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acescorazon · 6 months

Note

I LOVE YOUR FIC CHANGES!!!!! I HOPE YOU UPDATE SOON!!!!!

THANK U BBYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. ILY MUAH. I was updating like every day but then i got my period... i mean i fell into a pit of darkness and didn't have the energy to climb out. How bizarre. ANYWAYS, HERE'S YOUR FOOD.

Title: Changes Ch: 5/?

Rating: M (I'm just putting that as the rating in general for every ch lol)

Word count:2291

Warnings: Depressed clown :(

Chapter excerpt:

"Mihawk keeps asking about you," Mohji announces all of a sudden, "He keeps asking if you're okay and if your illness is something serious." Hawkeye keeps asking about him… Why? To know if he's died yet? What a joke! That man doesn't care about Buggy, why is he even wasting his breath asking about him? "I just keep telling him that you have the flu, and he's always like, 'Ah…is that so? Tell him I hope he feels better.' Isn't that…ridiculous?!" Yeah, that is rather ridiculous. Buggy has a hard time believing that Mihawk is genuinely concerned about him, but at the same time, he can't imagine why he'd just pretend to care either. It's weird.

|Ch1|Ch2|Ch3|Ch4|

The next several days are on an endless loop for Buggy. He stays in bed all day, unwilling to come face to face with Mihawk after his little drunken rant from days prior, afraid of what Mihawk will say to him now that he's completely sober. So, he stays in bed, either sleeping or lost in thought. He should be preparing men, supplies, and their new flagship for departure, but he can't bring himself to do it. At the very least he should be making sure everything on Emptee Bluffs Island is going smoothly, and yet… he doesn't care about that either.

Being in Cross Guild is so…exhausting.

Crocodile has called for meetings every single day, and every day, Buggy has one of his men lie and say he's sick. He's missed about 10 meetings now, he thinks. He can't remember, everything is starting to blend in together. All he knows is that sooner or later Crocodile is going to get pissed and come looking for him, and then what? Beat him up? Threaten him? Actually, kill him this time?

Man, who cares?

Cabaji, Mohji, and Richie, often come by and sit with him, usually overly worried about Buggy's well-being and not believing him when he says he's just sick or tired, but of course, Buggy always tells them that he's fine.

Today, they're with him again, sitting by his bed and trying to get him to eat some of the sea king the other members of the crew somehow caught and killed today. "Captain…" Mohji sighs, "Come on, at least take a couple of bites." He asks, but he sounds more like he's begging than asking. "You've hardly eaten anything these last few days." While that is very true, it's because Buggy doesn't have much of an appetite these days, nothing tastes right or really interests him, and god knows he doesn't have the energy to make his own food…just… he just wants to sleep.

Buggy sits in his bed, slightly peeved that Cabaji and Mohji insist he sit up in general, and looks down at the sea king on his plate. He's not normally a picky eater, you can't be picky when you've spent most of your life at sea, but… this thing reminds him eerily of a poison dart frog with its vibrant color and spots, yet at the same time, it's got fins and a body like a snake... He doubts his men would actually cook up something poisonous, they aren't that naive…but still, Buggy has no interest in this fish..frog…snake thing.

But if he did die from ingesting it…that'd just be his luck, wouldn't it? Death seems… inescapable at this point, and he often wonders just what or who will end up taking his life first. "I'm not hungry," Buggy repeats, but Mohji and Cabaji seem determined today.

"Just take a couple of bites, please, Captain?" Mohji practically begs, "Just a couple, it's actually really good!" Doubt it, Buggy thinks.

Cabaji follows suit, "Yeah, just take a couple of bites and if you don't like it, you don't have to eat the whole thing! We'll just feed the rest to Richie, right, Mohji?"

"Right!"

Buggy really doesn't want to eat anything, but he hates to make the other two worry, so he ends up taking a couple of bites of his lunch, and yeah, it isn't bad…it's one of the better-tasting sea kings that he's had, this one actually tastes like chicken despite its weird appearance, but Buggy still only eats a couple of bites, just enough to get the other two off his back and then hands Mohji his plate to give to Richie.

He wants to lie back down, but the others won't let him. "Um, Captain?" Cabaji calls out, seemingly a little nervous, "Uh, how about I run you a warm bath and…uh, How about I help you wash and brush your hair today?" Cabaji suggests with a small grin. Oh, yeah, basic needs are a thing. Man, Buggy really doesn't care about any of that stuff anymore, he's going to die anyways, so what's the point? He'll just ask one of his men to make him look nice for his funeral.

"Okay?" Cabaji asks, still smiling.

Buggy understands what this really is about. This is a very polite and roundabout way of telling him he needs to bathe, but none of his men would ever outright tell him he stinks so they have to use words like, 'Oh, how about I run you a bath and help you wash your hair today?' Or, 'Wow, you look like you need to relax…how about a nice bath?'

Whatever.

Buggy lets Cabaji run him a bath, and he sits and waits in bed while he prepares everything for him. He watches Richie eat his leftover sea king, and can't help but think how nice it'd be to be a lion, well, actually a cat. If reincarnation exists, he thinks he'd like to live a carefree life as a cat, a spoiled one too. Being a pirate isn't something he thinks he'd want to do again unless he could live a life with his old crew again, this time a happy one that isn't cut short, maybe then he'd be a pirate again... Or he could be a star in the sky, that'd be nice.

"Crocodile has asked about you too, but only once, and when I told him you had the flu, he rolled his eyes at me and went: 'Of course that dumb clown is sick.' And then walked away! I tell ya, I don't know what the others see in those two!" Mohji frowns, "They're so mean to you! I… I think if we all banned together then we could…you know…." He whispers the next part of his sentence, "Show them who's boss."

Honestly if Buggy thought he and or his crew had a chance against Mihawk and Crocodile, then he would have had both of them taken out a long time ago, but he knows even with an army of men, he couldn't take out one of his business partners, let alone both. It's a fun thought though, "Let's not waste our time," Buggy replies, exhaling a long, shaky sigh, "Besides, it's like I told you before, I can handle those two! Do you really think I'd let them beat and bully me?!"

Mohji just stares at him from his seat, obviously not convinced but he doesn't push the subject any further, and thank God for that.

Cabaji reappears a few moments after that, telling Buggy his bathwater is ready, and in all honesty, Buggy rather not do this, but he doesn't feel like hearing the other two complain either. He follows Cabaji into the bathroom and tells him he can at least bathe himself, and somewhere at the back of Buggy's mind he feels like he should feel more ashamed by the situation, but he doesn't. His former captain always told him that good friends don't judge you when you're at your lowest times and that they instead help you when no one else will, and so maybe that's why he has no guilt about letting Cabaji wash his hair. He'd do the same for him and then some. He and Mohji are more than just subordinates, they're friends, no, they're family, and honestly Buggy doesn't deserve either one of them.

As he washes Buggy's hair, Cabaji also tells Buggy that Mihawk keeps asking about him. Again, Buggy finds the idea of Mihawk asking all of Buggy’s crew about his well-being almost comical. Did the world’s strongest swordsman grow a heart? Ha, as if. Or maybe Buggy’s earlier suspicions are correct, maybe Mihawk’s waiting, hoping that Buggy’s ‘flu’ will take him out and that he won’t have to deal with him anymore, which honestly seems like a more realistic explanation for everything.

A hot bath and a nice relaxing hair wash later, and Buggy’s sitting on the small couch in his room, getting his hair brushed by Cabaji as he listens to both Mohji and Cabaji ramble on about this and that, and occasionally bicker over trivial things. It feels like his men are the only consistency in his life, but he wonders if there will be a day when even that changes. Maybe he’ll end up with so many men that their crew will seem more like an army than a family, then again maybe he won’t live to see the day when that’s actually a problem. And if that doesn’t happen, then maybe Mihawk will eventually end up replacing Buggy’s crew with a new, more efficient one that he hardly knows let alone can consider his family…who knows?

Now, as stated before, Buggy’s usual visitors consist of Mohji, Cabaji and Richie, but today Buggy finds himself getting an additional guest in his room. Sometime around late afternoon Alvida joins Buggy’s already boisterous company, and as soon as she realizes Buggy’s perfectly fine, she sighs at him,”I knew you weren’t sick.” she mutters as she has a seat on the couch next to him after Cabaji and Mohji fight over who’s spot she can take, “But oh well, you won’t believe what I just saw.” She says, grinning.

Hopefully, she saw Crocodile and Mihawk board a ship and sail as far away from the island as possible, never to return again, but that’s just not realistic, is it? “What did you see?” Buggy asks though he’s not particularly curious about her gossip today.

“Mihawk and Crocodile were fighting.”

“Crocodile and Mihawk bicker every once in a while, so what?”

“No, they were actually physically fighting earlier.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know but they were both heated,” Alvida claims, “I think they reached a draw, but they were fighting for a long time, half the island saw it.”

Despite claiming that he doesn’t care about either of the two, Buggy’s slightly curious about Mihawk and Crocodile’s altercation. Sure they’ve butt heads a couple of times in the past because Crocodile is so damn overbearing and of course, Mihawk doesn’t take being bossed around lightly, but they never get physical with things, it’s usually just threats of possible fights that don’t go anywhere. Maybe that was it, maybe Crocodile just got too controlling again, and Mihawk got tired of it. He did say he was tired of Crocodile’s shit the other day… Yeah, that’s got to be it…Because what else could it be???

…

A couple of more days go by after that, and Buggy’s still stuck in that same loop: Sleep. Overthink. Sleep. Overthink. Sleep. Overthink. Of course, there are brief things that break the cycle like Mohji and Cabaji checking on him and feeding him and making sure he’s being taken care of, but other than that, it’s just sleep, overthink, repeat. He just doesn’t see the point in getting out of bed every day when Mihawk and Crocodile are just going to make his life a living hell, or worse, end his miserable existence.

Despite all his stress though, there are times when his bedroom is rather comforting, he knows that it offers him no real protection from the outside world, but in his room he feels safe and like he’s miles away from all his problems even though they’re literally just right outside. He thinks he’s missed, hm…12 meetings now, maybe 13 …14? Who knows, he’s surprised that Crocodile is even still calling for them, or that he hasn’t come barging into his room to yank him out of his bed and beat him to death for ruining his perfect schedule.

Buggy doesn’t care about Cross Guild though (or for much of anything right now) he never has and he doubts he ever will. He’s perfectly fine just keeping himself locked away in his bedroom for as long as possible. Mohji will take care of the others and if he doesn’t, then Alvida will, and if she doesn’t, then Buggy’s sure that Crocodile and Mihawk will boss his men around, but they’re strong, spirited, and oblivious, they can handle anything.

Something breaks his seemingly endless depressive cycle by the time he’s missed 18 meetings…or was it 19?

One of his men comes into his room around midmorning, like always, and tells him that a meeting has been called… But today, Mihawk’s the one who’s called for the meeting apparently, and Buggy instantly tells his subordinate to tell Mihawk that he’s still under the weather and can’t go to the meeting, to which his subordinate replies, “He says it’s urgent, Chairman Buggy, and that if you can’t go to the meeting room, that he’ll bring the meeting here instead.”

That’s got to be the worst, no, actually, the second worst thing he’s been told in his entire life. Why? Why now? Why can’t Mihawk and Crocodile just hold their dumb meetings by themselves? It’s not like Buggy gets to make any decisions or his input matters, why does he have to leave his safe space and go see them?

((A/n: Hate how they didn't add ChouChou to the live-action or Richie. The idea that some of you might not know that Richie is a lion and you might think he's just some guy is funny though lol.))

#one piece #cross guild #my writing #wondering if should post two updates today or save it for tomorrow lol #Look though the girls (gender neutral) are fighting!!#THINGS ARE SLOWLY STARTING TO CHANGE HMMMM #but first *singsongs* DRAMAAAA~#was gonna wait til the weekend to start posting all this bs but then i got the ask soooooooooo lol #ask #i be out here updating on random ass weekdays at random ass times when i know that the chances these will be seen are better during #the weekend #And yet...i say...fuck it...we ball...

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 2 months

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Based off one of your podcast episodes where you think Dumbledore killed Flamel, do you think Dumbledore would kill any wizard who found out different methods to being immortal?

Anon's referring to an @rankheresy episode by me and @therealvinelle (specifically this one)

TL;DL: @therealvinelle and I concluded that Dumbledore had killed Flamel before the events of Philosopher's Stone.

The thing is, that wasn't why we theorized Dumbledore killed him.

Dumbledore and Mortality

First, a bit about Dumbledore and death.

Dumbledore has some major hangups on death. To be fair, we all do, but Albus especially seems to in part because he seems to have obsessed over it in his youth as well as at his canonical age.

We know he chased after immortality as a young man and this concept of Master of Death. We know that upon gaining the cloak from the Potters, as well as the ring, he did get weird about it. Mostly, though, it's how he talks about death.

Dumbledore's often reiterating that death is a natural occurrance, which yes it is, but he romanticizes it. Death is the next great adventure, death is like going to sleep after a long hard day's work, it's a rest, a new path, and something we should look forward to when our time comes. And true, he's saying this to a child and of course sugar-coating things, and he's trying to explain why Tom's obsession with death and his horcruxes are unnatural, but it's still very strange things to say.

And the feeling I get, at least, is that Dumbledore is trying to convince himself that he's okay with death. Especially in book six where his mortality is catching up with him, he has much to prepare, and yet he's not quite prepared for when the end catches up to him despite himself.

This is a guy who thinks about death a lot and why he's no doubt convinced himself that Flamel, who he views as a good man, was totally okay with him and his wife dying after he's been not dying for several centuries because Dumbledore swears a Dark Lord who's been dead for ten years is after the stone.

But Dumbledore doesn't seem to view Flamel with contempt in Philosopher's Stone, or even all that misguided, just someone who after a long life had realized it was finally time and accepted it gracefully because the stone was very nearly stolen thanks to Dumbledore's bizarre obstacle course he set up in the basement of his school.

(This is where @therealvinelle and I come in, because we call foul on Flamel rolling over to die that easily when there have surely been thieves in the past, or letting Dumbledore do any of Philosopher's Stone without any intervention whatsoever and then supposedly quietly dying while Harry's passed out and agreeing to smash the stone after all that work to protect it.)

What Dumbledore is Not

Dumbledore clearly views Tom as bad in not accepting mortality, in murdering others to ensure his own immortality (rightly so, that's a very bad thing to do, as is splitting your soul apart even if it didn't require murder) but, and as weird as it is for me to defend Dumbledore, he's not itching at the bit to destroy Tom for that alone. That's just a facet to him of why Tom has gone too far and is unsalvageable and must be destroyed. It's a character flaw to Dumbledore, but one of many and not the main issue for all he brings it up quite often.

Dumbledore never gives off vibes of getting rid of or killing anyone who ever looks into immortality. Flamel, if @therealvinelle and I are correct, was left alone for many years when Dumbledore was personally acquainted with him and his wife until 1991. If there's other people who have similar immortality granting things, then we at least don't hear about them canonically.

Depending who they are, Dumbledore might view them as misguided, fearful, or else hold them in contempt but he's not a serial killer who's planning to hunt down people and murder them for doing things he doesn't like.

But the short answer is no, I don't think Dumbledore would do that.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #albus dumbledore #anti albus dumbledore #nicholas flamel #tom riddle #meta #headcanon #opinion #rankheresy #vinelle #therealvinelle

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navnae · 1 year

Text

Eddie stood with group as they watched the sky turn into a dark grey and red lighting lit the entire sky. Everyone around him wasn’t new to this slight while in the inside he was panicking just by looking at the bizarre sight. The girl that he’s recently met, Eleven, made her way to the front, following right behind her was Steve. He immediately took on the protective role just in case anything happened. Everyone started moving up to where they were as the sky started to darken. Eddie ended up beside Steve and Dustin was on the other side, Robin stood shoulder to shoulder with him, Nancy stood next to Jonathan who was standing with Mike, Will, and Argyle. Max and Lucas were the last two to follow the group and stood beside Robin when they caught up.

The harsh sounds of thunder were intense on Eddie’s ears and it was probably the worst thing he’s ever heard. Cracks in the ground started to form near their feet, it looked like hell was being revealed to them as they watched every crack form. Eddie felt his heart pound in his chest out of fear as the cracks started to approach his own feet. He tried to move away but he froze right on the spot and he just accepted his fate right at that moment. Before Eddie could process anything he felt a hand over his pulling him away then falling to the ground. Once he gathered himself the position he was in became clear, his had was on someone’s chest and his hand was still being held by whoever pulled him away. Eddie lifted his head slightly only to meet Steve’s gaze who was looking at him with worry, Steve squeezed Eddie’s hand softly trying to relax. Eddie didn’t even realize that he was breathing heavily and he was truly terrified.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, his voice barely coming to a whisper. Eddie’s mouth became dry as he tried to say something but he couldn’t. He could tell that everyone was watching them and Eddie felt his entire body getting hot.

“Y-Yeah I’m good.” Eddie managed to say despite his entire body shaking. He didn’t know if Steve meant to but his hand made its way to Eddie’s waist, pulling him close in a way. Eddie held in his breath when Steve made both of them sit up fully.

“Is everyone okay?” Steve directed the question towards the entire group this time. After hearing a few ‘yeahs’ it was time for them to get a move on.

The group started heading back towards Hawkins which wasn’t a far walk but there was a little bit of distance between them. As they walked Eddie noticed the small cliques start to form right in front of his eyes. He kept his distance and stayed in the back because he didn’t feel like he fit anywhere with the others. It didn’t take long for someone to catch on that he wasn’t exactly walking with them, Robin and Dustin fell back a little bit as the others walked in front of them. They walked by Eddie’s side in silence for a few minutes until one of them just blurted out what was on their mind.

“What was that earlier?” Dustin asked with a high pitched voice. Robin started laughing leaving Eddie all out of the loop.

“What was what?” Eddie raised an eye brow as he looked at the both of them. They had knowing smiles on their faces when that exchanged these expressions that Eddie couldn’t read.

“That thing that happened between you and Steve. You were laying all on his chest while he held your hand-“

“I get the picture Robin I was there.” Eddie interrupted. He could feel his face getting hot again just by thinking about the way Steve held him and he knew there wasn’t any meaning in it but why did it feel so intimate. Eddie was probably looking way to deep into something that only lasted for two seconds.

“All I’m saying is Steve usually don’t do that unless he really cares about the person. Yeah he could’ve just pushed out the way but he decided to hold you in the process.” Robin explained. Dustin nodded his head agreeing with what she was saying. Eddie took everything she said with a grain of salt because it was hard for him to believe that Steve’s actions meant anything more.

“Okay I don’t know why in that moment he decided to hold me in that way but everything he did prior is valid. He was just trying to protect me because that’s what he does, he protects. There’s nothing more to it.” Eddie wanted the conversation to come to an end as soon as possible. Surprisingly Robin and Dustin didn’t say anything else about the situation and they left it alone.

The group continued to walk until they made it to Hawkins then heading to Steve’s so they could talk about their plan to save the world from coming to an end. Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about what Robin and Dustin said, something was telling him that they had a point in a way. Steve has had several experiences where he needed to save someone and out of all the ways of doing that he went with an approach that cause Eddie’s head to spin nonstop. Eddie watch Steve carry on conversations with everyone like nothing even happened, maybe Eddie’s delusions were getting the best of him like they always do. Once the group made it to Steve’s house they spent hours talking about all the in’s and outs of the plan that they had in mind. Eddie’s mind wasn’t focused on anything being said that evening only Steve who was standing with his arms folded from across the room, his muscles flexed against his chest, his face was concentrated on what was being said, he looked all bloody and bruised from the previous encounter they had with the bats. Eddie stopped himself from thinking any further about someone he considered a friend, it wasn’t right. He kept telling himself that he read the situation wrong because if he thought otherwise he wouldn’t be able to handle that type of truth.

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whumpzone · 1 year

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Hi I don’t want this to seem pressuring or rude, especially bc the update was so recent, but I love your writing and I’m super into the vampire au and I’m wondering if we’ll see Viks reaction in the (potential) next update?

i hope you like this! it got long!

(masterpost)

CW vampire whumpee, thoughts of death, dissociation, dehumanisation

Vik pulled open a cupboard door, snatching a cereal bar for no good reason. He was kind of hungry, but he mostly enjoyed stealing something out of Linden’s house every time he popped by. The thing upstairs shouldn’t ruin their small rituals. Vik could just about ignore the way he was leeching the fun out of the place, replacing it with this awful, overbearing awkwardness. He grunted and took a bite.

“You are so predictable,” Linden scoffed. “I knew you’d take one of those.”

Vik just opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, treating Linden to a sight of his half-chewed food. Linden burst out laughing and whipped the teatowel at him. It was a good shot, snapping against his arm and making him choke in surprise.

“Ow!”

“Thieves get the whip.”

Vik didn’t want his mood to sour, he wanted to ignore it, but fuck it was hard. “Give that thing the whip.”

Linden’s smile faded and the sight of it made Vik’s chest hurt. He was already dealing with so much, and yes it was his own bizarre and stupid choice, but Vik knew he shouldn’t add to it.

“Sorry, mate.”

“No,” Linden sighed. “No, it’s okay. I don’t expect you to be okay with it, I get it. It’s weird.”

“It is weird.”

“Can you trust that I’m doing the right thing?”

Vik thought about this. Linden always appreciated his honesty. “I can’t. But I can trust that you know what the right thing to do is. Does that make sense?”

Linden’s smile returned, but it wasn’t quite the same. “Yeah, you always make sense.”

Two more bites and the snack was gone. Vik held the wrapper in his palm and crushed it up slowly, pretending it was solid steel and only his strength could break it down. One of the stupid, boyish habits he should have left behind in his teenage years but never quite did.

“I dunno what to cook for tea tonight…” Linden murmured as Vik turned to throw the wrapper away.

His talking turned to static, however, as Vik had his attention grabbed by something else. A hastily written note, like something out of an old indie horror game, was lying at the top of the bin. It wasn’t Linden’s handwriting, it was far too messy, and that left only one suspect. Not a person. The thing didn’t make it into that label.

Vik’s eyes narrowed.

What did you need to say sorry for?

Glancing back, throwing in a nod and a hum, hoping he had timed them right enough to look convincing, Vik saw that Linden wasn’t looking at him. He had a new shopping list on the counter before him, but he was staring out of the window, watching the world go by. He was probably happy to have to curtains open for once. God, why would he do this to himself?

Vik seized Linden’s moment of inattentiveness to swipe the piece of paper, pocketing it in one swift movement. From the same pocket, he pulled out a fag.

Linden glanced over, the movement alerting his peripheral vision, and Vik held the cigarette up. “Mind if I?”

“Yeah, sure,” Linden waved him off complacently, of course he did, he trusted Vik.

He had to abuse that trust, but this was important. Linden would understand.

“Have jacket potatoes, I would. So easy. I’ll be back in a bit.”

. . .

Pet knew. He had known long before he caught the scent of Vik walking up to the house. He’d known all night, and he hadn’t slept a second because of it, instead choosing to spend his last night on earth with the stars.

He would try to take it well. He wanted to aim for dignity, but such fantasies weren’t allowed.

The door opened slowly, like it had before. Pet could only watch as Vik locked it behind him. Of course he had a spare key, he was family. As Vik turned to face him once more, a tiny whimper escaped his lips.

No, no, he thought. I don’t think I can do this.

Vik started moving towards him. Pet couldn’t tell if he had a weapon, but he had enough silver to reduce him to screaming flesh. He scrambled back, all thoughts of being still and good thoroughly chased away, replaced by terror and rising panic and the clumsy, ugly desire to live.

Vik took another step. Pet had expected a blind rage and sudden pain and death following not long after, but this slowness reflected a depth of self-restraint, of planning, of a desire to do this properly. There would be no enraged punch that knocked him unconscious. There would be no misaimed kick that cracked his head in just the right place to kill him fast.

Vik’s eyes were locked with his. Should Pet look down like a dog, with a face full of humility and submission? Or was it better to hold the eye contact and prove to him that he wouldn’t dare put him under hypnosis? In the end it felt as if the choice was made for him, as his back hit the wall and he realised he was frozen in fear. He kept staring with wide, frantic, orange eyes.

One of his hands was balled up, and as Vik lifted it, Pet realised it wasn’t destined to punch him, not yet. It was holding something. Vik smoothed the note out and read it over.

“What made you write this, then?”

. . .

The vampire gasped, and Vik knew he was on the right path. Oh yeah. Something had definitely happened and he had needed to double-down on the I’m so harmless and damaged act.

His body was pulsing with anger. He could feel it under his skin, guiding his hands to wring the neck of the creature that was only a metre from him. It would be so easy. He could make sure all his silver rings were lined up and then pound and pound and pound until he was a mess. Until Linden had no choice but to throw him out. Vik would do that too. Linden wouldn’t have to worry about anything. He’d be glad for Vik’s help.

A tiny spark of caution suddenly ran through him. He was dealing with a vampire, after all. No matter what, he was faster, stronger, and more deadly.

An even tinier spark of frustration followed. If Vik did beat the shit out of him, it would mean the vampire was letting him. And what did that mean?

Did it mean he really was domesticated? Tamed? Tortured into submission?

Was that a good thing?

Vik’s lip curled into a scowl. He was standing over a vampire, and the vampire was cowering. Vik was the one in control. What the fuck else mattered?

“You wrote my brother a little sorry note. And I suppose you thought that was all you needed to do. I’m sure you feel pretty smug right now.”

The vampire shook his head, all of his features twisting up like he was going to cry. His eyes were shining. Vik almost laughed. Oh shit, he really was gonna cry.

There was an almighty bang behind him. It would have made a lesser man jump, but not Vik, not when he had a business to see to.

“Vik! Vik you fucking maniac!” Linden shouted. His voice was loaded with pure anger, and on Linden it sounded all wrong.

Vik didn’t break eye contact. It would be too easy for the vampire to get the jump on him if he got distracted.

“Open the door!” Linden continued. “Vik! He didn’t hurt me. He didn’t do anything!”

His tone was already dropping from anger to bargaining. He sounded scared.

Vik knew he couldn’t stay for long, and he felt like taking a risk. He leant even closer to the vampire. His blood would smell so fresh to him, separated by only a thin layer of skin, flesh, whatever. All negligible in the eyes of a hungry vampire. The cereal bar wrapper that Vik had discarded earlier.

“I warned you, right? I’d say I was pretty fair.”

The vampire just nodded, finally looking down and screwing his eyes shut. Braced.

“Vik!”

Before Linden had even finished shouting his name, the first punch had cracked straight across the vampire’s jaw, and god it felt good. It felt like sugar and caffeine and sweet release.

The punch caught and dragged, and Vik realised it was because his silver rings were doing their job even better than he’d anticipated- he’d obviously never punched a vampire in the face before- and each one had started to melt the skin. It was like dragging his knuckles across a fresh wax model. When he retracted his hand, Vik was staring back at an even more monstrous face than before.

The vampire’s left cheek and jaw, where the punch had landed, were badly burnt with rivets exactly where the rings had hit him. Patches of his lips were missing, leaving him with a permanent snarl. The vampire breathed heavily, spitting out some pieces of burnt flesh.

He still wasn’t fighting back. He hadn’t even raised his hands to shield his face.

He just watched, tears running silently down his cheeks, as Vik raised his fist again.

Tame.

Vik faltered.

The vampire started to move.

But he was lowering his head, not lunging for him. Vik’s throat went wholly ignored as the creature bent forward, chest against thigh, and pressed a kiss to Vik’s boot.

Vik’s stomach turned.

The next punch landed easily, knocking the vampire clean down, his curled hands and skinny shoulder bruising against the wooden bedroom floor.

“Get the fuck off me,” he spat, real nausea fuelling the bile in his words. He staggered back, a little too unsteadily for his liking. The vampire hadn’t put him under his control, sure, but he’d still done something to him. He delivered a few swift kicks, going for his ribs until the last one, where he simply lifted the boot that the vampire had just put his lips on and brought it down hard on one of his hands. Vik smiled as the vampire moaned, pushing his face into the floor, like it would swallow him up and let him escape.

It had only been a minute at most since Vik had last heard Linden shouting. He wasn’t going to break the door down, was he? That would be extremely stupid.

“Vi-“

“I’m coming out, calm down,” he shouted, summoning every ounce of nonchalance he could. None of this mattered to him, the whimpering vampire below didn’t matter to him, the only thing that might be worth a damn was that Linden was upset with him. Vik could let himself attend to that.

He thought about taking one of his thickest rings and pressing it into the back of the vampire’s neck, seeing how far it would sink into the flesh, burning a path through the living creature. His stomach rolled again. Perhaps not. He wanted to beat him, rough him up a bit, not torture him.

He kicked the vampire one last time, right in the face where his burns were, and then held his breath as he turned and opened the door.

He found Linden right outside, and ugh, fuck, the fucking look that Vik was greeted with was enough to sow the seeds of guilt, and that made his anger puff its chest up even further.

Linden grabbed his shoulder to shove him out of the way, staring into the bedroom, then back to Vik.

“Go downstairs,” he said, low and flat and emotionless.

Vik grunted and stormed away. When Linden did appear a few minutes later, Vik knew to hold his tongue and let him speak first.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Linden barked as soon as he was downstairs, just far enough that if Vik decided to turn back and finish the job, Linden would at least have time to react.

“Can’t you?” he replied, not missing a second. “It was really out of the realm of your imagination? You dumb, Linden?”

“You’ll be thrilled to know that he’ll be fine in a day or two. I thought you’d killed him. I thought you’d actually just murdered someone. I mean, beating the shit out of them is hardly better, but-“

“Of course he’s- of course he’s fucking alive!” Vik yelled. “He’s a vampire! Fucking hell!”

“He hardly fought back, did he? He would have let you kill him.”

Vik ignored this. “I did that for good reason, you seriously have no idea how much danger you’re in having that thing in the house.”

“God, you really do think I’m dumb. I know, Vikram, and it’s okay, he’s-“

“No, because it’s not okay, something happened and I found the note- he did something! He did something to have to write all that shit!” Vik was surprising himself with how unstable his voice was. He was going to tear himself to ribbons with emotion if he wasn’t careful. But he- his brother- “He did something to you!”

“He didn’t, it- where are the injuries, then? I’m fine!”

“Stop fucking lying to me, Linden, I know we see this differently and I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry I can’t support this, but you’re really gonna lie to me? To protect a worthless piece of shit vampire?”

“You lied! You lied to me,” Linden snapped, jabbing a finger into his own chest to emphasise his point. “You didn’t even ask me about the note, you just, what, fished it out of the actual rubbish and snuck away? You went right under my nose in my own house and-“

“Linden, Linden, do you hear yourself? You have a vampire upstairs!”

“Would you just take some deep breaths? Fuck!” Linden was shouting, now, they were both shouting and it was never going to accomplish anything.

How did the vampire see his brother? As master of the house? Vik could listen to the master of the house. He took some deep breaths. Linden did the same, and the two didn’t break eye contact. Vik wasn’t sure how his own face looked. Hurt? Furious? Beastly?

Linden looked like he was a hiker that had just come across a bear. His hands were slightly raised, ready to placate.

“Okay, okay, I’ve calmed down.”

“Okay.”

“Please just tell me what happened.” Vik felt wrung out. Why had any of this needed to happen? Why had Linden taken the stupid thing in, he thought hopelessly. Everything was going wrong. He absolutely hated arguing with Linden.

“I’m not going to let you hurt him anymore.”

“I won’t!” Vik heard himself raising his voice, and paused. Deep stupid useless breaths. “Sorry, I won’t, alright? God.”

“You’re acting like that was a ridiculous accusation to make, when you just-“

“Okay, I get it, I get it, I get it. Please tell me, please Linden, I need to know that you’re okay, I’m doing this for you.”

Linden stared at him from under his heavy brow. It would be so easy for Vik to lean into his own annoyance, but he didn’t want to. He tried to let himself feel the unbearable pain of humility.

Yes, Linden was right. He had just gone and beaten the little pet that Linden was looking after. He shouldn’t have done that- not because the vampire didn’t deserve it, but because Linden hadn’t asked him to.

“I moved my arm in front of his face, just to pick something up, but it scared him. He thought I was gonna hit him. He did this… kind of, like, a bite in the air, but it was like his mouth just closed as a reflex because he was surprised. So he didn’t actually bite me, or hurt me. And yeah, it scared the shit out of me, Vik. I panicked. And then he didn’t move, and I realised if he’d wanted to bite me, he would have. So I asked him if he could write on some paper, and he just used it to apologise, and then he ran upstairs.”

Linden broke eye contact. “Thanks for letting me talk.”

“Yeah, ‘course mate…” Vik said as he mulled everything over. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was only yesterday. I knew you’d lose your shit.”

“Yeah, but that’s not- I still can’t believe you didn’t say anything.”

“But Vik, you found out and you did lose your shit. I’m trying to look after him here. I would have told you, okay, of course I would’ve, just in a way that was a bit calmer.”

“So you’re really not hurt?”

“I promise. I swear down.”

“Good.”

“Christ, Vik.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry I kept interrupting you.”

Linden ran a hand down his face and exhaled. Vik stepped forward and tilted his shoulder, a tiny fraction of movement. Linden saw it, like he always did, and he understood, wrapping an arm around Vik in a tight hug.

Vik’s arms tightened across Linden’s back, using his strength to push the air out of him in a huff. It only lasted a second or two, but it was all they needed to get the point across.

“I’ll go home. I know you need to go back upstairs.”

“I really need to name him…” Linden muttered, with another almighty sigh.

. . .

Pet lay on the floor where Vik had left him. He was alive.

He took a few breaths. He didn’t want to think. He was numb- alive, and numb. Humans called his current state of breathing, eating, sleeping, a type of undeath. It didn’t seem quite accurate, but he knew he shouldn’t be questioning humans.

Still. Alive he was.

Why had Vik shown him mercy?

Even before his Master intervened, Pet’s finely tuned senses had picked up on all the infinite ways Vik had hesitated.

He hadn’t expected kissing his feet to stop the onslaught, and it didn’t- if anything, it made it worse-but Pet hoped it had proved his obedience. He was alive! He would happily be Vik’s punching bag. Vik could beat him senseless, keep him in his place, Pet would welcome it with Master’s permission.

His hand was twitching in pain where Vik had crushed it. He was strong, for a human, and Pet was an incredibly weak vampire. It made for a pretty good beating. The injuries would fade fast, but it didn’t make the hurt any less severe.

It had been deserved, so the pain didn’t feel like proper pain. The handlers used to remind him that being pinned down, bitten, drained of blood- that was legitimate. What Pet felt was justice, or something. It was hard to remember, not because he had forgotten, but because his mind shoved the memories behind a door and locked it.

He was thinking too much.

If he was truly destined to live a bit longer, Pet decided he had time to drift away. His mind was already tugging at the loose rope that moored him to his body, scratching at it with clumsy fingers, holding back until Pet closed his eyes and lent a hand. He knew how to untie the knot. He had done it so many times before, and as he finally went away, he let the rope slip from his palm without a second thought.

here's a little sketch of how Col looks at the end of this chapter:

taglist:

@whumpsday @whumpycries @hollowgast1 @pigeonwhumps @cupcakes-and-pain @extemporary-whump @unicornscotty @d-cs @secretwhumplair @octopus-reactivated @wolfeyedwitch

#me when i get to write loads of dialogue :)))))))))#i love dialogue... this AU just gets more and more indulgent. hehe #cols hair is longer!#he hasnt had it cut yet #vampire col au #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #linden and colton #asks #anon #its LATE but it was worth it i wanted to finish it sooooo bad. to get it posted!!#and what. i'll be a bit tired at my stupid job. so WHAT

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ivyblossom · 2 years

Text

Poor Ed: Stede's a Confusing Gentleman

I can only imagine how confused poor Ed is about what's going on with Stede at every point in this narrative. He must be such a bizarre mystery to Ed.

Which was exactly what he wanted, really. Something original. Sometimes it hurts to get what you wish for.

From the very beginning, Stede doesn't behave as expected or predicted. He is an enigma. Even before they meet, Stede's bizarre choices get Ed's attention. And once they do meet, Ed seems to be completely unable to put his finger on what Stede is after from him, and forces Ed to question his understanding of reality at every turn.

Ed is flirtswith Stede and makes no secret of it. He is pretty much always trying to seduce Stede, and Stede is extremely receptive to it. He responds so well to Ed's overtures, but Ed is still left wondering if Stede is actually on the same page.

Ed flirts hard, but obliquely. He doesn't come right out and say what he wants. He waits for a sign from Stede to go ahead. He prompts and teases, sets up scenarios, but he never gets the sign.

I presume that Ed isn't a stranger to casual sex, just as Stede's crew isn't. There's probably many good reasons why Izzy assumes Ed and Stede are consummating their relationship on the deck within earshot: Izzy knows Ed's proclivities, and being in flagrante delicto with a pretty man within view of the crew must not be too far from the Izzy's expectations.

You'd think Ed would have just gone ahead propositioned Stede directly by that point, given their thick sexual tension and the obvious attraction and affection between them. But Ed doesn't push it. Maybe because he assumes the landed gentry have different sexual mores and he's waiting for Stede to initiate if he wants to, or make it clear what the next step is. Maybe he felt from the start that this was different, not so casual, and maybe Ed didn't want to jeopardize it by trying to speed things up. Hard to say.

But Ed definitely keeps up his seduction game. He teaches Stede flirt!fencing instead of real swordsmanship. It's all sexual preamble, foreplay and seduction, an attempt to get physical with Stede without coming right out and asking, not a real tutorial. The little pat on the ass should have been an obvious and unmissable sign that this was pure flirting and not actual fighting lessons. But Stede misses the memo completely, embraces the surface reading, and uses his new flirt-fencing techniques in a duel with Izzy.

Stede seems to not see or refuse to acknowledge the subtext of their flirty interactions while at the same time thoroughly enjoying them and seeking them out. As far as Ed can tell, Stede neither confirms nor denies that a full on and very successful seduction campaign is well underway. That has got to be confusing for Ed. Talk about mixed signals!

And then Stede uses only his words to set a boatload of German aristocrats on fire because they hurt Ed's feelings, and that's it. Ed's in love, in lust, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, he is in, he is committed, and he is ready.

Stede tells Ed that he wears fine things well, putting the cherry on top of the most elaborate and effective seduction ever devised, one that outdoes Ed's strategy by about five billion, and Ed's completely overcome. He is weak in the knees by that point, and he steps forward for the kiss he is now absolutely starving for, but Stede does not match his vibe. So Ed stops himself short.

Imagine what he's feeling just then. The confusion, the frustration of it! Stede is smiling at him, fond of him, but sexless. Has he misread all of this? Is that even possible? Ed is now painfully, priapistically in love with Stede and he cannot tell whether or not his feelings are returned. He has either been masterfully seduced by accident by an innocent who doesn't see Ed as a sexual being or a potential sexual partner, or Stede is playing a game Ed can't even begin to fathom. Stede continues to make no move, pleasant as ever, even as Ed has been literally begging for it at gunpoint.

Ed suggests maybe it's time he moved on. There's no point sticking around mooning over someone who doesn't want you, right? Or is he trying to prompt a reaction, bring things to a head? Stede makes a plea for him to stay, and Ed's certainly not going to say no.

When Lucius explains to him that Stede, like everyone else, sees himself as less cool than Ed, that Stede believes he has to work at it be appealing enough for Ed to want to stay, that he's trying so hard to impress Ed so that he won't leave him, that Stede really likes him a lot, that must be wonderful to hear, but incredibly confusing. This is not how Ed understands their relationship at all, and he must be trying to slot this information in and make sense of it. Ed must be so utterly unsure of the rules of their interaction, but he is clearly very aware that he needs to communicate his enjoyment even if it's a lie, and he needs to pass whatever kind of test this. Maybe this is what unlocks a closer relationship with Stede. Ed has no way of knowing!

So Ed is very cautious and very pliant. He hardly knows what to do with himself, and he ends up going along whatever Stede wants, pretending for the sake of Stede's happiness and in the hopes that this is the final piece of the puzzle. He's giving Stede a win he's already more than won: Ed's admiration and undying love.

But even after all that, Stede doesn't make a move, which must confuse the heck out of Ed. What does he need to do to win Stede's heart? Where's the map into Stede's pants? Ed should go back to that woman selling overpriced maps and ask her for that one. (Hey Stede, look! A treasure map that leads to the the most prized treasure ever! Want to go on an adventure with me?)

The appearance of Calico Jack, and Stede's obvious dislike of him, hits Ed hard. That looks like the real answer to that painful question that's been dangling over his head the whole time: Stede doesn't actually like the real him, and that's why all the flirting doesn't work.

This must be why Stede hasn't made a move, why they haven't professed their intense and overwhelming love to each other and made sweet love in the crow's nest by moonlight. It might have been okay for a laugh, but in the end, Stede wouldn't really deign to share his bed and his life with a gross lowlife pirate like Calico Jack (and by extension, like Ed). It is only a matter of time before Stede truly accepts what Ed really is and rejects him completely, as he does when he evicts Jack from The Revenge. Ed should stick with a sure thing, Calico Jack, his own kind. Ed is miserable about it.

Even without any proof that he's wrong about Stede's feelings about him, Ed returns to The Revenge and sacrifices himself rather than let Stede die because of Calico Jack's betrayal. Because even if Stede doesn't have the same calibre of feelings for him, Ed absolutely loves Stede with all that he has.

What really clinches all this for me is the scene on the beach when they finally kiss. Ed has reached his limit. He's going to have to use his words, and you can see that in spite of everything, he has no idea if what he's saying to Stede will be well-received or reciprocated. There's a little question mark at the end of the sentence when he tells Stede that all he really wants is him, and that breaks my heart. The only encouragement Ed needs is that Stede smiles instead of recoiling from that admission. And Ed can't wait another second to kiss him, because he is a house on fire, and he finally got the faintest glimmer of reciprocity.

So I understand why Ed doesn't question why Stede didn't join him at the dock. It doesn't make sense, Stede agreed to go with him, but when has anything Stede does ever really made sense to Ed? Ed has been anticipating this rejection from the start, and now he's got it.

When the time comes that Stede is completely straightforward and clear with Ed and no longer giving mixed signals, no longer being so deeply confusing, flirting with Ed and rejecting him at the same time, I can't even imagine how happy it will make them both. To have the truth out in front of them, plainly and undeniably.

When Stede pulls that rowboat into the water heading back out to find his found family and his love, there is great certainty and great clarity in him. He knows what he wants. He's not hiding from it or ignoring it anymore. He knows he loves Ed. He knows Ed loves him. Imagine how it will feel for Ed to hear that, and to see the absence of hesitation in Stede. To be enveloped in it and not have to doubt it.

The volume of that passion would certainly be an earful and an eyeful for Izzy, if he happens to be in the vicinity!

#our flag means death #no one asked for this #Edward Teach #Stede Bonnet #stede is confusing #meta #stating the obvious #but it's just so fun to write

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marriedtobigfoot · 1 year

Text

Eddie and Steve didn't know each other well before the upside down threw them together. They didn't interact at school, and they wouldn't have considered each other friends in any real capacity. But there was one night. One night where Eddie found Steve curled up in the bathroom at a party, drunk and miserable, mumbling about how he wishes somebody could love him just a little bit.

Eddie had taken him home, not willing to let Steve try and walk or, God forbid, drive when he was so wasted. He talked, joked, anything he could do to lift the sad former kings spirits even a little bit. It seemed to work a little bit. Steve didn't look like he was on the verge of tears anymore, at least. He got Steve to his room, helped get him out of his jeans, and his shirt. He rummaged through the other boys' drawers and closet until he found a nice soft sweater, and he pulled it over Steve's head. He didn't say much. Just gave Eddie a nod as he got tucked into bed. Eddie was about to leave, to go home and shake off the bizarre turn his night had taken, when Steve actually spoke up for the first time since he had stepped into his house.

"Hey Munson...you're in a band, right?"

"Yeah, sure am Steve."

"Can you sing?"

"A little bit."

"Sing me something? It's hard to fall asleep when it's so quiet here. Doesn't have to be good, just something nice."

And if Eddie was smart, he would have hummed some Metallica and high-tailed it out of there. But he isn't smart, and he's suddenly reminded of when he first left home and came to live with his Uncle Wayne. How he had nightmares the first few weeks because he was somewhere new and he was scared. Wayne would curl up next to him and hum that dumb little song from the Muppet movie because it was Eddie's favorite.

And Steve just looks so goddamn sad, so Eddie sings.

"Why are there so many songs about rainbows, and what's on the other side..."

And maybe it's stupid, but Steve gets this sweet smile on his face as he falls asleep, and Eddie can't bring himself to regret it.

Over a year later, Eddie is bleeding in the upside down, doing his best to hang on as Steve Harrington holds him in his arms. He had changed the plan at the last minute, opting to come with Eddie and Dustin, and now here he was cradling Eddie, blood covering his hands. Eddie knows he doesn't have very long left, and it's a shame, really. He would have liked to get to know Steve better. He would have liked to spend more time with Dustin, to hug his uncle one last time, to celebrate saving the world.

"Hey Steve?"

"Don't talk man, you're gonna- fuck you're bleeding so much Eddie."

"It's okay, it's okay-"

"It's not okay! I told you not to do this shit, I told you not to be a hero."

It's quiet for a moment. Eddie swears he feels a tear land on his cheek.

"Remember that time I sang to you?"

Steve sniffles, and Eddie thinks maybe he forgot. He was really drunk. But then-

"Yeah, yeah I remember Eddie."

"Can you-" He coughs and there's blood on his lips now. "Can you sing for me now?"

"Come on don't so this- you're gonna be okay, we're gonna get you out of here, you've gotta hang on man."

"Just wanna hear one more song, please Stevie?"

A choked sob breaks through the quiet of the upside down, and then Steve starts to sing. His voice is shaking, and he has to choke out the lines when the tears come too strong. Eddie wishes he wasn't crying, wishes he could comfort Steve somehow, but he doesn't have the strength for words anymore.

"Why are there so many songs about rainbows..."

He sings softly, and his voice is choked with tears, but Eddie is sure it's the prettiest sing he's ever heard. He lets it fill his ears as thinks about all the people he's going to miss, the things he won't get the chance to do. It's a little easier with Steve's voice in his ears.

"The lovers, the dreamers and me..."

And Eddie let's his eyes slip shut.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #stranger things 4 #ficlet #angst #hurt no comfort #saddest shit ive ever written #before you yell at me #just know Im mad too #i didnt want to think about this #but i was listening to rainbow connection and it just kind of happened #tw: character death

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batmanfruitloops · 8 months

Text

Been a while since I did a long text post, so let's discuss Harvey some more!

Harvey was always a polite and energetic boy growing up. He had a lucky silver dollar he kept to flip "heads or tails" for little decisions, like stepping over or onto cracks in the cement, or silly little bets with Gilda or Bruce, who he met at a young age through school and the three became fast friends.

His father was an angry and abusive man, oppressing his power over Harvey and his wife, enforcing a skewed set of rules. This instills Harvey with a strong sense of fair judgment and wanting to right wrongs, even at such a young age. When Harvey was 6, his parents got into a fatal car crash and died, and from this point on the Wayne's did everything they could to help Harvey, now guardians to him.

This incident was hard at first since Harvey felt conflicted about whether or not to be happy that his parents were gone, and he could become angry and aggressive when upset, similar to his father, although Harvey had plenty of support to help him calm down and cope better with stress.

When Bruce's parents were murdered, Harvey comforted him as best he could, mourning his loss and trying to help Bruce continue to take care of himself and talk about how he feels.

Bruce is still fine for the most part after that, if not more distant in word, but good with spending time with Harvey and Gilda.

Over time, Gilda and Harvey spend more time together, as they click better. Bruce participated when offered, but as he was also fine being alone, the two began to see each other more often without Bruce there.

This is how things stay until Bruce leaves at age 18, Harvey having no idea. One day, he tried to call Bruce, then the manor only to find out from Alfred that Bruce had left a couple weeks ago. This cuts Harvey deeply. Had Bruce really not intended to let his best friend know that he was leaving, especially if it was going to be a long trip?

Alfred offered to give Harvey Bruce's current contact information, but Harvey declined, not wanting to bother Bruce and fearing what he might hear if he did call.

At age 22, Harvey and Gilda finally decided to get married. They'd been dating for a few years, and even before then, it was like they were joined at the hip. They're very good at communicating with one another, and as touch is one of their main ways of showing love, that makes it all the easier to express care for one another.

Harvey was quite distraught about Bruce not being in attendance, but again, he didn't feel like he could bother Bruce on his trip. Although had he attended, he would have been Harvey's best man.

After his marriage, Harvey would also get his job as an attourney, something he'd have had as a dream job for years. Over the next 6 years, Harvey earns his way to district attorney, and the hearts of many Gothamites, given he's an easy person to root for; charming, well-spoken, kind, and takes everything and everyone into account.

When Bruce returns, the news is sudden, with him showing up at the Dent's house with no prior notice. Harvey would be happy to see him, if not confused by the odd situation. He'd be happy to catch up, but he's quickly disappointed when Bruce asks more about how Gotham has been since he left, instead of how Harvey and Gilda have been. He doesn't even bring up the bizarre nature of his trip starting and ending so abruptly. He seems perfectly content, as if nothing happened. Bruce is also more physically distant, not trying to hug Harvey or anything while he's over.

Harvey has a hard time bringing up everything that Bruce is doing to hurt his feelings, so he decides to change the subject. He'd be considering running for mayor at the next election, and he'd like Bruce's support. He, of course, says yes and they discuss in detail plans for Harvey's campaign.

Changing Gotham to a better city is a goal that they share, and so fixing things like the Mob run corruption is a main concern, along with the justice system. Most of the police force works with the mob, and one of the few options besides prison to send those mentally unwell is Arkham, which uses outdated treatments and doesn't help anything. So making a proper replacement is another goal that they start working on.

As I hinted at in an answer post, Harvey is a threat to Hill and Falcone, so they plan to take him out of the picture. While not the first rogue to enter the crime scene, Harvey will be the first to appear in some of the comics.

- Sarsee

#batmanfruitloops #dc #batman #anewgothamau #batman villains #batman rogues #gotham rogues #harvey dent #Two-Face #two face #batmanfruitloopslore #sars babbles

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witchfall · 1 year

Text

superposition

[Fallen Hero series. Mid-Retribution.]

[Flystep. Daniel POV with River Basri. Takes place after the coffee date at some point, but before dinner. ~1000 words.]

[Sort of a writing exercise...mostly an exploration of Daniel and their dynamic.]

She slips so easily into cold imperiousness.

It's the single tell Daniel gets before River slips low and swings out a slender leg.

He doesn't move in time. In the same breath that warmth leaves her eyes, she becomes an arrow of confusing intention, bizarre enough that he nearly falls over, forgetting himself, before he tumbles, weightless, back into another opening stance.

But then she stuns him again — by giggling.

Once, light as air, trilling like a bird call. Easy to miss, but he doesn't because someone should notice these things, shouldn't they? She covers her mouth with her hand, fingers long and thin. Beautiful. This is how art works. Everyone finds their own meaning in the sunrise.

He grins—

Her fist snaps right for his shoulder but pulls back before she hits collarbone. Taps twice. A warning.

That's...new. Since they started getting coffee, she’s started giving him tip-offs. Warm-ups. Space before she sends him to the ground.

"Did you forget you can fly?" she asks. The tiny upcurved corners of her lips for once reach her eyes. "You could have built momentum and got me on the ground."

Blood rushes to his face. "Bad instinct, I guess."

"You were in your head again, weren't you?"

She asks, like she doesn't already know. She tries so hard to pretend, like she’s practiced with a script. He knows that a little too keenly.

"Yeah," he says. Sheepish.

The light leaves her eyes. "I'm your enemy right now. Remember that."

His body goes taut. Why does it have to be like that, exactly, so serious and exacting? Who taught her that the only way to live is by fighting every second for it? Where do you rest, in a world like that?

"Good," she says, and his blood turns to ice. "Get mad, if you have to. Whatever works."

And yet, she has no idea.

He launches into a flurry of blows, momentum from the core not the arm, prompting her to twist away in surprise. He never goes first, and he knows she'll appreciate the tactical maneuver. But something itches where he can't reach it. She's a mind-reader with an incredible blind spot.

She can see every contour of his emotions except the ones that apply to her.

They enter the old routine; he swings, she dodges with perfect grace, born to the dance. But she is right, that anger can be useful, so he lets a little of it through.

How can I make it so you will laugh without covering your mouth?

Who hurt you?

How do I stop it?

How do I stop it, before you hurt yourself bad enough you don't come back?

Is that what you're afraid of? Did he think that, before—

His skull suddenly rocks back, whiplash from a fist to the chin. He falls from some edge inside himself, furious and keen, before he remembers gravity doesn't have pull on him anymore. Just other people. His hands clench hard and snap outward.

Just other—

River goes flying. Across the rooftop, skittering like a stone on water, too fast.

"No!"

The word is torn from him worse than a reflex. He doesn’t remember the push-off into flight; in the next instant, his back is to the sky, arms tight around River’s middle so she doesn’t fall, momentum pushing them further into the sky.

He swore it to himself when she fainted that he would never make her afraid again, but here he fucking is, mind screaming one harsh note, a single word, then four: Mistake. Mistake. You are a mistake.

“Daniel. Daniel.” Hands grip his forearms. Her back is curled into his chest still, stunned. “It’s okay. We weren’t that close.”

Lies. Why does she choose now to lie, instead of throwing the truth at his feet like she always does so he’ll lay down like a dog? They are in the fucking air. There’s barely an edge of rooftop below them. “I’m so. I’m so sorry. I’m so…we should…”

“You’re squeezing too hard.” Cold imperiousness seeps back into her voice. He deserves it. It also brings him back to earth, in every single sense. She is taking control of the situation. That’s what she does. “Put me down.”

They both return to the rooftop. His senses return to him akin to exiting a tunnel. His stomach churns. His fingers feel numb.

“I’m done today, I think,” he manages.

She is a single arm’s length away from him, her head tilted slightly to the side. Her mouth curves downward, matching the trajectory of her gaze, which is affixed to his feet, still cemented to the ground. It’s moments like these he remembers what it feels like to be pulled so fiercely down, so harshly down that it might as well be law. Humans aren’t supposed to fly.

Everyone should orbit something. Even him.

Hubris kills. He saw it happen.

“You’re really mean to yourself,” she mutters.

“You’re one to talk,” he says, before he can stop it.

But then, fuck—

She laughs again.

She sparkles a little, when she laughs. Her freckles catch the sun and her eyes wrinkle slightly, though she hasn’t laughed enough for it to leave lines. Her face is so barren when she thinks no one is looking; but there’s a raw beauty to this, like moon quartz, that means it has to be real.

Fuck. He hopes she didn’t hear that one.

“You’re right,” she says, smile lingering.

He laughs. A balm. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Ortega you said that.”

Her smile turns conspiratorial. “I’ll give it to you this once.”

“He won’t believe me.”

“Exactly.”

He floats again, a little bit. He catches himself in the act, drifting toward her.

And she lets it happen. She lets it happen.

“I’ll get you down,” he says, before his mind runs somewhere else.

They are halfway down the building when she says: “It’s okay.”

A step outside the script. It comes out clumsy and poor.

He holds her just a little closer, all the same.

#fhr #fallen hero #flystep #daniel sullivan #river basri #kathryn writes #a bit messy but daniel is so interesting to me

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bropunzeling · 10 months

Note

jamie/trevor #24 in danger :)

"Should we be doing this?"

"What do you mean?" Trevor takes another step onto the roof. "It's perfectly safe."

"We're two stories up." Jamie's voice is flat and unpersuaded. "Why couldn't we stick to the balcony?"

"The balcony is boring," Trevor retorts. Another step. He's almost to the chimney now, which will be the perfect place to lean against while watching the sunset.

That is, if Jamie ever gets his ass up here.

"The balcony is fine." Jamie does not sound like he's moving.

The balcony faces east. The roof faces west. And ever since they moved in to their new place -- perfect location, smack dab between a hipster coffee place with perfect dog watching material and a Chipotle -- Trevor has wanted to check out the view. They live in California, for fuck's sake. Who doesn't want an ocean sunset?

More specifically, he wants to check out the view with Jamie. Trevor doesn't know what it is, why he feels so compelled to -- to convince Jamie of all the good things here. It's not like Jamie's ever expressed a desire to be anywhere else. But there's something deep within Trevor that has to be sure. That has to know Jamie wants to be here: in Anaheim, on the Ducks. On the roof, sitting next to Trevor.

"Jamie," Trevor says, giving up on any attempt to sound chill. He just -- Jamie needs to come up here. Trevor needs Jamie to come up here.

One second. Two.

An enormous sigh. "Fine," Jamie huffs. There's a scraping sound as he gets up on the chair Trevor used as a stepping stool to haul himself up on the roof. "But if I fall and break my skull open, it's your fault."

"You're not gonna fall," Trevor says, bizarrely relieved. "Just get over here, it's nice and flat."

Soon enough, Jamie's made it, sitting heavily next to Trevor and leaning back against the chimney. He's in a sweatshirt and shorts, like he can't decide how warm he is. Trevor looks out of the corner of his eye at the 34 on Jamie's chest, newly out-of-date.

"So," Jamie says. "Why am I risking my life again?"

"Shut up, Jimbo," Trevor says, nudging him with a foot. "Look."

They both look west.

God, Trevor can't get over living out here. Can't get over these colors, persimmon orange and indigo and streaks of purple all blending together. It's like the movies, but real; it's like nothing he's ever seen before. Bright, and warm, and he gets to have this every fucking day.

Him, and Jamie, sitting next to him, their calves pressed together.

"Okay," Jamie says softly after a few minutes. "It's a pretty good view."

Trevor bumps him with a shoulder. "Told you so."

"You could've just said," Jamie replies, grinning at Trevor sidelong.

No, Trevor wants to say. He couldn't have just said. It had to be felt -- the sunset, the evening breeze, the two of them pressed along the sides of their bodies. There was no way to put it into words, no matter how hard Trevor tried. No way to express what it means, to have this together, the two of them, here and now, on the cusp of a new season.

Jamie is still looking at him. There's a hint of a smile, curled in the corner of his mouth. It's stuff like this that makes it hard for Trevor to feel chill and relaxed and normal. He needs to dig his fingers into Jamie's mouth, pull that smile out, know that it's for him and him alone.

"Trevor," Jamie says. His eyes are bright in the growing dark. Light pollution, Trevor thinks nonsensically.

"Hey," Trevor says. He can't stop looking at Jamie's mouth. "Do you..." He doesn't know what to say. There are too many thoughts in his head, too many desires crashing together over and over, atoms going nuclear with wanting.

Jamie waits, looking back.

Jamie's mouth is cool and dry. He inhales through his nose, a raspy sound, when Trevor kisses him. He doesn't lean in, but he doesn't lean away.

Trevor pulls back. For all his talk about how safe it is up here, now he feels dizzy. Like he could go tripping off the roof. "Yeah?"

Jamie swallows. Licks his lips. Slowly, slowly, a smile uncurls.

#ask meme

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pleasantbutterfly · 2 years

Text

Inner Peace

Khonshu x Female! Goddess! Reader

Chapter 4. Fine Line

Words: 2117

Warnings: Fluff

It's Canon Divergence. The story is not following the plot of the show.

Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The 1st POV

Encountering Khonshu left a trail on my life. I feel like I've found a way out of the maze that kept me trapped inside for too long. It's like I know that it was my destiny to meet him, it feels right.

The only thing that is not right, it's the man that tumbled, without having waited for further invitation, Barry, the avatar of Ra, as he's put, slithers through the threshold as if he owns this place.

I quickly recover from my dumbfounded state, I channelize to let them know that he's not welcomed here.

“Excuse me, sir, I would ask you to leave my flat,” I politely offer to get out of my place.

“Don't worry, dear, I just want to have a small chit-chat with you,” he says with a grin coated with arrogance.

“Well. I don’t. I don't even know you,” my reply comes. Likewise, I cross my arms, annoyance is clearly visible on my face.

“Then allow me to introduce myself once again.” He mocks a bow and goes to sit on a chair, folding his arms on the magazine table, making himself feel at home. “You can call me Barry, the avatar of Ra. I induce myself upon you to discuss the matters that involve Khonshu.”

It definitely bothers me. The man knows about Khonshu, and more importantly, he found out about my connection to the god of the moon. Yet, I don’t play alone and try to act oblivious to the statement.

“Listen, you, crazy prick, get out of here before I call the police.” I point to the door, but the stranger doesn’t even budge.

“So you don’t know about Khonshu's plan?” His sentence intrigues me, turning a gear in my head. Barry just sits with a cloud of arrogance around, one hand is holding his head and the other is tapping his fingers on the table. I falter and silently ask him to go on. “Take a seat, dear. It’ll take some time.”

“What’s your purpose?” I inquire, carefully placing myself on the opposite chair.

“To light the path,” he answers smugly, but without waiting for my reply, he carries on. “Have you ever wondered why you can see Khonshu, while for the others he is unreachable? What about your bizarre dream? I can see how these questions are running inside your head right now, looking for the answer. But finding none, right? To make it easier for you, I assure you, it’s not destiny, no other mighty power brought you together. Just Khonshu’s manipulative nature. The old bird won’t tell you anything.” Then Barry takes his phone out of his pocket, showing me a news site.

I slowly examine a one-day-old article, dedicated to the British Museum. ‘Egyptian relic stolen by unknown’ the head says. Having read it, I learnt that an ancient Ankh, which was found in recent excavations, was taken just the day I saw Khonshu for the first time.

I don’t know how to react. It’s like a glass world around me has been smashed by reality the minute I finished reading the article. Khonshe made Steven steal the Ankh. But what role do I play in this fraud? What’s the use of me?

I look at the avatar of Ra, but no words leave my mouth. While I have nothing to say, the man certainly has something on his tongue:

“When you see Khonshu next time, just ask him one simple question: ‘Who am I?’ Because you are not sure about the key to this puzzle, are you?”

“How are you positive I’ll meet him?” Even though I can't know for sure, I muse.

Suddenly, I get a strange weight in my guts. The atmosphere in the air shifts when Barry gets up from the chair, coming closer, his tall frame looms over me. I notice a strange light dancing in his eyes, but I blame the lamp in the room.

His face is stone-hard when he utters the following statement: “Well, who else is going to rescue you from the fire?” And hell breaks loose.

Barry’s hands are ignited in fire, the temperature instant rises around him. I fall from the chair from the proximity and try to claw away from the crazy man, but he throws a ball of fire that nearly hits me, burning a piece of floor. The air burns my lungs, with every passing minute my breath is getting heavier.

I try to stand up and run away from here, but Barry swiftly catches me and throws at the nearest fall.

“lₒₒₖ wₕₐₜ ₕₐₛ bₑcₒₘₑ ₒf yₒᵤ, Mₐₐₜ” And then I blank out.

…

Khonshu’s POV

Khonshu knew he shouldn’t have left her alone, especially after a drunk man attacked them with a knife. Something is going on, and he let it be.

More and more spontaneous assaults are happening around. But it’s not just burglars or other perpetrators, it’s purposeless massacre, from which the attackers gain nothing. We need to find the roots that poison the minds of people.

Khonshu feels uneasiness in his soul, making him weak in the knees. His girl is in trouble, in grave trouble.

The god of the moon and his moon knight immediately go to the sensed danger.

Khonshu rarely feels fear, but the moment he sees his beloved goddess in the body of a mortal lying motionless on the burned flood, the emotion bites his heart, spreading the venom of dread through his body. And at the same time, it makes Khonshu furious: the Enneads made his starbringer this weak and helpless, they made his once a mighty deity that could make the most terrifying creatures shake with fear, a fragile mortal.

The god kneels beside her, gently checking if life is still floating through her veins, and to his relief, he finds it. Khonshu places the girl’s head on his lap, slowly stroking her head, while his right hand is rubbing circles on her forearm. Silently, he awaits her to come back.

He has an idea who it was, and if his assumption turns out to be true, it’s a miracle that the girl still breathes.

…

The 1st POV

In my world of the oblivion, in my sand maze, I’m enjoying the night sky, enjoying the feelings of my lover besides me. His hands are roaming around my body, his touch is filled with love. My head is nested on Khonsh’s lap, the proximity of our bodies gives waves of pleasure.

“Nights change so fast.” I take Khonshu’s hand and kiss it. “Yet, I remember every one we spent together. Every moment. Every sensation.”

I don’t receive a reply as the world around me disappears, and a soft “Maat” rings in my ears.

When my eyes fly open, I realize that I'm still in the flat. The smell of burnt wood makes me cringe. The floor is littered with dark scars of fire, still nothing else is damaged.

I notice a man adorned in white attire and a tall figure behind him.

“Steven, Khonshu what’s going on.” My brain needs a few seconds to register the events.

“I’m Marc, actually,” the man reveals in an American accent, and for a moment a sign ‘error’ runs into my head. But when Marc’s clothes change into a white three-piece-suit, my mind is blown. “It’s me, Steven.”

“Do I need to know how?” I ask them, looking at Khonshu. Right now, I’m not sure whose head is more twisted.

“Perhaps later,” the English accent replies.

“How are you feeling,” Khonshu asks, coming beside my bed. But I remember Barry’s words and decide to interrogate the god.

“What were you doing in the museum the other night?” I shoot.

“Is it important right now?” Khonshu replies, and without using words, he tells Steven with his head to leave us alone.“Do you know who has attacked you?”

Since he hasn't answered my previous question, I strike a new one: "Who am I, Khonshu?"

Khonshu stiffens, shoulders tense, like he's ready to defend himself, when I jump off the bed. I stand straight, though my size is insignificant in comparison to him.

"You know something, Khonshu, do you? You have the answer I'm seeking." I won't let him fence with the question.

"It's for your own good."

"Then go away." With that I turn away from him. My eyes burn from the unshed tears of frustration. I thought there was a strong connection, that he had a key to blocked life. Perhaps I was wrong, or perhaps he just has no intention of using it.

I expect him to leave, since he clearly has no intention to satisfy me with the keys to my quiz. To my surprise, a strong hand falls on my shoulder, the touch sends millions of sparks to travel my body.

“How about we discuss it in a more pleasant way?” I shiver because of his rich voice being so close to me. “It’s such a breathtaking night for a date, don’t you agree.” A weak sound of agreement leaves my mouth.

Khonshu’s hand covers my eyes, my breath hitches in anticipation, but when he opens the curtain my sight with an amazing view: my home clothes have altered into a pretty dress. The corset is white, while the long skirt of the outfit is pitch black that is adorned with small shiny stones. The dress fits like a glove.

When I look at Khonshu, I behold a not so tall god wrapped in a nice-tailored suit.

“You look stunning, my goddess.” The compliment colours my checks into the red. “The carriage is awaiting us.”

When we go out the building, a white limo is parked at the entrance. Khonshu opens the door for me to sit.

Inside the luxurious car, I notice a man, a driver. When he turns to me, the face that is peering over me is Steven’s or Marc’s. But something tells me he’s not them.

“Jake,” Khonshu, placing himself across from me, dresses the man, “you know the place.” Jake just silently nods, but then looks at me and grins. It’s not Steven’s shy smile, for sure. Not to be impolite, I awkwardly wave at him.

“It’s Jake Lockley,” Khonshu explains, “Marc’s another part. You already know Steven.”

“Are there more?”

“No, that is all components of my package deal.”

…

We arrive at the park, where a small lake, like a mirror, it reflects the night sky on its water. The moon is especially mesmerizing: its lights, as if silk fabric, spread over the still surface of the lake.

“Khonshu, what are you hiding?” I ask the god, whose hand is holding my waist.

“Nothing that can make you doubt me, sweetheart.” I can feel his gloved hand rubbing the material of my corset. “But one answer I can grant you. I stole nothing in the museum. Neither did Marc. But the Ankh was indeed taken. And we went there to investigate. Your other question is a mystery for me, as it’s for you. Yet, a part of the answer I have, but only once it’s out-and-out I will present it to you.” The god slightly bow down his head.

When I gaze over the deity, I feel a reality melds into a different scene. The surrounding melts, the lake is still here, but the park has faded into the familiar gold desert. A warm feeling reminds about itself with tugging of my heart and sweet pulsation of my blood. I take the thread that is squeezing my soul and slowly but surely pull it.

“Khonshu, I—” But everything shatters when a yelling from a drunk man booms.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “What was that?” I ask Khonshu about the vision. But I don’t get the reply as the god takes my hand, making me look at him.

“Something has just come out. Marc and I need to deal with it. Wait here till my return.” With that, he disappears, leaving me alone with the night sky. I have nothing else to do but to enjoy the sight.

I hear light steps are coming to me, turning to the source of the sound I am met with an attractive woman.

“The moon is gorgeous,” her soft voice rings out like a fine bell. I look wary at her, not sure how to react. “The most beautiful creation I’ve ever seen. So bright, but yet so distant. Even if it takes overcoming the sky to make it mine, it’ll do it without hesitation.”

I have no time to realize anything, when my body hits the cold surface of the water, absorbing my body and bringing it down.

----------

I want to apologize, it took longer that I expected. The story ends in two or so chapters.

Thank you for the reading, and your feedbacks. Especially @loki-s-wife @coldcola @4rin4 for small comments of the encouragement.

Taglist: @a-hopeless-fan @thepurpleaccount @4rin4

#khonshu x you #khonshu #jake lockley #marc spector #marvel #mcu #moon knight #steven grant #khonshu x reader #moon knight x reader

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the-writing-trash-panda · 8 months

Text

My HTTYD Next Generation

From top left to bottom: Zephyr, Nuffink, Frida, Selby, Ylva, Skad, Amund, Magni, Frode, Elof, Liv, Erling, Kara

Long post ahead, read at your own risk

Zephyr: 18

Nuffink: 15

Frida: 18

Selby: 15

Ylva: 16

Skad: 16

Amund: 17

Magni: 15

Frode: 18

Elof: 21

Liv: 19

Erling: 18

Kara: 21

Parents

Hiccup + Astrid: Zephyr & Nuffink

Snotlout + Ruffnut: Frida, Ylva, Skad + new born son named Wolflout

Tuffnut + oc: Amund & Magni

Fishlegs + Heather: Frode & Selby

Dagur + Mala: Elof, Liv, Erling

Throk + Atali: Kara

Dragons:

Zephyr: Dart- nightlight [f]

Nuffink: Pouncer- nightlight [m]

Frida: Ash- monstrous nightmare [f]

Selby: Peony- gronckle [f]

Ylva: Cricket- changewing [f]

Skad: Goose- deadly nadder [m]

Amund: Shroom- hideous zippleback (gas) [m]

Magni: Fungus- hideous zippleback (spark) [m]

Frode: Jupiter- hopplegrunt [m]

Elof: N/A

Liv: N/A

Erling: Arrow- razorwhip [m]

Kara: N/A

Relationships ❤️= dating 🩷= crush

Zephyr 🩷 <-Erling

Frode 🩷 Frida

Nuffink 🩷 <-Skad

Nuffink 🩷 Selby

Amund-> 🩷 Liv

Kara ❤️ Elof

Now the fun stuff

Before they got dragons Frida was more of less the leader, with her sisters and cousins willing going along with any crazy ideas while Zephyr and Nuffink watched on in amusement. After getting their dragons they went to their own island were they teamed up with Frode, Selby, and later Erling. Zephyr is now “co-leader” with Frida, in reality she is the leader but Frida didn’t want to give up her position and Zephyr decided to ‘compromise’.

Zephyr is normally very calm and doesn’t really show any anger, the only time being when Erling had first joined them. Ever since the events of Homecoming she would spend her free time studying dragons and is now an expert dragon trainer.

Nuffink is a free spirit and can often be found testing his endurance or attempting flying tricks with Pouncer. Though on a bit of the bizarre side he is one of the most reliable members of the team.

Frida is confident, headstrong, and unwaveringly loyal. She spends a lot of her time pranking just about anyone. The only people she hasn’t successfully got was her mother and uncle. She likes to be in charge and has a hard time giving that up.

Selby is the total opposite of what she seems. She is absolutely feral and loves a bit of harmless destruction. She is very observant and knows the best way to blackmail the whole team.

Ylva is a being of pure chaos with absolute no self discipline. She is a bit on the violent side and once sent another islander to the infirmary after choking him.

Skad is much shyer and timid than her sisters and is rarely found away from her family. Despite this she still does enjoy participating in her sisters’ shenanigans, as long as she isn’t on the frontline.

Amund is basically Frida’s henchman and will go along with anything she says. He does hold grudges and will not let people forget their ‘wrongs’.

Magni although great at just about everything he tries is lazy and easily gets bored. The only time he’s doing actual work is when he’s defending his family.

Frode is quick-tempered and extremely self conscious. He is very protective of the others, often putting himself in compromising situations When he was younger his hands got burned and now he is permanently scarred so he wears gloves to cover that.

Elof is the worst combination of intelligence and insanity. As much as he loves and respects the dragons the one thing he refuses to do is ride a dragon, he is terrified of falling off.

Liv is bubbly, eccentric, and full of life. She is still the one to scold her brothers when they do something stupid. Although she doesn’t have a dragon of her own she will take any chance she gets to ride with Erling.

Erling started out very coincided and full of himself. He would verbally degrade the others and refuse to work with them. When him and Zephyr got captured by dragon hunters however he had to depend on her to get them out and was even brought down a couple pegs when she got fed up with him. He now tries to be better, if not for himself for Zephyr.

Kara is both a skilled fighter and a gentle woman. Weather she is cooking or taking out enemies she takes pride in her work. She is a well of knowledge and is always willing to help others.

Update:

This is Raden, I’m still developing him. What you need to know is that his dad died during the Drago attack and his mom later married Eret. He is 23

Notes

The character maker doesn’t let you change body size so Frode is closer to the way Fishlegs looks and Frida is much more similar to Snotlout

Frode and Selby live on Berserker island

Elof, Liv, Erling, and Kara are on Defenders of the Wing

Amund’s full name is Amundnut (get it, because it sounds like almond)

#httyd #how to train your dragon #next generation #httyd next generation #oc #child oc #ship children #hiccstrid #rufflout #heathlegs #dagla #throk x atali #tuffnut x oc #zephyr #nuffink #dart #pouncer

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asterjennifer · 2 years

Text

@puwey on Tumblr

Mystictober 2022 | Day 10 - Camera

Summary: After a storm comes a rainbow; it fits them both very well.

Together they learn to appreciate their hobbies in new light.

─────◇◇◇★◇◇◇─────

They're still getting used to the functions that the new cameras brought with them; it's bizarre for Saeran to watch the one being professional in photography sturggle with some settings.

“Is it hard, V?” He wondered as he titled his head, soft bleached hair falling over his forehead more.

The older guardian raised his left hand to angel the camera's display better. “Ah, I wouldn't say hard,” A click filled the open air. “It's just.. I have to admit the touchscreen is something I haven't worked with yet.”

He mumbled, sunlight coloring his minty hair slightly more blueish in Saeran's eyes. Scanning his own camera between his hands, he let the stare wander over the sea of buttons and wheels. He couldn't deny it's overwhelming to hold more than his phone in order to capture the nature around them up in their secret place.

It had been Saeran's idea, although it came off more shy than desired. However, V immediately overflew with excitement when happiness crossed his facial features. Up there, with only the two of them after such draining events; it's surreal to the younger twin most of the time. But his friend never failed proving reality either way.

So when they stood in a wild field, overgrown by many apple trees and the sea of daisies under their feet, this doubt followed even as the white blossoms brushed his ankles. Luckily for him; V's right there next to him. Struggling with the camera just as much and he already felt better.

“Alright!” V smiled relieved. “I figured it out. You want me to show you?” Saeran's eyes blinked once the other looked over.

Why did it take so long to live such a trivial life? How come they all needed pure destruction before becoming aware what really mattered in the end? He's not better than them; neither are they supreme to him. It's giving and taking that went beyond everyone's control and left him, specifically, with a mark on his body.

The waving hand in front of his face pulled him back into reality. “Saeran? Are you okay?” He stared at him a moment longer, a smile following.

“Yes, sorry.” And also a little bit of blush crept over his cheeks when reaching out the camera to V. “Just spaced out. Please, show me what I have to do exactly.”

After a few steps; V started pointing to the different buttons on the left side. “This is for filters,” He explained depsite Saeran's silence responding. Could he tell by now it didn't explicitly meant confusion? How time passed by.

The young man focused on the explanations well and V held it back out. “Was it understable? Not too fast?”

Saeran shook his head in appreciation. “Not at all, I think I got the hang of it. Thanks.” V found himself chuckling, remembering that outstanding talent of the twins to learn faster than any other person he'd ever met.

“I'm glad then.” He lifted his own to the right eye, focusing through the lense and watching this enormous filed of nature the way he's used to.

Saeran initiated him somewhat; instead of just going for it though, he kneeled down. Thinking what the first thing should be to capture with his brand new device. The sky because it's his favorite? The flowers to perhaps make a book of flower languages one day? Or one of the tress in order to learn setting the focus correctly?

Attention drifted and he ended up gazing at V again; already observed in his element. It then sparkled the idea in the corner of Saeran's mind; had anyone ever taken a photo of V in his times where he's working out his job? He couldn't remember that to be the case.

V could feel something nagging at his bones soon enough. It made him look around to see if his paranoia's simply another leftover of the past. But no, it surprised him finding the lense of Saeran's camera being pointed at no other than him.

“What are you doing?” He wheezed out of breath and the young man peeked a quick glimpse over before hiding behind the screen again. “Capturing your commitment.”

Was his offer. “It would be a great reminder for me to know who you really are.” V's bright eyed widened, his heart pounding lightly due to the wamrth inside of it. How grateful he was.. could Saeran truly capture that?

Paying it no more mind, V also kneeled down to get his camera on his height. “Then let me return the favor.” It caught Saeran off guard and therefore the picture ended up showing his bright blush as he rose back up.

When V came over to show Saeran, they both couldn't help but laugh about his facial expression. So, so red. The younger twin showed his own photo and V's obviously impressed which boosted his confidence immensely. “I like this, V.”

Saeran chimed amazed, having the older one place one hand onto his shoulder. “If you find joy in taking photos, then what more is there to be happy about? I'm glad you like it. And thank you for trying it out with me, Saeran.”

#mystic messenger #mm #saeran choi #saeran #mystic messenger saeran #V #mystic messenger v #kim jihun #VAE Saeran #v after ending #V & Saeran #fluff #ff #au #mm mystictober2022 #mm_mystictober2022 #VAE

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eddiebodywantssome · 2 years

Text

ravi week day 2 - the 118

these are the ties that bind us

wc: 894 | ravi and 118 A-shift: a love story

It’s a beautiful day, and Ravi is wine drunk. And when he gets wine drunk, he gets introspective.

Right now, he’s introspecting as to how the hell he got here – here being his captain’s backyard in the middle of summer, where his co-workers are arguing about why they’re gathered and getting drunk together in the first place.

It started when Bobby, the inspirational man that he is with a penchant for impromptu speeches, stood up with a glass of lemon iced tea.

He had clinked it happily. “Thank you all for being here,” he said. “I won’t talk for long – as you all know, we need to celebrate life every chance we get, and I’m so glad to be here with you all as we make good on that promise. Now, let’s hear from the man of the hour!”

Everyone cheered and looked around the table expectantly. Ravi smiled and clapped politely. This went on for a good two minutes.

“Chimney, get up,” Hen had finally said, playfully bumping his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” he had asked, mirroring her grin. “It’s Buck’s birthday, silly.”

The table quietened.

“That was two weeks ago,” Buck replied. “Do you not know my birthday?”

“Um, I thought we were here to celebrate Chimney’s fifteen years on the job,” Hen said.

“I thought we were here for Athena’s retirement party.”

“Who the hell said I was retiring?”

Maddie said, “Mm, Karen, this is for your new job, right?”

“No? I thought we were celebrating Eddie’s coming out.”

“We most definitely are not.” Eddie’s face flushed.

“Isn’t this for May going back to college?”

“I hope not. I’m only leaving next month.”

“Anniversary?” Chimney suggested.

“Whose?” Bobby asked.

“Yours and Athena’s?”

“Nope.”

“Well, what does the cake say?”

Eddie opened the cake box. “It just has a smiley face on it.”

“Okay, who was in charge of the cake?”

“Bobby’s the one who told me to keep it generic!” Hen snapped.

Ravi felt himself slipping away about halfway through this. He sips his drink and sighs. He had tried so hard to avoid getting sucked into this… this weird, enmeshed family dynamic the A shifters had. But it was hard. There was something magnetic about them, they kept pulling him into their shit.

He didn’t mind working with them – they’re for sure some of the most competent people he’s ever been on shift with. It’s just everything else that makes them… bizarre.

Like this exact situation, for example. How does this group of people hang out so frequently that they have no idea why they’re there?

(Buck’s suggested Fourth of July. Athena’s shot it down because she insists she would’ve had the red-white-blue food otherwise. Also, it’s the middle of the month.)

Don’t get him wrong, he likes them, he does. It’s just that he prefers the Venn diagram of his friends, family, and co-workers to not be one big circle, thank you very much.

It started way before he became an A shift regular, he thinks. That fateful Q-word day. Maybe he did jinx himself for life.

Ravi had gone back and recounted the story to his B-shift colleagues, and they had basically said, “Yeah, that tracks,” – and that’s how Ravi began his spiral into the infamous lore of A-shift.

He should’ve known they were all disaster magnets. He listens in abject horror and fascination as they tell him about the rebar, the tracheotomy, the hand-in-man’s-chest, and of course, the LSD brownies.

He stops them after a bit and decides the less he knows about these people the better. Then the treasure hunt happened, and he literally found a dead body with the group, and he guessed that counts as some kind of trauma bonding, but it still kept him wary.

And then the sniper situation unfolded, and Ravi got to temporarily be on A shift for a bit. It was an experience for sure (and getting shot is one of the less goofy things to happen to the group) but they pulled through, and Ravi was ready to go back to B shift.

But then Chimney left to chase the love of his life, and Ravi gets it, he’d do the same, so he was still stuck on the opposite shift.

It was then that Ravi started realising how little personal space these six people actually had. He somehow kept getting invited to events – Chimney’s brother’s firefighter test being the most random of them all – but he was too polite to decline them.

Somewhere between the dead author and prison riots, he'd been adopted as the token normal guy of the team; somehow, he didn't mind.

“Alright now, enough!” Athena’s voice cuts through the commotion and snaps Ravi out of his wine-induced introspection.

“It doesn’t matter what we’re here for. This was bound to happen at some point. Let’s just enjoy this party and plan better for the next one.”

The garden murmurs in agreement as they raise their glasses again.

“To family,” Bobby announces.

“To family!” Ravi choruses with everyone, clinking his glass with Hen and Maddie’s.

The air is thick with barbeque and joy. The patio lights twinkle in time with Bobby’s 60s mix playing in the background, and the idle chatter of his friends make the wine settle gently in his belly.

Family, Ravi thinks, despite himself. I don’t hate the sound of that.

#911 fox #911fic #raviweek2022 #ravi panikkar #anirudh pisharody #*raviweek #the 118 #firefam #mayswords

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catladywriter · 1 year

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Inotan Fanfic: Kisses For An Idiot - Chapter 1

How to Make One's Heart Race Faster

Synopsis: Since that time when Tanjirou first held his hand, Inosuke seemed to have become addicted to hand-holding. He would find any opportunity to hold Tanjirou’s hand as long as it was available. Tanjirou thought he was just nervous without his mask and being constantly around people. But… why’d he start kissing him too?

Main Pairing: Inotan (Inosuke x Tanjirou)

Secondary Pairing: ZenNezu (Zenitsu x Nezuko)

Setting: Canon AU, 2 years after the main story ends

Wordcount: 9,497 across 4 chapters

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Status: Complete. 2nd story of the Series: Where the Wisteria Always Bloom.

There are several references and call-backs to the previous story in this series "Stares in this Town", which is from Inosuke's POV. For a better reading experience, I'd recommend that you read that first (it's only a one-shot!) before this.

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Tanjirou never imagined his life could return to normal again. Not since the fateful day he discovered the brutal murder of his family, and his younger sister turned into a demon. Up till two years ago, he had endured an endless path of hardship, pain, and loss. This was only bearable with his best friends Inosuke and Zenitsu, and his sister Nezuko at his side.

Not a day went by that he had to convince himself that he was not trapped in a dream, that they had all survived and now lived a life free from demons. The inner demons that manifested from their trauma may never go away completely. But at least he had a distraction, a new direction in life, running a modest eatery with support from his newfound family in his hometown.

Tanjirou swore to protect his loved ones and their future. He often found his mind preoccupied by concerns about Inosuke’s well-being. Inosuke’s unique upbringing meant that he took longer than anyone else to adjust to their new life. But he was trying his best for all of them, and he was slowly but surely getting there. Over the past weeks, he had even stopped wearing his boar mask. In return, Tanjirou did everything he could to accommodate Inosuke and make him feel comfortable. At the very least, he would ensure that Inosuke was free to be himself when it was just the both of them.

Like right now, when Tanjirou was cooking, and Inosuke stood next to him, holding his free hand in his own. Tanjirou thought this was odd, not to mention, inconvenient since he preferred having both hands to cook. Even then, he resisted the urge to question or discourage this strange behaviour.

Since that time in the crowds when Tanjirou first held his hand, Inosuke seemed to have become addicted to hand holding. He would find any opportunity to hold Tanjirou’s hand as long as it was available. Tanjirou did say Inosuke could hold his hand if it made him happy, so he couldn’t go back on his word. Besides, Inosuke lost interest in things quickly, and Tanjirou was sure he would stop doing it once the novelty wore off.

It was just another day in the life of Tanjirou, living with Inosuke and rolling with his eccentric behaviour. But he was glad for it. Zenitsu described Inosuke as bizarre, but Tanjirou thought this was exactly what made him endearing. He was a bright spark in their now mundane and peaceful life. Tanjirou never wanted this aspect of him to change.

Until a few days later, when Inosuke suddenly grabbed his face between his hands and pressed their lips together briefly. He had then dashed off without a word, bumping hard into Zenitsu on the way out of the kitchen. Poor Zenitsu did a pirouette and crashed into the kitchen counter. It was fortunate that he had already sat down his tray of dirty dishes.

“What was that about?” Tanjirou cried, his lips burning from Inosuke’s touch. The peculiar encounter probably lasted three seconds, but it made his heart rate abnormal for far longer than that.

“That was a hurricane named Inosuke,” Zenitsu groaned as he rubbed his waist where he had rammed into the kitchen counter. “No, seriously, you’re asking me? I think that was meant to be a kiss.”

“Where did he learn it from?” Tanjirou felt heat radiate from his face. Hand-holding, he could deal with. But kissing?

Zenitsu shrugged. “There’s a newly-wed couple in the town and it’s almost impossible not to bump into them kissing in the alleyways.”

Tanjirou sighed. He wasn’t against public displays of affection, but people should be more mindful of others. Those alleyways were heavily used in the day and there were young children around, for goodness sake. And then there were people like Inosuke who were so easily influenced.

“Zenitsu, do you notice that Inosuke has been… strange?” Tanjirou disliked himself for speaking about Inosuke like this. But he couldn’t think of a more appropriate word to describe him at the moment.

“Inosuke is always strange.” Zenitsu snorted.

“No, I mean, stranger than usual. First, he kept holding my hand. I thought he might be nervous without his mask and being constantly around people. But I can’t explain this kiss at all.”

“Ah, I think I can explain that.” A guilty grin crossed Zenitsu’s face.

A few days ago, Inosuke informed Zenitsu that he was having a contest with Tanjirou to see who could make each other’s heart race faster. He had asked what would induce more excitement than hand-holding. Zenitsu had suggested kissing.

Tanjirou felt a throbbing headache coming. “Why would you tell him something like that? You know he’s rash and he wouldn’t think twice about acting on it!” “He asked me so I answered him! Besides, he’s a hot-blooded seventeen-year-old. He’s bound to be interested in such things. Maybe you shouldn’t have such contests with him in the first place?”

“I didn’t even know there was such a contest!” Tanjirou protested. Inosuke had the tendency to turn all sorts of things into contests, sometimes without him realising it. So he wasn’t surprised when Inosuke would out of the blue declare that he had beaten him at something. But where on earth did “make each other’s heart race faster” come from?

“If you don’t like it, tell him not to do it again.”

“This isn’t about me. I don’t want him thinking it’s fine to do this to anyone.” Tanjirou found himself speaking more snappishly than he intended. Before he could stop himself, he scolded, “You’re such a bad influence on him!”

“I’m a bad influence?” Zenitsu’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Look, in case you’re wondering, I didn’t teach him anything. Nezuko-chan and I haven’t gone past the hand-holding stage. We don’t even hold hands as much as you both do.

“Holding hands is different. Anyway, please don’t say such weird things to him again.”

Zenitsu threw up his hands in resignation and walked out of the kitchen.

After Tanjirou calmed down, he regretted being harsh on Zenitsu. His friend was right. It was his own fault for starting this hand-holding and allowing it to continue. He would talk to Inosuke, apologise to him, and then set the record straight. Inosuke may not be good with social cues, but he would listen to a reasonable explanation.

However, Inosuke spent the rest of the day avoiding him. He ate dinner earlier than all of them and went to bed early. When Tanjirou lay out his futon on his usual spot next to Inosuke, he saw that he had placed his boar mask over his head. Inosuke rarely did this nowadays unless he was really uncomfortable.

Tanjirou called out to Inosuke, but he did not respond. He tried to use his powerful sense of smell to figure out Inosuke’s emotions. This was something he tended to avoid doing because it was intrusive, and not always reliable. It worked well for singular intense emotions like anger, sadness or fear, but less so on a mixed bag of feelings.

He couldn’t figure out what Inosuke felt, but he was relieved to find the absence of negative emotions. He decided to leave him be. Perhaps Inosuke discovered that he didn’t like kissing after all and would stop doing it. Tanjirou hoped his conjecture was right. Inosuke would be in so much trouble if he tried this on some poor unsuspecting girl.

Tanjirou’s hopes were dashed when the next morning, Inosuke ran to him, cupped his face between his hands and kissed him again.

The kiss lasted a little longer than before this time. For how long, Tanjirou couldn’t tell. It felt as though time had stopped. All he knew was Inosuke’s musky scent, his lips surprisingly soft and warm against his own, the feathery tips of his hair brushing against his own cheek. After some time, Inosuke pulled away. Tanjirou was overcome by such an intense head rush, he couldn’t even move or speak a word.

“Aren’t you going to praise me?” Inosuke demanded, his bright green eyes brimming with excitement. “After kissing you yesterday, my heart wouldn’t stop doing somersaults, so I had to get away to calm it down. This time I shifted my heart twenty-five degrees to the right and it feels much better. I’m brilliant, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you’re brilliant,” Tanjirou said automatically when he’d found his voice. Then, as he regained his sensibilities, the gravity of the situation set in.

“Wait! It’s not brilliant. You have to stop doing this!”

“Huh?! Why?!” Inosuke’s smug grin morphed into a frown.

Tanjirou froze. He wasn’t at all prepared to give a lesson on why they shouldn’t kiss. Panicking, he ran possible reasons through his head. Kissing should only be done between two people in love. But would Inosuke understand what it meant to be in love? Kissing was inappropriate between two men. But why? If Inosuke asked, he wouldn’t even know how to explain this one. And there would be more trouble if he kissed a girl instead.

That’s it! Kissing a girl without consent is a crime. That’s the most critical issue. Inosuke could take his time to learn all about love and kissing later. But right now, he needed to know that he must not kiss or touch girls without their permission.

“Because kissing a girl without her permission is wrong! It’s harassment!” Tanjirou declared, his voice brimming with conviction.

“You’re not a girl.” Inosuke stared at him as though he thought he had lost his mind.

“No I’m not, but… but…” Tanjirou felt himself deflate. Why was explaining things so hard? He took a deep breath to calm himself and put things into perspective. “Actually,” he ploughed on, “this applies to anyone, not just girls. You shouldn’t kiss anyone without their consent.”

“Why?!”

“Because they’d get angry!”

“Are you angry?”

Am I angry? Tanjirou wondered. If he were to be honest, no. He didn’t mind it. Sure, he thought Inosuke's behaviour was uncalled for. But he was more worried about him getting into trouble with other people who were less understanding.

“No, I’m not angry. But…”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Inosuke kissed him again.

Much later, when Tanjirou finally snapped out of his daze and stopped mooning around, it dawned on him that this was a disaster waiting to happen.

Tanjirou was relieved to find Zenitsu snacking on his favourite bench in the garden behind their eatery. He felt bad about disrupting his break after a hectic lunch shift, but this was important.

“Zenitsu, we have to do something about Inosuke!” Tanjirou cried, wringing his hands. “He doesn’t understand consent. I’m worried that he’ll get into trouble and offend all the girls, like how you used to.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Zenitsu looked up balefully from his onigiri, the tone of his voice icy.

Ignoring his displeasure, Tanjirou continued. “Do you know if he’s friendly with any girls? Maybe if I could just give them a heads-up, they’ll understand.”

“No? How will he meet any girls, with you both glued at the hip all the time?”

Tanjirou thought Zenitsu had the tendency to dramatise things. But now that he mentioned it, he did spend an inordinate amount of time with Inosuke. This was especially so after Nezuko and Zenitsu started dating. The two of them would go off on their own, leaving Inosuke and Tanjirou with each other for company. Not that they minded it. They have always enjoyed hanging out with each other.

In their free time, they would go hiking in the mountains or explore the neighbouring towns and villages. Sometimes, they experimented with new recipes for the Wisteria Garden’s menu. Inosuke was a reliable food taster and creative with his ideas. Tanjirou would improve and create new recipes based on his feedback and suggestions. Inosuke would follow him when Tanjirou had less exciting things to do, like running errands, visiting suppliers or helping out at the orphanage. Tanjirou never questioned his decision to come along. Inosuke’s presence made him feel secure, even if all he did was stand around him and look bored.

“I didn’t realise I was affecting his ability to make friends,” Tanjirou said morosely.

“I was exaggerating. This isn’t on you. Since he’s stopped wearing the boar mask, girls have been trying to talk to him. Nezuko-chan’s friends have also asked her for introductions. But he's rude and impatient. He walks away before they can even finish introducing themselves. On the rare occasion that he feels like responding, he offends them or scares them away as soon as he opens his mouth.”

“I thought he’s gotten better at interacting with people over these years with us.”

“Well, you know what he’s like. He does and says as he pleases and making friends is at the bottom of his priority list. Anyway, it doesn’t seem like he’s interested in any girl, so you don’t have to worry about him behaving inappropriately with them.”

“If you put it this way, I guess I can stop worrying for now.” Tanjirou heaved a sigh of relief.

Zenitsu frowned at him.

“You’re supposed to be a hot-blooded seventeen-year-old too, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you care about your own love life? Instead, you’re busy being a mother hen to him!”

“Eh? I’ve been busy with our eatery. I don’t have time to meet anyone. And it’s not like any girl has shown interest in me. Haha.”

“What?” Zenitsu stared at him in astonishment. “Rin-san knitted a scarf for you. Ito-san gave you a pair of tickets for the Kabuki play this weekend. Mako-san from the sweets shop made a cake for you. There’s a letter from Kanao too. I put them all on your table. Please don’t tell me you didn’t get them. I promised them you would!”

“I did see them. I made sure they knew too.” Tanjirou assured him. He had made Rin take back the scarf because he had enough of those to last him for years. Nezuko made him one each winter, and it was of such good quality that he was still using one that she made years ago. He didn’t care for Kabuki plays, and so gave Ito’s tickets to Nezuko, but he had insisted on paying for them. Inosuke ate the cake that Mako made and said it was bland, so he didn’t get to try it, and he was frank to her about it. Nevertheless, he tried to convey his appreciation by buying a cake from her store. Despite his best efforts to not take advantage of his neighbours’ kindness, they all seemed to be cross with him.

Tanjirou confided his puzzlement to Zenitsu.

“In future, please don’t accept things on my behalf. I don’t want to waste their effort,” Tanjirou said.

Zenitsu narrowed his eyes until they were a slit.

“You’re unbelievable. I shouldn't have bothered. But those girls asked me to help because Inosuke glares at them when they go near you and they got scared.”

“Oh no, is that so? Is there a misunderstanding? I’m sure Inosuke meant no harm…”

“I’m just passing on the message.” Zenitsu cut him off. “Anyway, what about Kanao? You write to each other, don’t you? What did her letter say?”

“Kanao asked if she could visit. I wrote back saying that of course, she could, and to bring Aoi, Sumi, Naho and Kiyo along. She hasn’t replied though. It’s odd because she usually replies to my letters within a day.” Tanjirou mused.

Zenitsu brought his palm to his face. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I suppose they must be busy with their ryokan business.” Tanjirou opined. Last he heard from Kanao, they rented out parts of their beautiful, spacious mansion to weary travellers and people in need of a vacation. Apparently, a bulk of the clientele were former demon slayers, and business was brisk.

“If they visit, I sure hope Inosuke behaves. They’ll be so disappointed if he acts like how you used to, Zenitsu.”

“I don’t think they’re ever visiting. You and Inosuke deserve each other and nothing more!”

Tanjirou had hoped that the novelty of kissing would eventually wear off, and Inosuke would turn his attention to something else. But if anything, Inosuke became even more brazen with his kisses.

Tanjirou had tried to ask him why he was acting like this. But all he got were non-answers like “Because I want to”, “I like kissing you.”, “It feels nice”, “It makes me feel warm and fuzzy.” Of course, kissing was nice, but that didn’t mean you should do it with anyone.

Once again, he tried using his acute sense of smell to sniff out Inosuke’s emotions. He could detect happiness and excitement. There was another scent, a subtle, flowery one, that he couldn’t place at first, until one day, when he caught a whiff of it from Zenitsu being around Nezuko. Well, Zenitsu was probably always thinking of kissing Nezuko, so that didn’t offer much insight.

He didn’t mind kissing. It was harmless and he knew Inosuke had no ill intentions. But kissing was very distracting for his work. He couldn’t focus and would spend long moments in a daze until Zenitsu scolded him for being slow. He also mixed up the customers’ orders several times. After he confused the salt with sugar, he decided that it was time to put his foot down.

Tanjirou had gotten better at anticipating when Inosuke wanted to kiss him. If he couldn’t talk Inosuke out of kissing him, then he would simply avoid him. At least, until he found a better solution. But Inosuke seemed to view this as a challenge. Whenever Tanjirou ran off in a different direction, he would chase him down and corner him, like a predator after its prey, a triumphant glint in his eyes.

This time, Inosuke had him against the wall inside the kitchen pantry, trapped between his arms. The only way Tanjirou could get out of this was to headbutt Inosuke. Of course, this wasn’t an option.

He pinched his lips together, determined to keep him out. What was Inosuke thinking, kissing him while they were in the middle of a rush hour shift? Not that it was any more appropriate if they kissed at any other time, at home, or anywhere else. But still.

Tanjirou felt a nibbling sensation on his lower lip, followed by a slight tingle of pain. Was Inosuke biting him? Startled by this new development, Tanjirou tried to ask about it. In the split second that his lips parted, Inosuke slipped his tongue in. Tanjirou stilled in shock as his mouth was explored in ways that he never expected.

Tanjirou felt his knees grow weak. He was so dizzy and tingly all over. He would slide down to the floor if he didn’t hold on to something soon. Impulsively, he put his hands around Inosuke’s waist. Inosuke seemed to view this as encouragement. He pushed Tanjirou against the wall and kissed him harder.

“He’s getting better at this,” Tanjirou thought. Inosuke has always been a fast learner. Compared to the first time he planted a peck on his lips, he’s so much more confident and assertive now. As the saying goes, practice makes perfect. Tanjirou had already lost count of the number of kisses Inosuke stole from him.

Their lips parted. Inosuke leaned back a little, breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed. Their faces were still very close. Tanjirou could see every long eyelash, could feel the intensity of his stare as his emerald green eyes bore into him. Tanjirou had to look away. How could anyone be so dazzlingly beautiful?

“Tanjirou!” Zenitsu bellowed from outside. Tanjirou nearly jumped out of his skin. “Where is the order for table twelve? And where the hell are you?!”

“I’m working on it!” Tanjirou called back, quite forgetting about Zenitsu's keen hearing.

What am I doing, evaluating Inosuke’s kissing and his face?

Tanjirou felt that he was really losing it. He put his palms on Inosuke’s chest and nudged him. They needed to get back to work before Zenitsu found them here.

Too late, Zenitsu appeared in the doorway. Tanjirou’s heart was beating like a drum. But he knew it didn’t take Zenitsu’s auditory perceptions to figure out what they were doing. Inosuke was panting slightly, and he still hadn’t removed his hands from around him.

“Don’t flirt at work, you idiots! We’re running a serious business here!” Zenitsu’s loud shrill scream echoed around them in the confined space. “If you don’t get table twelve’s order ready in five minutes, you… you will… well, you can’t be fired, but you will be sorry!”

Zenitsu threw a dirty look at both of them and stormed off.

“Tsk, stupid Monitsu.” Inosuke straightened up and released Tanjirou. “What do you need for table twelve? I’ll help.”

Tanjirou neither knew nor cared what table twelve’s order was. There were much more pressing matters at hand.

“We… really shouldn’t do this,” Tanjirou stammered.

“Huh? Do what?”

“Uh… kiss.” Tanjirou took a deep breath. “We shouldn’t kiss each other.”

“Why?” Inosuke frowned at him, his delicate features radiating impatience.

“Um… because you should only kiss someone special to you. Someone you like very much!”

“I don’t dislike you.”

“That’s not a good enough reason to kiss someone! You don’t dislike Zenitsu and Nezuko too, but you wouldn’t kiss them, right?”

Right? Tanjirou hoped.

“I don’t want to kiss them.” Inosuke scoffed.

“Right.” Tanjirou nodded, feeling strangely relieved. “So you shouldn’t kiss me too.”

“You’re different.” Inosuke’s expression softened. “You’re my underling number one.”

“That’s… neither here nor there. Bosses don’t kiss their underlings.”

“You’re just an underling, so you don’t get to decide that.”

And he pushed him against the wall and kissed him again.

Chapter 2

「 ✦ Please support your creators by reblogging ✦ 」

Author Notes: I had a blast writing this fic with the oblivious and protective Tanjirou falling apart from Inosuke's outrageous flirting. Inosuke just wants to kiss Tanjirou, but Tanjirou doesn't understand his advances, and all he can think about is how much trouble Inosuke could get into if he pulls this stunt on someone else. But let's be honest, can you blame Tanjirou for failing to understand when Inosuke just springs these kisses on him without any warning or explanation? Writing about the miscommunication between two fools in love was too much fun. “Aren’t you going to praise me?” Inosuke demanded, his bright green eyes brimming with excitement. “After kissing you yesterday, my heart wouldn’t stop doing somersaults, so I had to get away to calm it down. This time I shifted my heart twenty-five degrees to the right and it feels much better. I’m brilliant, aren’t I?” When I first saw the scene where Inosuke said he could shift his heart, I thought it was one of the most incredulous things I've ever heard, and even my mom, who was watching the show with me, exclaimed, "He can shift his heart?!" I'm thrilled that it has come in handy for my fic, as it would explain how Inosuke could quickly transition from running off after a quick peck to staying put and extending his kiss. Thank you for reading! If my fic made you smile, it’d really make my day if you could drop a like, reblog, and/or comment to let me know! This story is also published on AO3 where you can comment anonymously!

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staticl0ve · 2 years

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The Boy Next Door: The Heartbreak Prince Pt.1

A human AU of the RK boys.

Parings: Human!Sixty / Female Reader Rating: Explicit/ NSWF 18+ Chapters (AO3): [ Part 1 ] [ Part 2 ] Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: One line of implied underage drug use/the dirty mind of Sixty (smut free chapter) Summary: He’s a skater boy and you said see ya later boy.

There was a little girl that lived next door to Sixty. Their paths didn’t cross much, save for a handful of times. The first instance was when they were toddlers and he was minding his own business, building a sandcastle in his front yard. She strolled on by all smiles in a sparkling pink tutu with her legs carrying her like she didn’t quite enjoy the cumbersome layers of her outfit.

Behind him was his dad, Hank, chatting away the new neighbors with what was mostly gibberish to a three year old Sixty. She tried to say hello, her clumsy footfalls causing her to trip and crush the sandcastle he was trying so hard to build. He didn’t remember much beyond that, probably some screaming involving two toddlers and exasperated parents.

It was his last year in high school, some test or assignment was likely due and all that mattered to him in the moment were the harsh and angry lyrics of his favorite band blasting across an arena. His body moved to the music, his feet jumping enthusiastically as sweat dripped from his brow and neck. The floor was filled with dancing bodies as far as the eye could see and in the mess of stage lights and blurred people, he caught sight of his neighbor not too far from him.

Over a decade of polite greetings with her and he knew next to nothing about her. What he did know was that his eighteen year old brain exploded when he saw her looking like a skater boy’s wet dream, rocking out to tunes he knew by heart. It blew his mind because because at school, she was Miss Americana, strutting around in a tight cheerleading uniform, probably smelling like apple pie and vanilla ice cream.

He did a double take, crossing off everything he recognized about her and sure enough, it was the girl next door. What was Detroit High’s homecoming queen, class president, and captain of the cheerleading squad doing at some raging, sweat filled punk fest?

Sixty caught himself staring at her like a lovesick moron when she passed by him in the school hallways, her hips swaying in that classic blue, gold and white uniform. He never noticed it before, her accent pieces: black nails, skull earrings and bracelets with metal studs. Even her laugh was cute, with a little flirty edge that made his heart leap between his ribs. That sweet melody was of course, caused by none other than her football captain boyfriend, Anthony. Some stereotypes never changed.

And that girl next door?

Your twin sister.

No, hah!

Sixty wished you had a twin sister. Maybe he’d take her back to your house, fuck her in her bedroom and hoped to god you could hear how good he was from the room over. The fleeting fantasy summoned the most bizarre and intense threesome dream of his life and worst of all, you didn’t even have a twin.

Fuck, he was losing his mind.

After the concert, he saw you in a whole new light that wasn’t painting you with a broad brush of being a vapid and shallow portrait of Americana. Sure, you were always hot, but he didn’t pay any attention to the inner workings of the popular group. He had better things to do like making art, jamming to new tunes, and getting laid.

You were in two of his elective classes, art and music and somehow he never noticed. He normally sat in the back like he always did in all of his classes, making jokes with his best friend, Ralph, and scribbling drawings in a notebook. Time and time again, Hank got dragged to parent teacher conference after conference. None of the meetings would change Sixty, the stubborn boy was hardwired to be a bit of a rebel.

“Mr. Anderson, your son seems to have a problem with focusing. He simply won’t sit still.”

“Mr. Anderson, if I catch Caiden with this substance under the bleachers one more time…”

“Mr. Anderson. No, no. It’s good news this time. You’ve got a really talented son.”

That last one was rare. It went on and on, and honestly it wasn’t like Sixty was trying to get on his dad’s nerves, he wasn’t aiming to be a bad kid…he was just a little ADHD (a lot ADHD as he’d later figure out) and loved to challenge anyone who thought they had any authority over him. His motto, in the words of Rage Against the Machine was:

Fuck no, I won’t do what you tell me.

Art and music were the two classes where he’d been well behaved in and was really, really talented at. Some of his skateboard designs actually got featured in a local gallery. One rich guy even bought a framed copy of the full artwork! The proceeds of course, went straight to a bitching party with his bros.

The music stuff he mostly dabbled with cause he read somewhere that chicks really dug a man who could play a guitar. It mentioned something about the mystique it added and that the showcasing of raw talent was something the feminine mind could not resist. Come to think of it, he just realized how trashy that magazine must have been. Something must have been working because to his surprise, you were the first to approach him in art class.

“It’s Caiden right?” You asked.

“Sixty,” he corrected you. “Caiden’s what boring old dinosaurs call me.”

You weren’t really listening, your head nodding with a stray smile as the girl next him greeted you.

“I’m sorry, I definitely didn’t catch that,” you said sheepishly.

He felt the air rush out of of his lungs when you directed a bubblegum sweet smile back at him. How you managed to look like Miss America by day and wild rebel by night was beyond him. He ran his fingers through his messy locks of hair and wondered if he remembered to wash it either yesterday or this morning.

“My friends call me Sixty.”

“Oh! Cool,” the way you said it sounded polite, but also like you wanted to get this conversation over with. You made a finger motion at the pencil sharpener on his desk. “The sharpener on the wall is broken, is it alright if I borrow yours?”

He floundered like a fish out of water, mouth flapping before words left them.

“Y-yeah.”

“Thanks, Sixty.”

He couldn’t believe you said it! If cloud nine was a real thing, it would definitely be him lying on that pillowy fluff listening to your voice saying his name over and over, especially in the gentle and unintentionally sultry tone that you used.

“Sixty.”

Oh yeah, cloud nine.

A short beat elapsed before the voice sighed.

“Six.”

“Huh?” He replied, a little dazed.

“You alright dude? You’ve been standing at the top of this drop for forever man.”

A skateboard was tucked under his left foot, the heat of the sun had his skin drenched with sweat pooling down the front and back of his shirt. He was daydreaming about you again and totally blanked out on being at the skate park.

“Are you still thinking about that girl?” Ralph asked.

Sixty let out an exasperated sound, cradling his face in his palms. “I can’t get her out of my head. It’s like she’s got a spell on me. Every time I close my eyes I just see her.”

“Man, you’ve got it bad,” Ralph said while patting his bro on the back. “Have you tried talking to her? Like really talk to her, not some—“ his voice went up a few octaves. “Oh, Mr. Anderson, can I use your pencil sharpener?”

First off, he would kill to hear you call him Mr. Anderson. Second…

“Our paths barely even cross, we only have two classes together and-“

“Dude,” Ralph scoffed. “You live right next to her.”

“Fuck,” Sixty ran his fingers through his sweaty hair and took a deep breath. “Okay, yeah. I’ll try it.”

Ralph shifted a little and Sixty had known him long enough to know without looking that he was giving him a long, scrutinizing stare.

“Just don’t do that thing you always do,” he said. “Cause Anthony’s still her boyfriend and he would obliterate your ass.”

Bro code for: don’t be a little man whore and think with your heart instead of your dick. Easier said than done when it came to Sixty. If anything, it probably helped that your boyfriend was one hell of a beast.

“That is if she even falls for all of this,” Ralph gestured at him and snorted.

What cheer captain would be able to resist him in ripped jeans, a hole filled sorta white T-shirt and the grimiest set of converses a teenage boy could own? At least Sixty knew he had a good looking face cause there was a line of chicks dying to get in his pants and longer list of broken hearts he’d left behind.

Ralph didn’t give him a chance to respond, picking up his skateboard to take the plunge down the fifteen foot drop. Sixty straightened up, adjusted his helmet and grinned.

Yeah, he could do it.

He could make the jump.

The master plan could not possibly fail. He had dreamed up a scenario where he’d hang out in the music room until one day, you’d ultimately stroll through because you needed to practice. It was foolproof. A week elapsed and he felt more and more like some idiot trying to befriend a very unavailable girl until fate would have you pushing through the double doors of the practice room.

His back straightened, correcting his posture before going back to strumming his guitar. A quiet sob threw him off his melody. You must have come straight from a football game, your shoes still damp and marked with fresh grass.

“Are you…okay?” He asked.

You were taking in short little inhales like that would stem the waterfall pouring down your cheeks. It took a moment for you to register that there was someone else in the room and that he just asked you a question.

“I’m sorry, I — I thought this room would be empty.”

“I can go?” He replied and made motions to pack up his guitar.

“No, wait,” you stopped and smiled, your puffy tear stained eyes blinking away the salt. “Is that the song that I think it is?”

It was the same song playing in the background the night he saw you at the concert. He’d been trying to perfect it for weeks, not to impress you with it, but to get it out of his head since it had been playing in a nonstop loop after seeing you.

“You know it?” He casually asked.

“Know it? I love it.”

His fingers plucked away, continuing the melody. He hummed along to it, the lyrics slowly gaining in volume the more confident he got. Your voice joined his, quiet and shaky from crying but it got stronger until it sounded like a duet.

“Holy shit,” he said when the song ended. “You’ve got a beautiful voice.”

“Thanks,” you replied and took a seat next to him. “What else do you know?”

It became a routine, you’d leave cheerleading practice to chill with him, sing together, let him scribble on your book covers, and he never asked you why you came running into the music room crying. He caught hints of the sadness that swirled beneath the veneer of your perfect life. Familial expectations weighed on your shoulders and recently, you expressed your unhappiness with the jokes about you and Anthony voted most likely to get married. Which was a bit strange to Sixty since you were both prom king and queen.

Did it mean there was trouble in paradise? A chip in the high school sweetheart cliche where he could weasel his way into your heart? He could hear Ralph’s voice scolding him when he fantasized about being the guy to sweep up the broken pieces of your heart.

“Just don’t do that thing you always do.”

It was just a fantasy of a horny teenager, he reasoned and a temptation that was stemmed by the slump in your shoulders and your worn out sighs. He didn’t ask you about Anthony, wanting to avoid all conversations about the muscly hunk that always had his annoying arm slung over your shoulders. The time in the music room was meant to be decompression time. It was where he thought you were the most honest, raw…stunning.

In your worst days, his shoulder was yours to lean on. He was the kind of guy who’s mouth always ran uncensored but on those dark days, he ignored what his heart wanted. Sixty sat with you in silence, his fingers threading through your hair. You poured your heart out to a guy who was nothing more than a stranger for years and he had never felt more undeserving of your attention.

How could he when you were so fucking perfect?

One glance at you and he couldn’t find a single hair out of place, your uniform always freshly pressed and a report card that would put his to shame. No one would suspect the cheer captain being worn and tired. You were all smiles outside of this little window of time with him. Still, it bothered him that the pressure was enough to make you crack.

“Do you ever get tired of being perfect?” He asked one day.

The look you gave him made his heart lurch and instantly regret his big fat mouth opening with such a dumb question.

“W-what do you mean?” You asked.

“Shit. I mean — you came in here crying when we first met and you’ve got this look on your face lately.”

You sighed, “We’ve met a long time ago, Sixty.”

He didn’t really count toddler tantrums and pencil sharpener borrowing to be proper introductions but that was not his point.

“My point is…something’s been bothering you and…uh, I’m here for you, whenever you need it.”

Your lips broke into a smile, a real one and Sixty wanted nothing more than to spend a lifetime trying to see it. He did eventually learn what what was going on in your bubblegum paradise when Anthony shoved him against a locker later.

“What the f-“

“Stay away from my girlfriend. You got me?” He snarled at Sixty.

“Anthony, stop,” you interrupted.

The grip on Sixty’s shirt collar tightened before he dropped him back down. Anthony turned to face you with a scowl.

“You’re supposed to be on my side, baby,” Anthony snarled.

“You don’t have the right to call me that anymore. Not after you’ve spent every practice flirting with the girls in my squad,” you said. Your hand fell on one hip and Sixty swore he’d never seen a hotter angry chick. “Which, by the way, the girls are my friends and we rally together. They think you’re disgusting so you can forget about hooking up with any of them.”

“W-wait, babe.”

“Shut up. We’re done.”

As it would turn out, suddenly being single didn’t make you available to Sixty. It was unusual for him but he kinda liked not having to deal with the drama of one time flings, a part of him hoping for more if he could get it. After graduation, summer felt like a fever dream, with you laid out on his bed beside him — as friends — talking about your day, hopes, and dreams.

Despite being platonic for the summer, sometimes he got insanely mixed message from you. Your bedrooms were across the way from each other and your blinds had always been drawn when you wanted privacy. But occasionally, his window would be open and you could see him practicing music or just blasting it while he drew.

“No way…” Sixty murmured, his jaw practically hitting the floor.

Your blinds were wide open, your lamp on and he got an eyeful of you disrobing with your back to the window. First it was your shirt to go flying in what he assumed was your bed or laundry hamper and then — your bra.

He gulped. “Fuck.”

Maybe you didn’t remember that your blinds were open, so he, against all odds, decided to be a good man and left his room. The fifth time it happened though, he got a little suspicious and finally had the nerve to watch. Nothing else ever happened between you two and you never asked him if he’d seen anything. He was a bit thrown off when summer was over and you both remained friends, just friends.

You were headed off, bags fully packed to leave Detroit and he was staying to attend a local community college with a dream of opening his own skate shop one day. On your last afternoon together you were on his bed, flipping through the pages of a yearbook with Sixty teasing you since you were in so many sections.

“Oh, look at that,” you pointed to a photo of him. “You got voted most likely to be a future Picasso, that’s so sweet.”

He saw your frown when there was a title for ‘most likely to marry their high school sweetheart’ under your face.

“That’s messed up, they should have said you’d be most likely to succeed,” he suggested.

You waved it off with a scoff and shut the book, a sign even Sixty could recognize meant it was time to change the subject.

“So uh, which fancy school are you headed off to again?” He asked.

You laughed, he always had a knack for listening to some things and tuning out others. He shouldn’t have been surprised to hear your answer when you said it. After all, you were a valedictorian, graduated summa cum laude. You didn’t look so amused when he snickered at the ‘cum’ part during graduation.

“I’m going to Harvard.”

“Shit, really? That’s…that’s a long, long drive,” he sighed and ran his hands nervously through his long wavy locks.

You leaned into him, playfully knocking shoulders with him, your hand stroking the bit of paint caught on his shirt sleeve. The motions immediately relaxed him, his elbows spreading wider into the mattress to lean more into your touch. His eyes had shut for a moment, more than soothed with your arm over his. A part of him knew where you were going. He imagined if he didn’t really hear it, then it wouldn’t hang over his head all summer.

“You could always come with me? I’ll bet there are community colleges there that’d you’d like.”

Brown eyes snapped open upon your suggestion and panned across your face. Your voice sounded as defeated as he looked. He wanted to, god, he would. Especially, when you gave him big sad eyes like that. It was tempting, but he knew his roots were in Detroit and it’d tear him apart to see you go.

“Consider me voted most likely to run away with you,” he joked.

He saw you off to your car, his hands nervously fidgeting with the junk in his pockets. Sixty hated bittersweet partings and bit back tears as his arms wrapped around your smaller frame one last time. You kissed him on the cheek, watched his face go bright red before laughing wickedly and he almost wondered if you learned that wickedness from him.

“I can’t let you have all the fun without me, you’ll text me right?” You teased him while he sputtered like a fool.

“Y-yeah, of course!”

“I’m gonna miss you, Six.”

“Yeah…me too.”

He waved you off when you got into your vehicle, his smile falling when you finally left the neighborhood. There was a chance he’d never see you again and he’d never felt dumber for wasting the time that could have been if only he was a more curious neighbor.

“Yo Sixty, the new designs are fucking dope! They’re selling like hot cakes!”

A hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and shook it proudly.

“Thanks, Ralph,” he replied.

He was at a skate shop, surrounded by dozens of boards, sixty, to be exact. The designs were all his and he’d never been prouder of having managed to scrape enough savings to open his own store. His creations were on shirts, prints and stickers and some of them were already sold out. Hank must have taken a million photos with the sign out front: Sixty Designs.

“I’m so proud of you Caiden,” Hank said the moment he got back into the store.

“Dad.” Sixty pouted at him like he was a ten year old boy again and not a man in his mid 20s.

“Absolutely not. I am not calling you by that dumb nickname,” Hank replied.

“You mean dope as hell! It’s in the shop name,” Sixty boasted.

“Off the table, son.”

The bell to the front door rang and instead of a pleasing chime, a sick guitar riff announced your arrival. It startled you at first, a soft ‘oh’ leaving your lips.

“Hi,” you greeted him.

It was you, standing in his store with a bubblegum sweet smile on your face. You’ve changed since he last saw you, a little less Americana meets punk rebel and more like a fully put together woman who had her life in order. But one thing certainly didn’t change and it was how hard his heart hammered in your presence. He returned your smile with a rather starstruck one of his own.

“Hi.”

#my writing #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #reader insert #dbh sixty #rk800 60 #sixty x reader #reader x sixty #rk800 60 x reader #the boy next door

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