.”

You squirmed on his lap, and his hands came to grip your hips securely.

“Baby’s a little restless?” Jimin asked, his voice low, and you let out another little whine. His hands tightened.

“Does this mean… does this mean you like me too?” You asked timidly, and he huffed a laugh against your hair.

“What do you think, Y/n?” He asked, squeezing your hips playfully. After a moment, he softened, tilting his neck slightly to plant a kiss on the crown of your head. “I like you too much.” He said simply, making you flush.

“Well, that’s good, because I like you too much too.”

“You might even say that I like you-” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows, “-a latte!”

You didn’t react, and Jimin’s smile dimmed slightly.

“You know, because I’m a barista?”

“Actually, never mind, I don’t like you that much-” You said as you tried to shift off his lap, but he held you firmly, tugging you back with a smug laugh.

“No, baby, you won’t get away that easy.”

He pressed you back against the wall bordering the booth, and-

So this is what true love’s kiss is like, you thought, before you stopped thinking altogether.

His lips were soft against yours, but insistent as they slanted over your mouth and pressed urgently until you gave in and parted your lips. He swallowed your whimpers as he skilfully twisted his tongue around yours, licking and sucking and biting and-

He drew back so both of you could catch your breath, and you slumped forwards into him.

“Now I’ve got you…” He said, his voice gravelly from the kiss. You did that, you realised smugly. “Now I’ve got you, I’m never letting you go.”

You hummed happily, curling into his arms without protest. Of course he’d never let you go. Why would you want him to? You’ve finally found your fairytale ending, except you hope it never ever ends. And, just like he promised, Jimin never lets you go again.

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts #bts imagines #yandere bts #bts x reader #bts scenarios #yandere bangtan #bts jimin #bts jimin imagines #yandere jimin #soft yandere jimin #mfeeu #yandere jimin x reader #yandere bts x reader

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helena-thessaloniki · 3 years

Text

unexpected guest.

Summary: Levi gets an unexpected guest on the anniversary of Erwin’s death. Inspired by the narrative in Beyond the Walls when Mikasa mentions accompanying Levi on these anniversaries. Pre-Marley Arc (no manga spoilers).

He had roughly tossed on a clean linen shirt at the sound of her knocking, and only finds time now to do up the buttons. Practiced enough with muscle memory, Levi starts at the bottom and works his way up while watching and waiting for her response.

“You’re right,” she agrees, blinking tiredly. The bag slips further down her shoulder and she lazily hikes it back up, eyes flitting to where his hands meet in the center of his exposed chest for a brief second only. “I wanted to get here before Commander Hange did.”

Levi’s deft fingers stall and stumble on a button, then promptly move on. Though it’s the only outward sign of his discomfort, minor and nearly motionless, her lavender-dusted eyes latch onto his scarred hands with open interest.

He almost narrows his eyes at her; she’s always been so quick to find his faults.

She looks like shit. Shades of indigo beneath her violet-edged eyelids, dark lashes fluttering weakly in every owlish blink. Her hair is brushed, at least, but sloppily pinned back behind both ears. Looking closely, he can tell she must have cut it herself, the jagged ends uneven against her prominent collarbones. Too prominent— she’s lost weight.

“What’re you doing here?” Levi asks, his voice gravelly from disuse. It’s barely past dawn and he isn’t expecting visitors until the afternoon.

Mikasa isn’t bothered by the lack of warm welcome. She simply starts walking forward, the trajectory of her steps anticipating that he’ll open the door wide enough for her to move through. For that reason alone, he does it.

Or so he tells himself.

Once she’s standing in his front room, observing its clean and tidy but otherwise emptied contents, he tries again.

“Ackerman.”

She turns back to him, where he stands at the threshold with the door still open, as if it is him who doesn’t belong there. There’s a pack slung over her shoulder, the weight of it further dragging down her oversized sweater. Only weak, natural light filters through the room, and Levi studies the shadows that cling to her, accentuating the hollow of her neck, the dip between her clavicles.

“You’re supposed to offer tea, ask me how I am,” Mikasa tells him, more absently than rudely. “Not disparage me for being here.”

“You’ve already had tea this morning,” he says, knowing that she takes two cups of black tea with half a teaspoon of honey in each before she fully opens her lids, let alone speaks to anyone or considers leaving her apartment.

Then, Levi closes the door, his hand still on the knob behind him as he appraises her. “And I know how you’re doing.”

Her frown is slight. “So, we’re skipping pleasantries.”

That actually provokes him to laugh, dark and devoid of humor. “Don’t think you came here for pleasantries.”

He almost narrows his eyes at her; she’s always been so quick to find his faults.

Wondering if she’s waiting for his next slip-up, Levi is determined not to make one. Once he’s finished, he fluffs out and then straightens down his collar.

“Why’s that?” The steel-edge in his tone sounds lacking even to his own ears.

Mikasa dips her chin toward her bag, gesturing to it. “Wanted to give this to you first.”

He takes a wary step toward her, tucking one hand into his front pocket. “What is it?”

She hesitates, her grip on the strap tightening. “I asked Armin if I could borrow it. He said you should keep it, though. Since he—...”

Mikasa inhales sharply, unable to finish aloud.

Since he only has a year left to live, anyway, Levi knows. He nearly flinches, from either the thought he’s finished in his own mind or the way her lips tremble, he isn’t sure. What little bit of lively color brushed Mikasa’s cheeks abruptly drains from her face now.

Levi is still not certain how she has survived— is surviving— Eren’s loss. Only the shadow of her former self stands before him, and not for the first time, he wonders if she will disappear entirely into the twilight after she loses Armin, too.

He closes the distance between them, removing his hand from his pocket.

“What is it,” Levi asks again, quieter this time.

Mikasa shrugs off the bag and offers it to him, silent. Levi takes it, unsurprised that it’s heavier than she made it look, but he keeps his gaze locked onto her.

Levi tells himself his pause is for her benefit, but the truth is, it might be for his own. If she knows about his plans with Hange this afternoon, then she knows what day it is, too. Not just a typical Thursday.

She takes a measured breath. “Erwin’s vintage chess set. Apparently, he told Commander Hange he wanted Armin to have it.”

Levi nods, buying himself time. Then, he turns with the bag and walks toward the dining table, setting it down carefully.

“I remember,” he says. “Told Hange that it was to be passed down, Commander to Commander, unless the Scouts were disbanded. Either way, he thought it would— should end up with Arlert.”

Mikasa joins him at his right side. “That’s why they gave it to him after the decree.”

Levi doesn’t answer. The end of the war against the titans unceremoniously led to the termination of their military branch. The decree may have made it official, a flourish of ink penned neatly on clean, ivory parchment, but the reality was stained into his soul. Blood smeared across his forehead, limbs torn, skulls smashed, human and horse innards defiling the grassy plains of Shiganshina. Losing them, losing Erwin, had been the real beginning to their end.

“Well, in any case,” Mikasa says, straightening out her spine.

Her nervousness, identifiable only through squared shoulders and her too settled tone, distracts him from the blood-soaked memories.

She gestures at the gift. “Thought you both might want to- to honor him by playing a match together.”

Something of a strange sentiment. Levi can’t say he would have thought of it himself. But even stranger is that the woman starving herself from her own grief has managed to put effort into easing his own. She’s always been too helplessly selfless, he thinks, though that largely depended on who was worth the sacrifice. Levi doesn’t allow that line of thought to linger.

“Hange hates chess,” he finally says, blunt as an old, useless knife.

Noting Mikasa’s surprise, her head tilting slightly toward him, Levi continues. “Too impatient. Can’t sit still, can’t stay focused. Too distracted by other ideas and subjects.”

Mikasa hums, quietly and briefly. “Right. Sounds like them.”

She frowns at the wooden chest, and Levi watches her from the corner of his eye. Her cold, calm features are no longer difficult for him to read. She’s either trying to find the right words, or more likely, summon the strength to say them.

Feeling generous— she did bring him a gift first, after all— he doesn’t let her ruminate further on the failed attempt.

“Thank you,” Levi says, blithe but sincere, as he places a hand atop the set. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Of course I remember,” Mikasa says, these words easier, and she sharply looks over to him. “It’s the only reason you’ve come back, isn’t it?”

He sees it through her mind; his growing-in-frequency departures to the outerlands and coastline, compared to his shorter stays in Mitras, only for Hange, only for the orphanages, only for the anniversaries of their dead. Not for afternoon tea on the balcony of her suite, or the extra pair of silverware he polishes for her seat at his dining table, and most of all, not for the barren, barely used house he keeps in Mitras, meant only for moments like this morning, when she stands inside and it hosts everything he needs.

Levi just shakes his head. “One of them.”

With the same focus he used to finish his buttons and fix his collar, he opens the heavy wooden chest that protects the vintage set. In it are the familiar pieces from days past, stone-cut characters in sleek ivory and ebony beside a checkered marble board. The same set that Erwin used to teach him, and the same set he once used to teach her.

Levi grips the edge of the chest. “You staying, brat?”

Mikasa stares at the chess pieces for half a moment, a golden glow over the crown of her head, and then starts to kick off her shoes.

“You remember last time,” she says more than asks, half a smile playing at her lips.

Of course he does. If he hadn’t, her prideful taunt would have reminded him well enough. Their last game against each other ended with her markedly fast checkmate that actually caught him unaware.

“Tch.” Levi begins to take out the pieces, shaking his head subtly, while she sets her boots down in the room’s corner. “You’re always too arrogant, Ackerman. Doesn’t suit you.”

“Yes it does,” she counters evenly, but then the rest of her small, satisfied smile unveils itself as she rejoins him. “Unfortunately, I learned from the best.”

Inadvertent it may be, but he thinks it’s the first time she’s verbally acknowledged their intensive training and... untraditional dynamics during the last stretch of the war.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “That is unfortunate.”

Mikasa reaches for an ebony rook, he reaches for the ivory knight, and their hands brush in the passing; a sliver of a second that he knows can’t be why her smile lingers, but is the reason he tells her to make herself more useful and set a kettle to boil.

She levels him with a prim glare, but wordlessly sets off toward his kitchen. Levi finishes preparing the pieces on the board, watching dawn’s golden hues reflect off the ivory queen. The crown glimmers, almost winking at him, and Levi tries not to think of her.

One day, she won’t be a waning, dark shadow, but wholly herself. The warmth and strength of the sun's infallible light.

Author’s Note: Yeah, so, fun fact, I cannot get myself to finish writing the last 5k words until I flesh out more of their history. Before I ever wrote the first chap, I did tons of this, but apparently not enough. It’s all too scattered to be a prologue, so various pieces will be posted here on tumblr, or maybe tethered.

(For those who may be familiar with my other works. Levi teaching her chess is a direct reference to Out in Search. :) Those scenes, excluding the romantic developments, are also part of what I had written as the back-drop to Beyond the Walls.)

#rivamika #rivamika fanfic #beyond the walls fic #rivamika beyond the walls #lena writes #beyond the walls bonus scene

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 23: Dukeceit

I’m very aware it’s October. But I will get all these prompts done!

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 23 - At a certain age you switch bodies with your soulmate for 24 hours. (I may have changed this one slightly, too.)

Content warnings: kidnapping mention, food/coffee mentions, homophobia mentions (though none is really seen), just so much caffeine.

The first thing Janus noticed when he woke up was that this was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Which, to be fair, was an accurate reaction, seeing as he was in the wrong room.

His initial thought was that he’d been kidnapped, but no, that couldn’t be right. It was just another bedroom, not a basement or a van or whatever kidnappers used. It was a regular, teenage looking bedroom, with clothes littering the floor and the desk, large posters haphazardly stuck at every angle on the wall, and a phone charging on the nightstand next to him. So, definitely not a kidnapping.

When his mind finally cleared from his post-waking haze, he sighed in resignation. Apparently the universe had decided that today was the day he would switch bodies with his soulmate, on the day he had specifically set aside to study for a huge biology test that would make or break his grade in the class. Hopefully the school took pity on him and let him redo it. If they believed him, that is… he wasn’t exactly the most honest student.

Groaning, he threw the blankets off him and stumbled to the full body mirror on the door, inspecting the reflection. His soulmate was cute, he’d give him that, but it did nothing to disperse the internal confusion at seeing someone else looking back at him in the mirror. It also felt super weird to be attracted to… well, himself, at the moment, technically? He pushed a strand of white hair, dyed lighter than the rest of the black locks, out of his face and leaned forward, trying to decipher if the eye color was brown or murky green, when the door flew open and hit him in the face.

He yelped upon hitting the floor, rubbing his forehead, and glaring up at the intruder.

“Who the hell are you?” He hissed before he could stop himself, meeting the eyes of a very confused guy standing in the doorway. Blinking, he looked back into the mirror, and then back to the newcomer, wondering for a second if he was hallucinating. It took him far too long to remember the concept of twins, mentally facepalming as the other spoke.

“What do you mean, who the hell am I? Really, not one of your best pranks, Remus.”

“I’m not pranking you. I’m not Remus.”

The other merely blinked, staring at him blankly, until a look of realization crossed his face. “Oooohh! You’re his-”

“Yeah,” Janus snarked, getting back to his feet, “I am. Who are you?”

“Uhm, I’m Roman. Your- I mean, his brother. Remus’ brother. What’s your name?”

He brushed nonexistent dirt off his pajama top, an old and ripped oversized t-shirt, and responded, “Janus.”

“Janice? Huh,” Roman wrinkled his brow, casting a look behind him before stepping in and closing the door behind him, “I could have sworn Remus was gay.”

“I’m not a girl, you deflated airbag. I’m named after a Roman god, and I am very much male.”

Roman was at a loss for words, watching Janus approach Remus’ closet and look through it scrutinizingly. “He has good taste.”

“That’s what you call good taste?” The brother asked, peering over his shoulder at the chaos of ripped cloth and mesh and leather. He was frankly shocked there was any left in the closet, seeing as there was what appeared to be enough for a whole other wardrobe on the floor.

“I wouldn’t personally wear it. I’m more classy than that. But,” He picked out a weathered jean vest, adorned with pins and spikes, “Hot.”

Roman tried to hide his eye roll. “You’ll get along with him well. I came up to get you- er, Remus, but now you, I guess. For breakfast.”

Right on time, a woman’s voice carried up through the house, calling for them. Janus shrugged and followed Roman out the door, abandoning his discovery on a chair and pulling up the first hoodie from the floor. He didn’t generally like to wear oversized things, so he was surprised that the almost blanket-like garment was so comfortable.

“Ah, took you long enough. It’s getting cold.” Janus took in the downstairs area, a small kitchen and dining room in one, leading off into a living room. It was all comfortable, the sunshine raging through the picture window on the wall closest to the table, highlighting the steam rising off the food.

Janus stood at the bottom of the stairs as Roman took his seat opposite his parents, gesturing to the seat next to him.

“Remus, sweetie, everything okay?”

For a solid second, he forgot that he was supposed to be Remus and just stared blankly at the woman who had spoken.

“That’s not Remus. It’s his soulmate.” Roman said absently around a bite of food.

Their mother’s expression turned to delight, standing up immediately and engulfing Janus in a hug that he didn’t return, “Oh, welcome, darling! It’s so nice to meet you! Join us for breakfast, and you can go about contacting Remus later. Sound good?”

“I guess.” He didn’t seem to have a choice either way as he was ushered to sit next to Roman, his plate pushed a little closer to him by the mom. The dad was just taking him in, chewing slowly, and everything in Janus was yelling at him to look away. But Janus was never one to shy away from a stare off, so he kept eye contact, hoping that Remus had the same glare that his own face did. He must have, since the man finally looked back down to his plate.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” Jeez, did this woman always have to use pet names?

“Janus.” He responded simply, pulling in his first bite of food. It was good, he’d admit, but his own house never had these kinds of… family get-togethers, and to say he was uncomfortable was an understatement.

“Janice? Huh, must be weird being in a boy’s body, yeah?” Her face clearly conveyed that it was supposed to be a joke, or maybe some fucked up icebreaker, but he was more annoyed by his name.

“I’m actually-” He was cut off by a sharp kick to the shin, coughing slightly to stifle a curse, and turned to Roman expectantly. The glare out of the corner of his eyes was something Janus wasn’t anticipating, same with the almost imperceivable shake of his head. The message was clear. Forcing a small smile on his face, he turned back to the parents, who were still wholly focused on him. “Yeah, it’s weird for sure.”

Usually, lies slipped off his tongue with no hesitation. He had to learn to survive, growing up as he had. But this one felt wrong, and so utterly bizarre, that it seemed to burn the roof of his mouth. If that’s what it took though, and he was very sure that Roman’s cutting him off had been to prevent outing Remus, he could take that.

The rest of the meal was filled with small talk between him and the parents, in which he learned that he wasn’t all too far from his own house, where Remus would be waking up. Even so, he didn’t recognize the neighborhood he was in. It was definitely nicer than from where he lived, though, and he doubted that Remus would know where he was either. Poor guy.

As soon as it seemed socially accepted to leave the table, he did so, loading his dishes into the washer and dashing upstairs. It was only nine in the morning and he was exhausted, dropping onto the bed and noticing the little glow in the dark dinosaurs on the ceiling for the first time. Rather, the remains of glow in the dark dinosaurs. Remus must have taken scissors to them, separating the heads and attaching them to different bodies. He was specifically entranced by a T-Rex with a Pterodactyl head when Remus’ mother’s words flooded back into his mind, and he remembered that he should probably try to get into contact with Remus. One look at the phone on the nightstand, though, and he was getting up with a groan and padding down the hallway.

It wasn’t hard to distinguish Roman’s room from the other doors; it was the only one with his headshot taped to the front with a star under it, his name written in bold letters across it like a Hollywood star. Janus rolled his eyes and knocked on it, walking in at Roman’s call.

“Can I use your phone?”

“Why?” Roman gave him a hard side eye from where he was splayed across his bed, a script in his hands that he was most likely trying to memorize.

“I want to call Remus. And unless you know the password to his phone, I can’t get on it.”

“Ah. In full honesty, I don’t even want to know what the cretin has for a password.” With no further convincing, he handed Janus his unlocked phone and went back to scanning the papers, quietly muttering lines to himself while giving Janus the occasion glance.

He typed in his own number and held the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“It’s odd hearing my own voice through the phone,” were Janus’ first words to his soulmate. The voice on the other line, his voice, gasped.

“Oh shit! Ooooh shit! I would have called, but I couldn’t remember my own number!”

“That’s Remus for you.”

“Stop eavesdropping,” Janus snarled, taking a step away.

“If it’s loud enough to hear, is it really eavesdropping?”

Janus lowered the volume of the phone in response, flipping Roman off. “Hi, Remus, I presume.”

“I see you’ve met Roman. Pain in the ass, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Okay, first things first. You’re hella hot.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Second, where am I?”

Janus chuckled, which sounded odd coming from vocal chords he wasn’t used to. “About twenty minutes away from your house. Did you want to meet somewhere to switch back?”

“Fuck yes. I want my teeth back.”

“Your-” Janus ran his tongue along his teeth, noticing for the first time that they felt different than what he was used to. The general shape, the curve, it was all new, and odd, and suddenly it was all he could think about. “Why the hell did you have to say that?”

Remus snickered, “Whoopsies.”

“How about Edison’s Bakery, on Westland? It’s pretty much in the middle.”

Roman gave him a thumbs up, mouthing ‘good choice’, at the same time as Remus almost squealed in glee. Apparently, he liked the place.

“I’ll take that as a yes. In half an hour?”

“Yessss.”

“Before you hang up, what’s your phone password?” He physically recoiled at the response, earning a snort from Roman. “I’m not typing that.”

“That’s the only way you’re getting into my phone.”

“Hold on, how did you get into mine?” Remus only chuckled, and the line went dead. Janus sighed and tossed Roman his phone back, hitting him squarely in the chest. “Not much of a conversationalist, is he?”

“Remus abides to the laws of social constructs about as well as he abides to the laws of nature. That is to say, not at all.”

“What should I wear? When I go to meet him?”

Roman looked taken aback. It made him scowl in embarrassment, rolling his eyes at the other’s face.

“I don’t know what Remus likes to wear, dumbass. Don’t get a big head.”

“Uh, the ripped grey jeans with the patch on the thigh and Green Day shirt are his favorite. He usually wears something meshy underneath, but-”

“I’m not wearing mesh.”

“Figured.”

Like all of Remus’ clothing, Janus learned very quickly, the Green Day shirt was also full of holes. Whether his closet had been raided by moths, or it was just his aesthetic, he didn’t know. He could see why mesh would go well under it, but there was no way he would stoop to that level, so he threw on the jean vest he’d first seen and went back to Roman’s room to get approved.

Deciding against seeing the parents again (Janus didn’t understand his instinctual hatred for them, but it was strong), he scaled the drainpipe outside Remus’ window and used his soulmate’s phone for directions to the cafe (despite the disgust he felt at typing in the password), since he still didn’t know the exact directions from this strange neighbourhood. After deciphering the bus map, he hopped on the next one to arrive, grateful that he’d found enough spare change in Remus’ horribly unorganized wallet for bus fare.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t nervous by the time he got to the cafe. He’d have thought his nerves would have eaten at him already, telling him to just turn around and live as Remus for the rest of his life, but they were surprisingly calm. There was just something about meeting a soulmate that didn’t mess with him. They were soulmates; they were kind of supposed to be perfect for each other. That’s the whole point.

It didn’t take long for him to spot himself in the almost empty bakery, propped up against the large window in a way he would never stand, tracing the patterns on the ceiling with his eyes. Janus sidled up to him- himself? The concept was enough to make his head spin- and, ignoring the slightly Inception-esque nausea of looking at his own body, smirked.

“You’re getting fingerprints all over the glass.”

Remus spun to him, grinning widely, and without further adieu, grabbed his hand. Janus’ vision tunneled before going completely black. A sound like an intense air rush overwhelmed him despite the fact that there was no wind, his ears popped almost painfully, and his mouth went completely dry, but when he opened his eyes again, he was staring back at Remus. Actually Remus. In his own body and everything.

“Oh, my teeth, how I missed you,” The taller crooned, making a show of running his tongue across the outside of his teeth.

“You’re odd.” Never before had Janus been so happy to hear his voice.

“That I am,” Remus said with too wide a grin, tilting his head to the counter. “I waited for you.”

“Glad you had the decency.”

“C’mon, Jay,” He tightened his grip on Janus’ hand, who was surprisingly okay with the nickname (despite having punched people for using it before), “I love their energy drinks.”

“Their what?” Janus had been going here since he was a little kid, and he knew for a fact they didn’t have energy drinks. The overtired barista heard him though, shooting him a look of pure disdain.

“That’s what he calls it. We like to call it the Abomination unto God. I don’t know how his heart doesn’t give out from it. One pump of every flavor, five shots of espresso, top it off with black coffee.”

“Is that legal?” Janus asked incredulously.

“Technically, I just ask for how many espresso shots they can fit in a cup. She was the one to limit it to five.”

“He asked a trainee on their first day working. They filled the whole cup with espresso.”

“I was vibrating.” Remus said dreamily, as if the memory was particularly fond. Despite Janus’ protests, Remus ordered his monstrosity of a drink, pouring at least three sugar packets into the cup to his rising horror, and sat down happily. It was almost enough to make him not want his coffee anymore, watching his soulmate take a long glug of the sludge in his cup.

“So, Janus,” He said when he finally put the half empty cup back onto the table, “How did you find my family?”

Somehow, Janus could sense the underlying question, taking a sip before responding. “They’re fine. Your parents rub me the wrong way, so to speak, and Roman’s a bit of a prick, but they’re fine.” He watched as Remus tossed his cup back again, fiddling with the sleeve on his cup, “I didn’t out you, by the way.”

That was enough to dampen the mood, Remus suddenly looking sullen as he stared at his hands. He blinked rapidly, taking a shaky breath before responding with a quiet thank you.

“They think I’m a girl. So that sucks.”

“They’re homophobic as shit.”

“I figured that out. Is Roman-”

“Gay as they come.”

Janus swirled his drink in his cup, watching the coffee stain the edges. “What will happen if they find out?”

“I don’t want to think about that. Getting disowned, at best.”

They both went silent, almost in solidarity. What could you say to that?

“Do you live alone?” Remus asked out of the blue, drinking more and having the audacity to chew the sugar from the bottom of the cup.

“My mom’s out of town for work right now.”

“Dad?”

“Never knew him.”

“Shit.”

“That about sums it up.” The two of them chuckled.

“So…” Remus started, finishing his concoction and throwing the cup into the garbage can by the sugar station, startling the barista. “We’re soulmates.”

“What led you to that conclusion?” He deadpanned, watching Remus as he took a slow sip of his coffee.

“Hardy har har.”

“Yes, we’re soulmates,” Janus agreed, “Must we make it complicated?”

“Eh,” The other said with a shrug, “Ride with the tide, see where it goes?”

“Works for me.” As Janus finished off the last of his coffee, he could see Remus’ hands had started to shake violently on the table, and could feel his leg bouncing up a storm underneath it.

“C’mon, get up,” Janus laughed, pulling Remus to his (somewhat unsteady) feet, “Let’s go to the park and get your energy out. Hopefully I can get you home before you crash.”

“Aww, you do care.” Remus cooed, laying his head on Janus’ shoulder as they left the shop.

“I believe that’s the point, dumbass. Now, I’ll race you to the park. Three, two, one, go!”

Remus took off at a full caffeine-induced sprint to the park just down the street as Janus continued his leisurely pace, laughing the further Remus got without realizing he wasn’t following. What had he gotten himself into?

Nothing he didn’t want, that was for sure.

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