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twice-the-twice-love · 4 years

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Whumpy ideas (manga spoilers)

Not for the most recent manga but until the anime has it animated its manga spoilers to me.

So I have had an idea that could have been an out for Jin to be alive. The what if he did get handed over to the hero commission by Hawkes. Jin would not want to fail but using the fist to the back of the skull with a haymaker punch instead of a sharp feather blade would be a knock out instead of a killing blow.

But ignoring the Dabi fight for one second so it would be Dabi more pushing his limits to keep up with Hawkes as he is carrying Jin out of the mansion. If Dabi hit Hawkes at that height it would be a fatal drop for Jin too so he stays his hand and goes to find some of the other league members.

Hawkes gets Jin out of the danger zone and out to a hero safety line and instructs some of them to get this man tied down he is knocked out but this is an S class villain. Hawkes knows he might be breaking the rules slightly but to make sure the students and other heroes don't have a sad mans parade wave or a bunch of cloned nomus he breaks Jins right hand.

He can't make a duplicate of what he made on the right if he can't clone from there right? Thats correct.

As we don't know how things calm down let's say for now this little group of heroes do manage to get Jin to the hero commission. Jin wakes up strapped down like how we saw stain or All for One. Jin just sees the basics around him with a 1 way mirror and knows hes being watched. But its only him here so he holds hope the others are alive and got out of dodge.

Later on when there is time.he is wheeled in for investigations on where the league would run. They know he cant get out so they tell him who got hurt and who is alive. They can make a plea bargain for Jin as Hawkes is going to vouch for him for a decent trial despite all the damage the League has caused.

Jin laughs at them then speaks up, "I'll tell you everything."

Shit. The mask was gone, he had more peace with his splitting but that could give everyone away if he wasn't careful. The people surprised with how he was going to accept the plea bargain wait for him to speak up. Jin freezes and clamps his mouth shut, "No! Fuck this if you think I'll be the reason everyone gets hurt for a third fucking time."

They nod and remember the split mentioned and footage from the Yakuza raid makes a bit more sense.

"If you don't take the plea bargain someone else will."

They let Jin sit for a few hours seeing if he changes his mind. But Jin doesn't move his mouth a damn muscle that split could fuck over everything. The league trusted him with information. He can't screw them now. Not ever again.

A day passes and he is brought back in, "Well Bubiagawara someone took the plea bargain. Someone you know, Nemoto Shin."

To Jin the name should have been Nemoto oh Shit. That was the guy who made him and Toga blab everything and with the commission asking direct questions he can't side step things like last time. He tried to bounce his foot im the straight jacket but that didn't help he knew he needed to shut himself up no matter the cost.

He just needed to bite his tongue and not say- bite his tongue. He moved his tongue between the molars on the right side of his jaw. He squeezed his jaws shut a bit more and he could feel the nerves protesting it already. He breathed out a swear as he heard footsteps. Now or never.

He moved his tongue to the front part of his mouth and bit as hard as he could. He drew blood and felt the piece of tongue on his bottom lip. Spitting it out to the side as tears rolled down his face involuntarily he pushed his tongue out and to the right and bit down again. The molars not making as much progress as he hopped as the tongue piece was attached to him. He tasted coppery blood in his mouth.

He quickly thrashed and that got him off of where his back was held against the restraint. He had speed and force. Pushing his tongue out as far as it would go and pushing his legs back to give him room he closed his eyes and slammed his chin into the table. Another large chunk of his tongue came out.

He tried to swear but nearly puked at the tongues open nerves touching things in his mouth. He spat out more blood as it dribbled down his chin and onto his nice gifted hero commission straight jacket.

Shin and the other agents came in to see Jin spitting out more blood. He gave them a red stained smile and then opened his mouth to reveal the stump of a tongue effectively muting himself.

He thought it would be over but he heard them calmly state, "He can still write get him to the medbay."

Jin gave a wheezed laugh as he got pushed away then heard the lingering comments to Shin, “With Trigger can you make him tell the truth in any form?”

“That I am unsure of, but to uphold my end of the bargain I am willing to try.”

They were going to try and get him to write all the locations for the league. But to do that he had to be careful of his timing, he could bite off his fingers, see if he could impede them from getting anything out of him for a bit longer, he knew they could add limb replacements like what happened with Shigaraki, But if he could slow them down that is all that mattered.

Jin was taking to the med bay and they patched up his tongue, he couldn’t do much else but pass out when it was plain cauterized by putting a hot piece of metal in his mouth. He thrashed slightly before unconsciousness took him. He woke up back in his jacket in his cell, they hadn’t changed the clothes and he felt gauze in his mouth that was stemming the bleeding as well. He tried to spit out the gauze and felt it remain on his face.

Opening an eye he looked down to see he had a face guard now. Guess if he bit off his tongue they planned ahead for him. He gave a half hearted laugh to himself, his split voice yelling at him for fucking things up this badly. But he knew he was fucked well before the league, he was fucked for a long time.

But he could still write, and while self mutilation was not something he wanted to do more of, he knew he was going to have to. He just needed to figure out how to make his hands useless without being able to bite off his fingers. Or see if he could just escape. He looked around and saw monitors behind the window if he squinted, dumbasses forgot bright lights can still almost be seen through cheap shit mirrors.

Activity monitors, he wanted to see of what he could see rhythmic lights so he started quickening his breath to spike his heart for a second, those didn’t change much a different set of lights appeared before a body moved in front so someone was watching.

“Jin don’t try to do anything, what you did to yourself will be a hindrance but we don’t want any more surprises, you can still lead a normal life if you hand over the league, we have all of your records.” The guard says over the microphone.

Jin glares at the mirror and sneers as best as he can through his new mask. He hears a snicker on the microphone. He thrashes his head back and forth for a bit he feels an air bubble and hears the tubes beside him start to add a sedative to him. His chest sears in pain as he looks at the mirror and he laughs through the pain. He’ll figure something out, its their problem if they want him to cooperate.

He can write but if he keeps any part of his hand he will make clones, he knows his measurements he can see the new tongue in the mirror even for a split second that is all he needs the image, a reflection on someone's glasses and he can get the fuck out of here. Hell he could get the rest of the vanguard squad, break out Stain. Maybe Toga and Spinner could forgive him if he brought Stain to them.

#jin bubaigawara #bubaigawara jin #manga spoilers #bnha #lov #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #league of villains #dabi #toga #spinner #hawkes

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sweetlittleboytoy · 5 years

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A BNHA Mafia Au written by me and other people in my discord!

(This was my first real post so uh i hope you like??🥺🥺)

You run to the closest structure as the rain starts beat down on you harder. You safely make it under an awning and shiver....

Damn the rain and damn your lack of foresight. The clouds had been threatening to drench anyone who dares leave their home all day but since it had been mostly all bark, no bite you had decided to play chicken with them anyways. Oh well, worse things have happened. You look around, seeing the people passing with umbrellas. Footsteps closing in on you draw your attention and you turn your head. Another person, another victim of the rain.

You look up to see a man with red hair, shaking his head to rid himself of the water that had poured on him.

“What a day to forget an umbrella huh?' The man said suddenly, not really looking at you.

You nod for a moment, only to realize that he still wasn't looking at you, and you didn't want to seem rude,”Yeah, didn't think it would come down this hard.' You said back to him.

He finally looked at you, his red eyes almost sparkling in amusement, 'Funny thing is, I actually have an umbrella in my car!' he laughed.

“I mean I could invite you to tag along and get it! But I figured that'd probably be a... really really weird thing to say to a strangers...´ he continued and scratched the back of his neck.

You laugh too, nodding along to what he was saying 'yeah maybe, and we'd get drenched on the way there anyways.' you looked off towards the street again, smiling to yourself. He was cute. Real cute. And... just your type. Bumbling, excited and kinda quirky. Like your own personal sun on this rainy day.

“.Mmmh true. Well what were you doing? I mean... before it started raining?'"You look at the red haired stranger nervously,was the truth even an option here?”I was just exploring,”you say softly.He looks at you and absentminded,you shrink under his gaze.He smiles at you,”in the rain?”he says teasingly “and odd time to explore dont ya think”

Your face seems to flush in embarrassment, "Well, I guess you could say I'm new to this part of town... So I just thought I would take a good look around to familiarize myself." you admitted as you watched a car pass by, splashing a couple of puddles.

You leaned forward and looked up at the sky. "New to the area? I could show you around, ya know!" You could hear the excitement in his voice as a smile crossed your face again. You turned and looked at him and tucked your hair behind your ear, "You don't have to do that."

“Well what if I insist then? I mean, I couldn't possibly leave a lady like you in trouble! I take my title of hero very seriously you see.' As he said the last part he put his hand on his chest and gave you a small bow. You giggle at his actions, feeling a little more at ease. 'Hero huh?' you ask, putting a hand on your hip.

“That's what the kids at work call me, I'm a physical therapist with a main focus on working with kids. I don't work too far from here so I know my way around."

He stood tall and you're sure he puffed his chest out a little extra, proud of his work surely. Your heart melted a little at his bright smile. And as he smiled the rain started to calm to a soft dribble. You looked away and held out your hand to feel how bad the rain was. 'Well... what's my heroes name then? I can't let a stranger help me...'"

“It’s Eijirou Kirishima!”

He smirks and jokingly bows again,poking out his arm.”Away we go milady”.You take his arm,looking at him happily.”i never got your name”he says”i wouldn’t want you to continue to think of me as a stranger.”

You pause at the question,another worrying answer.You decide to trust him,”it’s y/n,my last names a little weird though”You say nervously.

“Nothing i couldn’t pronounce i bet”he teases.

“it’s uh..l/n”you say quietly.

“Wait like,the criminal?”He says in a joking manner.

You nod.”Family member,”you say to him softly.He shrugs and continues to walk with you”No biggie,i won’t judge you on that.My names Eijirou!Eijirou Kirishima” He says proudly.

“oh wait i already said that”he realizes. You laughed at his small mistake, "It's alright, now I won't forget your name." you walked arm and arm with Eijirou, letting him lead you around the new area.

"Thanks... by the way." You said suddenly, your voice shy now as you two walked together. "By not judging me for my family ties." You kept your gaze away from him as you took in the scenery, mentally taking in what was around you to remember for later.

Eijirou let out a small chuckle and rubbed the back of his head with his other hand, "You can't just judge someone by their family members, it's not fair." He said, putting his arm down and looking down at you.

"You seem like a really nice person Y/N, I couldn't think poorly of you."

"You let out a weak chuckle at his genuine comment. Its ironic how someone you just met sounded like he knew you so well. What he said made youre heart twist almost painfully. He didn't know you, you reminded yourself. You just met.

'Thank you but... Uhm I'm sorry Kirishima but... do you know where the next ward begins? I'll know where to go from there. Thank you for helping me, by the way.' You look up at him finally, smiling as to try to hide your true feelings. As you speak you also grab his left hand in both of yours, an attempt to have him not worry too much about why you seem so nervous.

Unbenknownst to him the border between this ward and the next is where you're hoping to findbyour brother. You knew there had been some problems expanding your familys teritory to span more wards, apparently you were creeping your way into som big shots place. You never approved of the stuff but when your brother were missing suddenly in the morning you pretty much knew where he'd be. “Yea of course y/n” he says to you.You can still hear worry present in his voice,but you can’t focus on that now.

“Give me your phone?”he asks softly,”i wanna make sure you get home safe.Bad stuff happens around here”

Ya don’t say?You think to yourself.

You hand him your phone and he adds in his contact,”I’ll text you in an hour,so i hope you answer” he says to you”

You nod and walk tothe direction he pointed in,and wave him goodbye,walking through the darkly coloured gate. You let out a breath, not that you really wanted to leave Eijirou's side, but more because you were alone. You looked down at your phone and almost had a burst of excitement, a giddy feeling, he had given you his number.

You really couldn't believe it, you cleared your throat and straightened up, unable to shake away this feeling, it was the happiest you had been in a while. You pushed forward and headed away from Eijirou and to look for your brother. The street you had been pointed to follow indeed took you to the next ward. Obviousy you wouldnt find your brother out on the open street. He may be bold but he wasnt stupid. Or... not that stupid. So you turned on a street, in on a backstreet that seemed promising. Dark and damp from the recent pour, and most importantly empty of people.

If your memory served your right then the new exapnsion should be somewhere here. Your brother had said they were making plans to make a hit on a warehouse owned by the other mafia so thats where you were headed. Doubts flooded your mind. Maybe you should just send Eijirou a text, meet him and have a nice rest of the day.

You realized that was too late when a gun shot echoed through the empty street. “What the fuck did i tell you would happen if i caught you here again?”You hear a voice yell.

You hide behind a wall,staying out of the view enough but still being able to see them.

A man with spiky blonde hair throws someone on the ground.

“Then you shouldn’t have-“

A gunshot thudded through the alleyway,and a scream of pain shot through.

You recognised it,your brother.

You saw blood spill onto the wall,an a shudder went through you.

“I spared you once,on account of your damn sister.Stop fucking testing me you shit.” The blonde says looking at your brother. Your throat felt like it had a knot form on it and panic start to kick in. You didn't know what to do soyou moved before you thought. Peeking around the corner you first saw your brother finally. He was on his knees, blood pooling around his right knee ashe clutched it. He was panting, struggling to form words through the pain.

Above him the blonde stood. A gun pointed towards your brothers head. He cocked the gun while tilting his head, letting you see his face better. His red eyes were focused on your sibling. "Got nothing to say, huh? Fucking thought so. C'mon, not even a last message I can deliver to your sister?"

Your breath caught in your throat as your brother started to speak again. "G... go fuck yourself, dont even think about talking to her you-you bastard!"The blonde smirks.

“I was hoping you’d say that”

You felt your legs about to move,and before you did a hand wrapped around you and pulled you back.Another hand covered your mouth,keeping you from audibly screaming.

You were pulled back through the gate,and you automatically turned at kicked your kidnapper.

“Y/n!Stop it’s just me!!”You hear.

Opening your eyes you see your best friend,Shoto Todoroki.

“Oh my god Toki,don’t sneak up on me like that.”You said hugging him.

Your eyes open wide at your memory,”My brother!We have to help him!”You say to him.

Shoto shakes his head,”i have that side already in motion,your brother will be okay i promise”He says to you.

You forgot that Shoto was a double side member.But you didn’t forget that he cared enough about you to leave his family.He cares so much about you and your brother he decided to take the task of double siding both dangerous gangs.Just for you two.

“He’s all i have toki ,”You whimper and cry into his shoulder.He pets the back of your head softly,”I know n/n,hell be okay”.

He puts his jacket on you,making you yet again aware of the pouring rain.

“Let’s get you home for now.Hell be there soon.”You follow him, hugging his jacket around your shoulders. He’s set a quick pace away from the alley—he can’t be seen with you, especially not by Bakugo, but you’re not entirely sure where he’s taking you.

You’re not sure how far away you’ve gotten when Todoroki turns a corner and the two of you enter a shop. Behind the counter sits a girl you recognize, Momo, one of your brother’s most trusted friends.

The two exchange a nod, and then Todoroki’s leaving with little more than a “Your brother will meet you at home” to say goodbye.

You almost want to keep him here, you never see him anymore, but you know someone’s more likely to notice his disappearance the longer he’s gone.

Momo draws your attention as she moves from her place behind the counter, productions two identical umbrellas from her arm as she does. She gives you a little smile, handing one to you. “C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”You take the umbrella from Momo and smile back at her, you were running into all sorts of friends around here. You walked next to Momo as you headed back home through back alleyways, your umbrellas open now since it had begun raining again.

You felt your phone vibrate and pulled it out of your pocket, slowing your walking speed to see that Eijirou had texted you, just like he promised.

You responded to him and let him know you were walking with a friend and you were on your way home now.

"Momo... do you think my brother is okay?" You asked nervously, shoving your phone back into your pocket. "Toki told me he was going to be okay... but that situation was rough."You nod slowly,attempting to process what she told you.

Your phone buzzes again.

“i meant to tell you y/n,your pretty cute when your hairs wet”

You smile to yourself,a bit more at ease and trying to ignore the present situation.

—

At home though,things were quiet.Too quiet.

The second you closed you door and Momo left you felt eyes on you.Yet you made no motions to give way of this knowledge.

You moved to the kitchen and pretended to start a meal,sneakily hiding an ice pick in your sleeve.

Your quirk was unknown to most people,aside from Shoto and your brother,every though you were quirkless.

Having a mental quirk type,helped a lot more than a physical one.

You felt the eyes move,still they thought they were out of your view,but you could feel their upcoming attempt to attack.

They jumped at you,and immediately you threw the ice pick toward them,it stabbing deep into their arm.

The flash of green hair moved into your vision,and you armed yourself with the gun your brother gifted you.He looks at you with an evil smirk

“We meet again my dear.”You wrinkle your nose at the term of endearment, but you don’t comment on it, keeping still with the barrel of the gun aimed at him.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he reaches towards the ice pick. You realize then, with disappointment, that it hadn’t really imbedded itself in his arm—it had grazed him, drawing blood, but ultimately found home in the wall behind him.

Pity. You wouldn’t miss next time.

Izuku tosses the pick to the floor towards you. It’s not aggressive, it’s almost friendly, but you don’t bother to pick it up.

He sighs, adjusting the jacket of the suit he’s wearing. “I’m not feeling very welcome, darling.”

“Might be because you’re not,” you reply smoothly. “My brother will be back any minute. Do yourself a favor and scram before he does.”Izuku looks at you,he looks like a snake going after a mouse.And you’re his prey.

You see the green emission of his quirk slowly seep through the room,and you prepare to itself for his attack.

The door slams open,and you both turn to the door,and he’s there.

The blonde from the alleyway,Bakugo Katsuki.The leader of the opposing mafia,Fiero.

“I see you started without me again,Deku,”he growls annoyed.

Izuku smiles to him and bows,”Hello,*Kacchan*,”he says to the blonde,”i was only starting to talk,nothing more”He says,bringing the green light back into himself.

“You better fucking have been.”

He walks to the couch and plops down,he takes a necklace out of his pocket and tosses it to you.As you catch it,you realize,it’s your brothers.

Tears in your eyes you looked at him”is he...is he dead?”Your heart thumped loudly.

Izuku walks beside Katsuki,kneeling on the floor beside him.Katsuki puts his hand into his green hair,slowly petting him.

“He’s alive,for now.”

For now?you think.

You put the necklace beside the matching one you wore,”Where is he?”

“With the half n half bastard.Rouging him up more”He says to you with a villainous smile.

#fanfiction #bnha writing blog #bnha #bnha kirishima #katsuki x izuku #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #deku #mha izuku #midoriya izuku #todoroki shōto #shoto torodoki #todoroki x reader #first story post

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dontshootmespence · 5 years

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Something Else Here

Summary: When a former classmate that won’t take the hint comes back to town, you beg your best friend Castiel to fake a marriage so that they’ll leave you alone.

Pairing: Human!Castiel x Reader

Word Count: 1,791

Warnings: A dude that won’t take no for an answer. Otherwise pretty fluffy.

A/N: This fulfills my fake marriage square for @castielspnbingo!

Raucous knocking downstairs made him pop out of bed, hair spiked up in the back and a tiny bit of drool dribbling down the corner of his mouth. “What the hell?” He mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Cas! Cas! Open up! Emergency!”

He sped downstairs and opened the door to see Y/N in perfect health, no cuts of bruises, even a smile on her face. “What’s the emergency? Why did you wake me up at 7-fucking-30 on my day off when you’re not bleeding or on fire?”

Laughing, Y/N walked into the house and into the streaming sunlight that Cas was shielding his eyes from. Like a vampire, it was just too early for this shit. “Glad to know that bleeding and on fire are the only things that constitute an emergency in your book,” she said with a snort. “It’s not a physical emergency. But it’s a friend emergency and I need your help.”

Cas ambled into the kitchen and began brewing some coffee, taking two cups out of the cabinet without even asking whether she wanted some. She always wanted some. It was rumored that it was caffeine and not blood that ran through her veins. “What do you need help with? It’s a good thing I love you, you know that?”

She sat down at the table and gave him the cheesiest smile imaginable. If they hadn’t grown up together, he’d have killed her by now. “I do,” she laughed. “Remember that guy in college that couldn’t take the hint?”

“Bradley Something?”

“Yes, Bradley Something.”

“What about him?”

Taking the cup of coffee from Cas, she leaned back in her chair, stretching her back muscles against the strong wood and explained that she heard through the grapevine he was going to be back in town for a short time.

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose willing the burgeoning headache to fuck off. “Okay and what does this mean in terms of emergency?”

“You remember him right?” Y/N exclaimed, sending a jolt of pain through her friend’s head. “He was uncomfortably close and could never take a hint, but he always seemed to leave the married women alone. It’s like that was his line in the sand.”

“So you want me to marry you?” He laughed.

“Well, no, not really, but could we fake it while he’s in town?”

Downing the rest of his coffee, he turned to pour another mug. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” He thought, it could be worse. She was his best friend and drop dead gorgeous, but the idea was so ridiculous he couldn’t believe she was entertaining it. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll go out a couple times. I have a ring I can wear and we’ll get all lovey-dovey. You’re gonna have to kiss me though.”

“Have you seen your lips, Cas? Not a problem for me.” She popped up from the chair and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you so much. I know this is ridiculous but he won’t leave me alone and if marriage is his line in the sand then this might get him off my back.”

“I hope it does,” he laughed. “If it doesn’t we’ll just have to make out in front of him. Like, sloppy gross, public display of affection make out.”

Snickering, Y/N spoke, “You’d just hate that, wouldn’t you?”

-------

A week later, when the fucker that wouldn’t take a hint came back to town, Cas invited Y/N over so they could formulate a plan. Cas pulled out a fairly plain silver band that he’d inherited from his father to pass as a wedding ring and Y/N had something similar, an old family heirloom, to pose as her own. “Okay, so how are we going about this? Do we have any special plans? Mission Impossible-style?” Cas asked, raising his hands like finger guns.

“No, you dork, we can just do whatever we normally do. Go run errands, go out to eat, whatever. If we see him, which I’m sure we will because it’s like he seeks me out every time he’s in town, we have to act like newlyweds so he’ll know to back off.”

Cas smirked. “So that means I have to kiss you?”

“Yup.”

He closed the space between them and grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing the softest of kisses on her lips. He’d never kissed her before. Though they’d both thought about it one time or another. His lips were soft and inviting, comforting, familiar, and she nearly forgot that this was all a ploy.

-------

Both of them needed groceries, but for the week Y/N was planning to stay with Cas so they put together a joint list and headed out. She could still feel where his lips had touched hers and she wasn’t altogether unhappy about that. As a matter of fact, the image made her smile.

They’d never been on a date before and both found themselves questioning why. Anyone walking through the grocery store that didn’t know them already would think they were together, the easy-going smiles and comfortable embraces a dead giveaway that there was some kind of a connection there. Add to that the way they playfully teased each other at every turn and it was the perfect combination for a beautiful and healthy relationship.

After going back to his place to put away the groceries they’d bought for the week, they went mini-golfing. A new place had just opened up and Cas was a giant child so he practically threw a temper tantrum until Y/N had agreed to go. In all honesty, it didn’t take much convincing. They had nothing better to do and she hadn’t been in ages. It looked like fun.

And it was. A few people they knew happened to see them and asked about the rings. One in particular was Y/N’s old roommate from college. “We’re just pretending,” she whispered to her friend. “You remember how Brad would ask me out at least twice a week? Well, I begged Cas to fake a marriage so if we run into him he’ll back off.”

“Oh yea,” she laughed. “Married women always seemed to be the turn off for him.”

Of course the entire time they were on the golf course, Cas kept score and he beat Y/N by one point, so he was insufferable on the way to dinner. If she could materialize a pie from nowhere that would be wonderful because she wanted to shove it in his face. “Where should we go to dinner?”

“Diner down the block?” Cas asked. “I know it’s normally insane on the weekends, but I could go for a burger.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Inside the restaurant, Cas craned his head to the corner of the restaurant where Brad was sitting with what was probably some childhood friends. “Here’s our moment,” he laughed softly.

The way Brad’s eyes honed in on her made her skin crawl, but she grasped Cas’s hand and sat down across from him. “I mean, I know I’m your fake husband but I could go kick his ass if you he’s making you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s okay.” She felt icy cold when he looked at her, but hopefully he’d see their rings soon and back off. “Let’s just eat.”

Both of them got big greasy bacon cheeseburgers and a couple of root beers, barely saying a word to one another except to comment on the bacon. “Oh fuck, he’s coming over,” she whispered, wiping her mouth to give him a perfect fake smile. “Hi, Brad. What brings you back to town?”

As the restaurant became more and more crowded, Brad regaled them both the the boring tales of a work project that brought him back to town and on more than one occasion he tried to bring up their college days, his eyes always darting to her ring. Every time he brought it up, Cas reached over and squeezed her hand, an inward show of friendship and solidarity and an outward show of belonging. “So when did you two get married?” Brad asked with obvious disdain dripping in Cas’s direction, though he was looking at Y/N.

Cas answered quickly. “Just a few months ago. Eloped, just the two of us. Decided we couldn’t wait.”

He answered so quickly and with such sincerity that Y/N had to wonder if there was more than just the surface answer. “It was the perfect day,” Y/N replied.

“I’d always been hoping to scoop you up for myself,” Bradley added as the two faux lovebirds gazed at each other. “Figuring one day you might come around.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” she responded. She was not sorry in the slightest. Not even a little bit. “Cas and I have been friends forever. It’s always been him.” That also came out with a little too much sincerity.

“Well, I hope you two are happy,” he said. “I should get back to my friends. Nice seeing you, Y/N.”

Without a word, she waved him off and glanced at Cas. What they’d said to Bradley seemed more than just a cover up and both knew it, but Cas laughed it off. “He doesn’t like me.”

“No, he doesn’t. He’s staring you down.”

Bradley’s eyes pierced her, an icy blue settling into her spine. “If you weren’t here, I’d honestly be afraid.”

“Well, I’m here.”

As if he could see the chills crawl up her spine, Cas signaled for the check and paid quickly, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they walked through the door and back out to the car. Unfortunately, Bradley and his crew were just a few steps behind them.”Hey Y/N,” he said, injecting some levity into his voice even though she could tell he was deadly serious, “if you guys don’t work out, give me a call.”

Shrugging it off, she mumbled ‘as if’ under her breath and slipped into the passenger’s seat. “Oh my god, I feel like I need a shower.”

“Seriously, he’s gross,” Cas said. “Take the hint, dude.”

“I think he did. He just wasn’t happy about it and he couldn’t hide his feelings.”

“Well, too bad for him. Ready to go home?”

Home. “Yea.”

“I know we saw him and he saw the rings, but I figured you’d probably stay with me until he left town, right?”

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t feel safe going back to my place.”

“Then with me it is,” he said, smiling.

On the drive back to Cas’s house, they stole glances, words hanging heavy but hopeful in the air. Maybe there was something else there. Something that neither had ever noticed or addressed, but something that could change them for the better nonetheless.

#castielspnbingo #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x y/n #castiel fanfiction #castiel fanfic #castiel imagine #dontshootmespence #something else here

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unwiltingblossom · 4 years

Text

Queen’s Favor (Mysme Jumin/MC AU 5/?)

Summary: Being a maid would be much easier if the cat would just let her do her job.

AU - Instead of joining the RFA via random text, MC is hired on as one of the maids assigned to Jumin Han’s penthouse. Nothing else about the setting has changed, the messenger and the RFA still exist, only the MC’s position has been altered.

You know why she doesn’t have a name yet? She’s the help.

(but really, does anyone even remember this story anymore?)

“That’s to be expected, given the time.” He made a small gesture with one hand, a minuscule dismissive wave. As if the concern was much too small to be bothered with anything grander than that. “It’s why I returned home early.”

Dear lord in heaven. He really was a super pervert after all.

Well. Maybe. It's the first coherent thought that jumped up to her after her initial confused panic, but then that was probably a knee-jerk response from the day before. Her body still ached from the crash with the ground, after all.

But...no. No, it still didn't add up. If he were a secret pervert, she'd be getting rules about how to dress before he started appearing home early. And besides that, what kind of a person would use 'the maid attacked an intruder who intended to assault my cat' as a downing rod for 'acceptable sexual target'?

Well, honestly, if anyone did, it would be a rich person.

Oh.

Oh. Her expression must have been showing some of that, because he'd stopped speaking and was simply staring at her, one brow raised impatiently as if she'd actually interrupted him and had been rambling on.

She hadn't been.

She had a very good wall between inner and outer monologue, thanks much. So expression it must have been.

"Um...have I done something wrong?" Honestly, now that his incredulous expression grounded her more into reality, that was the most likely answer. "If anything's not up to your standards, you can always just call the office-"

"That would be unnecessary." He flicked a hand dismissively. "I've already arranged a replacement."

She spluttered. It was most undignified, yes, but she would contend that compared to being caught in a closet cornered by his cat it was positively graceful.

Really though?!

That...it wasn't...did she just get fired?!

"Wh-why?"

His gaze swept across her in silence for a moment, before he tilted his head toward the cat that sat near his feet. "I'll be out of the country for three days. Ordinarily, I would keep Elizabeth the 3rd in the care of a particular employee trained in her care." Of course he would have a special assistant just for his cat. "However...this time she's turned off her phone on her vacation days."

This time?

His brows furrowed a moment, almost as if he struggled to comprehend how one of his employees had managed to so thoroughly stymie him. It was only a passing expression, though, before his gaze turned back to her. "Caring for her will take up too much time for you to clean. You will, of course, be paid the premium she usually receives for the duty."

Wait. So...not fired. Just transferred. Suddenly and non-optional, apparently. "I haven't been trained to care for a cat." That wasn't really the most pressing concern? But it's what dribbled out of her open and very confused mouth first.

His lips pressed into a line briefly, before he nodded. "It's regrettable, yes. But I'll arrange for instructions for you to follow. Adhere to them. It will be extremely obvious when I return should you fail to do so."

She squinted at him for a few moments. As of yesterday she knew he could laugh - and therefore must possess a sense of humor - but his serious expression didn't seem to hold any sort of mirth to signal the set up to a very bizarre joke. The moments passed and he simply stared at her, blinking eerily similar to the way his cat did, awaiting a response.

Granted, he hadn't actually asked a question. At all. Since he came home. But she definitely felt that hanging in the air, as if he expected an answer anyway. Maybe he forgot to just ask if she wanted the job? Maybe he expected her to ask about the details of what he expected?

She sighed and pushed herself up to her feet. Instinct told her to brush her knees clean, but his rug had nothing more than cat hair in it, and she knew well enough that trying to rid herself of any of that before she left the penthouse was a monumental waste of her time.

It's pretty rude to go talking about one's poverty in front of one's employer's abject wealth, but it really seemed important to point that out. It wasn't as if he'd know her apartment was smaller than the closet he'd found her in, and with his level of wealth he probably couldn't conceive of the idea that whatever cat food chef was in his instructions would break her bank just making Elizabeth an appetizer. If she didn't want to be insta-fired over this, there was no choice but to communicate. "My apartment isn't big enough to house her. It's small enough that I could misplace it in here. And it's near a train track, so the air and sound quality really aren't up to the standards she's used to. And frankly, the neighbor's dog - who shouldn't even be there, as it's a pet-free complex - barks from 4AM to 9AM non-stop."

"That's horrifying." He shook his head. "Elizabeth the 3rd won't be staying with you over the weekend."

Well, thank goodnes-

"You'll be staying with her here."

"...Huh?"

He gave a short, barely audible sigh, before kneeling down to gather the cat in question - who'd begun to paw at pant legs undoubtedly more expensive than her entire bed - up into his arms to pet. "Your responsibilities will solely revolve around Elizabeth the 3rd. Caring for her...and protecting her will be a 72-hour non-stop assignment. Deplorable living conditions aside, residing in your own home for that time might provide too many distractions to care for her properly."

In the penthouse? Well, honestly, now that she thought about it that did make sense. From someone as picky and pampering toward his cat, it probably would seem more sensible to him to bring in someone to sit the entire house than to just temporarily re-home his cat. And it wasn't as if she'd never house-sat for someone before. Although none of the digs she'd cared for (with the not-so-subtle suggestions left behind about cleaning them up while she was there) were quite as swanky as this one, she was at least reasonably familiar with it, given that she had cleaned it for a while now.

"Well...I'll...still need to pack up some supplies, and you'll need to make sure you've bought up enough food for her before you leave."

"...Of course anything ordered to this room from the shops below will be covered. Whether for Elizabeth or for yourself."

"Point me to the contract. I'll sign it right now. I've even got a thumbtack if you need a drop of blood." Was she coming on a little too strong there? Maybe? But three nights on that guest bed without a dog barking and free food was more than enough to put up with Elizabeth's hijinks and whatever pedantic demands she knew would somehow make their way onto her instructions.

His lips curled up in amusement, as the cat in question deftly jumped from his arms again to the floor, meandering off to attack one of her toys. "It was already signed an hour ago."

That...

That couldn't be legal.

She forgot to look up whether ultra-rich heirs could sign contracts in her place, but in her defense, that night had kept her pretty busy. She tidied up her things, made sure to notify her contacts that she'd be busy house-sitting for the weekend, and collected clothing more comfortable than her work uniform which wouldn't make her feel like some kind of homeless beggar just sitting around in his penthouse.

Sure, she'd be alone save for the cat, but she'd be judging herself.

Belatedly, she also made sure to gather up some books and bits of entertainment. Beautiful and spacious as it was, Mr. Jumin Han's apartment wasn't exactly stocked with things to keep herself entertained with when she had time to herself.

Predictably, the penthouse was already devoid of human life when she arrived, right on time.

Also predictable: not a list, but an entire pamphlet sat on the counter of the kitchen marked 'INSTRUCTIONS. READ.'

She was absolutely wrong about the pedantic demands. They weren't just hidden away in a list normal things. They were the instructions.

Nevertheless, the day passed...for once...unremarkably. As if the universe knew she wasn't technically 'working', and so it didn't bother to get out of bed. As the natural light faded for the day, sensors activated the internal lights, the transition almost seamless.

At some point in the night, the white cat hopped from her lap, abandoned its toys, and pranced off to the master bedroom. No doubt to roll around on her master's sheets and get white hairs absolutely everywhere in time for the poor new maid to have to clean them.

The entire floor itself was really the penthouse. Without the sounds she made from bustling around playing with the cat, feeding the cat, cleaning the dishes or running cleaning equipment, she could almost hear her own heartbeat in the silence.

She stretched out on the couch, each creak and crackle almost an explosion in the silence of the penthouse, and draped an arm over her forehead. The rug she usually played with Elizabeth on was comfortable, sure, but there could be no denying the couch was more comfortable than her bed back home. She probably didn't even need to use the guest bedroom at all, except to be indulgent and potentially keep herself from being smothered by cat hair in her sleep.

...It's lonely.

Yes, she lived alone. In her apartment she didn't even have an animal to keep her company. This late, she'd also often given up on texting partners who'd fallen asleep at their phones. But she heard the city. The neighbors on every side of her (sometimes getting up to things she really didn't want to hear), that infernal barking dog, the regular passing of the trains carrying people to and fro at all hours of the night.

Here...she heard nothing. The building was huge, practically a small self-contained city with employees, customers and other residents milling about on the floors below. Not even the distant clacking of heels or the rattling of the elevator could be heard from the penthouse. And it was so high up above the rest of the city the sounds on the street below wouldn't make it through the windows even when she left them open.

Cut off from the rest of the world in a bubble of isolation, so far away from the nearest human that no one could even wander up and pass close enough to be heard accidentally.

This is worth all that money, huh...?

Her lips pursed a moment. It did separate the rich from the poor, she supposed, a bubble of luxury and wealth completely untouched and unaffected by the help except when its owner desired for it to be. Wealth, distilled into an apartment building.

Her free hand fell to the ground, fingers trailing in the plush rug, and her gaze turned toward the door.

In the still silence of midnight, a part of her couldn't help but wish the ever-frustrating and strange owner of the penthouse would have second thoughts about leaving her with the penthouse for three days and return early again.

#mystic messenger #mysme #mm #jumin x mc #ooc #fic #does anyone even follow mm anymore #or have we all collectively moved on to evol x love

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atomicdeke · 4 years

Note

i forgot if i sent you any. black and carob for either boi.

Black (CW: Depictions of extreme violence, dismemberment, and death)

Jaaster gets quiet as he closes his eyes and begins taking deep, rhythmic breaths. Each breath gets the tiniest bit further apart from the last, and his posture relaxes. Finally, he opens his eyes and speaks in a calm, detached voice. “Not too long ago, hired thugs tried to burn down my family’s farm. I was not there, but after the attack failed, I made my way there as quickly as I could. One of them, a man named Edwin, was caught by the hounds, and he was still there when I arrived.”

There’s a pause, and Vander notices a momentary tremor in Jaaster’s hand, which causes the young man to close his eyes and clench his fist until it stops. Vander clears his throat loudly and asks, “Anything the matter, old boy?” Jaaster opens his eyes, shakes his head calmly, and continues.

“I took Edwin to the shack we would use to cure meat from the animals we hunted, and I began asking him questions. Who sent him? What was he trying to accomplish? Why was my family targeted? He would not answer, so I began hurting him. He did not know much, but, when I was done with him, I believe he told me everything he knew.” Jaaster sits in silence for a few moments. “If my brother had not been there, I do not know if I would have stopped hurting him. I...I hope so.”

Jaaster stands abruptly, saying, “I need some air,” before walking out of the room.

Vander keeps his eyes on the door as though he can see Jaaster beyond it. “Interesting, isn’t it? The depths that some people can plumb when pushed far enough?” Turning his attention back to his questioner, the Duskwight smiles easily. “I suppose that makes it my turn, then?”

Taking a moment to think, he snaps his fingers. “Ah! I have one from my days in the Shroud. Back in that heady youth of mine, when life was nothing but knocking over wagons and breaking heads left and right.”

“This story is about three little wagons headed for Quarrymill, bearing arms and supplies for the Wood Wailers stationed there. See, that little outpost has always held a special place in my heart. It was my first real taste of civilization in the world above. The beginning of a long and sordid history dealing with the hatred and the bigotry of the forestborn.” Vander pauses, arching an eyebrow at his questioner. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but had I the wherewithal back then, I would have burned Quarrymill to the ground. Failing that, I and my merry band of cutthroats and highwaymen did our utmost to cut their supply lines.”

Vander leans back in his seat and kicks his feet up on the table. “But the wagons, yes? The Wailers were growing quite tired of losing shipments en route, so they laid a trap for us. A trio of wagons, all but unguarded to the untrained eye. I’ll admit, none of my compatriots were terribly discerning, and when faced with an easy score, I jumped at the opportunity, as well.”

He pulls out a pipe and adds a pinch of powder in the bowl before lighting it, a bitter odor beginning to waft through the air as he takes a puff. “We lost about half our number before we realized the Wailers were among us, that the hunters had become the prey. A few of us stood and fought, but most of those that survived the initial moments ran back into the woods. One by one, the Wailers took my companions down until only I was left. By the time I knew I was surrounded, there were twenty of the bastards closing in with their spears.”

Vander takes another puff and exhales the smoke, then grins. “They never stood a chance. I could tell you that this fight was a symphony, that the Wailers were an orchestra and I their conductor. I could paint such a picture that you’d believe me an artist, with my axe as my brush and that forest trail my canvas.” The Duskwight shakes his head.

“No, friend, I was no artist, but a field hand. I tore through them like a scythe through wheat. I lopped pieces off of them like so many branches of a tree. Heads went sailing into bushes like dandelions on the breeze. There was no beauty to be seen here. Only savagery.”

He takes a deep breath and lets out a heavy sigh. “When it was all over, there were the wagons, stacked high with gear and foodstuffs that would have kept my band living high on the hog for moons. In that moment, though, all I could think about was blood. Blood, and a warning to send to any who dared think they could trap us. Trap me. I took their heads, planted them on their spears, and made a ring around the wagons, which I set ablaze.”

Vander chuckles and shakes his head. “I was quite proud of that one for a bit. I mean, all of that before I’d even seen nineteen winters! Can you imagine? Of course, it was short-sighted and pigheaded, but I was full of piss and vinegar, and no one was about to tell me what I could have done better. I wouldn’t have stood for it!” He frowns. “Hm. Perhaps I should have told one from my days at sea, when my head was on a bit straighter. Ah, well. Darkness is darkness, isn’t it, friend?”

Carob

After several minutes, Jaaster reenters the room and sits down. As the question is asked, Vander leans forward. “I’ll start this one off, if you don’t mind?” The interrogative is more directed at the younger man, who shakes his head and gestures for Vander to go on.

“Ah, thank you. Now, let’s see, what do I look for in a friend? Well, they would have to be fun first and foremost, wouldn’t they? Otherwise, what would be the point?”

Jaaster’s face twists up as he squints at the Duskwight. “Wait...fun? I mean, yeah, that’s nice, sure, but...shouldn’t a friend be loyal? Someone you can count on to be there for you, just like you would be for them?” He jumps a bit as Vander starts laughing, then narrows his eyes. “I’m serious.”

The older man wipes at his eyes as his laughter subsides. “Aha, I’m sorry, truly, but that was simply adorable! Such naive idealism likely serves you well in your line of work, Jaaster, when you need the rich and powerful to loosen their purse strings and dribble a few gil here and there so you can feed and heal an urchin or two. I imagine you’ve wooed more than one mogul with those puppy dog eyes and your dancing bear routine.” Vander looks the Coerthan up and down speculatively. “I wonder what manner of beast you could let out, were you not so set in your role as a lapdog?”

Vander brings his eyes up to meet Jaaster’s, languid gold locked with clear, angry sapphire. After a moment, the Duskwight grins. “But we were speaking of friends, weren’t we? As much as anyone would tell you otherwise at the drop of a hat, friends are only there for the good times. That being the case, the primary quality to look for in a friend is fun. Why keep someone around if they’re dreary, complicated, or - worst of all - boring? Better to simply put them out of their misery than to let them drag you down with them, I say.”

He stands up suddenly and flashes a smile to Jaaster and their questioner. “Well, I’m famished. I’ll get us some refreshment, and leave you two to talk among yourselves. Nothing too juicy, though, or I’ll be quite cross that I missed it!” As Vander exits the room, Jaaster stares after the man unblinking, and several moments pass before he remembers that someone else is still in the room with him. Turning his attention back to the questioner, he tries to meet their eyes but settles for looking at the ground, instead. “Um...loyalty. Th-that’s what I look for in a friend. Honesty, too. I, uhh...I guess that’s it.”

(Thanks for the ask, @thanidiel!)

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fairymoved · 7 years

Text

the demon’s coffee

original fiction short story commissioned by @mage0flight

if you’d like a story like this at a modest price check out my info and message me for details.

It’s a cloudy day of early June when they wake up to read a clock that signifies it being half past nine o’clock. There’s a silent arrangement over who’s in charge of breakfast that day, one of them, the taller and stronger one sporting four arms and crimson skin, rushing into the bathroom and having the hiss of the water drown out any of these potential questions.

The other one, frailer and paler by comparison, slinks off to the kitchen that occupies the smallest portion of their shared apartment. He got their best pan from the dish drainer and a spatula from the drawer, grabbing what few eggs they had from the fridge and making a mental note to add it to the grocery list. He cracked his knuckles and reached towards the stove’s dial, but found himself hesitating.

“Oh,” He said to himself, turning his head to lock eyes with his reflection in the coffeemaker. “I almost forgot.”

He dug into the cabinet to grab the beans, grinder, and liners. By the time he finished working the beans into a nice powder, the other man uneventfully entered the kitchen smelling of fresh soap and a late water bill.

“Jamie,” he says, his eyes focused on his phone screen in a narrow squint. “Do you know what…’meticulous’ means?”

“It means to be careful and self-aware of small details, I think.” Jamie replied. “Are you still using that word of the day app?”

“Best five dollars I’ve ever spent,” He looked up from his phone screen for a moment to see Jamie was setting up the coffee machine alongside a gathering of other food related items. They both knew eating was not a necessary aspect to Raleigh’s life-neither was sleeping but that was an act Raleigh had already committed to-but Jamie thrived on the schedule he had put into place some time ago and had no means of budging. Raleigh supposed it gave Jamie some illusion of structure in a world where all ideas of control were hardly meaningful to which Jamie would always reply with a “You’re so fucking pretentious sometimes, man.”

Jamie said, “Raleigh, you can barely afford the dollar menu on a good day, you think those apps are really worth your time?”

“Yes, absolutely, incredibly, superfluously-”

“I get it, smarty pants,” Jamie said through a laugh. “Now start breakfast while I get the coffee started.”

“You’re sexy when you’re demanding,”

Raleigh is such a powerhouse of a man that the roles should really be reversed, but Jamie is interested in what kind of skill a man of Raleigh’s age and…generous arm power can whip up. The guy says he once lived in India and Nigeria, his favorite landmarks for cuisine if he was forced to pick, even if it was during a time when indoor plumbing and heating were yet to be invented.

He’s a bulking form of a demon-hell spawn and server of Satan was nothing short of a slur in his book and Jamie was quick to correct this it if someone asked who the guy occupying his apartment was. To that he would always follow up with a casual, “This is only temporary. He’s got his own place but he’s got…bugs, in his house. Getting it fumigated.”

Bugs was just the word that Raleigh preferred. As to what could be defined as a bug in their world had a very loose definition. Sometimes a bug was a cockroach and other times a bug was a wasp that laid eggs in your mouth while you were sleeping. According to the distress look on Raleigh’s face when he appeared at Jamie’s doorstep with a case of wine and Netflix that heavily clashed with his general demeanor, it appeared to be somewhere near the latter.

Raleigh wasn’t one to be very direct about his feelings, let alone let anyone even be the slightest bit aware that he felt anything besides bitterness and apathy. But Jamie had developed a sort for six sense with this thing. For a man of his age with no special abilities, no third eye or the blood of a mage in his system, it was a shocker he’d sometimes have to literally fuck answers out of Raleigh. Or, Raleigh would fuck answers out of himself, it all depended on the mood.

Maybe that was his super power after all: Jamie and the amazing magic cock. Working the knots out of emotionally gated demons everywhere.

One quick rummage in Jamie’s one bedroom in a one bedroom apartment and suddenly Raleigh is an open book, his back turned away from Jamie’s worried gaze as if he were complaining to the moonlight seeping through the window. So dramatic.

Actually, Jamie liked to think he had two special abilities: his skills in bed and skills in budgeting. Nearly every item that belonged to him was bestowed upon his apartment via trading, couponing, and Black Friday deals. From the rug in the bathroom to the food in his kitchen down to the coffee maker that was the object of his attention at the moment, they had all been obtained with barely a smudge coming to his wallet’s leather build.

Raleigh was only impressed with one of these skills-no prizes for guessing.

Now that he thought about it, the coffee maker was likely the most valuable asset of the house. He had gotten it as a moving in present from Mrs. Baker down the street, a sweet old lady who was a sweet middle aged lady when she had delivered it to his house the day he made the apartment his years ago.

“I know you’re in college now,” She had said. “And if there was anything that got me through the grind, it was grinding beans for this thing.”

“How long have you had it?” Jamie had said.

“A long while,” She replied. “It was my husband’s favorite before he died.”

At this her eyes grew a little sullen and she looked down at the coffee maker with a sort of tenderness reserved for a loved one. “Do you miss him, Mrs. Robinson.”

“I can’t miss him if I convince myself he’s still with me.”

Jamie finally got the beans into a nice powder and poured it into the top. Just enough water, cups and creamer-all ready. All he had to do was press the button and….RRRRRHHHHHGG!

“The fuck?”

“Uh, it always does that,” Jamie assured. “Don’t worry about.”

RGGHHH! The machine screeched violently as if protesting Jamie’s statement. It made a nasty little grinding noise, until violently shaking and forcing out a spray of black fluid from any opening it could find as if it were vomiting. It does this on repeat for a couple more minutes until it stops, a slow and steady stream of gray smoke left in its wake.

It’s a cloudy day of early June when the coffee machine breaks and Jamie and Raleigh exchange a controlled but panicked glance at one another.

“Oh shit,” Jamie says, his voice muffled behind his hands.

“That always happens?”

“No, it’s old but-” He sighed heavily and carefully pulled the outlet out of the wall before scooting the machine over to the sink to empty out the contents. “Fuck, didn’t know this would be your last day, buddy.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,”

“Heh, it’s no biggie. Just gotta settle on takeout until I get a new one.”

“Well now that breakfast is cancelled we can watch that next movie. My Redbox rentals expire today,” Raleigh said. “And you know how angry Redbox can get.”

“It doesn’t have to be canceled,” Jamie said. “Uh, how about for today we go to Starbucks? I’ll pay for it.”

“It’s not really my thing,” Raleigh replied, sweeping some of the leftover grounds on the counter into his hand. “If you want better coffee, you buy a better coffee maker. I don’t trust human engineering, anyway.”

“That’s silly,” Is the only thing Jamie says, already making a mental note of getting a caramel latte and croissant later from the shop a few blocks away.

“And what’s with everything being made in China?” Raleigh continued, a mouthful of grounds already settling in the side of his cheek. “The best thing they’ve made is the Great Wall and even that’s a touch shoddy in my opinion. They build one thing so sturdy and then they come out with this junk.” He emphasized this with a swift pat to the machine that sputtered another spray of black coffee in response.

“You weren’t even there for the building of the Great Wall, do you even remember what it was for?”

“No, but if they were just showing off, then kudos to them.”

Jamie shook his head quietly, unplugging the machine from the outlet and hoisting it off the counter. He would normally request Raleigh’s assistance with the task, a petty human like himself could barely carry groceries without getting winded, but Raleigh was already beginning the morning ritual of staring wistfully out of the kitchen window and would be committed to the action for the next hour. The usual cup of coffee was absent from his hand, replaced with a handful of deep roast beans dribbling from his large hands. A loud crunching noise became muffled as Jamie lowered the old machine next to the doorway.

“Do you think someone would buy it? I could use the extra cash.”

“That old thing? No way,”

Jamie was honestly a little insulted by the assumption. Good old Roasty had been with him so long it may as well had been that pet they were always postponing to adopt. He’d had it since-Jamie thought for a second-the nineties as far as they can both remember.

But it clearly hadn’t aged well. It was bulky and black in places where it was supposed to be smooth and brown, the pot had a permanent yellow offset and the measuring lines were faded to the point he had to write it in with permanent marker. The cord was frayed and sometimes had to be held in just the right angle to generate a reaction from the outlet, generating one of many electrical hazards it was capable of. Only a lowlife just as blinded by coffee addition as them would think to buy it.

It had to be today when his temporarily homeless boyfriend stopped by for some comfort and a bed that didn’t smell like pesticide that one of few of their similar interests literally shattered in front of them. Once they were out of movies and coffee grounds, there was only time for awkward small talk. Not that they didn’t have topics to discuss, but Raleigh was only the type to open up after he’d opened up a bottle of lube the previous hour. And Jamie was a little too sore for that kind of…conversation.

Raleigh is still staring out the window, watching Jamie’s neighbors play with their children at the neighborhood park, dogs pissing on trees, and people starting their commutes to work. So dramatic.

“Well unless staring out of the window is somehow solving our problem, I don’t see how you’re contributing.”

“Jamie?” Raleigh asked slowly. “Who did you get the coffee maker from?”

“Mrs. Robinson, the lady across the street.”

“She’s been a widow for how long?”

“About twenty years,” Jamie said.

Raleigh swallowed the rest of his beans quickly and dusted off his hands. “Then I solved problem,” At that he turned around and looked Jamie directly into his eyes eyes with a sort of intensity he wasn’t used to. “Your coffeemaker is cursed.”

“What?”

“By a witch,”

What?!”

“Mrs. Robinson is a witch and she cursed your coffeemaker.”

“What the fuck?! Look, this is why I tell you not to eat beans straight up like that, it fucks with your head.”

“Look, I’ve been high before and I assure you my conclusions on ecstasy are not that intelligent.”

“I just think that’s a little farfetched. I mean, Robinson is a nice lady.”

“Oh, I’m not saying she’s mean,” Raleigh said. “She’s just careless.”

He walked slowly to the door and gestured for Jamie to follow. “I saw her watering her plants through the window.

“Don’t you think we should give her a warning before dropping by so randomly,” Jamie said, slipping on his shoes and grabbing the coffeemaker up from the floor.

“She knows we’re coming,” Raleigh said. “Why else would she be watering her plants?”

Mrs. Danielle Robinson had a textbook example of an old lady’s house. It was pastel yet clashing with gaudy fabrics and a type of floral print that had no business being on anyone’s walls. The plastic on the sofa could keep out bugs but certainly not stains and the Dora The Explorer rug on the living room carpet placed in front of a tiny TV playing a judge show had a placement that screamed “grandchildren have been here”.

Raleigh was right about her knowing about their visit ahead of time as she already had hot tea and three cups laying out prior to them even exiting the door. But Jamie much rather blame that on her hospitable nature. She probably looked forward to any interaction in her old age, wanted to be prepared in case the mailman wanted to chat her up or something.

Him and Raleigh sat down on the loveseat while Robinson got comfortable on a rocking chair, legs hidden beneath a thick blanket. The coffeemaker sat on the table with no tea offered to it.

“Would you kids like some honey or sugar? This stuff is never sweet enough for me.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie said. Raleigh shook his head.

“Any reason why you brought this old thing?” Mrs. Robinson gestured towards the coffeemaker on the table. “It doesn’t seem to like tea.”

Before Jamie had a chance to laugh at her joke, Raleigh interrupted, “Ma’am, can I ask you something?”

“Oh, uh, sure...” Robinson looked slightly uneasy at this, setting her cup down and maintain eye contact with Raleigh that felt forced. “What is it, honey?”

“Not to be a bother, but our coffeemaker broke and I can’t help but think it’s not because it’s old. Jamie, you think it’s weird, right?”

Jamie quickly gulped down his tea. “Y-Yeah. I mean, I know you gave it to me awhile back, but I figured it had at least a few months left.”

“Oh, well I’m sorry about that. What do I know about new things, though?” Robinson shrugged.

“My point is that I think there’s something else going on here. It’s old but it’s also giving off a certain presence I find uncommon for household objects. You mind elaborating on it?”

Robinson shifted around uncomfortably in her chair. “Not quite sure what you mean by that.”

“It’s cursed,” Raleigh said firmly, pointing a thick thumb at the way the coffeemaker managed to buzz and sputter again despite not being connected to any outlets. “It’s emitting a vibe that I’ve only ever felt from spirits.”

“Cursed isn’t the word I would use,” Robinson said before immediately catching any other words in her mouth. Jamie stiffened his seat, feeling rather gated from the entire conversation. He had lived in his apartment in this particular town for years and had grown accustomed to all the supernatural forces that made up his daily. Hell, he was fucking/dating one of those supernatural forces right now and apparently had another one occupying his kitchen shelf for even longer.

Robinson cleared her throat and added. “Look, it’s obvious at this point that I can’t really hide anything. It was a long time ago and I just…” Her fragile hand made a firm fist into the blanket and Jamie could make out a single tear falling down her cheek. “I’m not over it, okay. Jamie, your parents went to the funeral, you were just a baby.”

Jamie furrowed his brow. “…Are you talking about your husband?”

“I’m no expert,” Raleigh interjected. “But I’ve seen this happen before. You think you’re doing your significant other a favor by giving their soul a second life by putting them into something they love. You think you’re making them happy and giving them some second wind of immortality, but it’s actually hell.”

“Really now,”

“Yes, it’s not fun. It’s considered a form of torture around certain parts and this thing malfunctioning is his last cry for help. I understand you love your husband, ma’am, but you’re doing him more harm than good.”

“I see,” Mrs. Robinson’s answers are short while Raleigh is on a stream of information about ancient witchcraft practices. It’s a strange role reversal and Jamie isn’t certain if it’s the tea that’s gotten bitter or the atmosphere.

“But, he said he really loved me and didn’t want to leave-”

“Take his soul out of the coffee maker, ma’am. He’s not happy.” The last word is gritted through his teeth and Jamie feels the tension undercut the room as Mrs. Robinson stares at them blankly.

After a few long seconds timed by the ticking of the grandfather clock, Mrs. Robinson sighs and gets up, her bones audibly popping into place to assume the position. “If you insist, son…” she says before turning to lock eyes with Jamie. “I’m very sorry about this, Ty. You’re such a nice kid and he was such a good man.”

“I know, Mrs. Robinson,” Jamie watches her drag the machine closer to her on the table and for a minute he’s forced to sit and watch just how sad and vulnerable she looks. She lifts a very frail hand against the ugly yellow pot and shuts her eyes, whispering something to herself as a faint glow encompasses her palm. It’s a simple spell and the transfer from the soul leaving the coffeemaker to over her shoulder is a smooth and somewhat elegant transition.

“I’m so sorry to trouble you, again. Here, take it back.”

“No, keep it,”

“What?” Mrs. Robinson said.

“What?” Jamie said.

Raleigh smiled softly and it’s a look that’s so sweet and genuine it throws them both off guard. “It means a lot to you. Your husband’s soul will drift given a couple days, so keep the machine for when it does. As a reminder.”

For a minute there was silence until smile lit up Mrs. Robinson’s face. “Thank you, young man. But, what will you do for coffee?”

“I have plans,” Raleigh gave a side smile to Jamie. Jamie blinked once until finally connecting the dots.

“Oh,” Jamie said. “Yeah, we’ll get our own someday. In the meantime, we’ll settle for shops.”

“Sounds like fun,” Mrs. Robinson said. “You two stay safe.”

“We’ll try, thanks for the tea.” Jamie and Raleigh left quietly, shutting the door to meet the neatly trimmed grass and plastic flamingos.

“That was oddly kind of you,” Jamie said and Raleigh already began walking down the street separating Mrs. Robinson’s place from Jamie’s.

“Look, if anyone know anything about curses, it’s me. I gotta say, witches never fail to surprise me.”

“We should talk about this over coffee,” Jamie said. “Starbucks?”

Raleigh nodded. “Starbucks,”

#writing commissions #commissions #original fiction #prima writes #prima ponders

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benevolenterrancy · 7 years

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A ficlet for Symmrat Week Day 2: AU A mage/demon au, based around the Bartimaeus Sequence (though with varying degrees of accuracy, it’s been years since I read the original book...) also here on AO3 if you prefer that format

You never quite forgot the tug. No matter how much time passed between a summoning, it settled over you again like an ache that had never actually left. It was like rats under your skin, gnawing at your bones; it was like hooks dug into your marrow and pulling, pulling, pulling until you gave in and followed them.

So Junkrat followed them, and he followed them with glee. Normally getting yanked around by a bunch of pompous humans to deal with their petty problems wouldn't be Junkrat's ideal sort of day, but he'd always been one to scrounge an opportunity. Some djinn would drive themselves mad trying to hide themselves away and what good did it do them? Damn little, humans were like a disease, you couldn't get rid of them. So rather than try to hide himself away, he may has well have drawn the humans a map and lit his hidey-hole up with lights, as it were. But rather than find him, all they got was a trap sprung and loaded and waiting for the arrogant to come trapaising through without a second thought. A laugh bumbled up in Junkrat's throat just thinking about it – it had been a long while this time since his trap had been triggered, and he was more than happy to meet the fool on the other side. Robes were always just so eager to put themselves dangerously close to a fanged mouth when they thought they had it leashed, the cocky fucks.

When Junkrat crossed over, it was with a deafening explosion and a volcanic blast. If this Robe's summoning circle had any sort of holes in it, they'd be dead before Junkrat even managed to fully manifest. Instead the flames of his body slammed against the invisible walls of the summoning circle hard enough that it rang out like an ancient gongs and rose up the sides, growing into a twisting, howling inferno. Which was an appropriately dramatic introduction, Junkrat felt. Manifesting more fully, he twisted the flames into a face, one with a gaping, soot-black mouth and white-bright explosions for eyes, and he shrieked.

Some djinn preferred to set an atmosphere first, chill a room or send sinister whispers curling from the other side, but Junkrat had better things to do than waste his time with party favours. If a Robe had the nerve to summon him, they better be ready for him because he was coming all at once.

Only once the ceiling was covered with blackened scourge marks and the room crackled with unbearable heat did he let the flames die as quickly as they'd come, scattering ash over the ground as he twisted his body again, reshaping it from flames into seething rats, black and grey and scar-covered and ugly. Disease and pestilence and hunger and anger, let this Robe him for what he was, let them see what they had the audacity to summon. With hundreds of tiny feet, he stormed over the floor, hundreds of bodies with a single mind racing over top of each other, clambering at the invisible sides of the circle, shrieking their sharp, yellow teeth, and testing every inch of it with probing, sensitive whiskers. If there was any slip, any smudge, any smear to the summoning circle, he would find it. And then he wouldn't even have to wait for his trap to click shut around the mage, he could just destroy them with their own incompetence.

“Enough.”

Junkrat stilled. He was never fully still, not truly, especially not in this form with his many bodies twisting and twitching and piling on top of each other, moving like fleshy sacks of bone and blood, but he drew himself together enough to give focus to the person who had the nerve to speak so calmly and demandingly in his presence.

Fucking Robes.

Now that he gave the room he had been summoned into some better attention, he was rather surprised by the spartan quality of it. Normally Robes were vain bastards, and they loved their workrooms to reflect that. There should be bookshelves filled with texts they liked to pretend were older and more important than they were, work tables full of projects, expensive trinkets and baubles hanging off shelves and draping from the ceiling. Magic was only a small portion of what it meant to be a Robe, as far as Junkrat could tell – most of it was making sure everyone else knew you were one, and knew you were a better one than they were. This room though was very different. The floor and walls were painted a stark white, and while it meant the space in the circle was now rather satisfyingly covered with his filth, it succeeded in unnerving him as well. The room was bright and well-lit – of course, for a summoning, you didn't need a gloomy room lit by a million, dribbly black candles, but most Robes seemed to think you did. Or at least seemed to think the aesthetic was important. This one clearly wasn't fooled by that. Junkrat could count exactly six candles place around the circle, the exact number needed for this sort of summoning, and it was a plain, undyed tallow, obviously freshly lit and not at all ominous or dribbly looking. Shame, Junkrat had once been summoned by a Robe whose candles were so old and well dribbled, that one had guttered before the contract had been sealed. That of course, had been all Junkrat had needed to break free of the circle – ha, that Robes face when he realized. Remembering it kept Junkrat warm on those lonely nights.

Not only was this Robe missing all that ridiculous extra stuff though, but even the room itself was strange. The walls and floor, besides for being perfectly white, were also perfectly smooth rather some Robes' workroom which were made out of stone- or wood-work. That meant there was nothing to accidentally cause a bump or gap in a summoning line. And these summoning lines were done with an almost military precision, and were all drawn in very clear, black chalk so there was no room for fanciful misinterpretation of the lines – frustrating.

In a smaller circle, attached to his own by single tethering line, was a blue gemstone, obviously used to help power the spell. Normally a Robe would want at least half a dozen of those things, just to show they had them to use. Of course as Junkrat pressed at the circle, it was clear that this single stone was all it really. With some disappointment he could see that it wasn't even worth anything, it was a very basic, magic-charged grounding stone.

There wasn't a single thing about this room or the equipment used to summon him that wasn't clean, utilitarian, and brutally efficient. Not only was it disappointing and more than a bit boring, it was also unnerving. Robes were supposed to like things unnecessarily complicated, and he liked that they liked it – it made it so much easier to exploit. Just to be sure, Junkrat flicked his vision through the first several planes of vision, in case there was something magical being hidden. If there were something else in this room, besides the Robe facing him and her bare bones summoning equipment though, it had a glamour woven over it tightly enough that it was hidden on six separate planes of vision. Junkrat wasn't actually sure what was more likely – that someone had gone to the trouble of hiding something that well in a room like this, or that he'd run into a Robe that didn't feel the need to show off at every opportunity.

The Robe herself though did look like she fit in this strange workroom though, that Junkrat could admit. She was obviously a formally trained mage, and she stood prim and straight, with long hair drawn back into a severe bun, and a simple, flowing blue robe – it must be a modern fashion whatever it was, Junkrat figured with some irritability. Magic was magic, and he was a djinn that could burn her straight through to her bone marrow if he was unleashed, yet Robes still insisted that there should be a fashion to it. Sometimes he came over and everyone was carrying a damn staff, as if they needed one and it wasn't their summoned imps and demons doing all the work, next there was that weird time when everyone was wearing oversized, bulging pouches on their belts, like they'd decided to leave the house with half their workshop on them. This mage's robe was slit around the base, showing off her legs, was trimmed with gold, and was sleeveless. Well, he supposed it was a step up from the stuffy black that kept persistently coming back into fashion.

More interesting than the Robe's robe though, was her arm. Even on the first plane you could tell it was magical, and on every plane up from there it seemed to glow. It was sleek and white – almost like the room itself – and had very powerful feeling stones set into its shoulder and the back of its hand. Of course, she also had amulets worked into the necklace she wore and a pair of shimmering blue earrings, but those were simple things – protection, clarity, power – and even the blue visor she wore, obviously a magicked glass to see planes beyond the first – wasn't that interesting. Not compared to the arm. Hmm. Maybe he'd take that back with him when he'd finished dealing with her, might make a nice treasure to add to his stash.

“Demon, you will listen to me and you will obey,” the woman said. It was clear she would allow no resistance. Junkrat toyed with the idea of being obstinate just for the sheer pleasure of riling her up, but decided against it. There was never anything fun about being stuck in a summoning circle; the sooner she let him out, the sooner he could incinerate her and move on with his life.

“Sure,” he drawled, and with a final heave the mound of rats surged together and formed a solid figure in the shape of a human man.

Of course the fire, the rats, even the shape he had now of a man, those were all images project on the first few planes (the first four, as it happened – she wouldn't be able to see any of the planes past that even with that fancy eyewear so why bother). Those shapes simply cloaked his true form and allowed him to interact with objects on the first plane of existence. The shape he chose to show now was a scraggly one, barely better than the rats he'd been before. Long limbed – too tall for a normal human, even hunched over – and unnervingly bony. His nose was sharp and long, as were his teeth, and his hair rose from his head in patches, constantly smouldering with fire while soot settled over his face and shoulders. He leaned leisurely against the empty air and leered at the Robe.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

“I have a job that needs to be done, and you will be the one to do it,” she replied.

“Eugh, you wound me, shiela. Straight to business, not even a g'day – that cuts me deep, that does. 'Least you could do it say hi, if you're gonna be, ha, hiring on my expertise.”

“You may call me Symmetra, that is all you should need to know besides for the mission parameters themselves.”

“Symmetra, eh? I'd say it's a pretty name, but I know well enough that it's not your name at all, is it?”

“Just as you should also know that you will not trick me into revealing my true name. ...Especially not with such a clumsy, transparent attempt.”

Junkrat shrugged. It was always worth a shot. This “Symmetra” was clearly well-trained, almost certainly formally apprenticed, and that would mean she'd had the importance of names drilled into her head plenty over the years. It wasn't often Junkrat was able to get a real name out of the Robe that summoned him, but it did happen, and it was always worth at least a shot. The things you could do to a person when you had their name...

“Only seemed fair, given that you clearly know mine,” Junkrat pointed out.

“And that is how it will stay.”

“Fair enough, fair enough. I am curious though – what's with the arm?” The Robe stayed tight lipped, simply blinked coolly at him. “Aw come on, tell me this at least: did it get bitten off by some beastie you didn't have a good enough hold of, or did you cut it off yourself to scrape up that little bit more power?” She said nothing. Junkrat hugged, “Pah, I can tell already we're gonna be the best of friends, mate. This'll be a right treat for me, no doubt.”

“I don't particularly care,” said Symmetra. “You will perform your function, and that is sufficient.”

With that cheery proclamation, Symmetra knelt to a smaller, pre-drawn circle within the protective circle that held her. That would be the contract summons then. Junkrat squinted at it – there were all types of contract you could draw up. Sometimes people underestimated his strength and chose to weak of a contract to hold him. And then the stronger the contract got, the more complex to draw – sometimes mages made mistakes. Not that she seemed like the sort of person not to triple check her contract summons, so Junkrat wasn't surprised with a cursory glance revealed no errors. With a well-practiced sweep of her chalk, Symmetra completed the summons and Junkrat felt his hair stand on edge as the tell-tale charge of a contract appeared with in his own summoning circle. There would be no choice but to sign it now. A Robe could do terrifying things to an unbound demon in a well-made summoning circle. Of course, you always got some drongos that resisted but Junkrat had never seen the point – they just hold you longer than you'd be held otherwise and then they had an excuse to rough you up in the process, and Robes rarely needed too much prompting to exercise their power over something. So with a sweep of his hand – his real hand, unseen by the Robe beneath his glamours – he made his mark on the contract, a process that simply meant his essence was tied to whatever the Robe had written and the ancient magic of it. As he did so, Junkrat couldn't help but grin to himself, biting his lips to hold back the laughter that he could feel building in his gut.

Snap goes the trap.

He gave the Robe a flourishing bow. “All done, your humble servant is ready to serve.”

Symmetra checked over her own, chalk-drawn contract circle rather than taking his word on it, nodding with approval when she saw the marks twist and change to show that he had been tied to it. And then came for that sweet moment of release, when she stepped forward out of her own circle, thereby severing the spell that kept his own circle together. After all, she didn't have to be afraid anymore. When you were bound to a contract, you couldn't hurt them any more, after all.

But, of course, the Robe needed to know your name, to bind you in contract. Your true name.

As soon as the summon circle's power flickered out, Junkrat surged. He was fire and explosions and destruction, and he shot from the summoning circle. His ash streaked the walls and his hunger made the air so dry it crackled and his laughed filled the room like splinter glass. Before he could touch her though, before he could shred those pathetic protection charms she wore, he felt his muscles lock and then the pain hit. He went down and he went down hard, the fire immediately dying and theatrics fizzling out. All that was left was his simple, human-like form writhing on the floor as the Robe's spell bit its fangs into him.

“Did you not hear me, perhaps?” Symmetra said, and damn her Junkrat swore he could hear amusement there at the edges of her voice. Like she had expected this. “You are bound to my will. You will not attack me.”

“How the fuck–”

“You don't truly believe I would have made the amateurish mistake of summoning you here under that false name you've circulated, do you?”

Junkrat growled and the flames in his hair licked higher in annoyance. Yes, yes he had, and now he was perfectly embarrassed about it, thank you. But in his defence, it had been working perfectly fine for decades now.

A djinn (or imp or demon or whatever other nasty you were groping about for) couldn't be summoned unless you knew its name. A summons wasn't a contract though, it wasn't binding in the same way, and it did not require a true name – something mages had a way of overlooking. They had a delightful tendency to be very cocksure and self-satisfied when they thought they'd found a demon's name for summoning, so it hadn't been that hard of a thing, to attach a false name to himself. “Junkrat” was a pseudonym he'd been going by for almost longer than he could remember. Mages dug it up, decided they wanted his power, summoned him over, and then Junkrat got to enjoy the delight of their panic and fear when they realized they had no hold true over him once they'd made him sign a contract written with a false name. Once they were gone there was no one to tell the world about this silly little mistake, and the name Junkrat would resurface again some time later with another hopeful looking to take advantage.

“I am not some child witch looking to play with spirits,” Symmetra said as she stood over him – no longer did Junkrat feel tall in this body, and he considered for a moment being petty enough to change back into the rats and scamper over her boots. Then again, she didn't look like the sort of person who'd be scared by that. At best he'd probably get exasperation. “I conduct my research professionally and thoroughly, and I know your name, Jamison. It is by that name your contract was written, it is by that name you are bound, and it is by that name I will command you.”

Jamison spat in annoyance, before finally pushing himself upright. His body shifted as he did so, a long, whip-like tail forming and his teeth and nails sharpening further. Annoyance thrummed through his body – he did not like being tricked and he did not like being beaten. He was the hunter, he lay the traps, not the other way around. It had been some time since a human had managed to hold his leash.

“I'm not sure you made a good choice there, shiela; I don't take orders well,” he warned her. And he didn't. Anything less than an iron-clad command, he would take advantage of, he would break their contract, and he would destroy her.

“I do not make bad choices, demon,” she informed him, “I make educated ones. I require something very specific and difficult performed, which means I need an expert. All my readings suggest that that is you. In any case, I think you may actually be intrigued by what I intend to do.”

“Oh yeah,” Jamison sneered. “And what's that? Mess up your rival's hair? Flub some opponent's spell? Put on a little fire and lights show to show off a bit?”

“Something very rare and very powerful has recently resurfaced from obscurity. The one to unlock and wield its power would, quite literally, have the power to shape the world – for the good or ill. My company has taken an interest in it, and therefore so have I. I require it stolen from those that currently possess it.” She gave him a considering look. “My sources suggest that you are considered something of a thief among demons. A treasure hunter. Get this for me, and do so well, without fighting me every step of the way, and I think we can work out an arrangement that will please us both.”

Jamison felt his heart pick up a little, tail twitching with interest, though he would never admit it. “Junkrat” was known for his affinity with fire and explosions. When Robes summoned him under that name, they were looking for big, raw power, plain and simple. It had been a long time since he'd been sent to steal anything of even remote interest.

He did not want to be intrigued a human. No good ever came from it and he knew he got involved in their petty squabbles too easily – Roadhog would never let him live down the time they'd been summoned together and Junkrat's idiotic, blindly won trust in their summoner led to both of them nearly being killed along with the Robe. No, better to avoid it all.

...Yet he couldn't help but be a little intrigued by this woman who had so easily put him to heel, who was so efficient and skilled and yet was apparently willing to toe one of the most cardinal rules of magic: do not enter deals with a demon.

“Alright,” said Jamison. “I'm listening.”

#symmrat week 2017 #symmrat #junkmetra #junkrat #symmetra #satya vaswani #overwatch #fanfiction #au #bartimaeus au #i'm not sure if this makes sense to anyone else or if i even did it that well but this is an idea that's been rattling in my brain for a bit #so what better time to beat it out than as a ficlet for symmrat week #this is uh... obviously like pre-pre-relationship

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