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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬4

Warnings: nonconsensual touching, fingering, deceptive behaviour, allusions to abuse.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Note: I haven’t updated in a minute but I got the yen to come back to Arvin so here we go! Also working away at my gif requests which are super fun :)

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The fight echoed in your head as Arvin buttoned up the front of your dress, although a few were missing. He helped you to your feet and you leaned on him heavily, barely able to see ahead of you, let alone support yourself on your shaky legs. You climbed the stairs as your mind passed through a tunnel of shock. You didn’t realise you’d even left the living room until you were lowered onto the bed.

Arvin sat beside you, his hand on your shoulder as he spoke softly. You didn’t understand his words as you turned your face away and tears trickled down your tender cheek. You weren’t sad that Roy was gone, you were embarrassed that another had seen what you let him do to you, and terrified of the nice man with the pistol.

Was he really so nice? You barely knew him at all and he’d had a gun under your roof. Sure, Roy had a rifle but that was for hunting. You couldn’t say or even try to imagine why Arvin had a handgun.

The lamp clicked off and the end of the chain clinked against the long stem. You laid in the dark, not daring to move, and after hours of dazed disbelief, you dozed off, your back wracked with pain from the tension and awkward position.

You woke with a stiff neck, a swollen face, and a weight in your chest. You sat up slowly and held your forehead as the bed shifted. Arvin dumped an armful of Roy's old flannels into the open suitcase at the foot of the mattress. You blinked and rubbed your eye as you leaned on one arm. You yawned and stretched your shoulders.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"I'll see him today," he said as he pulled open the chest of drawers and grabbed the stained and torn denim from within, "make sure he stays away for good."

"What? Arvin," you bent your legs and crossed your arms over your knees, "he's my husband."

"He didn't act like one," he continued to toss Roy's clothes haphazardly into the bag, "he beat you!" He stopped and put his hands on his hips, "he never talked to you nice and…" he stopped and shook his head and closed the suitcase. He zipped it up with a sigh, "I heard him that first night. I figured, you weren't my wife, I could live with it. Well, I can't. You deserve better than him."

"It's not that easy. I can't just toss him out--"

"No, I did," Arvin insisted, "and I'll keep him out."

"You shouldn’t have done that. Last night. He'll be mad."

"So?" Arvin hauled the bag off the bed and dragged it to the door. The bottom of his shirt moved and revealed the butt of the gun sticking out of the top of his jeans.

"Are you gonna make sure with that?" You asked as you turned your legs over the side of the bed, "you can't just shoot him, you know that, don't you?"

"Of course, but he doesn't know I won't," Arvin looked back at you, "I'm gonna make breakfast then head out… how's your head?"

"Feels like there's a rock in my temple," you groaned and stood, "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"No one but you, huh?" He challenged, "Look, I won't hurt him, I promise, but I also won't let him hurt you."

You neared him meekly as you hugged yourself, "why?"

"Because you do," he said, "because if you won't save yourself, I will. I have to," he looked down at his scuffed shoes, "I seen too many girls, too many women, hurt in my life. I ain't that old, you know? But I can't stand no more."

You watched him go and listened to him descend the old stairs. You frowned and flinched as you glanced around and caught a glimpse of yourself in the antique oval mirror your mother had left behind all those years ago. You looked as bad as you felt, worse; you couldn't help but be comforted by Arvin's concern, in fact, it felt good to have someone who cared about you.

🚬

It was hard to concentrate that day. Even a chore as simple as the dishes or sweeping the floors took twice as long as usual as your mind strayed to the night before and fears of what was to come.

You tried to convince Arvin to leave the bag there but he wasn’t folding, not like you. You admired him for that, but at the same time it made you squirm. Something had changed. He was no longer the sweet young man staying in your attic, he became the indomitable and angry man waving the gun around as he spoke about killing others without so much as flinching.

You remembered what he said. He’d killed a man before, or was it men? It wasn’t like you had anyone who could or would help you. You doubted Roy would come back even if you wanted him to, and on that front, you just couldn’t be sure. He was your husband and it was improper to put him out but let another man sleep under your roof.

The only woman in town who’d dared divorce her husband was Carmen Dolan and there was no where in town she went where people didn’t whisper about her; at the store, in church, and even on the sidewalks. It didn’t matter that her husband was sneaking around or that he was little better than Roy in his manners. It was a small place and people had too much time to talk.

Well, how many friends did you have there? Noreen couldn’t be called as much and all the girls you knew in school were married and too busy to keep up those old teenage ties. You could bide them at the sewing circles, they never were very nice, and you went to church out of obligation not out of a need for that ridiculous shallow socializing of housewives. Besides, you’d failed at all that, hadn’t you?

Then you began to worry. What if Roy flipped and hurt Arvin? Or Arvin hurt him? The suitcase would hardly be taken with a thanks. If Roy was ashamed enough he might just grumble and ignore the other man for the rest of the day, but if he wasn’t, he might just pick up where they left off last night.

You were hanging out the washing when a faded old Chevrolet drove up the dusty drive. You squinted past the stiff jeans as it steered closer and the engine stopped. Arvin climbed out and jingled the keys as he went around the other side. He took out a paper bag and crossed the yard.

“How was your day?” he asked with a smile.

You stared, dumbfounded. How could he act so… normal?

“Wh--what happened with…” your voice trailed out and you unclipped a pair of his jeans.

“Roy? Oh, he took his things and tucked tail after lunch,” he scoffed, “he didn’t look too good. Probably didn’t feel good neither.”

You nodded and dropped the jeans into the basket and tucked the pegs into your pocket. He crinkled the paper bag and stopped you from reaching to the next pair.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You shook your head and stepped back so that his hand fell from your arm.

“I know last night was-- hard. I only did what I had to, not anything I wanted to,” his brows drew together, “here.”

He held out the paper bag and you eyed it warily. You chewed your lip and he stepped closer.

“Please, it’s, uh, I want you to have it,” he said, “you deserve it and maybe it is an apology. I went a little far but… I don’t regret it. Roy got what was coming.”

You took the bag and he tucked his hands in his pockets. “You didn’t have to get me nothing,” you said.

“Like I said, I wanted to. You do all the hard work here,” he replied, “and I’ll finish this up.”

He reached up and took down the next pair of pants and put them in the basket with the rest. He moved down the line as you watched him, the bag under your arm. You didn’t move, just watched. You looked over at the Chevrolet and frowned.

“Where’d you get the car?” you asked.

“Used,” he said as he folded a shirt in half and dropped it into the basket, “they had it down at the shop for a while now and I told the boss to take out installments from my next few checks. He didn’t mind much, he ain’t been able to get rid of it. Some work to be done but--” He lifted the basket and neared you, “you didn’t look yet?”

“Inside,” you said, “I didn’t wanna just leave you out here with all that.”

You nodded to the laundry and he pointed you toward the house. He followed you up onto the porch and through the screen door. He stopped to slip off his shoes and continued on after you into the living room. You put the bag down on the end table and uncurled the top.

You pulled out the large square and held up the record. The man who stared back at you had sparkling blue eyes and black hair. Elvis Presley smiled as if it was all a funny joke.

“There’s more,” he said.

You set down the record against the arm of the couch and reached into the brown bag again. You pulled out the fabric and a finely tailored pink dress in the latest style unfolded before you. You stared as he neared and he took the bag from the table. He revealed the last piece from the bag and set them down on the carpet, a pair of brand new heels.

“Why did you do all this?” you shoved the dress at him, “I can’t accept it.”

“You can,” he stepped back, “and just so you know, I’ll be paying my rent to you direct now.”

He sidled past you and took the album from the couch. He went to the record player and slid the vinyl from the sleeve. He carefully placed it on the player and lined up the pin. He turned back to you and crossed the room. He pulled the dress from your hands and let it slump over the couch cushion.

“Do you know the shimmy? I could show you? It’s the new thing,” he said as he took your hand, “you just move your hips, bend your legs a little, keep your arms out like this.” He moved slowly at first as he drew you into the middle of the room, “just with me, to the rhythm.”

“I can’t,” you protested, “really, I’m not a dancer.”

“Me neither, but it’s fun,” he tugged on your hand, “come on.”

He sang out of tune as he kept his hips moving. You watched him and tried to copy him, hoping to placate him long enough that you could escape to the kitchen. The dress, the album, the dancing, it all felt so wrong.

As the song ended, he brought you close and wrapped you up and slowed down. He swayed you with him as the record kept spinning. His eyes clung to yours.

“He didn’t know what he had,” he said.

“Arvin, I gotta start supper,” you whispered as you pushed on him, “please.”

“I got you the new dress so we could go to the drive-in,” he kept you against him, “Friday night. You like Audrey Hepburn?”

“I… haven’t seen much of her,” you confessed, “Arvin, really, the ham--”

“He’s not coming back,” he released you reluctantly, “I told you. I told him.”

“He’s still my husband,” you crossed your arms and looked down.

“Is he? He never treated you like his wife.”

“It’s the law--”

“Divorce him. You’ll keep the house, it’s yours. Your daddy left it to you.”

“And do what? I can’t afford it on my own--”

“You got me.”

“You won’t stay here forever,” you uttered.

He didn’t say anything and narrowed his eyes. He shrugged and turned away. “You have options and Roy is the wrong one,” he said, “you can’t hate yourself that much.”

You barely heard him and didn’t know how to respond. So you didn’t and left him to Elvis’ soft tones as you went to pull out the honey ham. You still had some of your sweet mustard left in that jar from last year or maybe the apple sauce. It was easier to focus on the food and not the madness of men.

🚬

The nights and days drifted by like sand in a glass. Whenever Arvin was there, even when he was in the attic and you were below, you were painfully aware that it was only the two of you in that big house. You weren’t afraid for yourself really, he hadn’t done anything to you. You should hate Roy for how he’d been to you all those years but you didn’t want to be the reason he got hurt.

But as the time went by, it was also harder to tell Arvin no. You never thought anyone could be overly helpful, especially after Roy’s indifference, but you were overwhelmed by his presence. He was always lurking around when you least expected, watching you, waiting. He always offered to finish the chore or kept you from doing it entirely. You should be thankful but it made you feel more guilty than anything.

When Friday came, you carried on your usual routine. You were mopping when the Chevrolet pulled up. He’d spent the night before with his head under the hood. He said it wasn’t too bad for the price and the repairs were minimal and none so urgent.

The car door closed then his steps walked up onto the porch. As he entered the house, you hit the mop against the wall and kept your head down, swiping back and forth against the wood. He didn’t dare to step past the threshold and mess your clean floors.

“You should finish up and get ready,” he said.

You looked up at him and feigned ignorance. You hoped all day he would forget about the movie. You didn’t want to wear the dress, it made your wedding ring chafe just to think of it. You focused again on the mop and kept back stepping away from him.

“Maybe not tonight, Arvin,” you said, “I’m tired.”

“You don’t have to work yourself sick,” he leaned against the doorframe, “really. You can always just take a day and… relax.”

You put the mop in the bucket and rested it against the wall. You took a deep breath but didn’t look at him.

“I don’t think we should go at all.”

He sighed and rubbed his cheek, “Really? Roy hasn’t even tried to come back. Hasn’t even tried to apologise. In all these years, did he ever once say sorry to you for anything?”

“Maybe not but I married him. I made that decision and I have to see it through.”

“Not like that,” he tutted, “besides, it’s just a movie…”

“Just a movie,” you repeated and walked over the drying floor, “alright then.”

He watched you and the thoughts wrinkled on his forehead. He let you go as you grabbed the railing and ascended the stairs. You felt his eyes on you, even after you turned down the hall, as if he could see you through the walls.

“We got time,” he called up, “no rush. It’s not even close to dark but I don’t want you to worry about… all this.”

You didn’t reply and closed the bedroom door. You sat on the end of your bed and clasped your hands. You still felt terribly trapped. You didn’t think so much of what Roy would say, he always said the worst. You thought about your father and how disappointed he would be. You knew he wouldn’t have let Roy treat you so bad if he was still alive, but he would still be sad if he knew how it all worked out.

🚬

You hadn’t been to the drive-in since you were going steady with Roy. It was a singular occasion and an unpleasant one. He got drunk and couldn’t drive home so you had to get behind the wheel and pray you didn’t crash. It wasn’t that you couldn’t drive, you just hated it. Thinking of it then, you should have expected all that came after.

Arvin pulled in as the sky dimmed slowly and he left you to go to concession and grab popcorn. When he returned, he handed you a box of chocolates as he cradled the large paper bag of kernels. You thanked him and opened the box, distracting yourself with the chewy caramels covered in milk chocolate. You offered him some as you looked around and waited for the screen to flash into motion.

There were a few families among the patrons but mostly teenagers, couples and groups, rowdy as they impatiently hollered for the film to roll. You hadn’t heard of this one, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Arvin said he read about it in the paper and it was supposed to be a flick meant for ladies. He said he didn’t mind as he liked the actors.

When at last it was dark enough, the movie began and you set the box down on the seat and munched on a handful of popcorn out of courtesy. The credits began and you were quickly swept up into the life of Holly Golightly. You were almost agog to think that a woman could live like her. City life seemed so different, so free, so scary. And she didn’t let all those men rule her.

You felt Arvin slide closer to you and his arm snaked around your shoulders. You tensed as you focused on Hepburn’s waifish voice and offkey plucking of the ukulele. You tried to ignore him as you felt his warm breath and the kiss on your temple made you wince. Your eyes flicked over to the car on the other side of you, then the next. The audience was rapt.

His hand grazed along your skirt and he kissed your cheek. Your heart raced wildly. You wanted to stop him but didn’t know how. And he was so sweet and he did so much for you. He’d brought you all the way here and kept Roy from cracking your head open. Could you really say no?

“I know I said it already,” his hand lingered on the pink fabric, “but this looks wonderful on you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered as you kept your wide eyes on the screen.

“Really, you’re beautiful, honey,” he purred as he nuzzled your throat, “living so close… it’s hard…”

He pushed his hand under your skirt and up between your thighs. He wiggled until you parted your legs and grabbed your chin with his other. He turned you to face him and crushed his lips against yours. He leaned on you until you were flat against the seat and he brought your legs up onto the leather as he held himself over you.

He kissed you even deeper as his fingers tickled over the front of your panties and crawled up to the top. He slipped his hand down the front of your underwear and you whimpered. When he touched you, you were afraid but confused. It felt good, better than anything you’d ever done with Roy.

You gulped and turned your head as you gasped. You grabbed his shoulder and shuddered. His fingers delved between your folds and swirled. You murmured and squeezed his arm.

“Please, I’m-- I’m still married, we can’t--”

He nibbled at your neck and blindly reached up to grab your hand. He gripped the ring on your finger and forced it off and flicked it away. It rolled under the seat as he rasped against your throat.

“He’s gone,” his fingers danced around your clit eagerly, “don’t you understand? I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back, honey.”

“Arvin, I--” you squeaked as the waves swelled and flowed down your legs and you were caught in the tide, “please…”

You closed your eyes, your mind stormed with how wrong it was but your body pulsed with delight. He pushed his fingers further back and the heel of his hand pressed to your bud. He curled his fingers inside of your and you moaned as he rested the weight of his pelvis against his hand. He rocked his touch in time with his hips, as if he was fucking you, and kissed you on the mouth again, swallowing up your desperate cries.

Your legs wrapped around his as you came and you tilted your pelvis as you rode the high. He lifted his head to watch you orgasm and your lashes fluttered as you succumbed to the ecstasy. You squirmed as he slowed his fingers and stilled his hand entirely. You were out of breath as he stopped at last but kept his hand nestled between your legs.

You covered your face with your shaky hand and exhaled deeply. He pulled your hand down and rubbed the tip of his nose against yours.

“I’ll buy you a new ring,” he purred, “a nicer one.”

#Arvin Russell #dark arvin russell #dark!arvin russell #arvin russell x reader #the devil all the time #Of something beautiful but annihilating #series #fic #dark!fic #dark fic

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jekde04 · 3 years

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For Gruvia Week 2021: Day 3 - Discovery

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 4

Pairing: Gruvia (Gray Fullbuster & Juvia Lockser) Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Romance/Humor Word Count: 4,424 words Summary: It was safe to say that this wasn't the way Gray envisioned revealing their relationship to anyone. You may also read it on FanFiction.net and AO3! Check out my master list for other Gruvia fics.

The smell of curry wafted through his bedroom before he heard her call his name.

"Gray-sama! Lunch is ready!"

Really, he would have been happy with a couple of caramade franks delivered to his doorstep. But Juvia would hear none of it, saying he ought to eat healthier homecooked meals whenever he could—an indirect way of telling him that she would cook for him every chance she got. And even though Gray protested that Juvia was unnecessarily tiring herself out, she was the type of person who would go through all the trouble to make him happy. Even if that meant cooking a full meal of his favorite food the day after she just got back from a week-long mission.

Clad only in his boxers, Gray got up from his bed and made his way to his apartment's dining area. It wasn't much, just a square wooden table large enough to seat two people (or four, if you cramp them in). He watched as Juvia—wearing only his shirt that looked too large on her delicate frame—prepared the table, making sure to put extra curry sauce over his rice like she knew he loved.

Juvia moved her chair to the corner of the table so that she was sitting next to him, their arms and knees touching.

"Tsk! Why are you sitting so far from me?" Gray grumbled, pretending to be annoyed.

Juvia glanced at him, confusion evident on her face. "What is Gray-sama talking about? Juvia is almost on your lap." Even so, she moved closer to him so that they were almost squished together.

"But you're not."

With a mischievous smile playing on his lips, Gray picked Juvia up like a plushie and sat her on his lap. She shrieked and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Now that's better," he grinned, one arm around her waist and another across her lap, his fingers palming her exposed guild mark.

"Gray-sama!" Juvia scolded him, a healthy shade of pink blooming on her pale cheeks. "Juvia and Gray-sama should be eating. We already skipped breakfast!"

"So?" He ignored her weak protests as he tightened his hold on her waist and buried his head at the crook of her neck, leaving a wet kiss just below her ear. He could feel her fingers gripping the hair on his nape as he trailed kisses down her neck.

"Gray-sama..."

It was supposed to be a plea to let her go, but it came out huskier than Juvia intended, causing a tightness in Gray's boxers. With all the energy she could muster, Juvia pushed him away and cradled his head between her hands so that she could look him in the eyes.

"Gray-sama needs to eat so he can have more energy—" she kissed him on the lips—"to satisfy Juvia." She sported a sweet, innocent smile, but there was an unmistakably playful glint in her eyes.

Gray smirked. "Am I not satisfying you, huh?" He kissed her hard before she could even answer, and Juvia tried her best not to melt into a puddle right then and there.

"You are," Juvia said between kisses. "But Gray-sama and Juvia need to eat. Our last meal was last night."

"But I only want to eat you," Gray whispered as he nibbled at her ear, his hand sliding dangerously between her legs. Juvia tried to protest, but her voice came out so weak as Gray trailed kisses on her cheek and covered her mouth with his.

A couple of knocks made both of them jump.

"Are you expecting someone, Gray-sama?" Juvia asked, finally getting a chance to pull away, but not enough to completely escape.

"No," Gray mumbled. He couldn't care less as he continued planting wet kisses on Juvia's cheeks, down to her jaws and neck. If he ignored whoever was at the door, that person would surely go away.

A louder set of knocks pounded on his door.

Collecting as much willpower as she could possibly get (given that Gray was practically lapping her up like a cold popsicle on a blazing hot day), Juvia hopped off Gray's lap and straightened herself.

"Gray-sama should answer that."

"C'mon, Juvs," Gray whined, hating how she was suddenly out of his reach. He tried grabbing her wrist, but she quickly pulled her hands to her chest and pointed towards the door. He felt the urge to punch whoever was on the other side.

That bastard won't even know what's coming.

Sighing, Gray started to make his way towards the door when a barrage of knocks once again threatened to take his door off the hinges. It was followed by a voice that sent a chill down his spine.

"Open up, Fullbuster!"

It only took a second for Juvia to recognize the familiar voice and cover her mouth with her hands.

"Erza-san? What's she doing here?"

"How would I know? I told her I was sick!" Gray said, careful not to raise his voice. Not only did he lie to Erza and his whole team so that he could skip their mission—he did it so he could spend time with Juvia, his secret girlfriend for about a month now. After all, she just got back from a mission herself, and they had barely spent three full days with each other since they got together as they were whisked away to mission after mission—he with Team Natsu and she with Gajeel and Lily.

For goodness' sake, they deserved their 'alone time' together. And by that, he meant getting away from the prying eyes of his guildmates.

It wasn't like anyone would be disappointed to learn that he and Juvia were going out. In fact, he was quite sure he would have to endure merciless teasing from pretty much everyone in the guild for at least a couple of weeks when they found out about them.

It was just that with Juvia right here—in his home, wearing only his shirt and her skimpy lacy panties that barely covered her bum—it was safe to say that this wasn't the way he envisioned revealing their relationship to anyone.

"Gray! We brought food." It was Lucy this time.

He took a deep breath. Okay, you just have to show them you're fine and they'll leave you alone. Turning to Juvia, he said, "Hide. In my room. Now."

Juvia nodded and noiselessly scurried off to Gray's room. Though hiding their relationship for the meantime was more of Gray's idea than hers, she definitely didn't want to reveal it by getting caught half-naked in his apartment.

Another series of pounding brought Gray's attention back to his front door. "Gray, I swear if you don't open this right now, I will—"

Gray opened the door and came face to face with a worried Lucy and a frowning Erza, both carrying huge brown paper bags brimming with snacks and fruits.

"Thanks for visiting, but I'm fine. You can go," Gray said in a flat tone. Well, if he wanted to continue his make-out session with his girlfriend, he better get down to business right away and cut his friends' visit as short as possible.

"Hello to you, too," Erza answered the cranky ice mage. Without being invited in, she sidestepped Gray and walked straight to the kitchen, setting down the paper bag she was carrying. Lucy followed, muttering, "Geez, thanks for the warm welcome," and started taking out the food they brought with them.

"Seriously, what are you two doing here?" he asked as he followed them into the kitchen.

"We're being good friends, dummy," Lucy answered him. "You're sick, so we thought we'd make sure you're okay."

"Well, I'm okay. You didn't have to go out of your way for this."

"And just let you starve to death?" Erza asked. Everyone knew Gray couldn't cook an egg to save his life. She found a box of medicines in the grocery bag and tossed it to Gray.

"That doesn't seem to be the case, though," Lucy quipped, her hand holding a barely eaten bowl of curry. "Someone must have already stopped over to cook for Gray."

Gray gulped and tried his best to keep a straight face.

"You know, this tastes like the curry Juvia cooks for us in Fairy Hills," Erza remarked after tasting the dish, a crease forming on her brows.

Oh no, Gray thought. How did Juvia's name come up all of a sudden? And how the hell would he steer the conversation around? His mind drew up a blank, fixated on the fact that Juvia was just a few feet away from being found and he couldn't do a single thing about it.

"Did Juvia drop by this morning to bring you food, Gray?" Lucy asked in a teasing tone, a naughty glint in her eyes.

"Y-yes! Yes, that's what she did!" Gray answered, a little too eagerly. "And then she left right away. For a mission. For three days. Yeah, that's it. She won't be back for three days." Mentally, he thanked Lucy for giving him that perfectly plausible scenario.

"Really? I'm surprised she didn't insist on taking care of you," Erza said. Gray smirked as he remembered all the ways Juvia took care of him since last night.

"Yeah, that's so unlike Juvia, isn't it?" Lucy said, her hand cradling her chin like she was deep in thought. Her eyes shot up to Gray, making beads of sweat form on his forehead. "Are you sure you're not hiding her in your apartment?"

"W-what?!" A furious blush adorned Gray's cheeks. "Why would you think that?!"

He must have looked so exasperated as both girls broke into a fit of laughs.

"I'm just kidding, Gray. You're so fun to tease," Lucy said, while Erza placed her hand on his forehead and said, "I think your fever shot up again."

"Sh-shut up," Gray said, swatting Erza's hand and reverting to his usual poker face. He took a seat and grabbed one of the plates, taking a mouthful of rice in his mouth. Now that Juvia wasn't within arm's reach, he was starting to feel hungry. After all, it had been more than 12 hours since he last ate.

And Juvia, too.

"Look, I'm grateful for all your help, but I'd really like to be alone and rest," he said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "I can totally handle myself."

"Aww, don't be like that! We were just teasing you," Lucy said as she sat next to him. She took the other plate of curry and started eating. "This is really good! I haven't tasted Juvia's curry before."

Noticing that Lucy was eating Juvia's share, Gray blurted, "Don't eat that!"

Lucy just rolled her eyes. "Chill lover boy, there's more than enough here for everyone."

"Can't believe you're not just overprotective of Juvia. You're also super protective of her food," Erza taunted as she got her own plate and started putting food on it.

Gray sighed. What should I do to make these two leave?

"Yeah, you're all protective but you're not doing anything about it. Juvia is a patient girl, but you never know when she'd get tired of waiting for you."

"Might be soon." Gray glowered at Erza, but she ignored him and added, "Mira saw her giggling and blushing at her lacrima several times while we were on a mission."

"Come to think of it, you're sick, yet she left on a three-day mission?" Lucy surmised and Erza nodded. "Perhaps she already found someone who would actually appreciate her."

Gray balled his fists under the table. Even though his friends had no idea that he was actually the one Juvia was talking to via lacrima during their mission, he couldn't help but feel a bit mad that they would think Juvia's affections would sway that easily.

"Juvia would never betray me," he snapped before he could even think.

"Betray you?" Lucy raised her eyebrows.

"Why would you call it betrayal? Is she your girlfriend?" Erza narrowed her eyes at him.

"Juvia's not my girlfriend! I don't care about her!" Gray blurted.

It was really more out of impulse than anything else, but he immediately regretted his words when he heard a loud crash from his bedroom.

"What was that?" Erza asked, a sword suddenly materializing in her hand. Lucy grabbed her keys, and both girls stood up and went to the direction of Gray's bedroom.

Oh, fuck.

Gray jumped in front of the two girls with outstretched arms, blocking their way. "Calm down! I'll go check it."

"No, you stay here," Erza said in that no-nonsense tone that would have normally made Gray freeze on the spot, if Juvia's life (and their secret relationship) weren't on the line. He grabbed her arm.

"That's my bedroom, okay? I'll check and you'll both stay here."

It all happened so fast. One moment he was holding onto Erza's arm, and the next thing he knew, she had escaped from his grasp and was heading towards his bedroom just as Lucy turned the knob...

"Stop!"

"Gotcha!" Lucy yelled as she barged into Gray's bedroom, the requip mage right behind her. Erza's eyes darted from the bed to the closet to the tightly shut windows, like a predator looking for its prey. Lucy pulled back his messy sheets and opened his cabinet with a vigor that he seldom saw in the woman. Why does she look so excited?

There was no trace of any living creature anywhere.

A wave of relief washed over Gray when the two women stopped rummaging around his room. Still, he couldn't shake off his worry as he thought of his girlfriend. Did she just manage to hide so well? Or was she attacked? Just the thought of someone laying a hand on Juvia made his stomach turn to knots.

"How could this fall for no reason?" Lucy wondered aloud as she picked up the intact plastic lamp on the floor right beside the bed. She also sneaked a peek under the bed, making Gray's heart thump loudly. But the frown on her face as she got up made it clear that she didn't find anyone there, either.

Sighing loudly, Gray said, "Alright, show's over. No one's here, so get out of my room and let me fix some stuff here." Erza and Lucy exchanged quick glances but didn't resist when Gray pushed them out of his room and slammed the door.

Alone at last, his eyes swept across his disheveled room. "Juvia, where are you?"

"In here, Gray-sama."

A small puddle leaked from under his bed, materializing into Juvia's body. She's safe. He pulled her up towards him.

"Great thinking. I really thought they're gonna catch us. Are you hurt?" Gray asked as he inspected her body. She didn't seem hurt or anything.

"Juvia's okay. She was just caught off guard so she accidentally toppled your bedside lamp." She smiled, but one look at her despondent eyes showed that it wasn't as simple as that. Something was bothering her.

"Was it... because of what I said?"

Honestly, Gray didn't mean anything by it. Saying that Juvia wasn't his girlfriend and that he didn't care for her that way had always been his default defense whenever he was being teased about her. And now it became a habit that wasn't easy to shake off.

When she didn't answer, he sighed. "Come on, you know what I said wasn't true. I just said those things to get them off my back." He captured her hands in his. "I'm sorry."

Smiling at him, she replied, "Juvia understands. Gray-sama should go outside, or Erza-san and Lucy-san would get suspicious."

She still had that forlorn look on her face, which reminded him of how much convincing he had to do when he first bared his feelings for her.

"Juvia's sorry for doubting you, Gray-sama. It's just that he has denied Juvia's love for so long that she finds this all hard to believe. What if she wakes up one day and realizes this isn't real?"

That was when he realized that even though Juvia took his rejections in stride, his words still cut her. He then promised himself to treat her better, not just in actions but also in words.

Even if she was the only one who heard it. She was the only one that mattered, anyway.

Gray moved his hands to her cheeks, cradling her face as they locked eyes. "Hey, you know me, right? You know how I really feel about you?"

Juvia nodded, but he knew the doubts still lingered.

"I love you, Juvia."

And even though he had lost count of how many times he already told her that, her eyes still shone with the same sparkle they had back when she heard those words for the first time.

"Juvia loves you too, Gray-sama."

He gave her a gentle kiss, which would have been perfect and magical were it not for a low grumble coming from Juvia's stomach. She giggled. "Sorry. Juvia's starving."

Gray opened his drawer and handed her a couple of candies. "It's the only edible thing I have here now, but I promise I'll make them leave right away so we can eat together, alright? Just stay quiet." He stole another quick kiss from his girl before he left, careful not to open the door too much.

He found Erza and Lucy huddled together on his couch, keeping their voices low as they talked. When the celestial mage noticed him approaching, she cleared her throat and said, "Hey Gray, are you feeling better already?" She walked towards him and caught his face between her hands, turning his head whichever way and inspecting his body as if looking for some wound or scratch or something.

That was weird alright, but he decided to shrug it off and just focus on the task at hand: kick his annoying friends out of his house.

"I'm good. Get off me," he answered, swatting her hands away. Moving right between the two girls, he draped his arms over their shoulders. "You know, I really appreciate your concern over me, but I can handle myself." He started pushing them towards the door. "I really, really, really want to rest a bit more though—" just a few more steps and he could already reach his front door—"so please leave."

Just when he was about to open the door, the redhead spun around and glared at him. "Hold it. Why are you so anxious to kick us out of your house?"

He froze. "W-well, I told you I'm okay already..."

"Are you sure?" Lucy said, facing him as well. She placed her hand on his forehead and pulled back immediately. "You're burning up!"

"No, I'm not."

He couldn't understand why they kept walking closer and closer to him with an excited look in their eyes. Taking huge steps back until he was almost right outside his bedroom door, he felt like a small kitty getting cornered by two hyenas.

Two crazy, vicious hyenas.

"Perhaps we could give you a sponge bath?" Lucy purred.

"Oh yes, just like when we were kids. I'm sure it'll make you feel all better," Erza added.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?!"

Before Gray could make a run for it, his bedroom door slammed open and a furious Juvia swooshed past him, pinning the two women to the opposite wall.

"LOVE RIVALS!"

But instead of getting scared by the dark aura coming from the water mage, Lucy clapped her hands and let out a delighted squeal. Erza, on the other hand, looked like she had saucers for eyes as she stared right back at the girl glaring daggers at them.

"I knew it!" Lucy yelled. She pointed to Juvia, then Gray. "You two..."

"So, the rumors are true..." Erza muttered to herself, still not believing what she was seeing.

Gray sighed. There was no use hiding things now. And he better do something before his girlfriend water slices two of his best friends.

"Alright, fine." He walked towards them and pried Juvia away from the two girls. "Juvia and I, we're together. Happy?"

That seemed to snap Juvia out of her jealous rage as her head whipped towards Gray. "Gray-sama?"

Lucy let out another squeal, cheeks pink with giddiness. "It's about time! But—" She punched Gray's bare arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"You didn't ask! It's not like I can just blurt it out in the middle of a conversation!"

"Of course you can!" Another punch. "How can you hide this huge thing from us? If Natsu hadn't told us, we wouldn't even know!"

"Natsu-san?" Juvia asked. "Did Gray-sama tell Natsu-san about us? Gray-sama told Juvia not to tell Gajeel-kun," she pouted.

"I didn't tell him, I swear! Why the hell would I tell that idiot about us?"

"Natsu overheard you talking to Juvia on your lacrima," Erza explained as she straightened her blouse and skirt. "Believe it or not, he was able to put two and two together and figure out that you two were dating."

She then narrowed her eyes at Gray. "And of course, it helped that he heard everything, Gray."

Juvia turned a bright tomato red, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Gray blushed, remembering the nights he spent during their last mission sneaking out of his and Natsu's tent, calling Juvia in secret just to ask her how she was doing. His flush deepened as he also remembered the not-so-innocent conversations he shared with Juvia when he thought everyone was asleep.

Damn that dragon slayer's hearing!

"There's just one thing I want to know," Erza said in her serious tone, which made both Gray and Juvia straighten. She cleared her throat. "Juvia... Gray didn't... forcefully take your flower, right?"

Gray, Juvia, and Lucy all turned as red as Erza's hair. Even Erza looked like she wanted to withdraw her very suggestive question as she couldn't stop the blood rushing to her face.

"Do you really have to ask, Erza?" Lucy whispered, her eyes fixed intently on the floor, finding it interesting all of a sudden. "I mean, just look at them..."

Gray gave out an indignant "Hey!" while Juvia literally had steam come out of her ears as she tried to cover her burning face with her hands. Thankfully, she had the presence of mind to wear Gray's boxers before storming out of his room, although Gray wasn't sure that the sight of them—him wearing only his boxers and Juvia wearing his clothes and not hers—could salvage their situation.

"W-well, o-of course I had to ask!" Erza reasoned amid her embarrassment. "I know I taught Gray how to respect women, but if he took advantage of Juvia in any way, I would—"

"Calm down, Erza-san," Juvia said, regaining her composure as she touched the requip mage's arm to try to diffuse the sinister aura starting to emanate from her. "Juvia swears that Gray-sama has been nothing but a gentleman to Juvia."

"Yeah, how could you even think I would take advantage of Juvia?" Gray asked, slightly offended. "We're both consenting adults and we know what we're doing!"

"And I am glad to know that." Erza firmly patted Gray's back, and he thought he was going to cough up blood from the impact.

"So..." Lucy teased, poking Juvia's cheek and smirking. "You two are doing it, huh? You owe us details on our next sleepover, Juvia!"

"Lucy-san!" an embarrassed Juvia exclaimed, once again burying her scarlet face in her hands. Lucy laughed, mumbling something about finally not being falsely accused of being a love rival anymore.

Now that everything was out in the open, Gray cleared his throat and hollered, "Okay, now that we're all good, can you leave us alone now?" He escorted the two girls towards the door once again, and this time, they complied without any protests, finally leaving the couple to their much-awaited alone time.

Gray slumped on his couch. "I'm sorry about all that, Juvia."

"It's not your fault, Gray-sama," Juvia said as she sat beside him and rested her head on his outstretched arms, Gray instinctively pulling her closer. "The whole guild would most likely know about Gray-sama and Juvia before this day ends."

"Yeah."

Juvia sneaked a peek at Gray. "Is Gray-sama okay with that?"

"Well, it's bound to come out sooner or later, right?" Gray answered nonchalantly.

"Juvia is sorry."

Gray looked at his girlfriend, surprised to see her looking a bit down, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "Why?"

He barely caught what she whispered. "Juvia knows Gray-sama doesn't want anyone to know."

And then, it hit him.

Taking her hand in his, he lifted her chin with his other hand so that she could look at him. "Did you seriously think I'd keep you a secret forever?"

When she didn't reply, he continued. "It's not that I didn't want anyone to know. I just didn't want to make a big deal out of it, announcing it and everything. I thought it would come out naturally, like people would just notice. And I certainly didn't want them to find out this way," he said as he gestured towards their half-naked forms.

Juvia giggled. "Gray-sama probably should not have called Juvia during his mission."

"As if you won't call me," he smirked.

"Juvia just didn't want Gray-sama to miss her too much," Juvia said as she nuzzled closer to him.

"Is that so? But I clearly remember a certain someone jumping into my arms the moment she saw me and telling me how much she missed me."

"And she definitely heard a certain someone say that he missed her, too," Juvia retorted, eyes gleaming at him. "He couldn't even get his hands off Juvia..."

"Hey—"

Juvia shut him up by pressing her lips on his for a long, loving kiss. When they finally went up for air, Gray whispered, "How about we continue where we left off earlier?"

"You mean our late lunch?" Juvia asked innocently.

"Not hungry." But just as Gray said that, his stomach grumbled.

"Oh, really?" Juvia cocked her eyebrows. "Come on, Juvia's hungry, too." With that, she dragged him towards the kitchen, leaving no room for complaints.

Gray let Juvia lead the way, watching her hair flowing down her back like soft ocean waves, all the way down to her long, flawless legs. He smiled.

"Alright. But I'm having you for dessert."

A/N: This came out WAY later than I expected. It was one of those stories that started out really good in my head, but the actual writing process turned out to be a pain in the neck. Now I'm just embarrassed to tag this as Gruvia Week 2021 because I'm more than a month late, lol. But I still would because I'm shameless like that, haha.

#gruvia week #gruvia #gruvia fanfic #gruvia fanfiction #gray x juvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #fairy tail

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simpingforsoftboys · 3 years

Text

Love Me, Love Me Not

ft. Kuroken

G/N Reader

TW: Insecurities... I think that’s it?

Read This First

Mini Series Here

Okay part 2/4 for the continuation of “Toxic Things They Do” request. This is probably the hardest one for me because I’m better at writing Kuroken x reader on a platonic level aha. Not proofread because your girl is a slacker-

You’re sitting on the floor of your living room, staring at the tv while Kenma plays on the new PS5 he bought. He��s seated in Tetsuro’s lap, the dark haired male is busy yapping his ear off- to which Kenma lets out small hums of acknowledgement every once in a while to show he’s listening. You want to join them up there, somehow the couch seems so far away from you. Like a pillar high in the sky- only serving to show off what you can’t ever really have. It seems a little dramatic to be thinking that way, sure, but you have a valid reason to put it in such a manner. You know, since you’re allergic to leather and all.

Tetsuro was always so caring, constantly doting on the ones he loves. With his trashy puns, troublesome smirk, and sparkling eyes that promised a good time, he was perhaps the ideal man. He gave his all for those he cared for, seemingly nothing about him was selfish... and yet the leather couch had been Tetsuro’s idea- he had always been fond of the material after all. Even when you brought up the whole issue of you being allergic to it- he still insisted that they purchase a leather sofa.

“We’ll just buy you a separate arm chair or something.” Kenma had said after listening to the both of you argue back and forth. “It’s not like we don’t have the money.” It hurt more looking back on it now than it did at the time. It was an unreasonable solution, but it wasn’t like Kenma was going to disagree with Kuroo. He never did. At least when it came to you that is.

You continue staring at them. There’s something about the way that Tetsuro gazes at Kenma that just screams love and contentment. He’s never looked at you that way- even back when you were in denial you knew that much. Kenma never had to do what you would need to in order to keep his attention on him. All Kenma needed to do was exist- unlike you- he never had to earn dear Kuroo’s love.

Tetsuro only doted on those he loved. He loved Kenma. And he only seemed to love you when Kenma wasn’t around.

“Y/n...” The messy haired male called, long arms winding around your torso. “Let’s go to the arcade! I made some reservations- we have the whole place to ourselves for a few hours.”

You remember being excited at the time- finally you would get to go on a date with Tetsuro. It had been so long since your last one.

“Really? That’s awesome! Let me just get dressed.” You slipped into a pair of jeans and a band t-shirt before hurrying to meet Kuroo at the door. “Tetsu I’m-”

“I can’t believe you got called in so last minute. It’s too late to cancel the reservations already kitten.” Kuroo whines into the phone, obviously talking to Kenma. “Yeah I’m just bringing Y/n, no point in wasting money... oh? Okay see you later. Love you kitten~”

Needless to say, your day seemed a lot less exciting after overhearing that conversation.

Kuroo gently nudged the smaller male aside, standing up to go use the restroom. The two of you made eye contact briefly, he winked playfully before continuing on his way to the bathroom. Your gaze fell upon Kenma- who was still rapidly pushing buttons and triggers on his controller.

Kenma had always been elusive. It was one of the things that drew you into him. He looked so uncaring about everything, at first you couldn’t even have imagined that he would be so attentive to every detail. Was it a trait he had gained from Tetsuro or vice versa? People do say lovers begin sharing habits over time. At first you could barely distinguish one of his expressions from another, but as you spent more time in his company you found much more than you could have hoped. You discovered that he was constantly changing, learning to be more expressive. Each time you thought you had him figured out- he had already developed beyond that.

The minuscule way his lips would upturn when he was amused soon changed into a hidden smile, chuckles threatening to escape his throat. Then that changed to a slightly wider one, showing the smallest amount of his teeth. Eventually he learned to forgo his embarrassment entirely- and he would laugh freely, all teeth, heart, and soul, in it. Yes, Kenma was a constantly evolving individual- like the ever changing maze in the maze runner. There was seemingly no escape to him- just twists and turns and dead ends. He was impossibly deep- a promise of a myriad of mysteries within his eyes.

But you were just another runner- doomed to be lost in the maze- but never to escape it. Kuroo on the other hand was something else. He was on a completely different level- skilled in his knowledge of Kenma- able to come and go as he pleased. You doubted he’d ever wanted to escape. Neither did you- at first.

Out of the two of them, Kenma had always been more receptive of you. It had surprised even Kuroo himself actually. You didn’t doubt Kenma’s love for you- not like you doubted Tetsuro’s- but you also knew that he’d never care for you as much as he did Kuroo. It showed in the little things.

“Y/n did you want to play with me?” Kenma’s soft voice carried over where you were- snuggled up in blankets, playing Animal Crossing while sitting in your arm chair. He had his own red and blue Switch in his hands. Kuroo had been home at the time, you recall hearing him snoring away in your bedroom. “It’s been awhile since it was just us.”

You smiled at his words and agreed. The two of you visiting each others islands and irritating your beloved villagers. It was fun, spending time with Kenma, and you could tell that he was enjoying himself- and not just because of the game. He would shoot you shy, soft smiles when he thought you weren’t looking. It was those smiles that really kept you clinging onto the sinking ship that was your relationship.

Kenma loved you.

The smiles directed towards Kuroo were different. They weren’t shy- instead they were familiar and open. Kenma had known Kuroo far longer than he had you. The comfort he took in him was of an entirely separate magnitude. Naturally, this was the same with the amount of love he held for him too.

He looked happier with Kuroo than he did with you.

Maybe it’s because of that fact that you decided to break the news to Kenma first. Making sure that your skin was covered with you long sleeves, pants, and socks, you made your way over to where Kenma was seated. His eyes tore away from the screen to stare at you worriedly.

“Y/n your allergies-” He began.

“It’s fine, as long as my bare skin doesn’t touch the leather.” You reply, sitting beside him. You know you shouldn’t- not when you’re about to say this- but you yank him into a hug anyways. You hug Kenma tight and hard, because he’s the only one in this relationship that might even love you a sliver as much as you love him. He tries to turn, so that he can embrace you too- but you won’t let him, opting to pin his arms down with your own. It’ll hurt too much to do this if you let him hold you.

“Y/n what’s wrong?” He asks and he looks at you like you’re the only one in the world for that moment. Bitterly, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be in Kuroo’s shoes. Yet again, you are reminded that while this is a rare sensation for you- it’s a daily occurrence between the two of them- looking at each other like they hung the stars up in the sky- that is.

“I have to tell you something Kenma.” You murmur, licking your lips. “But first I’m going to let you go, right after I try to memorize what you feel like against me. And you have to promise not to try to hug me after that okay?”

“W-why? What’s wrong Y/n?” He struggles again, fear overtaking his heart at your words. “What is it?”

“J-just promise me. You can be mad, you can cry, hell you can even laugh afterwards. But don’t try to reach out and hug me okay?” He’s never seen you so serious, so he nods his head.

“I promise.” He agrees and stops fighting against you. You do your best to memorize this- the feeling of him in your arms. He’s warm and despite his lithe figure he’s firm against you. His hair is smooth and soft- since you had managed to drill into him how important hair maintenance was- it smells like his pricey conditioner. You rest your cheek against his for a long moment, before forcing yourself to pull away from him entirely. The half blonde abides by his promise, but it’s clear that he wants to reach out to you.

“This is going to hurt me a lot more than it’s going to hurt you.”

“What are you saying?” Kenma’s anxious now, eyes searching for answers in your own pools of e/c.

“But you have Tetsuro... I don’t know how he’ll feel about this- but he’ll probably be furious with me.” You continue, heavy tears slipping from your tear ducts. “I don’t think this is working out Kenma-”

“What did I do?” He asks, wide eyed and desperate- you can hear the pain in his tone. “Did you fall out of love with me- with us?” The angel and devil perched on your shoulders agree that you should lie to him- tell him ‘yes, I did fall out of love with you.’ The angel says it’s better to do it this way, to spare him the pain of knowing what you went through. While the devil thinks you should say it in the most vicious way possible- to give back all the pain, the unworthiness they made you experience. But you refuse to listen, no one deserves to suffer through your insecurities.

“I’m still in love with you two.”

There’s tears spilling from both of your eyes now.

“Then why-”

“It’s because I’m not content anymore.” It’s not the full truth but it’s better than a lie right? You forgot that a half truth is a whole lie.

“I think we deserve the truth.” Kuroo says from the entrance of the living room, he’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. “Not some half assed explanations.”

“Right...” You agree, blinking back your tears. “I’m so grateful for you two. Tetsuro you’re so caring and selfless, you give your heart in everything you do- I’d be lying to say that I’m over you. Kenma you’ve always been so attentive and I won’t lie- something about you just makes me want to appreciate you endlessly. But babes, you’ve been in love for so long- I can’t possibly catch up.”

Kuroo’s expression is shocked, not expecting this. “Y/n-”

“No, please listen.” You ask of him- just this once- to listen to you. Luckily for you he does. Kenma looks like he wants to speak up too, but swallows his words. It’s the first time they’ve let you get a word in without getting defensive. Kinda poetic if you think about it. Your last 'argument’ as a throuple and the first time they’ve been able to let you say your piece.

“Tetsu, it’s clear Kenma’s your first and foremost priority. I don’t even know if what we have is love or admiration- but it’s not what I’m looking for.” You give him a sad smile and he discovers that it’s the most genuine one he’s seen from you.

“Y/n I-” He tries, only to get an impatient look from both you and Kenma. “Sorry, continue.”

“I’m a hypocrite to say this- but Kenma... this is harder to say because I’ve grown more attached to you overtime.” You hate yourself for what you’re about to say next- the hypocrisy you’re about to spew is enough to render your feelings null and void... or so you believe. “I never doubted with you- what we had... have... it’s definitely love.”

Kenma looks ugly, his face is all scrunched up and theres snot and tears dripping down onto his lap. “It always was- still is Y/n.”

“I know baby.” You whisper back, it pains you to see him like this. “But you’re still more in love with Tetsu.” He can’t deny it either, that’s what pains him the most. “I love the both of you though. So I really do wish you the best. It’s the only thing I can do- because I can’t stay here and hold you back.”

Something inside of Kuroo’s heart cracks and he finds himself tearing up at your words. It hurts because you’re right. He doesn’t love you like that- or at least he doesn’t think so. But if that’s the case then it doesn’t make sense as to why he’s hurting.

“I’m sorry that I had to be the one to call it quits- because I never, ever, wanted to be the one to do that. But guys-” Your voice cracks, it embodies all the heart ache you’re feeling- been feeling for so long. “When it’s just you two, at the altar, finally becoming one... I’ll be able to say with good faith that I made the right decision. So don’t fight me, don’t even say anything- this is what I want. This isn’t for just you- it’s for me too.”

They nod, facing the consequences of your choice- maybe it goes further than that. Maybe all this time the three of you were doomed to fail. If that’s the case then it’s a blessing that you’re not going down in flames. Instead this chapter is ending with a flood of tears and the promise of ruin. But there’s also the underlying hope that one day the flood will dry up and they’ll finally be able to look at the ruins without feeling regret. It’s that hope that all three of you cling too. That hope that one day you’ll be able to rebuild upon the ruins- a new temple, new kingdom. A new place for a rebuilt- or maybe even entirely new- love.

A/N: I did Kuroo so dirty but I’m not sorry about that. In all honesty this is how I feel it’d go in a situation like this. Kuroo’s priority is always going to be Kenma. He’s a chemistry nerd- and their shared chemistry is so deep, it’s engrained onto the face of their soul. I think Kenma does really love Y/n but he’ll always love Kuroo just a little more. But sometimes a little is all the difference and is the game changer in the end. I do think, that if Kenma had loved the two of them equally- then maybe they could have been fine with a polygamous dynamic- but sadly that’s not the case.

This is also the harsh reality to a lot of poly relationships- some people enter them but aren’t prepared to love equally. So there’s an imbalance there that really shouldn’t be there. A lot of authors who write for polyships don’t touch on this but I want to be here to write about the good and the bad.

Seeing the reader after the breakup

#kuroken x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader x kenma #kenma x reader #kenma kozume x reader #answered.requests #learning to let go

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spiralhigh · 3 years

Text

ranking the sdr2 cast by how much their formal wear hits

this is just my opinion, but my opinions are great and i know what i’m talking about! this will be long so it’s under a cut

S TIER:

s tier is reserved for only the best of them all, the cream of the crop, the fit that i would gladly lay down my life for. s tier is the crown jewel. s tier is what everyone else should strive to be... but only one can take the prize.

#1: AKANE OWARI

the undisputed champion. this look is everything to me. EVERYTHING. the red-trim cape with the fur. the contrast of the airy, gathered blouse with those skin-tight shiny (leather? vinyl??) pants. the pumps. the belt that screams disco style. the necklace accentuating the tasteful titty window. the red white and gold color scheme are you FUCKING WITH ME miss owari this look could bring ARMIES to their KNEES in an INSTANT. whoever drew this deserves full creative control of the danganronpa franchise and i’m not kidding

A TIER:

a tier is for the fits that frankly own bones. they’re not as jaw-dropping and legendary as owari, but they’re still razor as hell and deserve to be met with riotous applause.

#2: KAZUICHI SOUDA

kazuichi, i didn’t know you had it in you, but this FUCKS. the character of the pins on the lapels, the sneakers, and the mispinned tie. the absolute CLASS of the suspenders, watch, and tiny round glasses. the handsome slick in the hair now that the greasy beanie is gone. the tasteful highwater. he looks like the host of the larry king show if the larry king show was exclusively about ska bands and he has never looked better

#3: HIYOKO SAIONJI

tell me this isn’t the cutest shit. the colors here are EXQUISITE. the bright notes from the blue on top, the way the soft pink is a perfect middle ground of the pink + white flowers on her sleeves, the subtle way the green in her bow matches the green in her collar, the white petals breaking up the sky blue that might otherwise look out of place? remarkable. stunning.

#4: PEKO PEKOYAMA

the ELEGANCE is EVERYTHING here. the monochrome is offset by just a splash of red that ties everything together with her eyes and the flower in her hair, the checkerboard pattern is visually interesting but not distracting, and her hair in that loose ponytail with the little white ribbon? ugh. ADORABLE! but most of all, look at those BOOTS. those CUTE LITTLE HEELS on those SICK LACE-UP BOOTS..... QUEEN shit!!!

#5: CHIAKI NANAMI

rounding out our a tier is chiaki in this adorable little dress just LOOK at her!!! she looks like a little rose, a perfect flouncy skirt with a glittery mesh overlay, a fun and fresh over-the-shoulder collar, a fucking big old bow tied in the back?? i can literally feel the way this dress would feel in my hands. it’s simple and perfect and frankly a GORGEOUS color on her this is flawless

B TIER:

b tier is a perfectly respectable place to be. these fits lack the lustre and flavor of the a tier entries, but they’re still dressed to impress and they still look fine as hell.

#6: TERUTERU HANAMURA

say what you will about teruteru (and i do) but this suit is ADORABLE and it fits in with his theme + talent better than any other mfer on this list. the tasteful white/brown/red palette gives it a flashy chocolate cookie look, which is amplified in the fun pattern on the jacket. the chef’s hat switching out for a little top hat and the way the cumberbund looks a lil bit like a chocolate bar is also VERY cute

#7: THE IMPOSTOR

now on its own, the suit is just alright. a vibrant pinstripe blue three-piece with the classic red tie wouldn’t land the impostor in b tier on its own... but that FUR COAT, LUXURIOUSLY DRAPED OVER THE SHOULDERS does WONDERS to pull this look together. not only is it worn with “yeah, it’s real mink, no, you can’t touch it” confidence, but it also ties the otherwise arbitrary white loafers into the structure of the look. it’s subtle and class as hell.

C TIER

c tier is full of looks that are... fine, but ultimately either are boring, lack cohesion, or have a confusing design choice or two that make it hard to get all that amped about. c tier is a passing grade, but nothing more.

#8: NAGITO KOMAEDA

there’s a lot that’s good about this outfit, but there’s also a lot that doesn’t really work. let’s start with the good: the slutty loose bowtie and collar, the tight-fitting vest that ends before the hipbones so you can see the belt, the cute little ponytail? (chefs kiss) exquisite, all of it. but the suit itself is boring as sing, and who the hell decided to put the t-shirt symbol on the sleeves??? was it to add visual flavor to an otherwise bland suit? this does NOT have the black/white/red elegance that peko had.

#9: FUYUHIKO KUZURYUU

the silver and gold mob-boss look, complete with matching shoes vest and fedora, are a nice nod to fuyuhiko’s talent! the plaid is teetering on the edge between fun and garish to me, but the fact that it’s consistent and the only pattern means it isn’t too offensive. quick question though: why are his pant legs rolled up like that?? this isn’t a cute “cuffed at the ankle” look, dude looks like he had to wade across a pond to get to the venue. what gives

#10: GUNDAM TANAKA

out of everyone here, gundam’s suit might be the most boring of all. the scarf is just his normal scarf. the red tie and trim don’t do anything to tie the look together. the only mild point of interest is the asymmetrical vest, and i can’t even tell if that’s intentional. simply put, this “““fancy”““ outfit isn’t even in the same ZIP CODE as the level of ostentatious chuuni that gundam serves us every single day in his casual wear. maybe even worse than being ugly... it’s disappointing.

#11: IBUKI MIODA

now, look. is this dress buckwild and ugly as hell? yes. but you know what else it is? it is IBUKI MIODA’S DRESS. there might not be a single cohesive thing about this dress aside from its color scheme. the huge poofy ruffles of the skirt and arm things with the spiked bow and corset are baffling. the artist somehow managed to draw the awkward, clumping shape of the skirt to make it look exactly like an emergency cosplay sewn four hours before a convention. frankly, i can’t justify ranking it as a c! but i’m doing it anyway, because the sheer level of craftsmanship demands it, and in this house we respect diy queens that are totally off the shits.

D TIER:

d tier is for outfits that aren’t offensive, exactly... but like, they sure don’t look good! d tier is not a respectable place to be. those in d tier won’t be laughed out of the ceremony in shame, but they should really run their outfit by someone else first next time.

#12: NEKOMARU NIDAI

now don’t get me wrong: i have nothing but respect for the titties-out look. keeping the shirt unbuttoned all the way down to where the lapels of the jacket end? that’s sexy as hell. however, this flawless idea has a confusing execution. why emerald green and orange? what’s with the... long-sleeved printed (hawaiian?) shirt? why the red pocket square? and the jacket itself, while fitted perfectly along the chest and midsection, has a weird, unflattering scallop shape flaring out at the bottom. i want to like this fit, but there are just too many bad choices.

#13: HAJIME HINATA

oh, hajime... literally nothing about this ensemble is it. the creamy manila suit might have had potential if there were literally any color variation in the vest (or potentially shoes) to give it a little more shape, or even if you just went with a white shirt underneath it! i could get behind a light, off-monochrome look! but that leprechaun-green shirt is downright perplexing to me. it looks like a mistake! did you get dressed in the dark? did you spill something on your other shirt? this is a mess.

F TIER:

f tier is inexcusable. f tier should never have happened. how does it get this bad. who did this? who’s responsible for this?

#14: SONIA NEVERMIND

y’know, the colors are pretty! i dig the white and teal! but... girl... what the fuck is this construction. the ruffles are all over the place. the bodice looks like it has less fabric than space it needs to cover. the bottom half of the skirt looks like it was sewn on as an afterthought because the top half was too short for dress code. what’s with the weird choker collar detached from everything else. why is the hairband a slightly different shade of green. so many decisions were made here and none of them are flattering

#15: MAHIRU KOIZUMI

yknow, i like the idea behind this. i can see what you were going for! the dress on its own might have worked, even! but everything else about it is just... so ugly. what the fuck is happening with those shoes??? the sheer black tights aren’t the sexy OL look you think they are. the collar of the dress looks like it’s... braided for some reason??? those earrings are so huge for no payoff, statement jewelry with nothing to say, and worst of all... that headband. GIRL. that headband and that belt...... there’s nothing here. also i love orange but it’s not her color.

and finally... the worst.

#16: MIKAN TSUMIKI

what the fuck. what the fuck is this. this is straight up cheap rubber fetish gear. why is the HAT rubber? that skirt ruffle makes this look like fucking polly pocket clothes. why the fuck is she wearing that. the clothes are so bad that it makes her hair look like rubber too. was she dared to wear this? is this some cruel punishment? i don’t even know what to say. this is the worst possible outfit. there is not even one redeeming quality about it.

#danganronpa #sdr2 #new tab

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readyourimgaines · 4 years

Text

Age Doesn’t Mean Much

Summary: Five times the BAU remembered Reid’s younger than them plus one time they were violently reminded he’s not a child.

Spoiler/Trigger Warning: The entire ending of the second season’s 15th episode: Revelations.

Dr. Spencer Reid was merely 21 when SSA Jason Gideon convinced him to join the BAU. With the exception of Aaron Hotchner (who had also read the young doctor’s file) the team wasn’t sure how to feel about the inexperienced man.

Other than giving a pointer or two to a professor lecturing on a cold case, Reid had no experience working in the field. The others figured that was why the poor kid pushed himself so hard: to prove himself.

Right after the first case, Elle stopped talking down to him. Half way through the same case, Morgan decided he’d taken the doctor under his wing. JJ was the first of Hotch’s subordinates to warm up to Reid. Their friendship was an awkward one for a couple of days. To an outsider, it looked as though a childhood friend was trying to help the other through a bout of amnesia.

Though the team never again questioned Reid’s ability on the field, there were times when they were suddenly reminded of Reid’s age.

1: Trying to Balance on a Curb While Walking

Hotch lost count of how many times Jack would walk on the curb, one foot in the front of the other, both arms outstretched for extra balance. Almost always, one of Jack’s hands would be firmly holding one of his father’s. SSA Hotchner almost laughed at himself when he nearly held Reid’s hand on instinct.

Reid and Hotch were walking alone to get lunch for the unit while between cases back home. They’d been walking side-by-side while Reid babbled happily about the last book he finished. Hotch contently listened, his mind occasionally wondering.

Hotch’s mind was pulled back to reality from one of its wonderings when his hand had brushed against Reid’s. The doctor’s hand quickly formed into a fist as he concentrated on his balance, his lips pressed tightly together. While Jack had his arms stretched straight out, Reid held his at more of a slant.

One thing Hotch quickly noticed, and was surprised the scientifically minded doctor missed, was that Reid’s ever present satchel was throwing him off balance.

“Reid.”

“Hm?”

“Let me hold onto your bag.” Hotch held his hand out to take the leather bag.

“Why?” Reid’s foot touched down on the road as he lost balance now that he was doing more with his brain than focussing on his footing.

“It's a hypothesis.” Hotch smirked but Reid missed it, not taking his eyes off his sneakers.

Carefully, as not to fall, Reid removed his satchel and held it out, blindly, for Hotch to take. The older agent held it by the shorted of the two handles as he continued to walk alongside Reid.

Hotch chuckled to himself upon seeing the look on Reid’s face. The young doctor was looking at his feet, almost in awe. He hadn’t needed to touch down since Hotch took the bag half a block back.

Once he walked two blocks on the curb- without losing balance- Reid was content and took his bag back, putting it back over his shoulder so the pouch of it bounced against the opposite hip.

“Did you know the position of an object’s center of gravity affects its stability? The higher the center of gravity is, the easier it is for the object to fall. That’s why a small boat- like a kayak or canoe- is less likely to tip if the occupants are seated lower in the boat.

“Textbooks usually demonstrate this with either a bus and or two cars of different heights and lengths…”

2: Mismatched Socks

One of the first things Emily Prentiss noticed about Reid were his mismatched socks. Of course, the other BAU members noticed it too, but they never questioned it. It’s just part of who Reid was. Curiosity got the better of SSA Prentiss.

“Reid?”

The doctor looked up from his case file. “Yeah?”

“Why do you never wear matched socks?” She looked down at Reid’s ankles and he followed her gaze. One lavender sock, one pink with blue stripes.

“My uh- When I was a kid, my mom would tell me it was bad luck to wear matching socks.” Reid pulled the lavender sock back up to where it should be.

“That doesn’t sound like something that could be scientifically verified.” A slight smirk spread across Emily’s face.

Reid huffed slightly. “The night I was taken by Tobias… It was the first time I wore matching socks in five years. Burgundy with orange stripes.” Reid blinked heavily, clenching his eyes shut. “I don’t wear socks if they match.” He paused again. “Besides, matching socks are boring. Some people say socks should be a shade darker than their pants or a shade lighter than the shoes- Hotch does the former.

“Also, 82% of men in my age bracket wear mismatched socks at least once a week because we keep losing one of a pair. And a family of four- on average- loses 60 socks a year.”

3: Playing With Jell-O

Reid loved Jell-O. No-one was really sure why, but didn’t ask, either. Everyone had their favorite dessert, so maybe Jell-O was just his? He liked cake, sure, but he didn’t eat it nearly as often as he ate Jell-O.

On jet rides back home, no-one ever knew what conversations were bound to come up. This week’s was what the team was going to do with a three day weekend and morphed into best desserts.

“What about you, Reid?” Prentiss drew Reid from his train of thought.

“Hm?”

“You like Jell-O, don’t you, Pretty Boy?” Morgan checked.

“Yeah.”

“Not even Henry likes Jell-O,” JJ smiled at the thought of her young son.

“It doesn’t have much of a taste,” Rossi added.

“I think that’s part of why I like it, actually.” Reid fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

“Because it tastes like watered down Kool-Aid?” Rossi frowned.

“Yeah. All the other foods are so strong and Jell-O’s not. It’s cool, but not cold, and it’s fun to play with.”

A ghost of a smile danced across Hotch’s face. “Jack likes playing with it. He gets sad when I don’t buy finger Jell-O on accident.”

“That’s the only kind I buy.” Reid nodded. “The red is my least favorite- It takes like Red 40.”

“What is your favorite kind, then?” Rossi couldn’t help but ask.

“Pineapple. Minimal amounts of dyes and you can see through it.”

“No numbers about Jell-O?” Prentiss challenged with a grin.

JJ, Hotch, and Morgan all smiled while Rossi teasily groaned. The groan got a smile from Reid too.

“Actually, in the US, the Jell-O brand is recognized- by name and product- by 99% of the populous.” Spencer chortled. “That means that if you got a group of 100 people together, only one person would have no idea what Jell-O is.”

4: Doodles on Everything

Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t always carry his leather satchel with him. Hotch more or less ordered him to get a notebook he could keep in a pocket. The unit chief didn’t care if Reid drew on his arms. The unit chief cared when Reid jotted down notions or points for the running case.

Garcia loved Reid’s little doodles and had a decently sized collection. She referred to him as a “chronic doodler”. The analysis tech found it almost funny that someone as brilliant and talented as Reid had so little artistic skill outside of his geographic profiling maps.

Reid knew full well that Garcia collected his doodles. After a particularly stressful case- which always resulted in more doodles, Reid would sign and dare the flip book page before tearing it out and leaving it in Garcia’s bunker.

There were times when Reid would doodle on his arm rather than the flip book simple because it was more convenient. That didn’t mean Garcia didn’t see those ones. No, no, no. These ones, Reid would take pictures of and send to Garcia when a case was getting to her.

Morgan talked to Garcia more than anyone else on a case. Whether or not Penelope voiced her unease, Morgan- ever the profiler- could tell. He’d have Reid a certain look and the younger man would send Garcia texts of his doodles- evenly spaced- throughout the case. If he did the math and found he didn’t have enough, nothing stopped him from drawing a couple more.

Hotch and Gideon thought of the times their sons would draw a picture or make them a card when they had a bad day at work. Morgan was reminded of the beaded bracelets his sisters used to make him when he was injured in football or his team lost a game.

The one hitch with their theory? Garcia was the one person who got to keep the drawings. Not even Reid kept them. She knew this fact and gloated about it to the team whenever she got a new one. All of her computer screens in her bunker had a different doodle as the screen saver.

5: Dependent on the Team

For the most part, the BAU stuck to themselves after hours if they weren’t going out for drinks. Reid was the one exception and the rest of the team found they didn’t mind.

JJ was the first one he texted. The message was a simple worded question: How can you tell the difference between romantic feelings and transference? The gentle blonde took it upon herself to explain to the doctor that he’d know when he was in love because how being near the person or even just thinking about them made him feel.

The media liaison assumed she’d never really see the person Reid texted her about that Sunday evening. She was a little less than shocked to see the light in the young doctor’s eyes shift when Morgan wandered into the bullpen Monday morning.

A month passed before JJ got a message along the lines of the one she was expecting: Reid asking for advice on how to ask someone out. How to better the wording, how to keep from straying off the point.

The next day, he texted Elle about flowers: I have a date next weekend. Are flowers too forward?

Elle smiled down at her phone, at Reid’s innocence. She told him that flowers were a nice and caring gesture, but that he’d want to be careful with what flowers he got because different flowers sent different messages.

This was the first of this Reid was hearing. He thanked Elle and thought more. Hotch was married. He must know a decent amount about flowers and such romantic ideas, right? So he texted Hotch: Do you know anything about flower symbolism? Elle says flowers have different messages to them.

Hotch chuckled, getting Haley’s attention.

“What’s so funny?”

“Do you remember Dr. Spencer Reid?” Hotch looked at the blonde.

“He’s the shy, Autistic boy, right?” Haley glanced up from feeding Jack.

“Yeah. He’s nervous about an upcoming date and texted to see if I know anything about flowers.” Hotch’s thumb was dancing across the flip-phone’s buttons.

“What are you telling him?”

“That roses have the highest chance of getting him in his date’s bed. Pink camellias and carnations are signs of love and longing; ivy means friendship.” Hotch typed this by naming the flowers, placing an equal sign, and the meaning.

“Do you know who his date is?”

“Not as far as Reid and his date are concerned.”

So yes, he did.

Friday morning- the morning before his date- Reid sat by himself on the jet ride home, trying to read a book he brought. He couldn’t focus on it for the life of him. He’d been staring at the same page for then minutes. He jumped a little when Gideon sat down across from him.

“What has you so nervous?”

“Noth-” Reid stopped short. That wasn’t the right word; the date meant everything to him. “I uh… I have a date tomorrow evening and I’m worried, I guess. I’ve never actually been on a date, but I really like this person.”

“Okay. So what about it has you worked up?” Gideon’s eyes were gentle and fatherly.

Reid thought about how to answer the question. “We’ve been friends for a while and I don’t- I don’t want to mess up so badly that he doesn’t want to be friends-” Reid froze, his eyes wide. “G-Gideon, I-”

“There’s nothing wrong.” The older man squeezed the younger’s shoulder. “If your friend know you as well as you know him, I think it’s safe to say he’s not too worried about the friendship failing. Sometimes, Reid, you have to take a leap of faith.”

+One: “I choose...Aaron Hotchner.”

“Choose, and prove you’ll do God’s will.”

“No.”

Click. “Choose.”

“I won’t do it.”

Click. “Choose.”

“I...I choose...Aaron Hotchner. He’s a classic narcissist. He thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4, “Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.”

Bang. Raphael took a bullet from Tobais’ pocket and held it up, showing it to Reid. “For God’s will.”

Morgan’s heart shattered at seeing his boyfriend crouched over the body of his captor and tormentor. The side of Reid’s head was coated in dry blood, he was avoiding putting weight on his sock-less foot.

Reid limped his way over to Hotch and hesitantly put a hand on his superior’s arm as though he wasn’t sure the man was there. The young man quickly and tightly hugged Hotch.

“I knew you’d understand.”

JJ was the next to hug Reid, the doctor losing his balance slightly and the liaison easily caught him.

“I am so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

The second JJ let go of Reid, Morgan stepped forward and pulled Reid into as tight of a hug as he dared. He needed to feel his boyfriend in his arms but he’d seen the same video as everyone else and didn’t want to hurt him more.

Prentiss was shocked and looked at JJ with wide eyes when Morgan kissed Reid and the doctor eagerly reciprocated. The blonde just smiled.

*****

@stxrryspencer @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @the-need-for-reid-speed

#read your imagines #combefere's journal #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #david rossi #elle greenaway #jennifer jj jareau #jason gideon #derek morgan #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #moreid #moreid imagine

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mcwriting · 4 years

Text

The Marriage Project (2)

part 2 is already here! fun fact, I’ve actually written like 16 chapters and I probs won’t always be posting weekly but I really wanted to put out part 2 sooooo... yeah. The Tom Holland x reader high school AU continues

Story Masterlist

Warnings: mild language

Word Count: 2365 (shorter than before, I know)

% approximately 1st week of September %

The next week had been relatively uneventful. Mrs. Flynn gave you both an A on your budget for the first week.

She also drew the next weekly condition, which for you was a $300 doctor’s visit of one family member.

“Well that’s stupid. If this were real life, we wouldn’t even need to take our kids to the doctor as PA’s,” Tom argued.

“First off, it’s not real life, and secondly, what if the kid broke a bone? Who’s gonna cast it, genius?”

“Well we probably wouldn’t have to pay,” he grumbled

When Friday afternoon hit, you were almost disappointed to see Tom not in the stands for your game, but remembered that the team had to start all their pregame rituals a couple hours before kickoff.

After crushing the competition, you took a quick shower and put on the shirt every senior was supposed to wear and walked to the field, where some of your friends had already claimed a spot on the bleachers.

It was still a half hour before kickoff, so you talked as they helped put paint streaks on your cheeks and tie ribbons in your hair to show school spirit. You also watched the boys run drills until they were called to the sidelines for the national anthem.

The team captains met for the coin toss, and as Tom and his co captain headed back to the team huddle, Tom spotted you in the crowd and pointed directly at you.

You didn’t know what he was doing so you quickly flipped him off and went back to your conversation.

They ended up winning the game by a field goal, and true to his word, Tom had actually played pretty well, aside from getting sacked towards the end of the game.

You and the girls, not yet wanting to go home, hung out in the parking lot as families left.

“Hey, look. It’s your husband,” Alexis pointed out as Tom and a couple other players came limping down the lot with bags in tow. They were still wearing their football pants but had removed their jerseys, leaving on sleeveless compression shirts.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. But I will say, his mom already loves me. We’re on a first name basis.”

She gave you a little low-five out of pride.

You couldn’t help but notice Tom pull the necklace out from under his shirt’s collar, the ring still attached.

Did he wear that the whole game?

He spotted you from a few yards away and yelled out,

“Hey hey hey. What did I tell you? Swooning yet?” he held his arms out as if to show he was right.

“Not quite, bub. But I’ll give you that touchdown pass. Don’t forget we have to work on the budget tomorrow!”

“Yeah yeah, see you then, princess.” He waved a hand as he continued on to his car.

Ugh. Princess.

Tom had been calling you that ever since the time freshman year you were the leading princess in a school play.

You had hated the role for many reasons.

For one, the character had no development and was basically dumb and defenseless (aka the exact opposite of you and everything you stood for). On top of that, the costumes were hideous, and what should have been a couple of pretty ballgowns and flowing skirts ended up being completely unflattering in color, shape, and style.

Everyone knew you hated it, and Tom loved to rub that in your face.

Eventually, you decided to retire home for the night since you had had such a taxing day.

You rang the Holland’s doorbell again, and this time it was opened by Tom’s youngest brother, Paddy. He was in the 5th grade, so you didn’t know him well.

A perfect opportunity to make a good impression.

“Hey there, Paddy. Is Tom around? We’re supposed to work on our project today.”

“I’m not sure where he is, but I’m sure I can find him. Come on in.”

“Oh thank you. So polite.”

He sheepishly looked down as his face reddened.

“I’ll be right back.”

He ran to the stairs and disappeared up them. A few minutes later an exhausted looking Tom appeared at the top of the stairs next to his brother.

“Come on up, I need to take a piss before we get started.” he called down, ever the charmer. He rubbed his eyes. He was only wearing a pair of sweats.

You followed his word and sat down on his bedroom floor, pulling up the documents on your computer as you waited. He came back wearing a shirt, a mug of coffee in hand.

“Want some? I made it fresh. I just woke up if you couldn’t tell.”

“No thanks. I don’t drink coffee, I find it disgusting. Caffeine addiction’s bad for you anyways.”

He looked down at the drink and back at you.

“Well we can’t all be perfect little princesses.”

You wanted to slap him, but just fired back with an insult and got to work. There wasn’t as much to do today other than reallocate the funds for the appointment and make up a story of what could have happened.

You both laid on your stomachs looking at the screen. As you typed, you heard heavy breathing and glanced over to see Tom had fallen back asleep.

Wow. He almost looks nice when he’s sleeping. What a disappointment.

You finished your paragraph and shook him awake.

“Ugh. sorry. I told you I’m a mess after game days.”

He went to push up to a sitting position when he winced, inhaling sharply. He put his head back on the ground.

“Woah there. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just pulled a muscle in my back last night. I think it’s from that sack.”

“Do you need me to get you something? LIke icy hot or some advil? I carry both at all times.”

“Icy hot would be perfect. I already took some painkillers.”

You shifted up and grabbed your backpack, pulling out the tube. You tossed it next to him to use.

“I hate to ask this, because you’re you, but could you put it on for me? I don’t think I can reach.”

You hesitated, but agreed since you knew what it felt like to be in pain like that.

“Okay. Give me a general idea of where it is and I’ll poke around to find it.”

“Just under my shoulder blades on the right.”

He pulled up his shirt and you went to touch his back lightly. He flinched when your fingers graced his skin.

“Oh yeah, my hands are cold by the way.”

“No shit.”

You put your hand back, pressing lightly until he winced again, then you put a small amount of the ointment on your hand, massaging it in.

You rhythmically rubbed your hand over the area in little circles, trying to loosen the tight muscle with your palm. You didn’t think much about it until he let out a moan, and you pulled your hand back like he was on fire.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry. It just felt so good on that spot and it just slipped out-”

“Let’s just agree to never mention this again. I’m gonna go wash my hands. And hopefully my brain while I’m at it. Where’s your bathroom?”

“Just across the hall. Can’t miss it.”

A little bit later and you were finally done for the day, so you helped Tom up and again packed your things.

“Sorry again about earlier. Thanks, though. It really helped.”

“Like I said, we don’t need to talk about it. Just never make that sound again, please. See you Monday.”

And with that you were out the door.

Another week, and Mrs. Flynn gave you another A and a budget condition.

Both you and Tom again won at your respective sporting events, and you again went to Tom’s.

Throughout the week, you and Tom had been on your usual game, firing shots. But at home it was like he was a different person. Sure you still jabbed at each other occasionally, but there was a more friendly aspect to it this week.

You were sitting on the floor when you felt a familiar pain in your lower abdomen.

You ignored it for a minute, but then it hit twice as strong. Immediately you shot up.

“I'm going to the bathroom,” you stated, speaking quickly.

“Uh. Okay?”

You rushed in and as you sat down pulled up your period tracker app.

You weren’t supposed to start for 4 more days.

Well that’s a lie you thought as you caught a streak of red upon wiping.

You dug through the under-sink cabinet, hoping and praying to find something, anything you could use. When that came up dry, you just stuffed up some toilet paper and resigned to getting a tampon from your backpack.

A sense of panic filled your chest, however, when you realized the little bag you kept with extra supplies was nowhere to be found. That’s when you remembered that you had taken it out to replenish and apparently never put it back.

“Oh no. Oh no no no!”

There wasn’t even a single liner at the bottom of the bag.

“What’s got you in a tiff, princess? Don’t we have everything we need already?”

You sighed. You weren’t one to announce when you were on your period, since guys liked to believe that all women become bitches when they bleed. But you were desperate.

“Look, I know you’re gonna make fun of me, but I just started my period and don’t have anything to deal with it and I don’t know what to do.”

“Can’t you just hold it?”

“Ha ha good one. Seriously though I don’t know what I’m gonna do. If I don’t figure out something fast, I’ll bleed through my pants.”

Tom looked at you confused.

“Wait a second,” you started. “You weren’t serious right then, right? Like you do know it’s something women can’t control?”

“WHAT?” he exclaimed. “You can’t?”

“You know, for someone who calls himself so smart you sure are a dumbass. How do you know nothing about periods? You play football, haven’t you had a girlfriend before?”

He got quiet.

“No. I’m too busy competing with you that when I do get free time, everyone gets really intimidated by you.”

“Oh... “ you didn’t know what to say, but then a cramp hit you like a ton of bricks and you doubled over. “Ugh. could you just go get your mom? I need to go back to the bathroom and try not to throw up.”

Eventually, Nikki came and left some midol, tampons, and a heating pad for you and you were able to go back to Tom’s room, finding him leaning against his bed. He sat up straight when you walked in.

“Are- are you okay? You seemed to be in a lot of pain earlier.”

You plugged in the heating pad and turned it on, laying down on your back so you could drape it across your stomach. The midol hadn’t yet kicked in.

“Yeah, I’m good. It was early this month and I just wasn’t prepared,” you said staring at the ceiling, but turned your head to look at him.

“Sorry if what I said was insensitive. I just figured you knew more about it than the average guy and I was so panicked that I wasn’t thinking straight. I’ve never had a boyfriend either. Same situation.”

“Hah, nerd.”

You rolled your eyes and threw a nearby pillow at him.

“Like you have room to talk. Now let’s just finish this so I can go home and take a nap.”

When you got to home ec Monday, you hadn’t spoken to Tom since leaving his house Saturday. Frankly, you were embarrassed about the situation still and figured he felt awkward too.

Then, of course, you learned that Mrs. Flynn had decided to throw the class a curveball to tie the marriage project into regular class assignments.

For a unit on sewing, she was making each couple work together to make a small “marriage quilt” approximately the size of a baby blanket. Partners would have to work together to choose the colors, make a design, and sew it together within 2 weeks in class.

So there you were, sitting in the back corner of the room discussing design options and drawing up a pattern with Tom.

Upon realizing you both loved blue, you decided to make a blue based quilt. There would be little teal and pink accents as well in a couple of the fabrics you chose.

You sat in silence as you both cut small squares of fabric and batting. Other groups were talking, but things still felt heavy.

“Hey, uh. About Saturday…” Tom began quietly from the right of you.

“Please don’t bring it up. Everything turned out fine so let’s just keep it that way. I don’t need you to embarrass me more.”

“No, it’s not that. I just… what you said got me thinking. I know about all kinds of stuff and I’d like to go into medicine one day, but I know nothing about women’s health. So, I spent a good portion of yesterday researching and honestly, I had no idea how much you all go through. We may hate each other, but I respect you a lot more than before.”

“Oh. Wow. You know, I’m sure you read about it yesterday, but it’s super different for everyone. I wouldn’t even consider mine nearly as bad to some peoples’. But that’s really nice of you. And just because we hate each other doesn’t mean I won’t offer to let you ask me questions whenever. Education is way more important than any rivalry.”

He smiled slightly and looked down at his desk, then back up, putting out his left fist.

“Is a fist bump a good enough agreement to let each other ask any kinds of questions like that, no malice intended?” he asked.

You smiled back and hit your right fist to his left one. Eventually you went back to your normal arguing, but you couldn’t stop replaying the scene in your head.

A/N: thanks for reading guys! I’m so so busy with school right now that it’s going to be hard to release chapters weekly but I am trying to keep a somewhat regular upload schedule! I’ve written about 16 chapters so I have a lot of content to share already and there’s still more before I finish. As always, I can’t reply to post replies but my messages and asks are always open!

Tag List: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06

#The Marriage Project #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #high school!tom holland #sam holland #Harry Holland #paddy holland

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bywordofaphrodite · 3 years

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Book Reviews 3&4: Nancy Drew and the Lilac Inn by Carolyn Keene & Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion by Julie Campbell Tatham

This review’s theme is girl detective books ! Audience age range: roughly 12 and up !

Just as Enid Blyton’s books made me fall in love with magical creatures and faraway lands, detective novels became an obsession during late primary school, with classic lead female characters Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden being my absolute favourites. My school had an extremely small and limited library, and the Nancy Drew books were one of the only decent series there- even with a great chunk of the collection missing. My mother introduced me to Trixie Belden, which she insisted was better than Nancy Drew, though I refused to listen to such a declaration at the time.

Now, though? My opinions have definitely changed.

Nostalgic review

Rating: ★★★★★

From memory, Nancy Drew is a clever, beautiful and well-off girl in her late teens, living with her lawyer father Carson Drew and her housekeeper Hannah Gruen, who has looked after Nancy since her mother’s passing when she was only three. I always enjoyed the dynamic between Nancy and her father, as it was similar to mine with my father, also a lawyer- Carson doesn’t step in unless Nancy needs his help, but he does assist in legal advice when necessary. I also loved Nancy’s friendship with the cousins Bess and George, and liked that her relationship with her ‘special friend’ Ned never got in the way of solving mysteries or hanging out with her friends (‘hanging out’ was practically code for sleuthing in these novels anyway). Overall, my memories of this series amount mostly to exciting searches for missing heiresses, finding beautiful jewels and battling crocodiles in Florida.

On the opposite side of the spectrum is Trixie Belden- rough-around-the-edges thirteen year-old from a poor family living with both her parents and three brothers. Where Nancy has a housekeeper, lives in an affluent suburban neighbourhood and never wants for money, Trixie lives on the outskirts of a small town, both her parents work, and she is constantly reminded of how important it is to work for money as they do not have much of it to spare on mindless things. Nancy is a fairly solitary character, often working alone unless her friends show up, and even then she does most of the legwork; Trixie is also the main sleuth in her series, but her best friend Honey is almost always at her side. While the mysteries were great, the warm friendships in Trixie Belden novels are what I remember best.

Regardless of whatever my thoughts may be after rereading books from these two series, I’ve never ceased referencing either of them and my love of the mystery genre still holds fast even now.

Nancy Drew and the Lilac Inn Review

Post-read: ★★

Synopsis: girl detective Nancy Drew is called to solve a series of odd goings on at her newly engaged friend Emily’s inn, in what seems to be an attempt to prevent Emily and her fiancé from opening. Disaster strikes when her aunt retrieves Emily’s inheritance of diamonds- Emily’s last hope to cover the costs of fixing up the inn- and they are swiftly stolen within the hour. Nancy vows to catch the thief and the intruder and save Emily’s inn from failure.

I struggled in choosing which Nancy Drew book to reread for this review, and after reading through multiple rankings lists I decided on the Lilac Inn because it ranked highly on every list. I now wish I had just gone with Crocodile Island anyway… at least there was something snappy about it. In between the bomb, the theft, the doppelganger, the underwater fake-shark, the kidnapping, the spear-gun attack- I think I’ve made my point. There’s far too much going on, and if it was well-written I would be okay with it, really I would, but it’s all so blandly articulated that half the time I had to reread just to make sure I’d read correctly what nonsense was occurring at any given time.

Straight out the gate, I just want to say how shocking the writing was- that’s shockingly bad, by the way. If I thought Enid Blyton’s work was stunted, well, this was far, far worse. Especially since it lacks the excuse of being written for young children. It was incredibly difficult to push through in the slower parts, and I must admit I basically skim-read the lead up parts to the action sequences (which were incredibly minimal compared to the gnashing crocodile teeth I longed for, but alas). Sadly for me, Bess (my old fave), George and Ned were not present at all, and I cannot remember if they had actually been introduced that early in the series because they are not mentioned once.

I did really like the concept of the story, and the element of Nancy having a creepy doppelganger posing as Nancy to cause mischief (she has several over the series) was fun, even more so that said doppelganger was an actual actress and quite ruthless in her attempts to steal Emily’s diamonds- I love a morally-corrupt pretty female villain as much as the next person, after all. There is a romance teased between Nancy and a young man staying at the inn, a young man who continuously seems to be in the same room as the diamond thief messing with Emily’s inn, but ultimately both never amount to anything. This hardly surprised me given the book is written in the thirties, and Ned and Nancy never do anything but attend dances together the entire series, but still, come on. He could’ve at least stolen the diamonds to add some spice to his useless appearances.

It’s possible that were a very talented scriptwriter to take this book and make it into a movie it could work out a lot better than it does on paper- provided the casting was done well. The sets would be interesting, and I think the creepiness of the ‘ghost’ in the orchard and the diving scenes would translate a lot better on camera. Normally I’m not one to nominate live actions of novels for no reason, but this thought kept recurring as I struggled to get through the writing.

Characters who aged well: Nancy is smart and weirdly good at everything (they don’t explain why she knows how to do all the things she does, but diving and freeing herself from bonds seems to be easy enough for her. Given male characters are always allowed to be perfect without training, I’ll allow it). For a female character written in the 30s she has plenty of agency and does not once rely on a man’s help to do anything, which is why I always enjoyed her books. Carson Drew also aged well- not present that often, but useful without being interfering, and his trust in his daughter is refreshing. As for the other main characters in the series… they didn’t even show up in this book so I can’t really comment on this.

Characters who aged badly: plot twist- I’m adding Nancy here too. She is a little too perfect, too polished, a common criticism by modern readers, though at the time of publication was her main selling point. Additionally, earlier editions of the series featured racist comments made by Nancy, although those have since been taken out. However, the publisher and creator of the first books was not a very pleasant person, so I find myself able to separate that from Nancy’s character.

Favourite scene/quote: ‘The article went on to tell that Nancy had just completed a course in advanced skin diving in the Muskoka River, and that she had finished first in total points in the twenty student group’.

I find this quote amusing because there is really no need for Nancy to be good at every single thing, and this is a good example of the many times throughout the series that Nancy is the ‘best’ at a very random activity that is often never mentioned again.

As for my favourite scene, though nothing interesting actually ends up happening in the orchard, I did like the eerie setting of Nancy dressing up as a ghost and chilling behind a tree for a while (okay it was partially eerie, mostly just oddly comedic). The actress/impostor posing as Nancy provided a few good scenes, too, but for the main villain of the story she was hardly in as many scenes as she should’ve been in.

After doing some research, I discovered something most interesting: Nancy was written with significantly more character by the original ghost-writer of the series, a woman named Mildred Wirt Benson, who wrote Nancy ‘embodying qualities that she wished she had’- but the publisher Edward Stratemeyer did not want a bold female character, and she was rewritten with similar dialogue but now accompanied with ‘dainty’ verbs to sweeten her words. Stratemeyer was also known for his beliefs that women belonged in the kitchen, and the only reason he created Nancy in the first place was to capitalise on young female readers who wanted their own equivalent of the Hardy Boys.

With all of this in mind, it’s very possible that the Nancy from my memories is a mix of the older and new editions, which allowed Nancy more personality as the series went on, no longer needing to confirm to the sexist expectations of the 1930s. And despite these origins, Nancy Drew aged quite well as an unintended feminist icon: she solves her mysteries alone and rarely needs Ned’s help at all; in fact, most of the time, Nancy is the one doing the saving. It’s nice to think that, almost one hundred years later, Mildred Wirt Benson’s version of Nancy is the one being kept alive, both on paper and onscreen.

Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion Review

Post-read: ★★★★★

Synopsis: energetic teen Trixie Belden’s boring town of Sleepyside is turned upside down when a rich new family moves onto the property opposite her own, an old miser winds up in hospital and his empty mansion is suddenly inhabited by a runaway boy, and a missing fortune is waiting to be uncovered.

Whewww.

This was a massive breath of fresh air after the Lilac Inn! After being so unimpressed by both Blyton and Keene’s writing, Tatham’s writing restored my faith in my childhood judgement. Her words flowed well and the conversation between the characters was very natural. The blank slate characters in the Lilac Inn were showed up by the animated and multiple-dimensional characters in the Secret of the Mansion, and I never once felt the need to rush myself through the chapters.

Unlike my method of choosing a Nancy Drew book, I simply decided on reading the first Trixie book for this review. While I almost went for a later book where all the main characters had been introduced, I couldn’t remember how Trixie first met Honey and Jim, which I felt was pretty important to her character. I’m very glad I did. Even in the first book, Trixie endures so much character development (contrasting very strongly with Nancy’s flawless existence). Longing for a friend, Trixie takes herself up the hill to the newly habited mansion to introduce herself and her little brother Bobby, who she is babysitting to earn money to buy herself a horse. There she meets rich girl Honey Wheeler, a sickly and sheltered but sweet girl of the same age, whose parents pay little attention to her. Things fall into place with all the expected luck of a teen heroine- Honey’s governess is a lovely woman who wants Honey to befriend Trixie and offers to look after Bobby, and of course Honey’s stables are now filled with horses and a stable hand who can teach her to ride.

But for every easy thing comes an opportunity for Trixie to grow: she comes to admire Honey’s bravery after previously being irritated by her fear of trying outdoor activities; she ignores the stable hand’s orders not to ride the stallion and falls as a result, leading to her having to work to regain his trust and also being taught the valuable lesson to recognise her own limits; finally, as much as Trixie hates looking after little Bobby, when he is bitten by a snake Trixie is resourceful and quick on her feet in helping him, keeping him well enough until a doctor and other adults arrive.

Rather like the Lilac Inn, the mystery of the story centres on the hidden will to a supposed fortune of the elderly man who lived in the old mansion not far from Honey’s new home. On a whim, Trixie nags Honey into accompanying her to snoop around the building, leading to their discovery of the old man’s nephew Jim hiding there. By the end of the book, the girls have helped Jim to find the will and safely escape his abusive step-father. Later in the series, Jim is adopted by the Wheeler family, and also becomes Trixie’s primary love interest (I love that this relationship is not at all rushed either).

The reading level for the Trixie Belden series is listed as grade 3 and above, but I had no problems being completely involved and intrigued by the storyline and characters as a twenty-three year old. I think I’ll continue to read the series on my own time, as I always enjoyed the full character line-up developed after a few books in.

Characters who aged well: Trixie! If my praise during this review didn’t make clear enough, she’s a wonderful character with great development. Honey and Jim are also solid characters, and Bobby and Trixie’s parents are well-written too- supportive and kind, but realistic concerning raising Trixie to be a responsible kid. Also going to add that Trixie’s group of best friends- self-named the Bob-Whites of the Glen and consisting of her two older brothers Brian and Mart, Honey, Jim and the later additions of Dan and Di- have a strong presence and very distinct personalities when they show up in the later novels.

Characters who aged badly: nobody! All the side characters were well done, including the villain. He wasn’t over-the-top by any means, his abuse of Jim was both emotion and physical in a realistic manner that concerned the adults around him enough to comment on it without actually taking proper action to help him, as it often goes. I appreciated the author’s ability to write a male character the vulnerable one, to recognise what was wrong about the situation, and to gladly accept help from two girls younger than him.

Favourite scene/quote: “‘serves him right,’ Trixie said, wiping her grimy hands on her rolled-up blue jeans. ‘The mean old miser. You should have left him lying in the driveway, Dad.’”

An earlier quote in the book, this sets the tone for Trixie’s character: she’s messy, no-nonsense and cheeky. For a female character written in 1948 I found this quite amusing. There’s none of the internalised misogyny that often popped up in ‘tomboy’ characters of the time: Trixie just is what she is, and she’s great.

A standout scene would be Trixie sucking the venom from her brother’s snakebite to save him, and the chapters focused on the developing friendship with Honey and Jim while the two teach Trixie how to handle horses is also enjoyable.

Overall verdict:

My mother was right, Trixie Belden is far better than Nancy Drew in every category I can think of. I wish that the series had gained the popularity that Nancy Drew did, because it would make for a fun movie or television show. There is an eighteen year gap between the publication of the first novel from both series, and both heroines saw many more books written after that. Nancy Drew is so persistent, however, that multiple movies and even a recent CW show have been made, though it is not very accurate to the books at all. Even now, modern-day setting Nancy Drew mysteries are still being released under the Carolyn Keene pseudonym, showing her unending mythical status.

I still love Nancy, bad writing and all, but in all fairness, Miss Trixie deserves a cut of the nostalgic hype surrounding the girl-detective genre. I’d also like to bask in the poetic justice of Nancy not only remaining a more iconic character than the Hardy Boys, but also becoming more feminist as time goes on. I’m sure the publisher is rolling in his grave!

#nancy drew #carolyn keene #trixie belden #girl detective #fiction #university project #nostalgia #feminism #female characters

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fabulaee · 3 years

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COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE

// A 🐺 fic based on my Stay journey’s aesthetics which was a coffee shop au bc they remind me of those times when I used to go to the café to draw and would see fellow regulars but unlike y/n and Chan, I never interact with them. We all just share a table 😂😂😂

Monday. Wednesday. Friday

That was the set schedule for your coffee run. MWF from 9 am to 10, then coming back with your study supplies from 1 to 4 in the afternoon. It was routine; the small college café a safe haven from the slight messy floor of your dorm and the formal vibe of the library. Here you were focused and at peace of mind. The aroma of the coffee beans and soft sounds of the coffeeshop’s playlist serving as background noise.

There wasn’t much students at this time of the day compared to the much later prime of the evenings. The café then filled with college youths grabbing a drink after a long day’s worth of lectures and test reminders or staying to cram a night’s worth of information. There was something about cafés that seemed inviting and less suffocating yet at the same time a place where you can find the nursing students with their big thick books opened with streaks of neon yellow running across them.

“Vanilla Bean Cold Brew for y/n!”

Standing up, you went to grab your drink leaving behind the pastel rainbow set of highlighters and gel pens on top of your notes. You quickly thanked the barista as he handed you a straw before plopping back down on your seat continuing where you last went off. Something about the history of impressionistic art. You sighed as you lifted your eyes across the room, it was currently 2:30 pm on a Wednesday afternoon. A good time to take a break before your mind starts to commit brain fart.

Chris Bang. Affectionally called Bang Chan by his friends. Music major with golden hands, a good candidate for the honor roll, member of the varsity swim team, and resident social butterfly. An all rounder any college is proud to have.

You heard about him once or twice from your common friend, Yang Hongseok. They met at the gym apparently and became quick friends through the Japanese exchange student, Adachi Yuto, and their shared love for fitness.

You see him sit at the same spot everyday since the middle of sophomore year. His laptop with the cute decal of Deadpool open and his AirPods snugly tucked in his ears. He's always has his blonde head bopping to a song he's playing on either his phone or his laptop. Always seemed so engrossed in this little world he made for himself across the room, ignorant to the bustling crowd of students that come and go.

He looks up catching you off guard. His lips curled slightly upwards, chuckling to himself as he watches your cheeks turn pink in embarrassment. Great, he must think I'm a weirdo!

With a quick exchange of nods you both went back to doing your own thing. Just a regular day at the coffee shop.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

It's the Friday following Monday's slightly embarrassing incident. You looked up to find the same Chris Bang, laptop in hand, smiling at you like a friendly yet lost puppy. Warm brown orbs looking back at yours.

“My laptop's about to die and this is the only table with an outlet.” He explains himself, a tiny awkward giggle making up as the period.

“O-oh, of course!” You stuttered, hastily making room for him despite the large space as you swiped for the stray pastel highlighters and napkins closer. “No one's sitting here so go ahead.”

He whispered a small thanks before setting down his laptop to grab his bag from his usual spot while you went back to your notes. It was silent for awhile, only the sounds of pen against paper and the soft tick tack of the keys. At some point you hit a mind block, eyes glazing in boredom as you stared at the blank space of your notebook. You felt your table mate leave his stationary position too. he stretched in his seat before turning his attention to you.

Sensing his sudden gaze on you, you flashed him a small smile. You were never one to start a conversation, often keeping to yourself and minding your own business. A bit of a complete opposite towards the friendly Australian who somehow knows at least three students from each program.

He smiles back at you showing off his cute dimples and an outstretched hand. “Hey, I'm Chan. I never caught your name.”

Again with the cute giggle. It seems to be like a signature to him but it's cute still the same. You grasped his hand giving it a soft shake. “Y/n,” you answered curtly.

The following days you find yourself hanging around Chan more. Afternoon study sessions were no longer a date between you and the textbook or the small watercolor set you laid out on the table. Chan was there to fill the space making the long table that was a party of one to a party of two and maybe some on certain busy hours but mostly it was the both of you in your own tiny world.

You got to know him, his likes and dislikes. His major and passion for music, sometimes slipping in a few complaints about certain homework here and there; What else he likes to do. Apparently mr. Chris Bang was gifted in so many areas you often wondered what good he must've done in his previous life to be this gifted. Not only was he a jack of all trades, he's also the master of all.

You even had a small debate between Deadpool and Spider-Man. God, he's such a nerd it's adorable!

In return he knew these things about you. How you're taking up art as your major hoping to make it out as an illustrator one day—

“it would be so cool if you drew a variant cover for Deadpool!”

“Ha! We'll see about that, Chris Reynolds.”

He knows how you like to collect stickers and are quite passionate about making sure your notes are beautiful. He knows how you loved your drinks iced despite it being the middle of winter.

“Isn’t the weather too cold for that?” He’d ask with a quirk of his brow, amused brown eyes glancing at the iced hazelnut latte you have in your hands.

“Nope!” you replied, taking a sip as you did so. “It’s always the perfect weather for an iced coffee, Bang.”

He only chuckled at that.

It hit you like a freight train. You didn’t mean to fall for him. It wasn’t supposed to happen. You and Chan? No way, it was just supposed to be just friends. The kind where you hang out and have fun, no feelings attached. He was just supposed to be that regular from the café, right?

That was the plan, right?

But you can’t deny the small flutters from your heart much like those newly emerged butterflies. How you can feel that giddy feeling of excitement when you spot his mop of chocolate curly locks outside the café’s window. How you mirror his smile when you get together to talk about anything and everything under the sun. Bang Chan in all his cute dimpled glory, soft curls and hearty giggles was just too much to adore.

Yet it wasn’t that what pulled you in to the Music major. You felt love blossom when you both stayed up late, when the café was quiet after a busy day. The only people around being a couple medical students, some late night goers, and the employees. You felt the tiny flower buds start to bloom when he stayed with you then; keeping you company under the dimly warm fluorescent lights, laptop tucked away and a hand playing with yours.

You felt it bloom when you cuddled on the booth’s sofa one rainy November day. He scoots over next to you when he saw you shiver from the corner of his eyes. He’s naturally warm —you’d often tease him how he made the room hot. Why? well it’s because he’s from Australia! which earned the loud chorus of laughter from his friends and Chan’s ears turning into the color of the fire hydrant.

“Babygirl, you’re shivering.” He mutters as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you gently towards him. You accepted the subtle invitation, sides sticking together as you both went through forgotten notes and half finished coffees.

You felt it when you caught yourself staring at him a little longer than intended. Eyes drifting from Jisung’s expressive face to glance at the older one. You watched him look at the former with such adoration in his eyes; how he looked like a proud dad. You watched him nod along and laugh to Jisung’s animated story about how he and Hyunjin would fight back in the day, a fact that still seemed to shock you seeing how they are the best of friends.

Your eyes would linger on him while he worked on his music; focused and determined, hiding the exhaustion and sleepless nights prominent on the dark circles under his eyes. He was handsome even if he looked like shit. Hell, he was handsome even when he sported the infamous broccoli colored hair. You’d find yourself in a trance, like it was a dream. The world didn’t matter as much anymore when it was only you and Chan in the small dimly table, surrounded by the aroma of coffee beans at the small quaint cafe at the corner of the street.

You loved him. You loved him in the most beautiful of ways; you loved him in the most perfect highs and in all those crevices full of flaws.

You loved him in those bright moments, when the lights were shining on him during a 3RACHA gig. How they made him more beautiful, how they made him stand out from the 2 younger members. You loved watching him do what he loves; how he immersed himself in a world that was different from yours. How his version of colors and dried paint were beats and melodies, rhythm and tempos.

You loved him in the lowest moments; when the tide was high enough to cover you. You loved how you fit perfectly in his arms, how he became a shoulder to lean on when you felt the world was against you and you to him. When he would open up to you about his worst fears and his grandiose ambitions; when he spilled his heart out at the underlaying insecurity that’s been biting him due to his perfectionist attitude. You became his confidante; the one he can trust his heart to.

You loved him in the times he was vulnerable. You loved him when he would bask in glory and shining lights. You loved him like those cheesy lines in love songs. You loved him like how the tides would look at the moon in awe and yearning; gravitating with every push and pull.

You loved him in ways words can never describe. How the seeds he planted in your heart bloomed to the most beautiful bouquet of flowers.

You love him simply because he’s Chan.

You promised yourself you’d be just friends. It was safer that way but then again, what is love when she’s not one without twists and turns?

What is love when she comes to you, sneaky and sly like a weed disguised as a flower, whispering into your ear that it’s him.

It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

It was always him, it just took you some time to figure that out.

When you first met Chan, he was simply a friend of a friend. Someone you knew because your brothers are his friends. He was the guy you’d hear about in passing, the popular cool guy with a heart bigger than a massive sized teddy bear and a smile that could cure the most depressing of days. Someone who, in probability, would just be an acquaintance to you.

He was that guy you regularly saw at the coffee shop you visited every week. He was just some guy from the music department who would flash you a friendly smile because you were a familiar face.

Funny how fate made him more than what you originally expected him to be.

#Feels like love #🐺97 #amg no idk what happened in thw middle of writing #but I’ll tag if I ever write the letter version which will probably have more #bc it was a bit hard to write in 2nd person #I haven’t written since 2019 😭😭😭 yall will habw to #forgive me #my skills be rusty af #also this wisnt proofread so if there’s any mistakes that’s the work of my sleep deprived braincell #BUHU PLS BE GENTLE WITH ME THIS IS MY FIRST TIME AND IM SHY AF 😭😭😭#but u know what Im not shy of???#MY INTENSE LOVE FOR CHRISTOPHER BANG #amg ok shall hide now ú///ú

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incorrectprodigalsonquotes · 4 years

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Carved in the Cradle Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dani bit back an amused smile at the sight of Malcolm Bright fidgeting like a shy preschooler talking in front of the class for the first time. She had a feeling that if Jessica ever showed Bright’s childhood photos, she would find that he had that exact same look since he was a kid. All fidgeting with the sleeves of his uniform and luminous eyes too big for his face.

“Something you wanted to say, Bright?”

Normally Dani would cringe at the thought of using the almost singsong lilt her voice had taken on, but he was ridiculously easy to tease.

“U-um...” Malcolm cleared his throat. His face like it was on fire and he knew it wasn’t because of the tea he’d just had. “So my mother sort of--well, demanded that I show up at her gala in a couple of days.”

Dani raised an eyebrow, unsurprised. Jessica Whitly was a societal force to be reckoned with and it was little wonder that even her son, who dealt with killers on a daily basis, was unable to say no to her.

“So I gathered.”

Bright being jittery was normal. The constant fidgeting, the mundane rambling, the sheer awkwardness was wired into him from a young age if Gil’s stories of a young Bright were all true, but he seemed almost… nervous?

It didn’t make sense to her. Sure, he normally said some weird things and he had an unfortunate habit of sticking his foot in his mouth, but it was benign for the most part. It should’ve alarmed her about how comfortable she was around him, but the warmth of the tea she had still lingered, making everything about the already odd night pleasantly hazy.

“She also wanted me to bring a date.” Malcolm let out a wry chuckle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I mean I’m already bringing Isabella as a sort of fun-sized baby date given that Mother's so taken with her, but it’d be nice to have a friend there a-and--”

“Bright.”

Dani’s voice slowed into a low drawl as she took a step closer, her face inscrutable save for the glimmer of laughter in her eyes. She had to admit, it was pretty cute to see him so flustered.

“Are you asking me to be your date?”

“W-well, I--”

The instant he cleared his throat, she could see a change in his demeanour. The determined set of his jaw, the squared shoulders as he drew himself to his full height, the clarity in his eyes. It briefly reminded her of something that Edrisa had said about the change that came with Clark Kent taking off his glasses.

“I just thought it would be nice to take you to a fancy party where you wouldn’t have to arrest somebody and just enjoy yourself.”

“So it has nothing to do with you wanting to see me in a dress again?”

A teasing grin spread across Dani’s face as she tipped her head to the side. The sight of it made Malcolm’s confidence practically fly out the window, leaving him rambling so fast that he almost bit his tongue a few times.

“Of course, there’s no obligation for you to say yes.” He nervously ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “It’s just that you’re the only person I could think of when Mother said to bring a date. I know it’s probably not your thing, but--”

“Okay.”

“W-wait, what?” If his eyes got any wider, he could pass for a Disney Princess, all round and uncertain and saccharine sweet.

“Okay,” Dani’s eyes sparkled, the corners of them crinkling as she beamed at him. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” Malcolm’s anxiety practically melted away as he let out a relieved chuckle. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Dani nodded, “But a girl needs a night off for dancing every now and then--”

She nearly took a step back as he beamed at her, nearly as bright as the sun itself, the livewire tension in his body just melting away and it wasn’t until she caught the scent of bergamot and old leather that she realized what was happening.

Was Bright… hugging her?

“Okay,” His voice was muffled, his face buried into her shoulder, “that’s amazing!”

Dani couldn’t help but burst out laughing as she absently patted his back, feeling more like she had an armful of excitable puppy rather than gangly profiler.

"Well, what are friends for, right?"

“Seriously,” Malcolm pulled away just enough so he could look at her, his arms still around her, “I owe you big time!”

“Bright--”

“No, I mean it,” he insisted with a shake of his head, still grinning ear to ear as if she had just given him the secret to all of life’s mysteries. “Anything you want, I’m yours for the week.”

Dani knew he would probably say something like that. Malcolm Bright was the kind of man who would go to the moon and back for the people he cared about, but she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had become one of those people.

She briefly considered having him buy her fancy tea blends every day for a year or getting tickets to a sold out performance at the New York Ballet, but he seemed so genuinely happy that she accepted that she could only think of one thing that seemed right.

“You can start with those waffles you promised in the morning.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The bed was comfortable. Too comfortable.

Everything in the room was too tidy, too organized. The high end furniture gave Dani flashbacks of playing Tetris at the local arcade with her cousins, all neat blocks fitting together. The only things in the room that looked out of place were Dani’s clothes on a nearby loveseat and her duffle bag of extra clothes on the vanity. There was no real character to the room she was in, no personal touch.

Bright was right. These rooms were just like hotel rooms. At least there were silk pillowcases so she didn’t have to worry about her hair. Dani tossed and turned before she took her phone off the nightstand next to her and checked the time.

4:42 AM.

She stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought with a slight frown. When she was a kid, she would jump out of bed in the middle of the night to see what was on TV so early in the morning, curled up on the couch with her blanket wrapped around her like a cape. But it wasn’t like she could do that now.

This not being her home aside, Bright’s TV was way too big to subtly turn on and just watch with the captions. The high definition alone would be enough to wake both him and Isabella.

Then again…

Bright could be awake right now. Maybe he could use some company. She could just sneak downstairs and check in on--

Before she could make her decision, she faintly heard a high pitched squeal coming from downstairs. She absently let her hair down from her pineapple updo and made use of the fluffy white robe that was hanging in the closet before heading down. No one needed to see her in short shorts and a thin nightshirt.

What she saw made her stop at the foot of the stairs.

She found Bright on the ground with his legs tucked under him, a wide awake Isabella lying on a fuzzy blanket with numerous toys strewn about around them.

Wait.

Was he wearing glasses?

Dark thick frames that were so close to slipping down Malcolm’s nose as he sat with Isabella with a bunch of toys and blankets around her. It was unexpectedly cute. Something about those glasses stirred up a bit of fascination for stripped down, barebones Bright in the early hours of the morning--

She mentally shook her head. It was probably just her groggy mind that was thinking that though. Bright wasn’t even her type anyways, no matter how mesmerizing his eyes were.

Malcolm tried lulling Isabella to sleep again, but the little girl just kept smacking plushies in his face and blowing raspberries, her face crinkled into a happy grin. Dani bit back a laugh when she saw how Malcolm couldn’t help but smile at the baby girl as he gently grasped a chubby fist. Bright made a front about being strict with Isabella about bedtime, but he really was just a big old marshmallow when it came to babies.

“Come on, Izzy.” Dani heard Malcolm cajole the baby as the little one batted at his face. “You need to get some sleep or you’ll be cranky. And I don’t think either of us wants to see that.”

Izzy.

The nickname was enough to make Dani smile. She was too half asleep to consider that maybe forming a bond with the baby may not be the best idea. Isabella continued to gurgle as her tiny starlike hands patted Malcolm’s face, letting out a high pitch giggle when she managed to grab his nose.

“Izzy,” he whined, inciting even more giggling from the little girl, “Could you let go of my nose please? I kind of need to breathe and contrary to what lolo Gil thinks, I’d like to keep breathing.”

His nasally voice did nothing to stop the laughter coming from the baby.

Malcolm was removing Isabella’s hand when he heard a tiny laugh from behind him. He turned to see Dani on the stairs, wrapped in a fluffy robe with her arms crossed, watching in amusement.

“Sorry,” she murmured, giving him a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, no,” Malcolm shook his head as he picked up Isabella, “Did we wake you?”

“Hardly. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Dani’s footsteps were steady as she padded her way towards them, making Isabella turn her wide eyes to her with a coo. It still amazed her how much the little girl’s eyes were just like Bright’s, all guileless and moonlike in that shade that wasn’t quite blue or green.

A smirk took over Malcolm’s face, a playful spark in his eyes as he made room for her to sit.

“I thought we agreed you should avoid picking up my bad habits.”

“Pot calling the kettle black, Bright,” she shot back as she took Isabella from him, the little girl wrapped her tiny arms around the detective’s neck, letting out a tiny kitten-like yawn as she rested her head on Dani’s shoulder.

“For real, have you slept at all?”

Malcolm shrugged.

“Bright...”

Dani narrowed her eyes at him as he simply shrugged, shaking her head as she felt Isabella tangle her hands in her curls. Her face fell into a familiar expression, what JT had affectionately named her ‘why you always lying’ face during the first case they worked together.

“Got about four hours before I woke up,” he said, giving her a wry grin in return before nodding towards Isabella. “Then little miss night owl got up a few minutes later and I haven’t been able to get her back to sleep.”

Dani couldn’t blame him. She’d heard horror stories of sleepless nights from her oldest sister, but she could already sense Isabella starting to relax in her arms, absently rubbing the little girl’s back. Isabella was already much easier to handle than Dani’s niece and nephew.

“Well, we’ve already exhausted all your options. Let me try something.”

She didn’t think his eyes could get any bigger, but leave it to Bright to prove people wrong.

“You don’t have to--”

“You need to rest.” Her tone brokered no room for discussion. “We need to be up at six. Try to sleep for another hour. Make it an even five hours,” she added with a smirk.

“Five isn’t an even number.” Malcolm chuckled as Dani shot him a playful glare, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, but if you need help--”

“I’ll wake you, now go to sleep.” She gazed at him with stern eyes, practically daring him to ignore her. “Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Dani shooed him to bed with a roll of her eyes, her smile tender as she looked back down at Isabella.

Malcolm felt sore and exhausted, barely remembering to take off his glasses as his head hit his pillow. He could hear Dani softly speaking to Izzy as his eyes fell shut.

Wait.

That wasn’t it. She was singing.

“Moon river… Wider than a mile...”

Dani crooned as she rocked the baby, who seemed to settle down the more she was sung to. Her voice was--

Malcolm already found her voice steadying for his nerves, honeyed contralto with the slightest hint of gravel to it, but her singing?

“I’m crossing you in style someday... Oh dream maker, you heart breaker...”

He let out a content sigh, having no words for once. He didn’t realize he was smiling as he let Dani’s singing lull him to a gentle sleep.

“Wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way...”

And for once, he felt nothing but peace.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

“Our prime suspect is Evan Huntington.”

Malcolm went straight into never-miss-a-detail profiler mode as he fed Isabella her bottle. The baby was kicking one leg with glee as she drank her milk.

“He had a previous relationship with our victim, who’s vastly different personality-wise from his usual flings and even his own wife. The fact that Arianna doesn’t look like any of them is another inconsistency in his behaviour.”

“So let me get this straight.” JT interrupted with a grimace that Edrisa liked to refer to as his ‘turtle face’. “This guy sleeps with the women at his office…” his nose scrunched up as he tried to process what he heard, “and then to get revenge, his wife sleeps with them too?”

“Yup.” Dani had an identical look on her face and for a second, Malcolm mistook them for siblings. “Gwendolyn even tried to get me and Bright to sleep with her when we interviewed her.”

Gil let out a laugh of disbelief as JT looked like he swallowed a crateful of lemons.

“Tell me you’re kidding, Powell.”

“I really wish I was,” she snorted before shooting a sly look at Bright. “You should’ve seen Bright's face. You could pinpoint the exact moment his brain started imploding.”

Malcolm just narrowed his eyes at Dani playfully as she teasingly narrowed her eyes back at him.

“Does Evan even know about Isabella?” Gil questioned, frowning at the idea of such a bright little girl being raised by someone as flippant and dismissive as a Huntington.

Malcolm pursed his mouth as he looked down at the baby, who had abandoned her bottle in favour of playing with the grey silk pocket square tucked into his blazer.

“He knows she exists, but he refuses to acknowledge that he’s her birth father. Arianna was already pretty adamant about keeping him out of Izzy’s life.”

If he was being honest, he was hoping this little girl couldn’t be taken away by that man. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to Isabella if she were to grow up with that so-called family. Would she be loved? Would she even be taken care of or would she end up neglected like the characters in one of Ainsley’s historical romance novels?

“Who are the Huntingtons anyways?” JT cut in, his arms crossed. “‘Cause all I’m getting from this is bleach blonde one percenters who moonlight as cartoon villains and make deals with the devil.”

Malcolm and Gil paused at this, giving JT identical sidelong looks in near perfect synchrony. JT rolled his eyes. Gil isn't my dad, my ass.

“Miri and Noa have been really into Gravity Falls lately. The Huntingtons sound just like the Northwests.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Malcolm adjusted Isabella in his arms, letting her sit on his hip as he set aside her bottle. “Let’s just say the Huntingtons are richer than most of New York combined--”

“Which means they get away with murder all the time. That’s why we need to find something concrete that could connect them to Arianna’s murder,” Dani added, “And I don't think Evan Huntington’s willing to take a paternity test.”

Isabella interrupted with a small shriek before playing with Malcolm’s pocket square again. The team let out a laugh at her outburst, Malcolm especially.

“Exactly. See guys, she gets what we’re saying.”

As he continued with his profile, Malcolm didn’t notice that Isabella started trying to copy the swift way he gesticulated whenever he talked, nearly in time with him. The sight of her waving her chubby little arms with the same wide, unblinking expression mirrored on Malcolm’s face was adorable.

Gil couldn’t help but chuckle as he was paying more attention to the baby than the man she was imitating. Just as Malcolm was going to explain more about Evan Huntington, his face suddenly twisted. The older man raised an eyebrow in concern.

“You okay, Bright? And don’t just brush it off with an ‘I’m fine’.”

“I’m fine. Really,” Malcolm insisted after getting a look from Gil before letting out a chuckle, “It’s more to do with Isabella here and the fact that she needs a change.” Isabella giggled as Malcolm shouldered her diaper bag with practiced ease, “I’ll be right back.”

“Just be glad you’re not dealing with two of them at once!”

JT called out as Malcolm left the room, much to Dani and Gil’s amusement.

“You think you’re done, but then the other one needs changing,” he grumbled. “And it doesn’t help when they look the same so you don't remember which one you just changed.”

“At least yours are both girls,” Dani quipped, the corner of her mouth tilting up as she remembered. “Mona kept confusing her kids for months and she had one of each.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

When Malcolm returned, he was surprised to find that Edrisa had joined them.

“Bright!” She lit the second she saw him. “Right on time!”

He chuckled as he placed Isabella in her stroller and gave her a few toys to distract her. He glanced at Dani for a second before doing a double take, his eyes comically wide.

“Wait,” he managed to choke out, his mouth suddenly dry. “What’s happening here?”

Jessica might have drilled the idea of being a gentleman into him, but even that didn’t stop him from staring at the corset that was hugging Dani’s slim frame. It was a more subtle design than most, but the champagne silk and delicate gold embroidery against her deep blue shirt highlighted her dark hair and made her olive skin practically glow.

The only thing jarring this image was the gaping hole in the corset just below Dani’s sternum.

“We found Arianna’s corset in the dumpster outside her building,” JT cut in, looking almost amused at the way Bright was looking at Dani. “Seems our killer didn’t account for the garbage not being collected until the weekend.”

“And according to the shop owners where Arianna would buy her corsets, this is one of their designs, but this isn’t their corset,” Dani explained before she let out a hum of appreciation, looking down at the corset in consideration.

Malcolm furrowed his brows, still not taking his eyes off her.

“How could they tell?”

“That’s the best part,” Edrisa grinned in excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “If you take a close look at the stitching, you’ll see that this corset was machine stitched when they exclusively sell hand-sewn corsets only.”

The coroner nodded in approval as she added, "Plus they pride themselves on being cruelty-free and using eco-friendly materials.” She paused at the incredulous looks everyone was giving her. “What? My stepdad talks about them all the time. He did a collaboration with them for his last fashion line."

Malcolm’s eyes were sharp with focus as his hand hovered over at the stitching of the corset, ignoring the hole left from a knife having gone through it.

“Amazing.”

His fingers barely brushed over the curved seam above the hip when he faintly heard someone clear their throat. Gil, most likely.

“Bright?”

Malcolm was startled out of his thoughts, looking up to see Dani staring down at him with her eyebrows raised and her nose scrunched in confusion and he was suddenly very aware of just how close he was to her.

“Right, sorry.” He cleared his throat, a high flush stark against his pale skin. “So why’s Dani wearing it?”

“So glad you asked,” Edrisa piped up, clapping her hands in excitement. “Since we need to figure out what about it killed Arianna, Dani volunteered to try it out...”

Her smile turned into a pout, “So far no luck. We’ve laced it up as tight as possible, but it’s not like Dani’s squashed like a tin of sardines. It doesn’t seem like it’s difficult to breathe in it.”

Dani was reminded of a confused puppy at the bewildered expression that overtook Malcolm’s face.

“You’re fine?”

She nodded, her brow wrinkled in thought.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her hands smoothing down the front panel of the corset. “It doesn’t even feel like I’m wearing it, honestly.”

Just then Isabella let out a very loud cry, startling everyone. Everyone turned to see her plush owl on the floor, the little girl’s face scrunched up when her stubby little arms couldn’t reach it. Malcolm was quick to grab it and hand it back to her, earning him a toothless grin that matched his answering one.

He wasn’t expecting to hear someone suddenly collapse behind him.

They all turned and their eyes widened in horror at the sight before them. Dani was sprawled across the floor, eyes wide and lips turning pale as she gasped for air.

“Dani!”

Malcolm charged towards her in a panic, ignoring the near scrapes as he fell to his knees next to her. He couldn’t help but curse as his fingers fumbled, desperately trying to undo the corset which seemed to be getting tighter and tighter by the second. Gritting his teeth in frustration when he couldn’t get the knot out, he whipped out a pocket knife from his suit jacket and slashed through the laces before ripping it off her.

He was so going to hear it from Gil later, a scolding about unauthorized weapons already ringing in his ears, but at the moment Malcolm could focus on nothing but Dani.

He nearly slumped over her in relief as Dani started gasping as air began to flow through her lungs once again. She weakly grabbed Malcolm’s arms as he cradled her to him, keeping her upright against his chest. He barely registered flinging the damn corset away from her, now a pitiful crumpled mess on the floor.

“I-I couldn’t breathe…” Dani finally managed to choke out, her knuckles white from her grip on him. “I couldn’t breathe!”

Malcolm’s heart thundered almost violently as he stroked her hair, not letting her go as cool air started to fill her lungs again. Dani could practically feel it from where she had her head resting on his chest, the rhythm soothing her as she closed her eyes in exhaustion.

Malcolm briefly looked up at Gil, his expression grim, a spark of fury making his eyes electric.

“I think we know how this thing is our murder weapon.”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"JT just texted, they’re on their way back." Gil reported as he pocketed his phone.

His expression was grim as he saw the man he considered a son freeze in the middle of his frantic pacing back and forth with a clingy Isabella on his hip. Malcolm hadn't been able to go to the hospital with Dani because the little girl saw him trying to leave the room and he wasn't able to do it in face of her tears.

“Is…” he hesitated, swallowing thickly. “Is Dani going to be okay?”

If Gil noticed that his eyes were a little red, he had the sense not to say anything.

“He said that both Edrisa and the hospital doctor confirmed that Dani only has some mild bruising. You managed to get the corset off her before any permanent damage was done.”

Malcolm didn’t seem to take any comfort in that. The almost pout on his face was enough to make Gil smirk.

“Kid, she’s gonna be okay. She’s from the Bronx, tougher than both of us combined, remember?” He unconsciously relaxed as he saw Malcolm let out a tiny smile. “Quick thinking with the knife, by the way,” he added, his tone almost smug.

He barely managed to keep his expression stern as the pout on Malcolm’s face dissolved into a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. It was the same face he had made the time the then officer had caught a twelve year old Bright attempting to smuggle a cageful of budgies--which Gil had later learned he ‘liberated’ from a neglectful owner--into his room, he couldn’t help but note.

“I justified it at the time,” he admitted sheepishly as Izzy patted his stubble, “but in hindsight, probably not the best idea to have a knife on me if I’m taking care of a baby.”

“Common sense kicks in at last,” Gil chuckled as Malcolm’s face flushed with rare embarrassment, “At least I don't have to make that my next point.”

At least, he hoped he didn’t have to. Had the kid even kept his wall of weapons out of the baby’s line of sight? He kept a straight face, but he was practically screaming internally at the thought.

“By the way,” Malcolm added as he placed Izzy back in her stroller, “my mother’s going to be stopping by to pick up Isabella while I go take care of something.”

“Where you off to, kid?”

“I, uh, I’m gonna see Ainsley.” He glanced away, still fidgeting with the stroller’s handles, “I haven’t talked to her for a few days, though I’d check up on her.”

“And Isabella?”

“Don’t worry,” Malcolm let out a tense chuckle, “That’s why I already called Mother, she’s more than happy to watch her for a few hours.”

Gil gave an understanding smile.

“I can keep an eye on Isabella until Jess gets here. Can’t be much different than babysitting Tala. Go see Ainsley.”

Malcolm’s smile was solemn as he knelt down to face Isabella. The baby just grinned at him and reached out to pat his face.

“I’m only going to be gone for a little while, okay? Mother’s going to take you on another adventure, that’ll be fun, right?”

Isabella gurgled as she hugged her owl, the plush toy squished against a chubby cheek.

“I’ll be back soon, Izzy.” As he stood up to leave, he turned to Gil once more. “Thanks for doing this, Gil.”

“Anytime, kid.”

As Malcolm walked away, Gil knelt down and gave Isabella a smile. The baby let out a light squeal as she reached out to him, the tips of her tiny fingers barely grazing his beard. She reminded him of Tala, his only grandchild when she was that age, wide eyed and curious and grabbing anything that caught her eye.

Once he took her back to his office, Isabella started to get fussy. He picked her up, immediately realizing what she wanted as he took the bottle of formula she hadn't finished yet. Gil couldn’t help the fond smile that overtook his face as her big blue eyes stared up at him, gurgling as a chubby fist stroked his chin. She started kicking a leg as if to say she was enjoying her snack.

“You just wanna do everything at once, don’t you?” He would firmly deny that he cooed at Isabella if one of his officers saw him like this. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you took after Bright.”

He didn’t get a response nor did he expect one, but the gummy smile that lit up her face as she reached for her bottle gave him a sense of understanding.

Then a wave of regret hit him. If Evan Huntington knew about Isabella now, why hadn’t he taken her away?

The lieutenant decided then and there that that sorry excuse for a man wouldn’t have a chance at ruining this little girl’s life.

Not if he had anything to say about.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

After the rollercoaster that had been the blackout and Endicott’s stabbing, Malcolm and Jessica somehow managed to keep Ainsley from being sent to prison by the skin of their teeth. Malcolm was the first to admit that it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of Gil, Dani, and Edrisa. Even JT, much to the surprise of both mother and son.

But it didn’t stop Jessica from finding it fit to send Ainsley to a rehabilitation facility of sorts. Phoenix Rehab, which the Milton matriarch had said had glowing reviews was a facility usually housed teenage heirs to fortunes with so-called attitude problems and wealthy housewives who found that something about their life just wasn’t enough and needed supposed space to breathe.

Very rarely were there people like Ainsley, who genuinely needed help and needed to understand themselves and their actions.

Malcolm had been against the idea at first. It was already public knowledge that Ainsley was The Surgeon’s daughter, but if the staff were to find out what had really happened that night...

He shuddered at the thought of Ainsley being raked over hot coals by the fallout.

Jessica, still reeling from what happened, had suggested Ainsley stay there for at least six months. She was reluctant to cut Ainsley off from society, but she felt that her daughter definitely needed to be somewhere where she didn’t have to deal with media vultures. Especially when Ainsley couldn’t call herself the well-adjusted Whitly anymore.

But from the start, their mother had made it clear that if Ainsley ever wanted to come back home, whether it be for the weekend or forever, she would welcome her with what Gil dubbed as the Whitly equivalent of arms wide open.

His sister had ended up making a deal with Jessica. If she could find even one thing she liked about the place--whether it was the food, the meditation classes, even just the comfy mattresses and the freedom to decorate her room as she saw fit--within a week...

Then she would concede to stay the six months Jessica had recommended.

Soon six months had come and gone, Jessica and Malcolm making various efforts to visit her at least once a week and Ainsley making quite a few visits back to the Whitly family home. Though she always stubbornly insisted that she didn’t need them to check up on her so much, especially considering the long drive.

But for reasons no one seemed to understand, the youngest Whitly always seemed eager to go back.

Ainsley clearly seemed to be improving. She half-begrudgingly admitted to Malcolm that she may have been ignoring her own mental health and she managed to come to terms with what she had done, making peace with it more or less.

But it still didn’t stop the guilt that she felt every time she saw a crime news report. Nicholas Endicott was nothing short of a monster for all the trauma he had put them through and she wasn’t sorry he was dead. But what worried her the most was that something in her--something twisted, something she could have inherited from the dark underbelly of Martin Whitly’s psyche--had snapped and she just couldn’t stand by and watch scum like him get what he wanted.

Whether it was him lusting after their mother or having Malcolm and Gil at his mercy, she couldn’t let him get away with murder.

Not again.

Not anymore.

She was only sorry for how it had made her notorious, serial killer father downright giddy.

Even more sorry that her mother and brother had been left to deal with the consequences.

And before long, six months turned to seven, to eight, then nine, but as time ticked on, Ainsley Whitly seemed to have no intention of coming home for good.

Malcolm was brought over to where Ainsley was lounging on an open patio. She looked comfortable in a flowy white tunic top and matching leggings, her hair fabulous and effortlessly styled as always.

She seemed at an easel painting... something?

He couldn’t tell if she was trying for peacock feathers or she accidentally started channeling Klimt with all the greens and golds.

“Before you say anything, I’m just playing around with this,” Ainsley said without looking up. “I will smear green paint in your hair.”

And that was Ainsley all over. She always seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to her big brother trying to tease her. He simply grinned as he walked over to her, meeting her halfway for a bear hug before he sat next to her.

“Hey bro,” she grinned, “it’s been eighty four years. Please tell me you brought truffle cupcakes instead of just your sorry mug.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but snort as he shook his head.

“Hi Ains. Good to see you’re still you.”

She blew a raspberry, wagging her paintbrush at him in a way that reminded him of the way great-aunt Martha Antoinette would wag her finger, seafoam green manicure almost blinding whenever she scolded him or their mother.

“Your last visit was over a week ago. You finally coming to terms that you don’t need to be checking up on me so much?”

“It’s not that. I’ve just been…” His mouth twisted as he tried to figure out how to even begin to explain everything, “busy the last few days. How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good. I’ve taken up painting obviously,” she smirked, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “You think if I grew facial hair, I could be Bob Ross?”

“Ains,” Malcolm barely got out, his shoulders shaking with laughter, “I think it takes more than mere facial hair to even pass for Bob Ross.”

“Rude,” she scoffed playfully before trailing off. “I dunno,” she added with a shrug, “I’ve been painting a lot of happy trees lately and I could do with another hobby.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” A relieved smile spread across his face. “How’ve you been doing?”

“Okay for the most part. I’ve been binge-watching The Good Place the past couple of days. I don’t get all the hype, but it was actually pretty good. Though the philosophy bits just confuse the hell out of me.”

“Well, it’s an acquired taste for some.”

Malcolm chuckled, remembering how JT’s face had scrunched up when he and Tally were debating about ethics in the latest episode during their last group outing. JT preferred everything straightforward while Tally liked diving into symbolism and the intricacies of foreshadowing.

And yet the two opposites had just celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary.

The siblings shared a moment of comfortable silence before Ainsley spoke up.

“You came here to ask me something.” She crossed her arms over the table and leaned forward, her knowing eyes befitting of her passion for journalism. “And don’t deny it, you know you can’t hide anything from Whitly women, bro. What is it?”

For once, he carefully thought over his words.

“You gave Mom the six months she wanted. Your doctors say you’re more than equipped to return to your job and your regular life.” He frowned in confusion as Ainsley looked down at the table, almost curled into herself. “You don’t have an insatiable bloodlust, you don’t take pleasure in hurting people. I can’t imagine what must have been going through your head at the time--”

His eyes softened when he saw her look so small, so unlike her confident self. As much as he initially thought otherwise, he hadn’t been the only one affected by their father.

“But I do understand being afraid of what you could be capable of. And I know that it was a result of trauma and stress, but what happened obviously came from a very logical and rational urge to protect our family.”

“I know,” Ainsley mumbled before looking back up at her big brother, “I’m usually good at getting that through my head--I’m still scared that something will happen again. I’ll suddenly get this pang in my chest at the realization that yes, maybe I did kill to protect my family. Maybe his death helped to save the lives of innocent people who would have died because of him...”

Her voice wobbled, her eyes suspiciously bright and it was like she was five years old again, confused and hanging onto the hem of her big brother’s sweater.

“But none of that changes the fact that I did kill him. I killed him and I don’t even remember doing it.”

Malcolm placed a hand on her shoulder as he noticed her eyes glaze over, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m not saying that I’m worse off than you or you can’t understand what it’s like--but you’ve had this stigma of being Martin Whitly’s son for twenty years. It sucks, but at least it’s a constant for you. Imagine feeling like you’re doing fine and then all of a sudden, you’re hit with the guilt of something you actually did and can’t take back. Something you can never change.”

Malcolm held out his other hand and Ainsley was quick to take it, much like when they had been kids and she had held her brother’s hand because she was afraid of the high dive at the pool at Grandma Liz’s house.

“I feel that less here, but I’m still reminded.”

“You’re not a bad person, Ains. Single minded maybe, but that’s hardly the worst trait for a journalist to have.”

She let out a wry laugh.

“But I still killed a man and that changes things.” She pursed her lips as she let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t know if I can ever feel normal again.”

Malcolm nodded. Didn’t he have so many sleepless nights over that during the past twenty years? Maybe it was something only family could understand.

“Welcome to my world,” he jested, the beginnings of a teasing smile unfurling.

“I guess it was only a matter of time.” Ainsley let go of his hand, her laughter given way to a resigned sigh. “And I know Mom misses me, but now she’s asking me to either come back for this gala or give great-grandma Catherine ‘the Great’ something to roll over in her grave about.”

“Well, she was the life of the party back in her day,” he shrugged.

He vaguely remembered a larger than life old woman in an Audrey Hepburn style black dress and opera gloves, laugh lines around Milton blue eyes and streaks of silver in her chestnut hair. Malcolm had been four when she passed away, but he could still recall his young self balancing on her ruby red shoes as she led him in wide sweeping circles across the dance floor.

“And let’s face it, you definitely take after her ‘cause you’re much better at the whole gala thing than I am. I wouldn’t even know how to talk to anyone, really.”

“Wait,” Ainsley turned to him in disbelief. “You, Professor Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome, are actually going? Willingly?”

“Yeah, and here’s the kicker. Mother wanted me to bring a date.”

Ainsley let out a snort, her expression sly.

“Because you’re so clearly fighting them off with a stick?”

“Oh, ha, ha. Very funny,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes.

“What are you going to do when you show up without a date?”

Malcolm went quiet, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves and looking at anything but her. Ainsley’s eyes went wide with shock and delight, her reporter mind quickly connecting the dots.

“No. Way. Malcolm Alexander Bright! You actually have a date?”

Malcolm squirmed in embarrassment, his ears turning red.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a date exactly--”

“It’s Dani, huh?”

“Wha--” Malcolm just blinked at her in bemusement, “I just--how’d you even--”

“Figure it out? Oh please,” Ainsley rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You couldn’t be more obvious. I mean, you literally talk about her every time you come visit.”

He froze at that, eyes so wide that she thought they’d pop out at any given second. Malcolm briefly wondered how his sister could read him so easily now. It had to have been the result of her almost year long stay here.

“I do?”

He winced at the way his voice almost cracked.

“Yup,” she nodded, practically preening with unholy glee. “It’s always the same thing. You tell me about a case, update me on Gil, guess the JT name of the week, and you end on some hilarious joke Dani made, usually at your expense. Which confirms you being a masochist because you find those the funniest,” she added in afterthought.

Ainsley settled back in her seat, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

“So tell me, big brother. How’d you manage to trick her into saying yes?”

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Dani wasn’t normally one to simply stay at her desk, but she couldn’t help the soft smile on her face as she watched Gil and Isabella through the window of his office, the baby laughing as Gil made funny faces. It had been a while since she saw him like this, but lolo Gil was definitely a good look on him.

“Oh, Detective Powell!”

She snapped out of her thoughts a posh voice called out to her, accompanied by the crisp sound of heels clicking with each step across the floor.

“Hello, Mrs Whitly.”

Dani looked up at the older woman with a polite smile. Jessica Whitly reminded her of the high society ladies from the reruns of Dynasty that her Granmè used to watch when she was little. Affably dramatic with those close to her, but scrappy enough to get down and dirty when she needed to if breaking an antique vase over Watkins’ head was any indication.

Dani nearly had to cover her eyes when she spotted the bright, friendly smile on the other woman’s face, a sharp contrast with the navy suede trench coat and muted silver heels she wore. Well, at least she knew where Bright got it from now.

“Oh no, dear, Mrs Whitly was my former mother-in-law,” Jessica chuckled airily, waving off the formality. “Given how attached my son is to you, you simply must call me Jessica. It’s lovely to see you again.”

“It’s nice to see you too.”

It should’ve been awkward, talking to Bright’s mother like this as if her relationship with her son was something more profound than friendship, but honestly?

Jessica wasn’t as bad as some of the other high society mothers she had come across since meeting Bright. She was a lot of things; nosy, opinionated, a little judgemental at times when it came to Gil or her children’s choices. But she didn’t let her shortcomings stop her from trying to do right by the people she cared about.

The subtle smile on Dani’s face was genuine, even as the detective cleared her throat upon recalling last night’s invitation.

“Oh, by the way, I thought you should know that Bright invited me along.”

“Invited you along...?” The older woman feigned ignorance with a quizzical tilt of her head, a rare moment of mischief for her.

“Uh,” Dani hesitated for a second, absently biting her lower lip before she just came out with it. “Just that he extended the invitation for your gala... thing. He wasn’t really specific about what it was.”

“Oh,” Jessica lit up, clasping her hands together in delight, “So Malcolm did ask you after all! Finally. I knew that boy had a bit of the Milton persistence in him if I gave him a little nudge in the right direction, so to speak.”

Dani swallowed a chuckle, remembering the little family history lesson Bright had given them during the impromptu tour of the Whitly family home.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Oh, this is wonderful, dear! So tell me, what do you plan on wearing?”

Oh.

Dani hadn’t really thought about what she would wear to an upscale event like that. Her family was comfortably middle class and the Powells’ idea of fancy was a night at the New York ballet and a late dinner at the Havana Café.

“Um, I don’t really have a lot of options. Just that dress Bright bought me for a case a while back.”

“That fabulous oxblood gown you wore to the Taylor wedding?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dani let out a laugh, simply shrugging a shoulder. “I thought about having my mom upcycle it and add some sheer lace sleeves, maybe a peekaboo collar.”

“As inventive as that may be and I will be asking for your mother’s number later,” Jessica looked momentarily intrigued by the idea before she shook her head, “I cannot let you be seen in that.”

Dani was nearly taken back, her brows raised in disbelief.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jessica started, “That dress is gorgeous and you looked stunning as always. I've lost count of how many times people have come up to me and asked who you were after you flawlessly took down the Countess of Monte Cristo, not even a hair out of place.”

Jessica’s expression turned sly as she recalled how her son would start to frown in annoyance whenever he overheard a wealthy scion ask if the lovely detective was single. It may have led to a few ice cold glares whenever Dani wasn’t looking and the occasional possessive hand cupping the small of her back as he guided her through yet another dance, but the Milton matriarch would let Malcolm have his dignity.

For now, at least.

“But it’s practically an unwritten rule in the upper echelon, you simply cannot be seen in something you’ve already worn, especially when it comes to these sort of events.”

"I guess you have a point…" Dani conceded.

She might have had a brief glimpse of high society at the Taylor wedding, but she could tell from a glance that there was a lot of cutthroat viciousness hidden behind polite veneers. She was not about to go to the gala like a country bumpkin put on display at the--

Dani mentally shook her head. She must have listened to Mona talk about historical Cinderella style novels one too many times. How did Bright even grow up in that kind of environment?

“Oh, I know!” Jessica's face lit up once again, “Why don’t I take you shopping? I still need to get my dress as well and I’m sure we could find something that suits your taste. We can make a lady’s day out of it.”

“I don’t know, Mrs Whitly--Jessica,” Dani corrected after a pointed look from the older woman. “I can’t exactly take off work--”

“Actually, you don’t need to continue your shift. Given that it ended a little while ago.” Gil interrupted, his face smug as he walked out of his office, bouncing a very happy Isabella in his arms. “Powell’s just a dedicated worker.”

Isabella kicked her legs in excitement, squealing when she saw Jessica hold her arms out.

“Oh, my little bluebell!” Jessica gushed as she took the baby from Gil, looking every inch a doting grandmother as she turned back to Dani. “Now then, if your work day is over, I would love to take you dress shopping.”

Dani opened and closed her mouth, unsure how to answer. Jessica was nice enough in small doses, but even she didn’t know if she could handle the entire day with Bright’s mom.

“Powell,” Gil interjected, fatherly assurance bleeding into his usual no-nonsense lieutenant persona. “After all the hullabaloo, you’ve definitely earned a break today. Don’t let me catch you back here until tomorrow.”

“Then I guess…” Dani paused, looking at Jessica with a tiny smile. “Why not? I could use a day off right about now.”

“Wonderful!”

Isabella started to clap and giggle as Dani stood up, the little girl’s enthusiasm making the grin on Jessica’s face grow even wider.

“See, even Bluebell’s excited for you to join us.”

Gil chuckled with a fond expression, offering to get Isabella’s stroller when his phone suddenly rang. He hurried back to his office when he saw just who was calling.

“Gil, I think I figured out how to get Evan Huntington to talk.”

“Bright,” Gil pinched the bridge of his nose. “We still don’t have enough evidence to bring him in. There’s still a possibility that he’s not our killer.”

“Killer or not, he knows something. He’s just not telling us.”

“Don’t I know it,” he groaned, a feeling of dread already starting to bubble up, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Do I even want to know what you have in mind?”

“Probably not,” he joked before his voice turned serious. “We may have to talk to Evan Huntington’s father, Edgar. But in order for it to work--”

He could practically hear Malcolm’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

“--I may need to pay my father a visit.”

Hey guys!

I’m sorry this took so long... again, writer’s block plus online summer courses have not been a good combination. I’m hoping that chapter 8 doesn’t take this long to write but no worries, I’m not gonna abandon the story... if anyone’s still interested in the story lol

I hope you guys are doing well and staying safe, I’ll see you next time XP

P.S. extra special thank you to @s4karuna because I could not have posted these past few chapters without her edits

#prodigal son #malcolm bright #dani powell #gil arroyo #jt tarmel #edrisa tanaka #ainsley whitly #jessica whitly #brightwell #carved in the cradle #prodigal son fanfiction

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livlepretre · 3 years

Note

So what happened with the ghosts? If you want to share. 🙂

at first I thought you were asking about one of my fics and I was like ???? but now I realize you are asking me about my actual terrible time living in a haunted house in good old Dublin.

okay. so, to begin, I’m not particularly skeptical about ghosts. New Orleans is a really haunted city and my grandfather’s house which I spent a huge amount of my childhood in was pretty haunted-- newspapers mysteriously sitting in the foyer in the morning even though the doors are all locked and the alarm is on, hearing your name being called all throughout the house and it turns out you’re there alone, a gardener who used to never go out at sunset because there was a man in a planter’s hat who would walk from the corner of the house to the pecan tree and back every night at the sun was going down-- honestly I knew A LOT of people with similar experiences growing up so I just,,,,,, accepted that ghosts were pretty much a benign part of life sometimes. (and there may have also been an incident where that same gardner pulled up an old flagstone and a woman popped out of the ground and he came inside white as a sheet, but my grandfather’s house pre-dated the civil war so it didn’t surprise anyone that it was super haunted.)

well. when I was in college I had a JYA in Dublin, and I moved into a townhouse with a group of other Americans. something like day 3 or 4 in the townhouse, I knew for a fact I was the only one home, but I had this intense feeling standing in the upstairs hallway that there was someone standing right behind me. I can’t describe it as anything other than absolute certainty that there was another presence in the home. at the time, I was like, chill, there’s a ghost. and I went on with things and didn’t worry about it, as my own personal experiences with ghosts were pretty much that sometimes they’re just their and they’re harmless, and I kept this insight completely to myself since I also suspected that my roommates were likely to be skeptics and I didn’t want to come off week 1 as Ghost Girl.

Well, end of week 1, little did I know, but the gang who lived on the 3rd floor of the townhouse (I was on the 2nd) decided to make a ouija board on a lark. I have no idea where this idea came from, since I specifically did not mention the ghost to anyone... other than obviously it was on a lot of other people’s minds as well. well. they do the ouija board. the power cuts off in the middle of their fucking seance. it comes back on after a few minutes, and they decide to be done with trying to contact anything, but that night all of my roommates who were involved with the ouija board incident had.... like,,,,,, suicide fuel nightmares. like the worst most vivid nightmares they had ever had in their entire lives.

that was also the night that the fire alarm started going off at 3 am. each floor had this old fashioned red metal bell with a mallet, and it would go off 3, 4 times a week for no reason at all... it was one of those things where at first we just chalked it up to an annoying old building.

but there were a number of weird things that happened-- door slamming shut by themselves with no possible explanation, the fire alarm bell going off all the time, a mysterious fire that none of us could figure out, just a lot of little things that were interesting to me and which I was like ghost! I was super interested in the ghost and talked about it a lot because I was fascinated. Big mistake.

I didn’t understand at the time that some ghosts are malevolent. I didn’t understand that there were times where it’s best to ignore the ghost and pretend it doesn’t exist rather than to talk about it where it can hear you.

we had this big heavy mirror that hung on the wall at the top of the stairs. big sturdy thing, weighed a ton, must have been hanging there forever.

one night I was standing under it talking to one of my roommates and the thing came off the wall and nearly landed on my head-- I was really lucky that I jumped back in time. The whole thing shattered. It probably could have killed me. I was freaked, so I went back to my bedroom, where my laptop was open and in the middle of my queen sized bed. I remember that it was in the middle specifically, because I had noticed it was sort of weirdly slipping off the edge of the bed for some reason when I had it over to the left, so I put it smack in the middle of the bed. well, I walked into the bedroom immediately after the mirror had nearly fallen on me, and honestly describing this still nearly breaks my mind. literally less than two minutes after the close call with the mirror my laptop gets hurled against the wall-- like four or five feet-- to land smashed up on the ground.

At that point I realized that I had been talking about the ghost and it had noticed me and my only hope was to shut the fuck up right that second.

I never talked about the ghost where the ghost could hear me again.

Not to say there weren’t still ghost issues. The fire alarm continued to go off at the witching hour all the fucking time. There was an incident where my whole bedroom started to mysteriously v i b r a t e ??? Like, thundering. I thought that the gang was upstairs in the bedroom above mine dancing or something, but they were all on the other side of the house. (I later found out the fucking ouija board had been long-term stored directly above my bed, w o n d e r f u l )

There was also the time I was sitting on the floor in my friend’s room down the hall from mine, and I said to her, “why is there a pillow stuffed up your chimney???” naturally, she was like, “what the fuck” -- so, slowly, we pulled this throw pillow out from the chimney (realizing that the pillow was the one missing from the sofa upstairs??) and there, on the throw pillow, was a bird with a broken neck.

there’s probably more that I can’t recall anymore because it’s been like a decade. I mostly remember being really afraid a lot of the time, as were like half of my roommates who were feeling similarly.... oppressed by the ghost, and being kind of helpless about it because I was a poor student and honestly that ghost wrecked me financially that semester when it wrecked my laptop so maybe it did get the upper hand at the time. idk.

fun fact I actually met my husband because he was one of my roommates during all of this, so there were positives?? he’s a very rational person though so he just stuffed a book between the bell and the mallet on his floor so the fire alarm couldn’t torment him and ignored the ghost.

I’ve had a couple of other ghosty experiences since then, but this is the one that stands out as the most personally harrowing. it was pretty wild to realize that some ghosts mean harm and that this one had it in for me in particular. I had a friend (actually one of my roommates who drew the fucking ouija board back in Dublin) go through something much much worse that honestly I can’t talk about, but has decently fucked me up for life just knowing about it. The funny thing is that he basically didn’t believe in the ghost back in Dublin (I think he was blacked out most of that semester though), but he reached out to me about his frankly horrific situation all because he remembered me flipping the fuck out in Dublin.

Anyway. that’s the story of how ‘don’t talk about the ghost where the ghost can hear you’ became one of my lifelong rules to live by.

#story time

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tysonrunningfox · 4 years

Text

Two Night Stand AU: Part 7

Ao3

Hiccup (3:52am): Astrid please, I can explain. Better than I did. I’m sorry.

Hiccup (3:52am): Astrid

Hiccup (3:53am): I keep saying your name, I don’t

Hiccup (3:53am): It’s my favorite name

Hiccup (3:53am): I know my name I just a bodily function but I love how you told me that and also none of this matters because I

Hiccup (3:54am): Please, if you get these, please give me your number. Please.

Hiccup (3:54am): I’m not begging. Not in the manipulative way. Or any way.

Hiccup (3:56am): Except I actually am begging.

Hiccup (3:56am): In the pathetic way.

Hiccup (3:58am): I thought about running after you. I didn’t because well, I was naked, or not, that’s not, I

Hiccup (3:59am): Please, just say anything. Please. I need to talk to you. I

Hiccup (4:02am): I’ve been saying ‘I’ a lot, that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about what this means to you and I’m guessing it couldn’t be worse. This couldn’t have gone worse. I was everything you feared and more. Or less. I don’t

Hiccup (4:03am): I don’t want your comfort, not that you’d give it, I’m saying I’m the worst. I’m saying I’m awful and I’m sorry and this is so bad and it looks even worse than it is and I’d like to talk about exactly how bad it looks with you. Only you.

Hiccup (4:04am): Please, just message me back or give me your number or your address, I won’t stalk you, I’ll just send you a long-winded letter in cursive on cardstock.

Hiccup (4:05am): I’ll buy cardstock, I can’t write cursive though

This is pointless. And stupid. And the only thing Hiccup cares about even as he gets the notification that Heather’s plane has landed. She’ll be home soon. Fine. It’s fine.

He should make the bed. He should shower. He should do anything but obsessively message the perfect girl who isn’t responding.

Astrid.

Astrid who feels like home. Astrid who’s gone. Astrid. Astrid.

He keeps saying her name like it has a hidden definition. Like it’s a code that can unlock some way out of the mess he’s placed himself in.

It can’t, because there isn’t.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Because he made a mess. Not just a mess. A mud pit, in which he voluntarily brought dirt into his life, and then mixed it with water, and then invited someone who lacked the qualifications to turn mud into structure into his life, and somehow, instead of being a disaster, it just lit everything on fire.

The mud pit is a clay-pit. The moving sculpture of his life fired into place the second that he realized Astrid for what she truly was. Is.

It has to be possible.

Or, you know, there’s just no reason to any of this.

But the thing is that after pulling the short stick enough times, it ceases to be random chance and starts to feel like reserved karma. And Hiccup would like to cash in.

And yes, he understands that the idea of karma is not a genie in a bottle, it is not a magic wand, it cannot magically bring Astrid into his life, not that he’d want it to because—well, she’d hate it—but he thinks there should be some sort of cosmic station where one could exchange the sum of their theoretical suffering for what they want.

Like he lost a leg, that’s…big ass misery, ok? That was a gigantic ‘fuck you’ from the universe. He endured it with a mostly strong chin and stubborn sense of humor, but right now, he is willing to drop it forever just for a specific configuration of ten digits.

That’s a pretty good deal, right universe? Deal or No Deal?

Spin The Wheel of Fortune, Universe.

Do You Want to Be a Millionaire, Universe?

The Price is Right, as in this is the best he has to offer, so Universe, maybe make your move.

“Honey, I’m home!” Heather calls from the living room as she disarms the security alarm.

Check. The universe says, sliding the queen of the castle into view.

“In the bedroom,” he says back, staring down at Heather’s note, wondering how leading with it would go. Not well, not that there’s any way any of this will go well.

It’ll be faster maybe, if he leads with the Dear John letter he knew about for weeks that led him to make a ‘fuck you’ account on a dating website and God, he is so stupid.

“What the fuck is this?” Heather dives right into it, standing in the doorway with a folded piece of paper in her hand.

“Oh, sorry, I was supposed to be vacuuming with my pearls on,” he says flatly, “I forgot we were going to roleplay Leave it to Beaver, which takes on a very different meaning when you add the sexual element—”

“Hiccup,” Heather sighs his name like it’s an impossible to squelch bodily function, and he can’t keep Astrid off his mind for even a second, can he? “The note, by the front door, what is it?”

“I’ve…” He swallows hard, wiping his hand on his boxers before picking up his only shred of pitiable evidence, “I have the note right here.”

“Trade me,” she raises a non-plussed eyebrow, but her hand shakes as he puts her own letter into it and takes the scrap of paper from her.

Thanks for last night. I had fun. Great apartment!

xx Astrid

It’s smeared, written in makeup, casual in a way that Astrid isn’t. In a way he thought he was before he met her. His mouth goes dry and he tries to hide it, looking up at Heather and waiting for her to react to her own note.

She stares at it for a second before frowning and folding a new crease in it. When she holds it up at him like the last card in her Uno hand, it hits him for the first and final time that he really was batting out of his league with her. Not because she’s too good for him, even though his decision process over the last week or so corroborates that, but because she’s wrong for him at some fundamental level that he never believed in.

He knows he’s playing fast and loose with the concept of karma, but for the first time, fate makes some kind of sense.

“When did you find this?” She looks ashamed under her hard edges, the ones that don’t blunt and crumble even when they’re alone. The ones he used to think were strong when maybe they’re actually cruel, but he’s not dumb enough to blame her for making him that way.

Maybe they bring it out in each other. Brought.

“When did you write it?”

“Does that matter?” She laughs and Hiccup shrugs, willing himself honest even though it’s hard.

“Probably not.”

“Because of Alison, or whoever wrote the slutty little note you left me to find?”

‘Yes’ is the honest answer, but not the right one.

“Because you’re right. It’s not working.” He sighs, ��it hasn’t been for a while, we’ve been…growing apart—”

“You haven’t been growing at all,” she retorts, “and your snarky, cryptic thing isn’t as charming as it used to be when I’m around it all the time—”

“That’s fair,” he taps his temple, “I live here, it’s not great.”

“You waited until I was out of town and cheated on me instead of just telling me directly that you’d found my note.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “and you didn’t give me the note, I think it’s fair to say that communication has been breaking down for a while. And communication is the cornerstone of any relationship, so suffice to say when that breaks down, the relationship goes with it.”

She shakes her head at him, slowly, a little shocked. He doesn’t remember the last time he actually surprised her, the last time she authentically laughed at his antics instead of spurring him on with a half-interested glint in her eyes. She doesn’t quip back though. That hasn’t happened in a very long time.

“What happened to you?” She asks after a too long minute and he shrugs.

“I…realized it was time to be honest. To stop doing this just because we feel like we’re supposed to, because we’ve put so much time into it.” He feels it now, everything that drew him to her in the first place. All the hours and days and weeks they spent together, making friction like it was a resource. “The fact is, I don’t think we’re right for each other. I think we’re just…or at least I was scared that there’d never be anything better.”

“So, you’re breaking up with me because you’re infused with optimism that we’re both going to find something better.” She shakes her head, looking lighter and bored and not hurt enough for what he did. “You really believe that?”

“Not believing it wasn’t working.”

“You’re an idiot,” she points at Astrid’s note, which might as well be his prized possession now, because he’s going to have to move and it’ll fit in his wallet.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, I’m furious with you but…I get it. I wrote the note, I wish you hadn’t found it while snooping, I should have just given it to you. I would have if I thought you were capable of being this mature about this—”

“No, not about—we’re broken up, I think we both understand it, but umm…did you ever fake it?” What starts as half a joke ends in some bitter, curious, cringing place that he never wants to visit again, but given that this is probably his last chance to get the facts, he goes for it. “When we were together?”

He makes a hand gesture that he wishes he hadn’t. Heather shakes her head and he thinks she’s feeling the bad fit too. He thinks, because he’s realizing that he never learned how to read her face, not really. And not because she didn’t let him, and not because he didn’t try, but it’s a language with a different taproot, something he could struggle with for years and never be fluent.

“A year together. A fucking year and—all this,” she gestures at the apartment that he didn’t even really like, but agreed to because going with the flow was the way to make their bickering day touring apartments end, “gone, and you want to know if I faked it?”

“You shouldn’t do that,” he lectures, internally cringing but feeling lighter. Vindicated, maybe. Fully through the veil of embarrassment and into someplace free. “It’s no good for you, it didn’t help me.”

“Right, you do so well with criticism.”

“Maybe I do,” he shrugs, “I think we both know there are a lot of things we never learned about each other.”

“You’re an asshole.”

And that makes him think of Astrid, and how he’s never felt closer to anyone, and how he wants this to be over with and then, how Dagur is probably going to beat him up. He probably should get in touch with his long lost cousin, that’s probably his only chance against Dagur’s impending wrath.

“I can move out.”

“Ok.” She stands up and looks at him with dwindling recognition, the polaroid of the present crystallizing in her memory and affirming him eternally as ‘that dickhead’. It’s…it sucks. He sucks. “Let me know when you’re out, I’ll go stay with Dagur.”

“Shouldn’t take that long,” he regrets how mean it sounds until it seems like she doesn’t care, cut off from him in a way that isn’t new. He should have noticed. They should have talked. They didn’t, he was an asshole, and now the idea of Astrid is a North star brighter than the blizzard and definitely brighter than the vengeance his ego would like to imagine in Heather’s expression.

Except it’s not there. And he has no ego, not right now, not when he’s so eager to exit this conversation and this chapter in his life.

She is too. She wrote the note.

He should have just told her he found it.

He’s so glad he didn’t, and he’ll hate himself for it later, when the leak in his heart is patched.

“Alright.” She stands up and he half thinks she’s going to shake his hand, but she doesn’t, “well, bye, Hiccup.”

Her voice might catch. His throat might hurt.

As soon as she leaves, he opens the dating site again and tries to message Astrid.

Hiccup (5:10am): I broke up with her

CustomerHelpBot (5:10am): The account you are attempting to contact has been inactivated

Hiccup (5:11am): good job changing your name, very convincing

CustomerHelpBot (5:11am): The account you are attempting to contact has been inactivated, for further information, please contact customer service at 303-555-7893

Hiccup (5:11am): that’s a really weird way to give me your number.

CustomerHelpBot (5:11am): The account you are attempting to contact has been inactivated, for further information, please contact customer service at 303-555-7893

Hiccup (5:12am): I’ll call the number

He gives the supposed threat a minute to sink in before doing just that, and the robotic voice that picks up honestly shocks him.

“You have reached the customer service hotline for America’s Favorite Dating Site, what can I do to help you?”

It’s not Astrid.

Not remotely.

For one, the voice is entirely humorless, entirely dead. Bored in a way she’s not capable of, he’s seen it as she prowled around this apartment he hates, looking for something to do. Also, it’s a guy.

“Hi, I—Hi, you’re not—I’m actually looking to get in touch with someone I met on your site—”

“What is your name, sir?”

“Hiccup Haddock, my username is—”

“PrincessOutpost?”

“Thanks for not making me say it out loud.” He was drunk when he thought of that. He was drunk when he made this stupid plan. He was sober when Astrid showed up, eyes bright and shoulders strong, breathing hard as she introduced herself and shook his hand.

So awkward. So pretty.

And no, that first time wasn’t great. It was…necessary, like spring cleaning, but after they talked…after they got to know each other…

“I’m afraid we can’t give information about any of our cancelled accounts to anyone but the police.”

“She cancelled?”

“The last profile that you interacted with is inactive, as of even earlier this morning.”

“That—come on, man, it—”

“I’m sure it was magical, but we are legally obligated not to give our customers information out.”

“I really just need a phone number or an address or…or a last name.”

“I get that sometimes you don’t get a chance to talk much—”

“Rude,” Hiccup snaps.

“But we are legally obligated to not give customers’ information to anyone but the police.”

“The police?” He pauses, picking Astrid’s eyeliner note up off of the bed and staring at it, resisting the stupid, fond, useless urge to swipe his thumb across her name.

“Yes, they’re men in blue who enforce the laws.”

“So, if I know she’d broken the law, you’re saying I could get that personal information.”

“Sir, our service doesn’t exist to help stalkers—”

“What about people who break and enter?”

#two night stand au #hiccstrid au #modern au #httyd fic #one more chapter methinks #i fought off melatonin to finish this because it kept haunting me

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thewritewolf · 4 years

Text

Two Cursed Detectives in Paris Chapter 2: Revealed

As first days at their cover jobs went, today could have gone a whole lot worse, all things considered.

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Eerie took a deep breath as she stepped out of her car, fighting down a whirlwind of emotions. Some of them were from just trying to drive around in this city - maybe she would have been better off applying as a bike delivery person. But it was too late to worry about that now. No, she had much bigger things to stress over.

Like mentally steeling herself for whatever reaction these little bakers would have to her curse. It was always the most humiliating part of meeting new people - having that part of herself that she didn’t like always exposed for the world to see. At best, people generally just gave her weird looks, as if she opened up a bottle of hair dye labeled ‘mossy green’ and just went to town. At worst, well… she made it through.

The door to the bakery rang and Eerie stepped inside. She quickly had to make a mental adjustment - two of the bakers were little just like she thought, but the other one was a giant of a man built more like a gorilla than a person. If it weren’t for the fact she had never heard of a gorilla-cursed man before, she would have thought that he was one of them.

Two of them looked toward her with a speed that could have only been reflexive, bright and honest smiles already on their lips as they began sounding out a greeting. A greeting that sputtered out quickly when their eyes landed on her, widening in surprise. Their smiles remained plastered on, but there was uncertainty behind them.

There was an awkward pause which seemed to catch the attention of the third person in the room, who paused in her sweeping. She glanced between Eerie and the older bakers, then walked over to Eerie. Eerie sucked in a deep breath, expecting the worst, but the girl stopped a respectful distance and gave her a smile.

“Hello! My name is Marinette. You must be the American exchange student helping out for the next couple weeks, right?”

Eerie switched seamlessly into the role she had made for herself. Returning the smile, she gave a polite nod. “Yes! I’m excited to see Paris. Delivery felt like the best way to do that.”

“Now, normally we kiss cheeks here, but I’ve heard you might be more comfortable with this?” Marinette held out her hand and Eerie cautiously took it.

“Oh, and my name is Eerie.”

“I’m thrilled to meet you, Eerie! Let me show you around the bakery. It won’t take long - we might be the best bakery in Paris, but we aren’t the biggest!” Marinette laughed and Eerie couldn’t help but laugh too. “Maybe we can even let you try some of our stock? What do you say, papa?” She asked, looked at the giant of a man in the back.

The man jolted. “Oh! Yes, definitely.” Earnestness returned to his grin. “And welcome aboard, Eerie! I’m sure we’ll learn a lot from each other.”

As she was guided into the back of the bakery by her newest friend, she already felt affection blooming for the younger girl.

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

Connor’s tail itched, which made sense given that it was strapped to his leg under his baggiest pants.

Despite what his dear partner and intern might say, he was pretty good at cleaning up. At the moment, he looked every bit the part of the foreign tutor brought in from out of the country to give lessons to a wealthy child. Provided that the foreign tutor was a little rumpled and smelled faintly like garbage from a dumpster dive on the walk over to the mansion. Turns out the instincts of his curse weren’t as easy to hide as his raccoon ears, which had only taken a half decent hat to conceal.

Stopping in front of a giant gate, he double checked that he got the address right before pressing a button right beside the gate. He jumped when a camera on a stick leapt out of the wall and a female voice came from nowhere.

“Yes? What is your business here?”

“Uh…” Connor took a moment to mentally translate what she had said and form his own answer. “Teaching English.”

“I see. Right on time. Go inside and up the grand stairs, first door on the right.”

Before he could ask anything, the camera retracted into the wall and the gate rumbled open. His hands idly passed over the space where the camera had gone through. Even with his well-honed sense of touch he could barely feel the depression in the stone. What kind of person puts that kind of serious money into gadgets that wouldn’t look out of place in a cheesy spy movie?

Then Connor walked into the mansion itself and saw a giant painting of a stern looking man and the most depressed child he had ever seen staring into the distance. Understanding began to dawn on him. He took a rambling path to the stairs, stopping to run his hands over the various objects and surfaces in the room. If there was a secret space for a camera, who knows what else they were hiding in here?

Just as he was reaching for the big bummer of a painting, Connor heard a door to his right open. He froze, hand halfway toward the artwork as he locked eyes with a blonde boy staring back at him. After a few seconds Connor realized the kid had said something but it went completely over his head.

“What?”

“I said, ‘I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.’ My father doesn’t appreciate people messing with his things.”

“Maybe but not here is he?”

“I… guess? Are you supposed to be my English tutor?”

“Yes.” Connor followed him into the room he came out of. “How know?”

“Because your French is, um…” The kid rubbed the back of his neck. “Not the best, let’s say.” He switched languages and said, “Would you prefer we talk in English?”

“Yeah that’d probably be for the best,” Connor said as nonchalantly as he could but on the inside he breathed a huge sigh of relief. He whistled as he entered the room. The bedroom was bigger than his entire apartment and most of it was just empty space. “You’ve got a decent set up here…?”

“Adrien. Adrien Agreste.”

“Connor MacThomas." His eyes locked onto the giant television against one wall and the Ultimate Mecha Strike game sitting just in front of it. “Say, kid, your English sounds fine as is, but I think it could use some work in certain areas. Specifically with trash talking. How about a few rounds of that?” He pointed at the television

Adrien’s eyes widened as he looked between the television and Connor, clearly torn. “This… this isn’t a test or something, right?”

“Of course it’s a test,” Connor said as he rolled over the back of the couch. “It’s a test to see how fast I can whoop your butt in Mecha Strike.” He took the controller in his hands, idly mashing buttons while he waited.

After a moment’s hesitation, Adrien sat down next to him, eyes locked on a spot above Connor’s eyes. While there was surprise, it mostly just seemed to be an innocent curiosity. It was then that Connor noticed that his hat was on the ground in front of him.

“Dang. Well, raccoon’s out of the bag then.” Connor reached into his pants leg.

“Um, what are you-” He cut himself off when Connor freed his tail from its prison. “Oh, cool! Tails are awesome!” Adrien coughed. “Or, uh, so I’ve heard. Anyway! Mecha Strike?”

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

“-Needless to say, after that whole thing with the glitter glue I try not to ask too many questions about what Connor keeps in his desk.” The two girls laughed.

“So…” Marinette began, a knowing smirk on her lips. “You talk about this Connor guy a lot.”

“Well yeah. He isn’t just my sorta boss. He’s definitely my friend. It takes a while to get used to him-”

“Because he eats things that definitely aren’t food?”

“-but he’s also good guy and a great partner. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”

“Reminds me of someone I know…” Marinette said wistfully. She didn’t explain and Eerie didn’t press.

It was two hours into her first delivery shift and Eerie was actually having a lot of fun. Chatting with Marinette felt a lot like what she imagined having a younger sister would be like. If she thought she was attached to Marinette when they first met, she was absolutely protective of her now.

So when a giant monster in a business suit stomped into view down the street, Eerie’s first reaction was to make sure Marinette was safe. To her horror, she was unbuckling her seatbelt and jumping out of the car.

“MARINETTE!” Eerie screeched at her retreating back.

The girl in question froze and glanced back at her before a roar drew her attention back to the monster. “Sorry! We’ll meet up after the akuma is beaten. Find somewhere to hide!”

And just like that, she rushed off.

Surprise gave way to determination. She was not about to let this child run off on her own into a battlefield. Flexing her talons, Eerie reflected that at least her curse gave her some means of protecting herself - and Marinette, if it came to that.

Without another thought, Eerie followed.

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

When the first roar shook the glass of the room, Connor didn’t think much of it as he beat up Adrien’s suddenly-motionless character. A cheap victory is, after all, still a victory. As he got to work racking up his next win, Adrien took his controller out of his hands.

“Hey!” Connor frowned at Adrien.

“Sorry! Akuma attack,” Adrien said, as if that explained anything. “You should probably head home. Or to your hotel? Wherever you’re staying that’s safe.”

At the moment, Connor didn’t feel like going much of anywhere. They’d ordered pizza not too long after he got there and when they ran out of that he’d gnawed his way through the cardboard it had come in. Much to Adrien’s starstruck awe - it was always nice to find someone who appreciated the true benefits of Connor’s curse.

All that to say Connor was feeling fat and content and not in the mood for this attempt to push him out the door.

“Shouldn’t I stay here, then? Must be all sorts of defenses here, right?”

“Uhhh…” Adrien swallowed heavily. “Well, um… I need to take a shower! Yeah, akuma attacks always make me nervous and a nice warm shower is just what I need to calm down!” Adrien laughed with a hint of hysteria on the edge of his voice.

“Right… I’ll just… go then…?”

Connor took a few hesitant steps out of the room, Adrien watching him while casting nervous glances out the window. When the door closed, it was quickly locked behind him. Curiosity overcame him and he pressed his raccoon ears to the door while his hands floated over the knob of the door. As he listened, he pulled a bobby pin from inside his coat cuff.

“Come on, Plagg! Ladybug is sure to need our help for this one.”

“Uhhh kid, you sure you don’t want to wait just a little-”

“Claws out!”

Connor strained to hear more, but there was only silence. When he got the door unlocked, he saw that the window was opened. He rushed over to check below and caught a glimpse of a figure in black rushing towards the commotion.

The gears in his head began turning as he pulled out his phone and sent a few rapid fire texts.

Connor: We got a situation? My rich baby ran off.

Connor: He jumped out the window

Eerie’s reply came up just as he sent his second text.

Boss: Mine 2. Big monster? Meet up w/ me

Boss: WHAT GET HIM BACK YOU CAN’T GET FIRED

Connor: DONT WORRY I WONT GET FIRED OUR FAMILY WON’T GO HUNGRY

Boss: -_- Just come find me. We can look together.

Connor put away his phone and poked his head out the window. Good handholds, not very far to the ground… Piece of cake. His climbing technique might not have been graceful, but he made it down in record time. Breaking into a brisk jog, Connor felt pretty hopeful. After all, how far could Adrien have gotten?

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

Eerie sent the message, shoved the phone back into her pocket and turned into the alley she was sure she had seen Marinette go down. Sure enough, she heard Marinette’s voice just ahead… as well as one other. Her gut instinct prompted her to duck behind a dumpster and listen in. She pulled a hand mirror out from her purse to look around the corner.

“Are you sure she’ll be okay, Marinette? She’s new to Paris and this is probably her first akuma attack.” She frowned as she tried to track the source of the voice, but all she could spot out of the ordinary was a red shape on Marinette’s shoulder.

“Trust me, Tikki - Paris needs Ladybug and Eerie will be fine if I can beat this akuma as quick as possible. Spots on!”

Eerie’s jaw dropped as she watched a red energy transform Marinette into a spotted red hero. She was vaguely aware of the superheroes of Paris - their sudden appearance a year ago had hit the headlines even back in America for a couple weeks before the next big news hit. But Eerie’s daily life dealt with the paranormal, so she hadn’t given it much thought.

Until now, at least.

Marinette - or, more accurately now, Ladybug - turned around, hand pulling the yoyo off her hip when her gaze settled onto Eerie’s mirror. She pulled her hand back, but the damage was done - they’d locked eyes.

“H-hello? Who’s over there?”

Taking a deep breath, Eerie stood up. She was halfway to waving before awkwardly giving up halfway and putting one hand on her arm. “Hey, Marinette.”

“Oh no…” Ladybug paled, but she set her jaw and took on a commanding stance. Her eyes were pleading as she asked, “Please, for the sake of Paris, you can’t tell anyone what you saw. If Hawkmoth were to find out…”

Eerie nodded and couldn’t help but smirk. “Trust me, I know a thing or two about undercover work.” At Ladybug’s confused look, she added, “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, okay? It’ll make us even. Just go beat up that bad… thing? Whatever it is.”

Slowly, Ladybug nodded. “Alright. Can you stay here? I’ll come back after I purify the akuma.”

“I-” Eerie stopped herself. She really wanted to catch up with Connor, but that would have to wait. “Sure. Stay safe out there, kid.”

Ladybug smiled and for a moment, the confident mask fell away and Eerie could see the sweet bakery girl underneath.

“I will.” She gave a two finger salute and threw her yoyo. “Bug out!”

Eerie stared at the brick walls of the alley around her for a long moment, wondering how exactly her life had brought her to this point. Once again, she pulled out her phone and sent a text to Connor.

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

The buzzing of his phone prompted Connor to pull it out, pausing part way through his clambering up the wall of a house.

Boss: Stuck in an alley. Safe but can’t move. Meet up later?

Connor: Sure boss. Still trying to catch the kid, but I’ll stay away from the fighting. Raccoon’s honor.

Boss: That doesn’t reassure me

Connor: >:O Raccoons are very honorable creatures

Boss: If you say so. Just stay safe. Please?

Connor: You got it boss

As it turned out, it wasn’t that much of a problem. The battle didn’t last long and the commotion was already dying down when he got close to the scene of the crime. Connor watched from the rooftops as two figures in what seemed to be spandex and leather fist bumped. The red spandex one he recognized from Adrien’s computer screen. The black leather guy he was struggling to place.

The two of them split up and before he realized it, Connor was tailing the black leather guy. His animal instincts weren’t wrong often and he’d long since gotten used to following them without question.

Years of stealthily tailing people paid off and he managed to follow behind the guy without alerting him. Connor poked his head over the side of the roof and watched as he looked behind him and hid himself behind a dumpster. A flash of green light and where the superhero was a moment ago, his rich kid was now.

A tiny floating cat stretched its tiny arms and was about to say something when it noticed a shadow in front of it. Looking back, Connor locked eyes with it.

“Ah geez. Looks like we got company kid.”

Connor clambered down to ground level, where he was immediately grabbed by both of his shoulders by a desperate looking Adrien.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone! Please, I can’t lose my miraculous!”

The panic in Adrien’s eyes stabbed Connor in the heart.

“Woah, buddy. Don’t worry. Deep breaths now, okay?” He brushed Adrien’s hands off and pulled him into a one armed hug as Adrien started to calm down. “I can keep a secret with the best of them, trust me. That’s kinda why I’m here, but we can get into that later.”

“So… you won’t tell? Not even my father?”

Connor thought back to the mysterious woman in the speaker, the absent father, the home built like a fortress. Was it to keep people out or to keep someone in? His eyes set in determination.

“Especially not your father.” He let go of Adrien and began walking. “Let’s go. We need to get you back home and I need to get back to my partner.”

“Partner?”

“I’ll tell you later. First things first, I need to keep this cover job and that means getting you back before anyone notices you were gone.”

“I… okay. Let’s go.”

As Connor lead the way back to the Agreste mansion, he wondered how he was going to break the news that he discovered a superhero’s identity by accident. Or could he even tell her?

#Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Ladybug #Chat Noir #Plagg #Tikki #Ladynoir #Chouette Fanfic #Connor MacThomas #Eerie Escamilla #ml fanfiction #my writing #Two Cursed Detectives in Paris

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scandeniall · 4 years

Text

mirrors for friends ch //4

pairing: TBD x reader

| prev | next | masterlist

wc: 2338

during songs: reader is normal text, atsumu is italicized and bold denotes them singing together

Ch 4 New Tattoos and Dates

The bell above the door rang signaling a visitor to the tattoo shop. Iwaizumi didn’t pay it much attention as he continued setting up his station, one earbud in. If it were some walk in, he had no doubt that one of the other artists would take it and he didn’t have any scheduled appointments. It was an average Wednesday afternoon. Very few walk-ins during the middle of a workday, and he had 2 appointments which had been done earlier, and a consultation in the early evening. The call of his name by the shop's receptionist, caused him to halt. Looking at the cause of his disturbance he was met with the familiar face of his friend and lead singer of his band. After a quick thanks and greeting, Iwaizumi led the girl towards the back of the shop, to his station.

“So what’s up (Y/N).” Iwaizumi had, texted you earlier in the day, to confirm whether or not you two were still in for a quick session. He’d also checked if you were interested in color so that he could be as close to set up as possible for when you arrived. He knew it wouldn’t be too long, or else you wouldn’t have made the trip during your lunch break.

“Well obviously I want a tattoo,” you murmured, shuffling through your tote bag for something. You heard Iwaizumi restate obviously, before he went to get a new box of gloves from the back room. By the time he had come back you found what you were looking for and handed him a sheet of paper that had been folded at least 10 times. “I want this.”

You watched as your friend traced his fingers over the lines of the worn paper. “It’s pretty. Did-“

“Yeah. He did,” you cut your friend off confirming his suspicion on who drew the design. “He did it a few months ago. And the way things are now, I just wanted to finally get it on me. So I could quit walking around with the paper, y’know.” Iwaizumi nodded in response, before pulling you into a hug. “How’s he doing,” he whispered, pulling away just enough to look at you. “Same as usual.” The sad smile on your face caused an uncomfortable pain in his own chest. “But hey, at least things aren’t getting worse. Now stop going all soft on me, I’m tryna get tatted.” Your voice didn’t have its usual lilt present when teasin, but nonetheless Iwaizumi pulled away after placing a light kiss on your temple. “You know we’re here for you,” Iwaizumi felt the need to remind you and with that you slightly returned to normal. “Yes dad I know. Now c’mon I only have an hour.” Unbuttoning your shirt, you relaxed on the cushioned table.

The needle buzzing was like music to your ears. You’d laid quietly on your side, scrolling through your phone as your friend bent over you, bringing the picture to life. The stinging on your side wasn’t too bad. You'd been able to do that until he got to the part of your tattoo that came on your inner rib cage. Your flinching hadn’t gone unnoticed by your friend. “How you holding up. This area hurts like a bitch.” You hummed in response before telling him to distract you.

“Well I’m going on a date this weekend after practice,” Iwaizumi said pausing to dip more ink.

“The Iwaizumi Hajime is going on a date. Dude how long has it been.”

“You’re annoying. It hasn’t been that long you know.”

“It’s been like 3 years dude. But you’re better than the rest of us I suppose. Our band is literally full of failures in love.” You laugh before wincing. Iwaizumi offers a quick apology before agreeing with you. He was the member that went on the least number of dates, mostly due to not wanting to deal with the games and drama that came with dating in your 20s. Iwaizumi had always held some sentiment of not wanting to waste his time, but that seemed to only grow stronger the older he got.

The man remembers his only serious and long term relationship years ago. He met her at 17, the two dating for 4 whole years. Years that turned out to be a waste of his time. He’d ended up getting sent pictures of his girlfriend cheating on him. Her and the guy were cuddled up kissing and seeming very much in love right in the middle of a park. The guy was completely opposite of him. Once he confronted the girl about it she told him that he was too rigid for her. Too made of steel and rough around the edges. He was more outgoing and extroverted and everything Iwaizumi wasn’t. He wore the type of clothes Iwaizumi would cringe at but wore anyway to make the girl happy. The new guy didn’t have any tattoos or any ear piercings and apparently the two of them just clicked. At the time of the breakup the artist had been in the early stages of his friendships with you and Kuroo around that time, and the two of you helped him deal with his heartbreak through writing.

The three of you crafted one of the songs that the band still played often. If You Can’t Hang. It was written before you had even met Atsumu, let alone became a band. It was the first time Iwaizumi had gotten into song writing, and that first song is still being played by you all.

“She came in for a tattoo a few weeks ago. We’ve been texting since.” You hum in acknowledgement, as he put the finishing touches. The minute you felt the fmailr coolness of foam hit your skin, you locked your phone. “All done, come take a look.” You took your friends hand as he walked you towards his mirror. Maneuvering the button up blouse, you looked at the art, a gasp escaping your mouth. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” While you were usually better with words, your friend knew that this time was different. He carefully examined your posture, to make sure you were really ok, before you turned to face him.

The sincerity in your eyes whenever you allowed Iwaizumi to tattoo you never failed to put a smile on his face. While this wasn't the first tattoo he’d given you (you insisted on never going to another artist since you and Kuroo met him all those years ago), this one is now your most personal one to date. He knew it, and you trusted him. “Anytime kid,” he replied, now covering the new art with plastic. “You're only a year older, Iwa.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you buttoned up your shirt. “Yet, I’ve become a dad to three brats. I know you have to go, so let's get you all checked out.”

You paid and then started your trek back to work, pulling up the band group chat:

‘Just got tatted ;)’ Attached was a photo of your new tattoo. Three wildflowers whose stems overlapped to resemble a bouquet. A budding rose, a peony and a gardenia, whose stems had small buds coming out of them. You laughed at the reactions from your friends. Atsumu uses a sickening amount of emojis to hype you.

‘Damn (Y/N).’

A minute later you opened up your individual texts with Kuroo to see his response to the new ink.

‘Just let me know when, and I’m there.’

----

You eyed the time on your phone before glancing back towards your drummer who had been typing away at his phone. When you caught his eye you gave a knowing nod. His date was tonight, and he hadn’t mentioned it to any of the other two boys chatting away. It was nearing 8pm, around the time you guys usually stopped for the night. You all had time to practice 1 more song.

“Hey how do you guys feel about running Agree to Disagree again. I wanna try the guitar backing for Kuroo again. Then let's call it a night?” The rounds of approval caused you to go pick up your own guitar. “Yo (Y/N) we doing version 1 or 2,” Atsumu asked excitedly. Considering this song was largely written by him, it was one of his favorites. You had to admit, it was a fun song as well. If Kuroo was your meaningful genius, and Iwaizumi the heartbreak specialist, Atsumu’s songs were fun.

Agree to Disagree absolutely screamed Atsumu. It was smooth, and cocky just like him. His bass in the song was also insane. It was him in a song, and that showed whenever you guys played that song. You remember when you first heard the lyrics in the first verse about him not having time for anyone other than himself. You’d teased him about the fact that at least he was self aware. This song was also one of the only where you, Atsumu, and Kuroo all did some vocal work. Kuroo being on the bridge had been due to the fact that he helped Atsumu write the song and that the two of them didn’t know what else to do for the end.

The differences in the song versions were whether you backed Atsumu more or if he backed you more. The two of you also went back and forth more creating for what felt like a more energetic and dynamic version of the song on 2. After thinking about your attempt at guitar in this song, which you didn’t do too often, you felt confident in your choice. “Fuck it, lets do version 2. All in boys” You high fived your bassist as you heard Iwaizumi count you all down and Kuroo strums the first chords.

Maybe I should care a little more about what everybody thinks But I just don't have the time for nobody but me The mood I'm in keeps changing like the weather So you can keep the sun 'cause I like the night time better You think you're better than me? You don't like what you see? I think it's best we agree to disagree

You’d picked up the guitar backing easily this time around, and felt comfortable enough to start engaging with your bandmates. The second half of the chorus you’d made your way over to Atsumu, leaning so that you were sharing his microphone.

I'm doing fine by myself I never asked for your help I think it's best we agree to disagree

I wear my heart on my sleeve like a worn-out sweater But with a needle and some thread, I've been keeping it together Life's too short to be worried 'bout whatever So you keep shining in the sun, but I like the night time better

The ending of the song was met with high fives all around. “You did good (Y/N). Think we’re ready to take that version live.” Kuroo complimented you, taking the guitar you handed him before running your arm across your sweaty forehead. “Thanks dude. Maybe. That felt good. What’d you think Tsumu?” You were meant with a sweaty body throwing himself at you, to which you cringed.

“Hell yeah. Stop pushing me away, I’m tryna love ya.”

“Iwa, get him off of me.” You managed to push the younger boy off, but not before the oldest member told you that you were out of luck. The 4 of you cleaned up, 3 of you grabbing your instruments and their cases, as you all made your way to Iwaizumi’s front door. “Samu’s going out tonight any of ya wanna join?” Iwaizumi made some excuse about wanting to clean up, causing you to laugh at the lie. You looked at Kuroo who shook his head. “Can’t man. Got an early meeting tomorrow for this project. I need my beauty sleep.”

“Too bad your beauty sleep doesn’t do shit for your hair.”

“Says the old man, turning down a night out to clean up.” Kuroo yawns, being the first one to head outside the rest of you following. He reaches for your guitar case, now holding them both before nodding towards your car. “I took the motorcycle tonight.” He spoke, forcing your attention to the bike, his mother had gifted him once he graduated college. “I just had Iwa stop by my place earlier and pick it up. Anyways, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. We’re filming a youtube video right?” At your confirmation, Kuroo nodded before placing both instruments in your back seat. He gave the three of you a last wave, before riding off.

“I’m down to go out. Just let me head home first to shower. I miss Samu anyways.”

The bassist nods, typing a message, presumably to Osamu. “I can pick you up, just text me when you're ready.” You groan, causing him to shoot you an annoyed glance. “Dude, that means I’m gonna have to sit in your backseat while you take your hookup home.”

“That hasn’t happened in years. Besides, I’m too tired to pick up someone tonight. Just tryna get a drink or two and hang out.” Your reluctant agreeing, causes the bassist to head off, He bids Iwaizumi a goodbye, and promises to see you in a few.

“Has it really been years, since he pulled that?” Iwaizumi’s question causes you to laugh. He knew the three of you well enough to know that saying years was probably a stretch. “It's been maybe a year. But this time, I won’t have you or Kuroo to call.”

“You’ll be fine. Text me what bar you guys go to so I go anywhere but there. Be safe tonight, and tell Osamu I said hello.” You give the man a nod and a thumbs up before walking to your own car. You notice he watches as you get in the vehicle and roll your window down to yell out. “Good luck on the date. Go get us a real band mom!”

a/n: whew yes i am finally on plot track now. Also remember because i dont know which guy this is gonna be (only because i love my ideas for them all) for I take any and all suggestions. Anyways, the link is the exact tattoo and placement bc its cute to me. I’ve honestly had this written for at least 2 days now but i dont want to seem like im posting too much? BUT Let the plot commence now!

taglist: @o51oc

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #iwaizumi x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #kuroo x reader #mirrors for friends

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merryfortune · 3 years

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Day 21 / Skill

Clover and Violets 2021

Ship: Choirshipping | Aoi/Yuzu

Universe: Alternate - Classical Musicians

Word Count: 1,928

Rating: T

Tags: Arc V/Vrains Crossover/Fusion, Meet Cute, Angst with a Happy Ending

Aoi’s mouth was sour. I was thinking of quitting, she thought to herself. Rehearsed, really, but she was unable to say it at the dinner table. She had a rare night with Akira and as silent as it was, she didn’t want to ruin it with unpleasant news so she shared only insignificant small talk and other lies with him. He returned the platitudes with similar notions. They truly were siblings in that regard, as strained as their relationship had become because of the increasingly difficult demands of Akira’s work.

But, after dinner, with the whirr of the dishwasher turned on and in the background as she hid away in her room, Aoi was almost thankful that she hadn’t said what she was thinking. Therefore, it wasn’t manifested and using that almost oceanic roar of machinery as the basis of a melody, she tried her hand at practice.

Her cello produced the most morose sounds as Aoi tried to retrace what she heard when she strained her ears. It was fitting. Echoed how she felt. So melancholic and rueful, not a notice of joy in any of the notes as she stroked the strings back and forth with her bow. It caused her expression to bend, as she sat at her desk, well, her back was to it as she sat in her chair, keeping her cello propped up against her as she worked it back and forth.

Once upon a time, her music, her cello, produced music of wonder. Joy and happiness. Now it only weighed heavy against her as she went through the motions of making music but she detested the noise. She missed how it had once been such a grand source of love and vibrancy in her life but somewhere in growing up, in realising she would never be a virtuoso or the like, it had lost some of its luster. So, she gave up for the night. A shame, Akira would later tell her in the morning, he thought it sounded fine and that she should have practiced a little longer. That also left a sour taste in her mouth but she abided by his pleasantries.

Even when she loathed them. Going along with the tide, Akira was a proud older brother and he wanted to show off his sister - a not quite prodigy - to his peers at work so there was to be a recital, next month. Aoi practiced every night, losing herself in the rhythm as a means of procrastinating other things. Her school work, her lack of social life, the very fact she wanted to quit at all.

She kept telling herself, after the recital, after the recital she would work up the courage to let Akira know that she desired to quit cello and music but she was a mousy little girl. She knew that.

The day of the recital that she had been dreading couldn’t have come soon enough. Every day leading up to it had been an eternity and a half. Especially those abhorrent sessions of practice, she only put herself through such tortuous hours because she didn’t want to embarrass either herself or Akira at the recital. So, she had picked out a few scores to do. Nothing fancy, nothing too special, something everyone had heard before by the likes of Mozart and Chopin and Schubert. A medley of three; nothing which should last longer than an hour. If she was lucky, she would be home in bed by nine as the recital started at seven.

Or at least that was her vain hope.

Akira had other plans. Aoi had wanted to arrive at six, or maybe five-thirty at the earliest but he wanted her well, well before, at two and at three. After a hearty lunch with no cheese, soft drink, or chocolate. He wouldn’t want her to get a bubble in her throat as she introduced the music that she would be playing tonight.

At least he didn’t mother hen her completely. He had a whole company to do that too but Aoi abided by his expectations regardless. She had a cafe lunch at one and she was leaving by two and hoped to arrive at the auditorium SOL Tech had rented out by two-thirty, made three if traffic was bad.

Unfortunately that meant a little bit of walking around with something as awkward as a cello. It was almost as tall as her but when she was younger and more passionate about her craft, Aoi had gotten very used to walking with it and keeping it guarded.

Hobbling past, she passed a street performer and she knew she shouldn’t gawk but she liked the music. She was busy but maybe she could spare a moment. For the first time in a long, long time, in the middle of the city, Aoi felt the spark of music that had attracted to her to music in the first place.

As a little girl, she had chosen the cello because her biological father had played it. He played first string at the opera and Aoi’s mother had taken her a few times to those performances but she never cared for the singers on the stage. She was only taken with one of the men in the darkened pit providing the accompaniment, her father the cellist. And at home, the magical joy of a cello’s music never stopped. Aoi had spent many nights in her father’s lap, so tiny next to his full 4/4 cello, learning the beginning chords, begging for her own. Those memories were bittersweet for many, many reasons now and as Aoi listened to this girl play her tune, they lost that bitter touch. Became pure and sweet nostalgia.

So, she stopped to stare. Her eyes lit up as she drew in closer to the street performer and the little crowd she had drawn in. She played with a grin on her face and with a toe that tapped below. It was fast paced and jaunty and it could have been anything, aoi thought. Classical music or a reconstructed rock song but she stopped and stared at this girl. She was awe-inspiring, big, blue eyes and cute pink hair in a short skirt as she played her violin.

And she saw Aoi and she smiled, “Do you play professionally?” she asked. “I probably look like a hobbyist to you.”

Aoi blushed. “N-no, no, not at all.” she stammered. “I’m not a professional. I’m a hobbyist too.”

“Then do you have the time? Let’s have a concert together, but I’ll take all the tips, I need ‘em to keep my music school alive, You Show.” she said.

Aoi had never heard of You Show before but she erred. She really wasn’t supposed to. Akira would be so furious with her if he knew she was fraternizing with strangers on the street, dirtying her good cello but honestly. That just made her want to do it more so she shuffled through the crowd, unzipping her cello and the girl gasped when she saw her honey rich instrument.

“Your music is better than mine,” Aoi admitted, “but thank you for the invitation. I have a recital tonight and I’m a little nervous.”

“You’ll do fine,” the girl told her, “here and at that recital later. Go on, you lead, I’ll follow.”

Aoi swallowed hard. She highly doubted that but she tried anyway. Normally, violins followed cellos but the reverse was strangely fun. So, she tried one of her practise sets. Her scales and then just going from there. She thought it was pretty bad - terrible - her demeanour was awkward but the girl beside her acclimitased so naturally and transmuted Aoi’s hesitance into actual music.

In turn, wanting to honour her energy and enthusiasm, Aoi tried to keep pace and pep. And she more than managed to. As she played her cello, sitting down on the edge of the pavers, Aoi smiled. She hadn’t smiled whilst playing her cello in months and her heart fluttered with elation over it.

Over the movements of her bow, she kept stealing glances at that girl. Sometimes, she was oblivious but other times she noticed, smiling as they played songs that didn’t make sense but still got loose change tossed into her violin’s case at her light feet.

Their concert together was quirky and inopportune but it was wonderful. Aoi could swear that her breathing and the beating of her heart was in perfect synchronicity to this girl: a perfect stranger and so, she yearned. Yearned for her name and for the hope that this wouldn’t be their only concert.

It was a shame that such things had to come to an end. Wehn the girl stopped, so did Yuzu. Somehow, their roles had reversed by the end of it as Aoi had started and she was meant to follow but violins went first and cellos went later. That was the natural, orchestral course of things.

“Thank you, thank you.” she said as she took bows. She was a bouncy as a juggler, this girl. More like a circus star than someone meant to sit around in first and second strings in a darkened pit.

Aoi bowed her head, murmuring her thanks to the crowd as well. She heard coins clink against one another, hitting velvet in the violin case. She looked up again and the girl smiled. She was a little bit tired but happy tired in the cascading of the afternoon sun that felt so good on them both after their session of such ecclesiastic making of music. Aoi was envious, she was just tired but she stuck out her hand to her.

“The name’s Hiiragi Yuzu of You Show Music Club, and you?” she asked.

Aoi smiled. “Zaizen Aoi.” she replied.

“You’re very good, Aoi, how long have you been playing?” Yuzu asked as she sat down with Aoi but she was still toe tapping at the like, bubbly.

“Since I was six.” she said.

“Oh! Same!” Yuzu exclaimed.

Aoi grimaced. “It’s not really like that… I was thinking of quitting music after tonight’s recital. My one and only solo…”

“Oh… That’s a shame…” Yuzu murmured.

“You’re not going to stop me?” Aoi asked.

Yuzu shrugged. “We only just met, wouldn’t be right to walk in and just make choices for you.”

“I was kind of hoping you would because, um, I don’t really want to quit anymore.” Aoi murmured.

“Huh? Why’s that?” Yuzu asked, blinking, her long eyelashes fluttering.

“You showed me how to love music again.” Aoi replied. “So, um, your music club - You Show - are you taking new applicants?”

Yuzu beamed. “Of course we are, my dad would be thrilled to have you.” She then whipped down and got a pen out of her handbag behind her. She grabbed Aoi’s hand and scrawled her name and number on it.

Aoi smiled shyly. She had never been so happy to be written on before but she wanted to make more music with Yuzu. She wanted to love music again and she wanted to start to love Yuzu and her music for the very first time. Her perfect stranger who signed her name and number with a leafed orange, apparently, Aoi noticed as she glanced down at her hand and then to Yuzu’s happy face.

It made Aoi giggled but through it, she managed to ask, “Excuse me, Yuzu, but would you like to come to my recital tonight? There’s still seats, definitely enough for you and your dad to come along.”

“I’d love that.” Yuzu replied.

#femslash #femslash february #choirshipping #yugioh arc v #yugioh vrains #vrains #arc v #aoi zaizen #yuzu hiiragi #aoi x yuzu #yuzu x aoi #writing tag #clover and violets #clover and violets 2021

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samsbastardzone · 4 years

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Hey, you know that 35 d&d questions ask meme? I answered all of them.

This is a long ass post. Be warned. It took up seven and a half pages in google docs. Original post here.

1. A favorite character you have played.

Would have to be Zize Fortier, dragonborn gunslinger. Their tag on this blog is #zize and you can find their bio and info on my character page. Love that bastard!! He’s sweet and bratty and a total delight to play (we are such an OP party, y’all).

2. Your favorite character that someone else has played.

UM UM gonna talk about a few here. To be fair to people I play a *lot* of games with, I’m only gonna talk about one PC per person.

- The bastard trio in my Wildemount game– @toomanyorphans ’s Nakoria, @overplannedbutunnamednpc ‘s Zier (also an NPC in the campaign Zize is in), and @glasyasbutch ‘s Nissy. They all really suck so bad but in SUCH funny ways. They’re varying degrees of self centered and awful, but we trust each other in this campaign, and those 3 players are SO funny in their RP.

- (RIP) Avri in my Wildemount game. They and Bly named each other,,,, they were parent and child…… VERY sweet. huge goliath with tiny bird in backpack.

- @bekahdoesnershit ‘s Raini. Zize’s BFF, and her tag on that blog is rich. She’s SUCH a bitch but we love her.

- @bhissar ‘s Saela. She is a dream character for me to DM for– very little fleshed out backstory with room to explore, with still-concrete events in it. Consistent character choices and personality, to the point I can sometimes predict what she’ll do. Very cool aesthetically. And overall? EXTREMELY sweet. Baby, baby bird.

3. Your favorite side quest.

Either the one going on right now in amnesia, where we have to collect brain matter from big powerful elementals, or the stop we made at a family of vampires in Acarnya (the one I played Osfyr in).

4. Your current campaign.

There are five of those, with two on hold.

-Wildemount, aka the Frozen Sick module from Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount (we’re almost done with that, my PC is Bly).

-Amnesia campaign aka high level campaign: we woke up in hell with no memories! PC is Zize.

-Hoard of the Dragon Queen module, near the beginning of that, PC is Pointy.

-Horror campaign, only two sessions so far, but we’re trapped in an alternate dimension carrying out tasks for a creepy dude. PC is Vinny.

-Kithan, where we’re high level monster hunting guild members searching out ancient artifacts of the gods (campaign based on the Monster Hunter games), PC is Topaz.

-Silas, party is currently trying to help dragons free themselves and stop a… dude? No spoilers! I DM. On hold because I had too many campaigns going at once.

-Silas v2: extremely vaguely based on the plot of season one of the web series Carmilla. A tweaked version of the first arc the Silas party went through. On hold because it was played in person at school.

5. Favorite NPC.

I don’t really have any NPCs in my campaigns that I’m super attached to, except– Nikeo, a goliath rogue PC in Silas 1, had many adopted children. Three of them– kobolds– sometimes stand on each others’ shoulders, put on a long coat, and help out around their parent’s store. They’ve named themselves Koby.

As for favorite NPCs in campaigns I’ve played, I can think of… a lot. The first is Laurel, a blue dragonborn loner type who followed Osfyr and friends in Acarnya. They were kind of broody and dark, but they really drew me in. They were the first NPC we really talked to– they were sitting on top of the post office laughing at the mob scene of people protesting not getting their mail delivered.

I’d also pick Osfyr’s partners in that campaign– Yelkian, a backstory love interest I came up with, a flamboyant soft sorcerer. Jupiter, politician’s niece, who took pity on Osfyr’s attempts to seduce information out of her and let them succeed on both counts (seduction and information). Xerxes, extra AF rogue with a big loving family, who swept in after a fight on the back of an eagle-wildshaped Brysth (npc druid).

There’s a blue dragon in the HOTDQ campaign that we don’t know much about. I really enjoyed the way @dungeonsanddraconicqueer played him. He’s just a dude! Lex’s warlock made a Deal with him to leave the town alone. We still don’t know the implications of that. It’s fine, guys.

And then, there’s Stewart the Skin Steward, a servant of False Mystra. Fun dude. Very cavalier– nigh, enthusiastic!– about the fact that his entire city was made of skin. Something of a skin connoisseur, in fact!

6. Favorite death (monster, player character, NPC, etc).

Saela, hands down. She got breathed on by a dragon, yo. We then had to stop playing for 4-5 months because a player lost access to the Internet. I wrote a vision/speech from her warlock patron, the Raven Queen, the night she died, and basically didn’t touch it until I read it out in game. It involved a confession that the Queen was tired of being a god, and showing Saela all the lives she’d touched. Then we used Matt Mercer’s rez rules for her. She came back– but it was her choice.

7. Your favorite downtime activity.

Fucking tinkering dude!!! I don’t get to do it enough as Zize and that is entirely my fault. @ morgan, eyes emoji

8. Your favorite fight/encounter.

I LOVE creepy shit. There was a train car with people dancing in it, and party members got enchanted to dance along and eat the food, and the revelers were clearly in pain, and snuffing out a candle caused a reveler to disappear. Creepy shit!

In Kithan, we had to climb a staircase, and we timed it with produce flame which is a 10 minute duration cantrip, and we were climbing for 50 minutes. We started to see things in the edges of our vision. Then someone realized it was an illusion, and it all vanished. It freaked me out so bad.

In amnesia campaign, at level 19, we were traversing a cave, and our shadows started dripping the same black goop we were there to investigate. We killed one and it took down the max hp of the person whose shadow it was, and then they straight up didn’t have a shadow until they long rested. It really freaked us out, realizing the shadows were actually creatures, but they were like CR 1. Really effective use of a low level monster.

9. Your favorite thing about D&D.

The way it has something for everyone… the way it’s brought me so many friends… the way it’s inspired my OC creation like nothing else.

10. Your favorite enemy and the enemy you hate the most.

I’m not sure if this is asking about NPCs I’ve had as enemies, or any monster in D&D canon? The longest campaign I played in didn’t have long term enemies per se. I’d say I was frustrated with the cultists that ambushed us last session in HOTDQ, but I didn’t hate them! I just couldn’t seem to hit or dodge them. As for a favorite… probably False Mystra: the demon lord Orcus who’d taken over the position, and therefore the duties, of Mystra, the god of arcane magic. We killed it, but then whoopso!! Our wizard lost her powers.

11. How often do you play and how often would you ideally like to play?

I play an ideal amount, honestly: four times a week, for about 2.5-3 hours a session. HOTDQ Tuesdays, Kithan and horror campaign switching off Wednesdays, Wildemount Thursdays cause we miss CR, Amnesia Sundays.

12. Your in game inside jokes/memes/catchphrases and where they came from.

Amnesia: Yocheved, the party barbarian/full time fish, has a secret third arm and/or a prosthetic ass. Cylthia, the druid, does arson (but actually). Relentless is a Crown paladin, so she puts her fingers in her ears when we do crime/lie. She also has a rod of lordly might that, immediately post amnesia, she made into a 32 foot climbing pole. Yocheved eats pounds and pounds of raw fish for every meal.

Wildemount: just the shenanigans and sabotaging each other that the Bastard Trio get into. Example: Nissy was tasked with buying Zier a cloak for cold weather and purposely got him an ugly one. Zier then prestidigitated it to be a nicer color.

13. Introduce your current party.

Oh boy, I have 6 of those. Here goes. Keep in mind many of these characters are played and games are DMed by my friends who have OC blogs of their own: Raini and Ayen are bekahdoesnerdshit, Ezra, Nissy, and Roona are glasyasbutch, Horror DM, Lent, Eve, and Nakoria are toomanyorphans, Wildemount DM, Saela, Daecyne, and Cylthia are bhissar, HOTDQ DM is dungeonsanddraconicqueer, and Amnesia DM, Zier, Nyxi, and Sarril are overplannedbutunnamednpc. Not an OC blog, but Yocheved, Avri, Arbor, Thraf, Nikeo, and Whisper are mickgoesabsolutelyhamforbarbie.

Amnesia (Zize): Lent, tiefling paladin, former crownsguard who “fell” (became an oathbreaker), then un-fell when we lost our memories. Cylthia, tiefling/elf druid who can shift between tiefling and elf forms and loves setting things on fire. Yocheved, 14 foot tall nereid (fishfolk) barbarian with a dry sense of humor, is the party parent. And Raini, aasimar wizard, sass machine and Zize’s bff.

HOTDQ. My PC is Pointy. Ezra, quiet human paladin. Theata, moon elf rogue. Freya, sweet (human?) light cleric who sometimes misreads situations. Eve, 13 year old (!!) human warlock who kinda sucks, but like, she’s 13. Nyxi, motherly gnome bard who Is going to adopt Pointy.

Wildemount (Bly): Alene, human barbarian. Quiet and with somewhat of a parent instinct. Some sort of Mysterious Backstory. Delta, aasimar rogue, similarly shady backstory? Unclear. Sticks with Alene. Nissy, drow rune knight, sucks. Zier, drow sorcerer, also sucks. Nakoria, dragonborn warlock, ALSO sucks. (Those three make up the Bastard Trio.) Avri (F for them), goliath bard and Avri’s guardian, died last session by falling on a floor full of knives.

Horror campaign (Vinny): Roona, halfling bard, very impulsive, eats exclusively with her spoon that says ASS, and chills in Vinny’s fanny pack. Ayen, elven teenage warlock with a dark backstory. Sarril, Ayen’s not-dad, half elf beast barbarian who got it from his wife. Arbor, dryad monk, who wears an all white plague doctor outfit at all times.

Silas v1 (DM), Original party before 1 left and 1 died: Hacka (RIP), human luchador-styled drunken monk. Nikeo (left), goliath rogue with so many adopted children. Inferno, fire genasi paladin/phoenix sorcerer with anger and impulse control issues. Saela, babiest aarakocra warlock of the Raven Queen. Hacka’s player now plays Voda, a stoic water genasi tempest cleric who cast Raise Dead successfully on Saela. Nikeo’s player now plays Whisper, a tabaxi astral soul monk.

Kithan (Topaz): Thraf, monsterborn (universe-compliant dragonborn) barbarian. Very social, very outgoing, very stupid, and very traumatized. Fucks majorly. Daecyne, sweet tiefling druid and Topaz’s good friend. Viosa, aasimar homebrew class I forget the name of, uses her small stature and allure to her advantage. Damur, half-orc eldritch knight, the party’s only braincell.

14. Introduce any other parties you have played in or DM-ed.

Acarnya. My PC was Osfyr. Soraphine, traumatized halfling bard. Azalea, human fighter. Durzuell, haughty high elf sorcerer. James, nerdy half elf wizard. Drago, erratic Russian dragonborn monk. Kairon, slightly edgy ranger/paladin (but we love him).

Nordenheim. My PC was Cap. I will admit: we only played 2 or 3 sessions, so I don’t really remember most of the other party members except Rory, a fire genasi ranger who almost burned to death.

Silas v2 (hopefully will continue; I DMed): Kysseris IV. Half-elf paladin, uptight. Tower 1-6, warforged wizard who crawled out of the desert and is looking for info on how he was made. Mae “Pock”, gnome rogue, very small and sweet. Josh, human trickery cleric, kind of an asshole, but in a way that’s funny and hasn’t bled over into IRL annoying.

[school] West Marches campaign (Ner): by the nature of West Marches, there was never a consistent party, but a few stood out to me. Red Foot, a hyperactive kobold sorcerer who’s level 8 against all West Marches odds. Lyra, Great Old One warlock of Tzee’Mhor, an abomination goat that a party I was in accidentally created. Fildo Baggins, divination wizard who can only affect allies whose toenail clippings he has in his vial.

15. Do you have snacks during game times?

Hell yeah babey!!! I mostly play digitally, especially during COVID, and I need something to munch after DMing for a while. Shit’s exhausting.

16. Do you play online or in person? Which do you prefer?

Welp! Online mostly, since everyone I want to play with has the audacity to live far away, and now exclusively online because of COVID.

17. What are some house rules that your group has?

Our Amnesia party is so rich that we just don’t keep track of money. In Kithan, a lot of rules that make characters less powerful are just… abolished (like the bonus action spell rule). (The DM likes super OP characters so she can throw SUPER OP monsters at us. My character has a necklace that gives 5 additional uses of channel divinity.)

18. Does your party keep any pets?

Nope. No opportunities for them. Zize’s party has a little water snake on the druid’s arm but I doubt that will last very long.

19. Do you or your party have any dice superstitions?

Absolutely. Cursed dice get j a i l.

20. How did you get into D&D? How long have you been playing?

Acarnya got me into d&d, it was my first campaign, and it was happening at the place I lived. I’ve been playing almost 2 years. (Critical Role inspired me to DM)

21. Have you ever regretted something your character has done?

Not sent a fucking letter to say goodbye to their boyfriend before the world-fate-deciding bullshit that was gonna happen and possibly destroy shit. It was fine in the end though!

22. What color was your first dragon?

Red. Man, that guy sucked, he almost killed Osfyr. We were investigating a monastery secretly run by dragons disguised as humans.

23. Do you use premade modules or original campaigns?

Original campaigns. I’ve never run a module before! I’m not opposed, but most of my campaigns came from ideas that I had. I’ve never been short on ideas for a game.

24. How much planning/preparation do you do for a game?

As a player, I just open my character sheet and get out dice. As a DM, I try and think about what material I want to get through this session, and write some narration and/or stat things out if I feel like it.

For DMs

25. What have your players done that you never could have planned for?

A lot of times, Inferno has rushed into battle from what I’d built as a stealth mission, and gotten her ass and sometimes the party’s asses kicked. I should really have learned by now.

26. What was your favorite scene to write and show your characters?

Definitely Saela’s resurrection ritual and vision.

27. Do you allow homebrew content?

Yes! I’ll check it first, but I’m all for expanding the boundaries. I homebrew items and monsters all the time, why shouldn’t my payers get to homebrew their shit?

28. How often do you use NPCs in a party?

Too often in my first arc. I had like 7 NPCs running around at all times (they were Carmilla characters). Super not recommended. I have 0 right now.

29. Do you prefer RP heavy sessions or combat sessions?

I’m still finding my groove with RP as a DM. I like encouraging my players to RP amongst themselves. I consider myself fairly good at combat on both sides of the equation, DM and player, so that’s always fun to me, especially when my players enjoy it too.

30. Are your players diplomatic or murder hobos?

I have one actively reforming murder hobo player, the rest are diplomatic. (The character, Inferno, is having a great growth arc. I’m super proud.)

For Players

31. What is your favorite class? Favorite race?

I fucking love genasi as a concept. Favorite class would have to be rogue or cleric, but gunslinger’s up there too.

32. What role do you like to play the most? (Tank/healer/etc?)

I honestly don't have the patience to not play DPS. I love doing lots of damage. Healing is satisfying, support is satisfying, but there’s a reason I picked rogue twice and tempest cleric over other domains.

33. How do you write your backstory, or do you even write a backstory?

Sometimes the backstory is part of the character concept– especially for Pointy, because I had the name first, then went hmm why would she have this name. Almost always, though, more backstory gets written during the campaign when I have an idea. Sometimes a character will act in a way I don’t expect, and it’s fun thinking of a justification to fill backstory gaps.

34. Do you tend to pick weapons/spells for being useful or for flavor?

Mostly usefulness honestly. I’ll make choices among several for flavor, but I’m a big proponent of using mechanics to build character. What I mean is, think about Magnus in TAZ Balance– his protection fighting style contributed a lot to the way Travis played him as a protective person. I love that shit.

35. How much roleplay do you like to do?

I like to do a lot, but unfortunately my energy is pretty down lately so I haven’t been doing as much.

#zize #pointy #cap #bly #osfyr #ner #vinny #topaz #dm thots #meta thots #asks #amnesia campaign #hotdq #horror campaign #wildemount campaign #silasverse #kithan

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