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demauryss · 4 years

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sail the wildest stretch; 1/6

Summary: Lucas is in a mess. His roommate is his ex-crush. He gets years worth of hairfall if he thinks a minute too long about his philosophy class. His penis-drawing talents are just out of the ordinary. And the cupid assigned to his case is a hair breadth short of committing his murder.

But it’s okay. As long as he has to worry about Eliott Demaury getting to murder him first.

or, cupid8776 has a lucas problem. lucas has an eliott problem. and they are not as unconnected as one might think they are.

enemies to lovers/matchmaking au.

ao3

chapter one: april thunders may blunders

(next)

Dear Lucallecoeur456,

I’m extremely disheartened to announce that your request filed under letter no 654lgb has been denied. According to my records, it is your tenth letter in the past five months which is getting rejected. Personally, I feel saddened as you’re the only person assigned to me who’s over eighteen and still hasn’t found a match. I’d be able to help you better if you consider the following points while writing to cupidint.com next time:

While forming the letter, please consider typing in a computer before you write it down by hand. Or just consider inscribing neatly. You’re the reason our Server turns into a whimpering mess when it transcribes Coup de Foudre - assuming it’s what you write because frankly, your handwriting is garbage – as Coup de Foutre.

Please refrain from using acronyms in your letter. Writing ‘brb’ every time you deviate from a thought does not make you look good. Especially when the abbreviated form has the same number of syllables as the original word. Even better, just totally refrain from straying from an original thought only to come back to it after five pages. Makes me feel like I’m walking through a maze as I’m reading your letter.

While we’re on the topic of refraining, also stop drawing pictures of dogs when you’re asked for what you’re looking for in a partner. I know they are cute, but they can really not be an ideal partner for you.

Consider saving your satirical remarks for the real life. Our Server isn’t smart enough to detect sarcasm and thinks you are being serious when you describe a trash can in the space specified for explaining your qualities.

If you would ponder over these suggestions then I believe I’ll be able to find you a match and it’ll make both mine and your life a lot easier.

Yours truly,

Cupid8776

(They/Them)

The day Yann gets his letter, it’s everywhere on the news. local loner boy, Lucas reads somewhere, having qualities worse than the loner boy from gossip girl has a match. There’s a post circulating on twitter which goes friendly neighbourhood pretty man is officially off the market. And another after reading which makes Lucas wants to wash his eyeballs with hydrochloric acid: hot, tall, model-like being ready to dick down some pink canoes. it’s a trip you’ll never forget!!!

It doesn’t help that Lucas suspects Basile’s fan-account for Timothee Chalamet to be behind half of these posts. Especially the last one. And it also doesn’t help that Yann’s latest letter is currently getting glued to the roof of their bunk bed, right where Lucas would sure be made to stare at it for the rest of his puny life in the lower bunk.

“You’re a fucking prick,” Lucas grits out as he smothers the liquid and ugly look to the back of Yann’s letter. His hands are slimy, and Yann’s fucking face is smiling at him from the small chair he’s perched on. “You don’t even have the fucking decency to do it yourself. Can’t believe I ever thought that I like you. Fucking unbelievable.”

Yann tuts, low and too sure of himself. His face is glowing. His eyes are crinkled. And he desperately needs a punch in one or both of these areas, “You’re being dramatic, you know that?” Yann gets up from the chair, a marker in his hands. If it were up to Lucas he would have used that same object to ruin Yann’s pretty pastel pink blanket. The asshole deserves that and even more. Muttering some more curses, Lucas goes back to the task at hand – pasting the paper in smooth cursive writing courtesy of Cupid5644 on the roof of his bunk bed. Yann looks towards him in the middle of drawing a tally across the four small lines marked on the cupboard above the handle. His face is glowing. He desperately needs a punch or kick to dull that fucking shine. “Besides you signed this up for yourself. So shut the fuck up.”

Lucas groans, resting his head against his pillow, the letter he just pasted staring down at him in all its glory. “This whole thing is ridiculous Yann,” Lucas starts, hands crossed on his chest, “I still believe it’s a world-government scam meant to lure people in for their assassination later. Like, can you believe even Sully from 231-9 has a match. There’s no way you can expect me to believe the System is genuine.”

Lucas looks over to Yann who’s now leaning against the cupboard, scrutinizing Lucas from afar, “Are you sure your reason for not trusting them has got to do with that and not with the fact that in the past three months, each one of your request has been rejected with no guarantee of you ever finding a match?”

“Fuck you, Yann,” Lucas scoffs, turning his back to Yann, his front to the wall. Let Yann believe whatever he wants. It doesn’t affect Lucas, nor does it have any ring of truth to it. Fucking douchebag. Let his match turn out to be some astrology-loving, Harry-Styles-listening, ravenclaw-ass-fanatic. She’ll leave Yann’s Scorpio ass in seconds.

He hears Yann’s footsteps before Lucas feels him crouching behind him, Yann’s finger poking the back of Lucas’s shoulders, “Hey now,” he sounds apologetic, Lucas will give him that, “Life isn’t all about that jazz; your match or partner or whatever. Don’t worry about it. At least you haven’t fallen for their scam yet.”

Lucas laughs as he turns to Yann. His face is glowing. Lucas has changed his mind. The former Yann might deserve a slap in the face with a brick but this Yann deserves all the Kit-Kats Lucas has stashed under his bed. Cupid8776 will have a field day if they found Lucas’s current train of thoughts. Shocking, Lucas can imagine the magnitude of their gasp, Lucallecoeur456 does have a heart after all. Who would have thought.

Lucas smiles at Yann as he extends his arm for him to take. “C’mon now. Basile will have both of our heads on a plate if we waste another second.” He gets up, stepping into his shoes as Yann walks out of their dorm. Something crunches under his foot – Lucas’s blunder; his newest message from Cupid8776. He had thought maybe Letter No 654lgb – lonely gay boy, for clarification – would finally tire them out. But apparently, that wasn’t the case.

Yann had laughed for ten minutes straight when he had read the letter. “Your cupid is going to commit mass murder one of these days. And I think you’re going to be the first.” Lucas had shook his head at Yann’s analogy; he isn’t that horrible. He sighs as he bunches the paper into a ball and bullseye’s it into the trash can – the one he’d described in his letter. Cupid8776 has a big storm coming next.

So here’s the thing in quite simple terms.

The world’s currently under the secret matching agency Cupid International. Before that it used to be SoulsBound, with the tagline where we find your soulmate for you. But then the name changed to Cupid Int. after getting involved in one too many scandals which Lucas remembers vividly; bold headlines on the front page of several newspapers: Soulmate leaves Soulmate for another, better Soulmate #SoulsBoundFails. And Soulmate doesn’t buy eco-friendly products. Puts the planet at risk #FixItSouls. And another, much dangerous and serious than the rest, which still gives Lucas nightmares to this day: Gryffindor finds out Soulmate is a Slytherin. Says even pet stones can tell they’re not compatible #FuckSoulsBound.

These outrages demanded an instant name change, so SoulsBound transformed to Cupid International; with a union of specially trained cupids from all over the world designated to find your potential match anywhere on the planet after you turn eighteen. The changes were justified and a long time coming, Lucas would say, as for him the term soulmate warranted a much deeper, not an ephemeral meaning; which couldn’t be forsaken for anything. But the soulmate that they suggested were anything but that.

And that’s what brings Lucas to the now: the thought that why people hassle so much for getting their letters to Cupid International as soon as they turn eighteen. Why instead of trying the conventional dating method - which has been getting much recognition as of late - they relied on some unknown person’s (or spirit? Who even were Cupids?) judging of whom they’d be compatible with. But then he guesses it has something to do with the fact that the conventional method is for people the Agency has dubbed hopeless – whose matches they still couldn’t find after years of research and rejection. Lucas is halfway turning into one of the people what with his letters of rejection piling up in the trash can.

But that’s not it. The Agency has more success than its scandals, which puts Lucas off. His grandparents met through the former SoulsBound. His neighbors that have been married for over forty years when he started university met through that. Yann’s parents met through that. Everyone he knows has some kind of emotional success story regarding SoulsBound/Cupid Int,.

And then his father had gone against the system and met his mother through the conventional dating method. Look where it had brought them now.

And here’s a thing in even simpler terms.

Lucas hates Cupid International with a passion which burns his sternum and makes his stomach coil in disgust. And it has nothing to do with the way he has told Yann how he thinks the whole System is a government scam. But it has everything to do with the way how Cupid8776 has denied all forty of Lucas’s letters sent in the past nine months of him being eighteen. It makes his heart boil in his blood when he thinks about how he’s turning nineteen in three months and he still has no fucking chance of ever being matched with someone. Which sucks because out of all the remaining 6,999,999,999 people in the world, there still isn’t someone with same interests as him.

Which is cool. Fine even. Lucas isn’t petty about it. And definitely an ass. No. He’s anything but an ass about it. Because you see. He keeps in contact with Cupid8776 when he’s not writing to them on the specified days of the week. He asks them about their health, their lives. If they have someone special in their life. If they took their dog to a walk. If they’re remembering to stay hydrated.

He makes sure to send in an email every week, even if all he gets in reply is a monotonous Dear Lucallecoeur456, I’d appreciate if you would stop sending me non-work related messages. This email is reserved for work queries only. I’d also appreciate if you would use the time you took in composing this message on your request letter as I’m sure it would be more useful than this. Yours truly, Cupid8776 (They/Them) every single time.

So that’s what he does every time, much to the cupid’s dismay. He spends more time drafting his grocery list than the letter. Spends more effort in drawing stick figures of his enemy than correcting mistakes in the letter. Takes more interest in Cupid8776’s private affairs than his own. And still complain every fucking time why he hasn’t found a match yet.

But like he said, it’s fine. He’s fine.

The first damper on Lucas’s already damped mood comes a little after one. When a pretty fucking important experiment is turned in incomplete. The second comes in the shape of a person. And it’s much significant than the other.

Lucas has just crawled out of a brutal microbiology lab, his clothes tattered, voice bruised from screaming at his group members who don’t even know how to work around a fucking microscope. One would disrupt the lens and the other would somehow mess with the resolution. And then Lucas would curse his life and begin the whole fucking experiment just for the thrill of it, really.

So it goes without saying that after seven unholy tries on the experiment, it had been left incomplete as they ran out of time. Unfinished experiments aside, Lucas was fucking exhausted. He could feel the tired in every cell of his body as he walked from the class to the cafe in the campus where he’d agreed to meet the boys. Now not only was he about to drop down any second, he was also fourteen minutes late.

“You’re so early, Lu,” Arthur drawls out, dull, “Couldn’t have come even earlier if tried.”

Lucas shakes his head and plops down loudly on the bar stool in between Arthur and Yann. He dumps all of his stuff on the ground, wincing as the muscles in his neck scream in protest. “I’m sorry,” Lucas sighs, reaching over Arthur to hit Basile on the back of his head who appears to be sleeping with his head resting on the curve formed by his arms which are folded on the counter. He jolts up, eyes wide, as he looks around the café with hand rubbing where Lucas hit him. “This fucker left me on my own in the lab. It was a nightmare, honestly.”

Arthur smiles his head as Basile pouts, “What was I to do, man? Daphne asked for my help, I couldn’t say no to her!”

Lucas shakes his head, looking over to Yann as he nudges his shoulder. Yann motions towards Basile, “But you don’t have a match, right? Where does Daphne come from in all of this?”

A proud smile takes over Basile’s features. Lucas finds it funny how the words Daphne and match in the same sentence makes the sadness and the sleep to literally dissipate from his face. “I know that, Yann. But to answer your second question, I sent an email to the cupid and he reassured me that I’d find a match in the next attempt so.” Basile shrugs like it’s no biggie, when to Lucas, in definitely is. “I’m hoping it is Daphne.”

“Here’s to fucking hoping,” Lucas’s attempt at muttering is intercepted by Yann, who looks at him weirdly. As if in a question. Lucas shrugs, no biggie. He also finds it funny how Basile’s cupid is replying to his emails reassuring him about the whole fucking ordeal, while Lucas’s cupid can’t be bothered for anything. Lucas gets this: Cupid8776 definitely has something against him.

They place their orders for their beverages: coffee for all of them except Lucas. He goes with cardamom tea. It’s when the café’s beginning to fill up with people getting freed from classes that Arthur speaks up. “But like, you haven’t met the person before right? What if they have the emotional range of a lentil?”

Out of the four of them, Arthur was the one who cared the least for the System, even less than Lucas did. He hasn’t sent a single request to Cupid International, saying he isn’t the one for dating or love. And Lucas respects all his choices. He looks up, affirmation on his tongue. But then his eyes fall over Arthur’s shoulder, in between the barricade of tired students blocking the door. And he thinks, he thinks – holy motherfu-

“Speaking of lentils,” He takes a sip of his tea, meeting the boys’ confused stares, “Here comes one, heads-up.”

And it’s just that – how Lucas spots him and a murky grey takes over his surroundings. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Something weird settles in his stomach as his friends look over to the ill lentil as a smile blooms across his ugly face. Fucking traitors.

“Eliott!” One of them shouts. It’s probably Basile. It’s definitely Basile with the way he’s waving his hands in the air. Lucas would have probably knocked them off of the face of the earth had it not been for Yann seizing him by placing both of his hands over Lucas’s shoulder. Lucas inhales deeply as Eliott walks over to their little settlement of barstools and idiots, a bounce in his step as he plays with the strap of the bag over his shoulder. Lucas looks anywhere but at him as he comes to stand next to Basile as he yells excitedly, “Good to see you here.”

“You too.”

Lucas just about murders Basile with nothing but his mind as Eliott’s shirt comes into his line of vision. And as Lucas looks up - goes against the well-being of his eyes - his eyes take a quick sweep of Eliott’s tall figure. Nothing out of the ordinary. He’s currently smiling warmly at Basile, then at Arthur. It’s when that his eyes fall on Lucas that the previous warmth in them is sucked out of them, like a vacuum, and they harden like stones as Eliott looks at him. And Lucas thinks he’s probably remembering the latest stick figure drawn on a piece of paper which Lucas had hit him with earlier as he was bent over an old, tattered book in the library.

“Have a seat, mate.” It’s Arthur. Double fucking traitor. Lucas should consider getting new friends. (But then, he thinks quite sadly, who would ever befriend him if not for these completely insufferable idiots?)

Lucas watches, stomach in knots and million things on his tongue, as Eliott’s face softens as he turns to Arthur. He smiles, “I have a class soon so I should get going.”

Basile murmurs something about it being a bummer. Arthur tells him that they’ll see him around. Lucas doesn’t know a bummer or what that is but he knows the look Eliott gives Lucas over his shoulder as he leaves – he knows the menace which is coiled in the white of his eyes, the absolute anger and disgust he’s reserved for Lucas comes pooling out in that instant, and Lucas almost washes away with it. Fucking pretentious asshole.

Lucas swallows his heart beating in his throat as Eliott disappears from his sight. Un-clenches his hands which have formed a fist without his knowledge. He turns on his stool, passes Yann a smile who’s been weirdly quiet during that encounter, watches as Basile’s contemplative face comes into his line of vision. And curses whoever put him in this situation: A Thinking Basile is not a Good Basile.

“Do you know apparently Eliott still hasn’t found a match either? Which is odd, since the guy’s a deity. I mean, just freaking look at him!”

Arthur side-eyes Lucas as he nods his head in agreement. Lucas should seriously consider getting new friends. The ones he currently have differ largely from on certain matters. And it fucking sucks that they know it too. “Yeah,” Arthur is saying, “he’s pretty. And nice too.”

‘Nice’ my fucking ass. Lucas shakes his head, finishes his cold tea in a second, and picks up his bag which he dumped to the floor. It is common knowledge that Eliott Demaury is good-looking. He’s the person everyone in their uni flocks up to. He’s also pretty fucking amazing at everything he does. Which only irks Lucas more. He gets up, adding onto Basile and Arthur’s conversation with a silent Yann in tow.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom,” he speaks to no one in particular, not really expecting the three people to stop their oh-so-important conversation about Eliott Demaury to pay him any attention. Shaking his head, he runs through a crowd, past a sulking worker, stressed students and mahogany colored back door to an alley o sheltered light and soft breeze.

Lucas breathes in deeply. His bag makes a sound as it plops to the ground. Closing his eyes, he focuses on calming his heart down which is beating so erratically Lucas has trouble keeping his mind on one place. If he could just wrap his hands around that fucker’s ne-

“Fancy seeing you here,” Oh fucking hell. Lucas fires off every curse he could think of in his heart. There is an off feeling in his stomach as he opens his eyes to Eliott’s hooded figure sitting off to his right, a cigarette placed between his lips. Lucas has to look down to place the full expression on his face, and it thrills him a little. (The act of looking down at him, for once. Not the clever smile which is placed on his face.

“Well, how’s your day doing?”

“Oh, it’s you.” Lucas shrugs his shoulders like it isn’t taking a great deal out of him to plaster the absolute fake smile on his face. “I was wondering why suddenly all the clouds turned grey.”

Even though he’s standing five to six feet away, Lucas doesn’t miss the brie fall of Eliott’s smile. But it’s coming into place faster than Lucas has the chance to feel good about the whole ordeal. He watches, against his will, as Eliott takes a long drag of his cigarette, the end of the stick burns brighter in glowing red embers before he blows white puffs of smoke in the air. He’s just so –

Lucas bites down on his lip to prevent the stupid thoughts from slipping out. Eliott watches him with (feigned) interest.

“Ahh there he is,” Eliott straightens his back. Even though he’s sitting on the steps to the side and Lucas is standing, it still – somehow – feels as if Eliott’s looking down on him. “I was wondering where the meanie in you has wandered off to.”

He didn’t just call Lucas a meanie. What the fuck.

Lucas heaves in a sigh. Wills his heart to stop hammering. “You wouldn’t know a thing or two about that, now. Would you?”

Lucas notices the little shake of his head, the light which falls over his face making it look like it’s dropped the sneer which has now become a part of his features whenever he’s around Lucas. And Lucas should revel in the thought of getting Eliott to show his real colours, but it grates on him regardless.

Eliott rubs his thighs over his jeans. Lucas traces the motion with narrowed eyes. And when he speaks, it’s to a completely different wave.

“You know, when someone asks about your day, you reply and then ask the question back. It’s called having a conversation, you know?”

Lucas bites the inside of his cheek, words already spilling out before he has a chance to assess them, “And what part of me actually looks like I would want to have any conversation with you?” Just. Who does he think he is? Pretending to be nice and all that. It doesn’t mean Lucas would forget when yesterday he doused Lucas’s workplace in some sticky as hell material which ruined not only his assignments which he spread on the table but left a permanent damper on his mood.

There’s a tilt to Eliott’s lips, his eyes bright and every bit gauging Lucas with the way they’re trained on him. The structure in his chest gives a painful squeeze.

Lucas doesn’t like it. At all.

“I should have known,” Eliott says with an air of nonchalance that has Lucas’s insides firing up in anger and – “You’re not one to have a conversation with.”

“Glad to have that sorted, then.” Lucas decides for the same tone Eliott chose earlier. He turns on his heels. And with Eliott’s eyes digging holes in his back, he returns through the same door he came out of earlier.

So here’s another thing in the simplest of terms. Lucas isn’t fond of many things in his life. He hates the System, his philosophy professor, Sully from 231-9. But what he hates even more than all of these things is the fucking lentil Eliott Dick Demaury.

There’s a dull buzzing seeping into his bones as Lucas walks towards consciousness. His limbs are still heavy with sleep, his eyes glued shut as he pats around his pillow for the vibrating device around him. He picks the phone up around a yawn, voice groggy as if he hadn’t used it in years.

Well, he hasn’t used it in hours. So. There’s that.

“Hello?” He croaks out, snuggling his face into the pillow under his head.

“Lucas Lallemant! Why are you still sleeping?”

The voice, filtered through the static, still compels Lucas to bolt upright in the bed, eyes now opened wide as he rubs away the sleep with his hand. “Mama!” He wills his voice to sound as if a trail of drool hadn’t had been drying at the side of his mouth. “You’re still up!”

His mama chuckles a little, as Lucas is left to smile sheepishly. Her voice comes clear now, “I would have called you at crack of dawn and you would still have said the same thing. Besides, don’t you have to go to your shift in half an hour?”

Lucas frowns, and then gets out of the bed. He finds Yann gone, his bed properly made. That’s why Lucas was able to sleep that much, considering Yann has reserved a distinct hatred for Lucas’s sleep.

His limbs are heavy as he changes out of the moth-ridden (not exactly, but its appearance justifies the statement) shirt he slipped into before his nap. “How have you been, Mama?”

“Great,” his mother speaks on the other line. There’s a brightness to her voice which lessens as well as increases the cut of homesickness lodged inside the muscle of his heart. Lucas doesn’t let himself dwell on the sudden sadness which grips him. Instead he focuses on the smile he can hear in his mother’s flowery tone, “I’ve been spending a lot of time in the garden these days. You know the plants Willow got me? They flowered yesterday and they’re so beautiful Lucas!”

Lucas smiles as he picks up his bag lying by the door.

She hums on the other line. “And Dr. Noelle changed my medication. We’ve switched to lighter pills instead of those heavier ones that always made me drowsy and loopy. She said I’m doing better so no need for the heavy dosage.”

There’s something like relief travelling with the air he inhales right to his heart. The sun is bright as Lucas makes his way outside. “That’s good, Mama.”

His mother launches into details about stuff about her new medication like the schedule and the amount of pills she’s required to take each time. Lucas walks out of the campus, listening intently to his mother’s retelling of the shenanigans happening in the various clubs she has joined now that she doesn’t feel so drained anymore. Lucas tells her about his classes and life in return.

“Oh, yesterday in the cooking club, Nadine switched Hira’s container of salt with baking powder. It was quite fun to watch them two bickering afterwards. And there’s a betting pool going around the club about how much time they’re going to take before they get together.”

Lucas shakes his head, a smile pulling up on his face as he crosses the road, “Mama, you should help them sort out their differences instead of enjoying their fights!”

Lucas can hear her shaking her head. She continues, “We should, but it won’t be fun anymore. Besides, I do like some slow burn if I say so myself.”

“You’re spending too much time on the internet,” Lucas muses, “Next thing I know you’ll tell me that you’re reading fanfictions.”

His statement is met with silence. Suspicious silence. He has a minute to be terrified at the prospect before he’s breaking out in laughter, “What the fuck, Mama!”

“Language, Lucas!” She chides, but there’s a smile in her voice which grips Lucas’s heart. Even though he’s kind of wary about the stuff she must find on the web, Lucas knows she can fend for herself.

“Anyways,” she steers the conversation to another direction. Lucas goes with it. “You’re coming on Saturday, right?”

Lucas nods, “Yeah Mama. I’ll try to make it on Friday if the boys haven’t got something planned already.”

The store comes into view, so Lucas says his goodbye into the phone. “I need to go, Mama,” Lucas swallows down the bile which rises in his throat. He misses her so damn much. “I love you.”

“Love you too, honey.” The lines drops, and Lucas is let to chase away the sudden sadness he feels. For a minute, he stands there outside the store, his heart beating with a pang of homesickness. But then he forces air into his lungs, clears his mind, and goes inside the store.

The store is blissfully silent when Lucas enters through the door. There’s a faint smell of lavender still left from the candle Mika must have burnt earlier. Lucas drops his bag behind the counter before he picks up the various records and CD’s piled on the counter and places them in their racks. He starts making his way to the store room for the stuff which was shipped earlier. Might as well get a head-start if he’s early.

The store’s owned by Mika’s aunt, and Lucas works part-time here. It’s a vintage record store; the business is okay. He had earned a full scholarship in the university, but needed a job for the basic necessities in his life. Mika offered a job – and the wage was enough to pay off his expenditures. It is okay, better even. Except – except for the –

Lucas ends up walking face first into a rock-hard chest. His nose gets squished against a set of solid pectoral muscles, the cartilage singing with pain. There are hands grabbing his forearms; stale cigarettes and citrusy bubblegum taking up a better half of his brain. If it hadn’t been for the way the systems operating his reflexes have trained him to be repelled away as soon as the scent hits his nostrils, Lucas is a hundred percent sure he would have delivered a leg straight into the dick in front of him.

“Hey,” there’s an iciness which Lucas feels even though he’s overtaken by the pain in his nose. Lucas looks up, up; and here he is – the dick in all its ugly glory. Lucas tries not to fall on the spot.

“Lucas Lallemant is early? Am I dying or is it really happening?” Eliott cocks his head to one side, lips tilted up a fraction. Lucas smiles back sarcastically. What if he is late to almost everything in his life? That’s none of Eliott’s fucking business. Forcing the very delicious image of Eliott choking to death in his sleep to a dark corner of his brain, straightens his shoulders to stare at Eliott square in the eyes. He’s sad and he’s tired. So he doesn’t have any energy to deal with Eliott today, “Please crawl to whatever grimy hole you’ve crawled out of this time, Demaury.”

Footsteps follow his as he spots up the cardboard box holding the new records in the store room. Mika told him to stack them once he gets the time. He’s picking it up when the slime-covered asshat opens his mouth, “What are you doing?”

Lucas sighs, “Operating a spacecraft.” He moves towards the box, hearing Eliott’s footsteps falter behind him. “What does it look like?” Lucas picks up the box, but Eliott isn’t up to giving it a rest.

“Actually, leave it there. You’re on dusting duty today.”

The fuckin- “What?” Lucas turns on his feet. His stomach is doing weird somersaults. He crosses his arms across his chest and looks at Eliott, whose eyes are narrowed as if he’s examining Lucas. It’s like he’s plotting Lucas’s murder. And Lucas – he has a flashing thought. That would be the highlight of Eliott’s life, no?

He shakes himself into the present. And then gets the words out with great distaste. “Mika told me to stack them so.” He turns around once again, moving towards the box, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Lucas shakes it off quickly.

Eliott stands off to one side, his face in its perpetual state of frown around Lucas. “Mika left me in charge,” he says, leaning his wait on the door as he looks down at Lucas. He won’t be intimated. No.

Eliott’s eyes flick to the box Lucas has picked up as he turns around, heart and head set in determination despite the initial bout of anxiety and something else which still sings inside him somewhere. Eliott almost has a foot of height in Lucas, and if that isn’t enough to make Lucas flee to the mountains, there are parallel lines drawn on the skin his forehead. His eyes are green, the one which reminds Lucas of moss gathered on stones settled to the ocean bed. Solid. Firm. Steady. Lucas wants to reach out and slap that look off of his face. Preferably with a chair. He raises an eyebrow; a challenge.

Something like light flashes on Eliott’s face, giving Lucas a look into an annoyed feature before turning neutral again. Like the plants viewed from the askew perception of water floating above the surface, Eliott’s eyes turn infinitesimally greener. “You’ll dust off all the records in the A to M section. Or if you’d rather I tell Mika about the time you scratched one of his Stevie Wonders vinyl, I’m down with that too.”

There’s no wonder in the way the box previously in Lucas’s hands retains its original place. No. Definitely not him getting intimated by that giant goo of citrusy smelly being with his head too far up his head. Eliott’s face transforms into one of his ugly smirks; the one which is belittling and totally hateful towards Lucas. Lucas just about launches his self upon him.

“If we’ve figured that out,” Eliott straightens his body, his eyes have that weird sparkle that they always gain whenever they see Lucas miserable, which is just about every fuckin time Lucas comes in contact with Eliott. “I also would like if you could hurry up. We don’t have all day today.”

Lucas bunches his hands in fists to his sides as Eliott walks out, all pretentious and glad as he is to have the final word. He blesses Lucas with one final boastful look over his shoulder, the green now as bright as day.

It’s no biggie, Lucas thinks. He can easily refuse. There must be atleast a thousand records in the A to M section. Well, not a thousand but you get the gist. And Céline has been in Léon for the past week to attend her brother’s wedding. Which means the records wouldn’t have been dusted for years. Not only would Lucas have a stellar day cleaning them, but his terrible allergy would cause him immense pain. But the scratched vinyl and Mika’s wrath after knowing about it would cause him a direct ticket to his grave.

So with heavy steps and an equally heavy heart, Lucas stomps over to the racks holding the worn out records covered with dust. There’s something tingling in stomach. He swallows down the feeling, and pushes Eliott out of his mind. That fucking asshole. No wonder he hasn’t got a match.

He goes towards to the record player he persuaded Mika to get for the store. Eliott had brewed a shit storm when Mika had agreed. His ‘Music would be distracting’ was countered by Lucas’s ‘What kind of a music store would it be if it had no music playing?’ and in the end, Lucas had watched a brooding Eliott triumphantly as Mika brought in his uncle’s record player the next day. And so it beings him a great deal of joy as he places in a record in the player that Mika has given his permission to be played in the store.

The records in front of him glisten with the reason Lucas would be walking out of the store with his eyes on fire and respiratory track on a lock down. Elton John croons in the background as he takes out the sticky notes from his pocket (they come in handy when the situation is like this, okay?), tears off a note. Eliott doesn’t, thankfully, surprisingly, bother him once as he gets to work.

It’s to a violet and pink merging together that Lucas looks up to when he makes his way out of the store. Even though his eyes are stinging, and his throat feels like the surface of a cemented wall; all rough and scratchy with cheeks stained with the water his eyes won’t stop producing, Lucas still looks up as a bird takes flight into the setting sun, a silhouette of the fucking time and energy Lucas lost removing years’ worth of dust off of records and cursing the asshole parading the halls with a stick in his ass.

Lucas doesn’t know why Eliott has made it the mission of his life to make Lucas’s life hell. And he also doesn’t know why Eliott’s like warm, soft sunshine when faced with anyone other than Lucas. Hell, if Céline had been the one asked for the task, Eliott would have stepped right up as the fucking gentleman he is to offer to do it himself. And it is funny how once he’d spot Lucas, his face would twist like he’s sucking on a sour lemon or something. Lucas doesn’t get that. He can’t.

With a sigh heaved out of his super congested nose, Lucas starts walking back to his dorm, his bag slung over his shoulder. He had been thankful for Eliott’s absence as he was walking out. It gave him a chance to stick the drawing which he made onto the first page of some deep shit book Lucas knows Eliott keeps in the drawer of the counter. Eliott was nowhere to be found, and Lucas was left with the proof to reinforce his theory. He firmly believes that besides being a fucking dick, Eliott Demaury is also a ghost which keeps appearing out of the blue and then disappears as if it hadn’t been there before. And Lucas is quite okay with that. The role suits Eliott in more ways than one – but it’s also sad Lucas’s won’t be able to get the pleasure of murdering Eliott if he’s already dead.

A rain droplet falls from the darkening sky over Lucas’s head. It lands cold in the center, making Lucas quicken his pace as he rounds the final corner near the dormitory. Yann would already be there, and Lucas can pester him all night to get him some chicken soup.

He makes it to his room just as the rain starts pelting on the ground. Lucas kicks off his shoes as he enters the room. Yann’s hunched over the study table, half asleep from what it appears to him. It’s when a particularly loud sneeze bursts through Lucas that Yann looks up.

“You look like a vampire,” Yann snickers as he looks at him. Lucas doesn’t need to look in the mirror to see what mighty image he’d be painting with red eyes and pink nose and tear-stains on his cheeks. He drops his bag, takes off his wet clothes and jumps into the bed in his boxers. Muffling his face into the pillow he lets out a groans, “I hate that asshole so much.”

“Whom do you not hate?” There’s a smile in Yann’s voice. Lucas chooses to ignore it. He sighs, turning on his back and staring at the abomination he glued to the roof of his bed earlier.

“That’s not the point, Yann,” Lucas exhales, “He knows I have a dust allergy. But still he fucking blackmailed me into dusting the records. It’s like he was getting me back on something.”

“Well, you do keep making those drawing of him,” Yann stops just as Lucas sits up. He scoffs, “Whose side are you on Yann? I can’t believe he’s bewitched you too.”

Yann shakes his head. He looks like he’s regretting every of his decision which brought him here, to this second, with a Lucas with a quarter of his brain working. Fucking Eliott Demaury and his fucking charm. Lucas doesn’t get what’s so special about it.

“-and then I had to walk in the rain,” Lucas continues, sighing into his arm. There’s a light pitter patter which is reaching Lucas’s ears. Lucas would have been able to take in the sandy smell that must be wafting in the air if his nose hadn’t been so congested. It’s Eliott’s fault. All of it. “Fucking pretentious asshole,” Lucas mumbles.

Lucas turns his head. Yann has his contemplative face on, “Don’t take it the bad way Lu, but don’t you think you’re kind of hung up on him?”

Lucas sits up, shocked to his very core. With a gasp he splutters like a fish out of water, “I’m not!”

Lucas doesn’t know where Yann is getting these terrible thoughts. Lucas won’t fall a prey to that. Fuck. Yann doesn’t seem fazed. It’s like he’s done this every other day of his life. What, Lucas doesn’t know. “If you ask me, or Arthur, or Basile, it kind of seems that you are, Lucas. You bring him everywhere, you know? Even if the situation doesn’t call for it, you’ll somehow make it so it has something to do with Eliott. And I think that’s where your fault lies: You give him too much thought.”

And that is…..totally not wrong. Maybe partially, but – Lucas does bring him everywhere with him. And that’s totally on Lucas. It’s maybe the reason he’s so miserable half of the time. He gnaws at his bottom lip, then, as in afterthought, speaks, “Well, then, fuck the rain, I guess?”

Yann’s face lights up as a chuckle passes his lips, “You know what they say Lucas: April showers May flowers.”

Lucas looks at him from the corner of his eyes, “More like April thunders May blunders but whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

And like expected, Yann starts shaking his head, exhaling heavily. The sound makes Lucas grins and he looks up just as Yann clicks his tongue, “You’re a hassle, Lallemant.”

“What do you mean? I’m a delight to have around.”

Yann clocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed, “Listen, I know atleast one person who would greatly differ with your statement.”

Lucas sighs, plopping his head back on the pillow, “Yann, you and I both know that Eliott hates my guts, so.” He shrugs. It’s common knowledge now. And wasn’t Yann just lecturing him about giving Eliott to-

“I was talking about your cupid, actually,” Yann has a terrible looking thing crawling into the fibers of the cells constituting the skin Lucas so badly wants to punch right now. The corner of his lips hitch up a fraction before he gets up from his chair, slinging his leather jacket over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go out for a smoke,” Yann says, a smile crinkling his eyes, “You sit here and think about him, okay?”

He’s out the door in a second; the pillow Lucas throws at him landing on the ground after harshly colliding with the door.

Fucking assholes.

[email protected]

Dear applicants,

Requests for the new sessions have been opened. Kindly take out the prints of your forms from cupidint.com. Please make sure to send in your requests to your designated Cupid before Friday. Any and all requests received after the deadline will be rejected.

Yours truly, Cupids

Lucas stares at the bright flashing and too depressing email displayed on the computer screen. There’s a dull throbbing behind his left eyebrow, his eyes are burning, and Yann still hasn’t returned with the food Lucas messaged him to get for him a few minutes after his departure.

His eyes move from the screen severely damaging his brain to the ugly yellow form Lucas keeps stashed in case of emergencies. His pen rests on top of in a bit slanted. Lucas hates the very sight of this form; apart of tree wasted for nothing. He remembers the many papers like this he sent many times before, and still end with fucking disappointment. What or who is to say this time won’t be the same.

With a dejected sigh he picks up the pen and presses the clicker. Might as well sign up for another disappointment. It is as he starts reading What would you pick to describe yourself as? Please pick one of the choices and is in the process to bang his head against the table cover over the answers that his phone pings with a notification. He unlocks the device, squinting at the light flooding his burning eyes. His stomach coils in on itself.

Eliott D 💩

céline will be back on friday

so it’s your duty to dust the records till then

also, you draw terribly. thought i should let you know

Lucas stares at the words with a newfound hatred which now boils beneath his skin and rises up like a tide ready to consume all of him. But if that happens Lucas would so something extremely petty and stupid. Eliott won’t let him live, and besides, Lucas is above that. He turns his phone off, and with a bout of energy coming from somewhere inside him, underneath his sternum, he picks up the pen and, because he’s inspired, starts drawing penises everywhere there’s a blank for answers he’s supposed to write. The letter’s going to be rejected anyway; Lucas might as well go down with dignity.

This is it, Lucas thinks, when Cupid8776 finally gives up on him. Ha. Lucas would finally be free of their trap.

(And, because he’s inspired, he also takes a picture of the penis, lines them up with the various shots of the stick figures currently accumulating in his photo library, and sends them all to Eliott D (Poop Emoji). In response to his last message, Lucas provides: i don’t think i’m terrible. i’m getting better at drawing your portrait, see and presses send.)

Lucas folds the letter into an envelope and is on his way to mail it. And when Eliott replies back with a chain of messages including some very gruesome you are fucking annoying and extremely threatening crawl back to the whole YOU have come out of, psychopath somewhere between that, Lucas doesn’t feel any remorse.

Like he said, he’s above that.

#elu fic #skam france #stws #elu drabble #skam france fic #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu #penned #stws c

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ottofm · 4 years

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◜ ⭑ ┊ there's otto william novak ! i heard he is a total gemini, born on 11/07 ! you know, they're known as the peter pan because they can be kinda gregarious & endearing, but also overpowering & heedless. i would say their biggest let down is his incompetence at keeping secrets, but they make up for it with his relentless energy. i heard he works as a waiter & is studying psychology. all i can say is that they remind me of a toothy, sheepish smile after another escapade gone wrong, perpetual lateness, a bear hug after a tiresome day, & whispering about your dreams for when you grow up only to realize you are grown up - it's now or never. & tongue tied by grouplove. ( wolfgang novogratz, cis male, he/him, 23, bisexual )

here i am, finally making my appearance & hoping that my intro can fit in among all of your beautiful writing ! my name’s kat, i’m twenny one, i’m from the gmt ( bst ? ) tz, & i’m your local neighbourhood admin & dubious aries ! if you want to plot, feel free to message me through the ims or discord ! or like this & i’ll message you !

𝟎𝟏. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐒 .

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : otto william novak.

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 & 𝐚𝐠𝐞 : born on july 11th, 2 minutes short of his identical brother. currently twenty three years old.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 & 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 : cismale & he/him.

𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 & 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : bisexual & biromantic.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 : gemini ; charming, ardent, & quick-witted yet irresponsible, madcap, & restless.

𝐦𝐛𝐭𝐢 𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 : enfp-t aka the campaigner ; extroverted, intuitive, feeling vs thinking, & turbulent. the campaigner is a free spirit. they are the life of the party & thrive in the social & emotional connections they construct with others. more than simply people-pleasers, the campaigner can read between the lines with curiosity & energy. think: robin williams, will smith, michael scott, phil dunphy.

𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : sanguine ; fundamentally spontaneous & pleasure-seeking. enjoy social environments, making new friends, & daydreaming. sanguine personalities typically struggle to complete tasks, are always late, & forgetful.

𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 : esme novak ; mother. fantasy novel writer & perpetual dreamer. ╱ &. ted novak ; father. businessman. grounded & affectionate from arms length. ╱ &. lucas novak ; identical twin brother. sibling turned best friend & guidance rolled into one.

𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 : dancing to the beat of your own drum, making new friends everywhere you go yet somehow never forgetting a name or face, a grin that somehow never fades, mismatched socks & creased shirts, rarely leaving a party alone, jumping in headfirst & thinking of the consequences later, plastic succulents because the responsibility of a living thing is a little too pressing, unruly curls overdue a haircut.

𝟎𝟐 . 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 .

there isn't anybody in the world that otto holds in higher regard than his twin brother. admittedly, otto knows he could be more stable for his brother's sake, often entangling his twin in his chaotic bullshit, but he knows he's somebody he could never lose.

otto shares a lot in common with his mother; both difficult to predict, eternal daydreamers, & fleeting. that said, without conscious effort, the two rarely keep in contact - too busy out there living their lives. similarly, otto & his father share a connection that is more distant. the love is there - it's just moreso unspoken.

the boy cannot hold down a job if his life depended on it. he's worked every menial part time job you can imagine. if it's not his lateness that brings things spiralling, it's his inability to focus on a task for long enough to see it through, or his constant chattiness.

his psychology major was somewhat of a whim after watching one too many psych documentaries - the only thing capable of capturing his fleeting attention span. surprisingly, he's pretty invested in his study & is thriving academically.

otto is incredibly impulsive ; which can be fun, but also tiresome. he's constantly taking up new hobbies, falling deep into infatuation then growing bored, & purchasing useless crap.

#signsintro #i did it !#kinda !#im gonna add to this later <3

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socialpracticegrouprca · 3 years

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‘What do our publics look like now?’

Activity with Sadie Edginton June 16th 2020

‘Here is my lockdown publics diagram developed for a workshop session, which I led with a group of students for the RCA Social Practice Group. I led a session on this again afterwards with a group of art educators and artists for a practice sharing group. Called ‘Writing the Rules for Zoom’ started by Alex Parry it was kick started by Alex’s development of ideas around this topic for a session for the social practice group in May 2020.

The diagram asks questions about different networks, communities and publics that we are communicating with and are in connection with (in the context of the first 3 months of lockdown). I developed mine through a process of creating a few drawings, into this kind of Venn diagram overlapped series of shapes. It was interesting to think about who is ‘the public’ to me, are these people I just don’t know, the ‘unknown’? Or people in various roles, networks or spaces? The process of doing it explored which groups of people I tended to identify as being ‘the public’ or which different publics and communities I was aware of being in contact with, both virtually and physically, at this time.

Putting people into ‘categories’ can of course be problematic, so it was definitely a process of thinking through this. Do publics get reduced or expanded at this time? As the people we are in touch regularly has physically changed a lot, depending where you happen to ‘lockdown’ or which networks or communities you are part of, I wondered how we can analyse and unpick possible and potential new ‘publics’ or communities to interact with, to play with as an audience or to set artwork within, or to communicate with. The delivery drivers, the supermarket workers, the people who walk past your house, these are all potential collaborators, viewers or audiences. Memorable moments in the workshops were: people identifying making regular connections with dogs (not their owners) on the beach, wondering who the people are behind newsletters in email inboxes, having the unnerving ability to ‘select’ online communities and students commenting on the ‘outsourcing’ of care and being able to be in a position of selecting which people or networks they wanted to hear from, speak to, listen to at this time.

It was a process of conceptualising the connections and groups as new communities, to seeing potential works coming out of unexpected daily relationships created by the change in social networks due to the pandemic. To see who or how we communicate in terms of varying distances. One artist commented that it made her think about the varying distances of intimacy that she has now with different people, a shorter distance with a partner, then family members, growing to huge distances, from 1 metre to 2 metre’s, to online distances that stretch across the world.’

More about the session below:

Social Practice Group Session 6, Tuesday 16th June 2020

Notes written: 22/06/2020 by Sadie Edginton

We wanted the last social practice session to be different. After experiencing other practitioners work over the weeks, we wanted the emphasis to be turned onto the students, to create some have room for them to try out their own ideas and to experiment with the format. The group had grown to become a space which felt comfortable, some recognisable faces every week, although there was always a few new people which worked well. Everyone could potentially test out ideas within the safety of the online zoom session format. It seemed to have become important that the group had evolved into a sense of familiarity whilst maintaining the possibility for unexpected things occurring. One student said, that was what she like about this group, that it was one place she could go knowing something surprising might happen. With some students returning often and creating a general sense of being relaxed, the group had created a comfortable sharing space, where people could voice their ideas, share thoughts about where they were, and most seemed open to trying new things out.

We had been playing with this space for the last few months since the beginning of lockdown. This was the sixth session and last (official) session of the school year. We'd had sessions by Louise Shelley, a curator; about group listening and reading processes, Alex Parry led us through a playful workshop stretching the rules for zoom, and Tim tried out his laptop-synthesiser experiment creating collective sounds out of objects in our homes with students now based across the globe overlapping their object orchestras into a magical din.

I had missed a session two weeks before where the group had had an informal conversation about what they'd like to try out. We'd had some interesting feedback too where students had said they felt like this space for sharing and practicing was needed, and it seemed to open-up space for vulnerability (through sharing) and support.

I had planned a vague structure for the last session, I would introduce, do a check-in so that everyone had a chance to speak and do a half hour workshop about mapping the publics and communities we were connecting with now (and how this has changed during lockdown).

There was then time for three students slots; Sally's workshop on confronting the awkwardnesses of online communication, followed by a 5 minute break, then Kats workshop about the taste and other sense. Everything went over time-wise so there was only 10 minutes left for Yuka to play us her experiments with the spatiality of sound.

We started by going around the group using these two questions for a check-in.

'What does 'the public' look like, from where you are now?'

'How are you connecting to a community?'

These questions were borrowed from a recording of a discussion here: http://www.nowandthere.org/blog/2020/4/7/nt-asks-what-does-public-mean-right-now

It was interesting to hear about where the students were based, most in the UK, then China, Japan and Paris. We had seven students and Hannah and I, so altogether it worked well for creating a grid of nine on the gallery view on zoom. As we went around the group I was struck how each student shared with us a detailed picture of how they were in unexpected circumstances and feeling isolated. Some had just travelled to another place, and were stuck living mostly inside and with family, they were not sure about what a local community might look like. One had discovered new communities through volunteering for local mutual aid groups, Hannah mentioned working with existing connections to create networks of in different ways, new connections with animals and birds seeming to be important. Some international students admitted they didn't feel like they had a community, whether they were in London, or back home. One said she felt like there were layers of community, from those close by who were a local support system, then the online groups she was part of, and then her family members who were contactable by phone. Another student said that communities felt ‘chosen’ at the moment; that you could select who you wanted to be in touch with, and it was almost a way of ‘outsourcing care’. Another mentioned that new rituals had emerged in her local village neighbourhood, kicked off by the Thursday clap for carers, leading to local people creating other ways to come together in the street, such as VE day where they set-up tables outside. Another student said it was so long since he had been in Beijing, now that he was back there again, he had to try to find people again who he had known a long time ago.

Next we created 'What do our publics look like now?' diagrams. Attempting to get away from a formal 'pdf' presentation, I sketched out the questions and stages of the diagram drawing onto paper beforehand, and held them up to the screen. I asked everyone to draw a square or circle and inside it to list groups of people, categories of people that they were seeing in real life, in 'physical space'.

I was interested in what different or new groups of people were identified, in the lock-down. For instance I was not staying where I usually live and discovered that I was coming into contact with; next-door neighbours, people who walk past the house, the vet, the nurse at the GP, dog walker friends and dogs who were our dogs friends, delivery drivers, shop-keepers and the public we see on walks. This changed again when I went back to London.

We drew overlapping bubbles and listed those we connected with through 'virtual' connections, then 'phone calls', emails, social media, and letters.

The idea was to then circle in a different colour, those categories of people who you didn't know. Or who you saw as 'the public'. I was intrigued as to if it could be used to locate a new audience/ public for an artwork, project or workshop.

Practice diagram by my mum, Sue Edginton

Holding up my publics diagram to the screen

Reflection: We did the activity a bit too quickly, as it turned out it takes a long time to think through all of this, and I did not have time to get proper feedback afterwards. I showed a few slides about this idea of the physical public becoming much closer, smaller and local, and then the opposite happening with the virtual public where it really expands to include an international community. The publics or groups I was working working with or had contact with still, had really changed too. From working in schools and care homes with lots of people and children face-to-face, this has changed. Now I was just in touch with people via zoom calls or colleagues via the phone, and all the work with children and elders had been put on hold for now. Where were all the people and how were they right now, what were they doing? A lot of people I talked to who work in the community found themselves asking similar questions.

Museum of the Street by Louise Ashcroft and her local neighbourhood, Walthamstow, London, May 2020

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ghostofmtdoom · 4 years

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tagged by: @oklogan (really like this tag thing tho)

rules: tag 9 people you want to know better

ships:

Rose x Greg (SU: Grose)

Ruby x Sapphire (SU: Garnet - they are so awesome together)

(I usually don't have so many ships)

Last song:

SU - Other Friends (I've had this one on repeat since watching the movie)

Last movie:

Passengers (easily one of my favourites)

Currently reading:

I'm trying to get into Jan Guillou's books, but it's been a while since I read books 😅.

Food you're craving:

I've wanted to try making chicken salad.

I'll tag:

@that-one-elemental-witch @thatsthat24 @caseyrosette @just-book-talk @verycrap @marvelouscinematicuniverse @theartistfromyesterday @octoberspoisonivy @your-local-neighbourhood-kat

Mostly tagged those that might be in my notifocations or i'm curious about. Feel free to do this if you like 😁🤘 no pressure tho

#tagged #answering #questions

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cluelessnamelessao3 · 3 years

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It’s Raining Somewhere Else

The One with All the Warnings

They’d been on the surface for a year, and they’d been among the cities and towns for approximately a week. Although tensions were high, and there was an increase of anti-monster gang activity, there had been no real incidents of concern. Words, though only a step from actions, did not cause anyone physical harm at least.

The third day after the monsters were finally released in full was the day you found yourself wandering downtown, small backpack in tow, holding several copies of a half-baked resume you’d made with the help of your old university advisor and your papa.

You’d gotten a small, somewhat dingy apartment in a part of town that your father had proclaimed as “not right”. However, regardless of the quality of the apartment, or the environment of the surrounding buildings, you were just glad to be out of your cramped dorm, and even more glad to no longer have to live at home. Besides, it was what you could afford on your own, with your minimal savings.

Which, as it were, was dwindling rapidly. Who knew that furniture, appliances, and moving cost so much? You certainly hadn’t expected it.

Hence why you were prowling the local shops and stores in the hopes of finding some “help wanted” sign to remove you from your plight. You really didn’t want to go asking your papa for more money—especially after having just moved out. How would that look as a statement to your new-found independence?

You stopped in front of a wooden building, the sign at the top reading in big red letters Grillby’s Pub. From the outside it looked barely lived in, but still worn down. The wood panelling was dirty, and in desperate need of a pressure wash. The windows, though new, were painted over with slurs against the monsters. You could only sigh at the crude words and drawings. The state of the outside of this little monster-run bar was similar to some of the other shops you’d seen today.

They’d only been living amongst people for a short while, yet already complaints were being raised, and monsters were being harassed.

Gingerly, you opened a big wooden door, peering through the entrance to see a well-lit pub of sorts. You let the aroma of greasy food wash over you for a moment, your stomach singing its praise. The door fell shut with a dull click, and you wandered toward the bar. The room was mostly empty, aside from one suited dog with a lit treat hanging from his lip, and a rather ill-sick looking rabbit, whose head was currently facedown on the bar’s counter, her feet swinging idly from her perch on the stool.

There was no one at the register, but you could hear the grill in the backroom, and just barely you saw the flickering of a large flame. Behind the register were shelves, filled to the brim with many coloured liquids in an assortment of glasses and bottlesand glasses. On a regular piece of paper, written with nearly perfect calligraphic handwriting was “Help Wanted”.

You couldn’t stop the slight hop in your step at the site of that sign, as you moved closer to the register. The rabbit looked at you wordlessly for a moment, before laying her head back on the counter. The dog yipped once, and you smiled, giving a wave. TheyIt seemed polite.

The crackling from the backroom became louder, and suddenly a man of fire was standing behind the bar, washcloth in one hand, and shot glass in the other. He wiped it down, placed it on the shelf behind him, and fiddled with the other various bottles and tinctures on the shelves.

You felt awkward, standing in silence, watching this fire elemental do busy work. You couldn’t miss the tension in his shoulders, and if you weren’t so nervous, perhaps you’d have been more curious as to how a flame could hold a shape—let alone how a body part made of fire could show tension. How were his clothes not on fire?

“Uhm, I’m sorry, I just saw your ‘help wanted’ sign,” he stills slightly at the tone of your voice, “and I was hoping I could drop off a resume or pick up an application or something, I mean, I know you just opened up and all, and I just moved into the neighbourhood, and uhm, well I mean, sorry, I just would really like to work here—”

You coughed, cutting yourself off.

“Okay, let me restart,” you began again, introducing yourself. Your voice was losing some of its nervous shake, “I’m new in town, and looking for work. I was hoping I could grab an application or drop off my resume.”

At this, the bartender turned toward you, “I can’t pay you in human currency yet,” his voice crackled and popped, like the fire in a campsite. It was comforting, warm, and pleasant.

“That’s okay, there’s an exchange place nearby, and I believe my landlord even accepts Ebott’s coin.”

He nodded, and you swore you could see the hint of a smile on his face—or, whatever the fiery equivalent of one would be. “Well, let me see what I can do for you then, okay?”

“Jennifer,” he rasps, and suddenly that sorry-looking rabbit from earlier springs to life once more. Her ears fly up, twitching, and her nose wriggles as she stretches.

“Yes Cap’n, I’m up. Just needed a break from all the moving, you know?”

“Show Miss, er,” he paused, glancing toward you questioningly.

“I, uh, Kit-Kat is my, kind of, name, but Kit works” you mumbled, face beginning to heat up with embarrassment.

Kit-Kat was a name you received after your eight year old, sugar-crazed self had, on Halloween, broken into the bags of kit-kats for all the trick-or-treaters and eaten much more than your share. Your mistake was your indulgence of the sweet but crunchy chocolate bars, because, after all, children were not meant to eat so much candy at once.

In the end, you got sick. Amazingly sick. Spectacularly. You missed Halloween. You still liked Kit-Kats.

“Show Miss Kit around, Jen, while I grab some paperwork.”

The rabbit nodded, ears flopping, “Alright sweet pea, let’s chat.”

The bartender retreated to the back, and you turned your attention to the spunky looking rabbit, Jennifer.

“If you’re going to work here, you have to understand, you are welcome to be here, appreciated even, but,” she trailed off for a moment and you felt a pit growing in your stomach at her tone.

“You are not and never will be one of us.”

The first week of working there wasn’t so bad.

The work was pretty fun, if you were honest. You, who had so much trouble talking to people, had found a suitable compromise. It was easy to serve people drinks or food, share a smile and a laugh, and partake in easy small talk. There was no pressure to be interested in their lives, nor they in yours. You didn’t have to worry about making a good impression because… well… delivering food to hungry patrons was the best impression to make.

Jen’s warning still rung in your mind, though. It tainted each interaction with a seed of doubt. Did they like you? Were you out of place here? Would you be forced to leave? At least she was nice to you, despite her cold words.

All in all, you quite liked your job. The atmosphere of the place was warm and easy, regulars and newcomers alike coming together to share a few drinks and a few stories.

Even Jen had warmed up to your after that initial warning.

She was funny, cracking jokes with you, and the skeleton that regularly showed up on late nights. She was also a flirt with the other customers—and with Grillby himself. It made you laugh to see her throw corny pick-ups at the flaming bar owner. His flame would flicker and sputter, displaying his embarrassment at her silly advances.

Jen was off in her own world today, counting coins in the register while you wiped down counters for closing.

It was days like these that you felt most at peace.

There you were, dressed in a uniform similar to Grillby’s own, hair pulled back for the convenience. You liked the way the vest fit, hugging to your waist but not making you uncomfortable. Some days you wore black dress pants, other days you work a skirt to go with the uniform. It was whatever the moment called for, whatever struck you as the most comfortable. Jen liked to stick with the skirt, claiming it gave her better tips. You wouldn’t be surprised if that was the truth. (You couldn’t deny she had great curves and was obviously cute).

You swiped up the rag you’d been using to clean the bar top off and meandered over to where a rowdy guest had spilled his drink. There were only a few patrons still inside, the chatter had dulled significantly as the hours stretched on, and the only sound, aside from the counting of coins and you cleaning, came from a grainy jukebox playing slow jazz.

“Hey Kit, you mind closing today?”

You looked over to Jen, who had finished counting the till’s money, “Sure thing, Jen.” You wanted to ask why, but hesitated. You were only just getting Jen to talk to you, did you really want to pry into her life? Would she want you to? You fumbled with the string on your apron for a moment, before speaking up once more, “So, uhm, got plans or something?”

You cringed, unsure if you came across as friendly or nosy, but it seemed Jen didn’t mind either way. In fact, she perked up the moment you asked.

“Oh, honey bun, I’ve got great plans tonight!” She grinned conspiratorially, “I’ve got a date…”

“A date?” You smiled, reaching one hand to push the loose strands of hair from your face, as you ambled closer.

“Yes, dearie, a date!” She shook her shoulders, shimmying with a dopey grin on her face, “and I’ll have you know, he’s a hot catch.”

“literally,” a new voice cut in, belonging to a certain large and rather large-boned skeleton you’d seen frequent the bar on many occasions. He never ordered from you, in the same way some of the monsters purposefully avoided your tables, and you were shocked he was even interacting with you.

Though, from the tension you could see from the way he gripped his bottle of ketchup (something you didn’t even bother to question), he seemed to be shocked too.

His voice was deep, gruff, and you had to admit, you liked it.

“Oh Sansy, shut it! He’s more than just literally hot,” Jen laughed, but you only felt more confused.

There was a joke somewhere in here, but it was flying over your head.

“jen, i’ve got a bone to pick with you,” his grin widened fractionally at his own joke, though he didn’t relax at all, “you’ve been pinning after him for months, lemme celebrate with you. after all, without me you wouldn’t have the backbone to have asked him out.”

Jen snorted, rolling her eyes good naturedly, “Okay Sansy, baby, you’re right.” She turned to you, “I’ve got a hot date with a certain flamesman.”

And suddenly, you understood. Actually, not only did you understand, you were also beyond ecstatic.

Grillby was one of the few monsters who treated you kindly from the get-go—at this point you considered him one of your few friends. You felt comfortable talking to the quiet elemental and cherished the nights you’d closed with him as well as the work he put in to train you to work here. You’d become pretty comfortable working: making food, drinks, and hosting people with a smile.

“Really?” You exclaimed, unable to hold in your excitement.

Sans expression soured as you joined back into the conversation, however he didn’t turn away like the other times you’d walked by.

“Yes, really!” Jen squeaked back, “So, you mind closing for me?”

“Not at all! I’m happy for you!”

She squealed and did something unprecedented: she hugged you around the middle, lifting you off your feet, and spinning you around the pub. It warmed your soul.

Closing by yourself wasn’t something you were used to. After Jen had left, though, most the patrons also left aside from one: Sans. You didn’t understand why he stayed. Grillbz had left early in the day, so it wasn’t like he was waiting for his friend to get off work. Jen was getting ready for her date with Grillby.

He remained quiet though, just sipping on his ketchup, and flicking through something on his phone. A couple times you’d caught him staring, and you could see the suspicion in his eyes.

It was… to put it mildly, frustrating. You weren’t some criminal. You’d worked there for about a week. You’d been nothing but polite, hard working, and kind. Why did so many of the monsters still hold such distrust of you?

You wish you understood more. Even after a year of living on the surface, there was not much known about the monsters or their abilities. The only thing remarkable that humans learned was about magic, and the brief history of magic. Some humans were excited about the magical potential that monsters claimed humans also had. Others claimed them to be demons and blasphemous, but few groups paid those zealots any mind.

Scientists speculated that with the re-emergence of magic with the monsters, perhaps humans would become more in tune with their own soul, and potentially regain the power to wield magic. However, not much was being done about the research, even a year after the discovery.

It wasn’t until you finished closing down, that Sans finally stood to leave as well. He held open the door for you while you fumbled with the ring of keys. Once the building was locked and secured, he spoke.

“i don’t like humans.”

You nodded, already aware.

“you don’t seem to be bad, though. just don’t fuck up.”

#undertale #undertale fanfiction #fanfiction #sans/reader #sans/female reader #it's raining somewhere else #chapter 1 it's raining somewhere else

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