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thatanimeramenchick · 2 months

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Yandere Vox x Secretary Reader Pt. 2

Eh, what have you guys done to me. I swear, we Vox fangirls are the thirstiest on the internet right now. Also, officially, I’m making this a three part series, but that’s it. So much for a oneshot. I'll make a title for this series, eventually. Also, if you want to be tagged, please put your age in your bio.

Part One - Part Three

Triggers: Dubcon-y vibes in scenes. Violence and threatening. Read responsibly, stuff is gonna get a little dark this chapter.

Word count: 3,142

---

Vox thought you looked perfect. For once, you were wearing something decent that he bought you instead of one of the plain outfits from before you had moved in. Somehow, you had been convinced to put on actual jewelry and makeup as well. The only flaw you held was the dirty look on your face, which you refused to face towards him directly, and it only got dirtier as you downed more and more wine.

“You know, you could at least attempt to have a good time after all the effort I put into this evening,” he said, “You haven’t even touched your food.”

“Not hungry,” you said, voice ice cold. It always was nowadays.

“If you’re not in the mood for dinner, we could watch a new production I oversaw,” he said, “I think you’d enjoy it.”

You snort at that.

“I’d rather listen to Alastor’s radio program than watch any of the hot trash your production company creates,” you said.

“I’m sorry? What was that?” he said, putting a warning hint into his tone.

“You heard me,” you said, “I’ve gotta say for someone supposedly so modern, you’re still just an old man. Alastor is what? Like twenty years older than you? And you think he’s elderly? You’re practically a decrepit bygone as well. You think anyone gives a shit about cable nowadays? At least Alastor has the decency to make stuff with class and not just forgettable, cheap cash grabs.”

Against his will, he felt a circuit spurt. His hand clenched around the glass and slammed it onto the table, causing you to jump. A small noise left your mouth, as panicked as the look in your eyes was now. You looked like you knew that you had pushed a little more than you probably should have.

“You know what?” he hissed, “You think you can just talk to me like that? Fine. You wanna play rough with me? Well guess what, I’m going to fuck that bad attitude right out of you!”

“Excuse me???”

You didn’t even look scared at that just shocked and baffled, as if that had been the last thing you had expected to hear.

“You heard me!” he grabbed you by your shoulders and shoved you flat onto the couch, “I’m sick of you fighting me. Well, you’re not going to after this.”

“W-wait, Vox, stop-”

He smashed his lips to yours, purposefully being harsh, biting you when you tried to keep your mouth closed. When you attempted to turn your face away, he grabbed your chin rough enough where he knew it would leave a mark before kissing you harder. You pounded your fist against his chest, but he ignored it, straddling you. He eventually used his other hand to grab your wrist and push it into the couch.

He didn’t know when it happened, but at some point in your struggle something shifted in the air. Changed. You had finally stopped fighting, slowly wrapping your arm around his neck, kissing him back. It was heavenly, you finally submitting to him. Yes, yes, yes… He paused to look you in the eyes, to see your timid gaze and red face. There was still a look of anger glazed across your features, but it was fading. He brought his hand up to play at the buttons on your blouse. You looked at each other for a second longer before you initiated a kiss for once, using the arm around his neck to pull him close. Your tongue felt so hot, so right, as if your body was as electric as his own and-

Vox gasped, a spark running through his head. He woke up alone in bed, a literal hot mess. He felt like his head was overheating, running a million miles a minute, despite the fact that he should feel cold from sleep. Mixing this with the slick sweat and fluid he was covered in, it was an uncomfortable feeling. Groping for the robe hanging next to his bed, he climbed out. What a dream. He needed a second to wire down from that before trying to go back to sleep.

He picked up his phone and opened it to check on you. The camera in your room showed you curled up on your mattress, blanket half off your body and arms wrapped around one of your pillows. It pressed into your dozing face, which held a peaceful, relaxed look that he rarely saw now that you had decided to go to war with him. His finger absently stroked your image on the screen.

Why did you have to be so difficult? He didn’t know what had been the powder keg that had kicked off your little rebellion, but whatever it was, all his attempts to nip it in the bud had made you more temperamental. Clearly his irritation with your behavior had seeped into his mind enough to create some… darker fantasies deep in his sleeping subconscious.

He shook his head. It was just a dream. It didn’t mean anything.

Besides, he already had been thinking about what to do next, to give you that little push you needed to be more agreeable.

---

Later that day he scoffed at how ridiculous his own morbid imagination was. The idea of you dressed all pimped up like one of Valentino’s whores. You barely got out of bed nowadays. If he was being honest, your imprisonment had caused your mood to swing between defiant temper tantrums and a hopelessly depressed sloth. Today, you were in the latter mood, still in pajamas that he swore you were wearing two days ago, lying on the couch and mindlessly eating as you watched some random reality show.

“Hello there, beautiful,” he said, trying to sound pleasant, “Looks like you’ve had a relaxing day.”

You glance at him for a second before looking back at the television. The blanket is pulled tighter around you, as if you were trying to hide any inch of yourself from him. Ever since his last attempt at showing his affection had ended in you headbutting him – hard – you had been particularly prickly at even the slightest hint that he might want to touch you.

“What do you want, asshole?” you said, voice lacking emotion.

Charming as always.

“Well, dearest, I was thinking. Now that you’ve had some time to think things over, I was hoping we could finally come to an agreement that would make us both happy,” he said.

“I highly doubt that’s possible,” you said.

He sat beside you, which caused you to curl your legs in tighter. You inch up on the arm a little, as if to sit as far away from him as possible without having to actually put any effort into getting up.

“We both have something that the other person wants, something that could be easily settled with a written contract,” Vox said, “You would like to be allowed to roam around this cesspool of a city and I-”

“Let me guess, it includes a whole paragraph about me never leaving your sight as well as a clause about how often you get to stick yourself in my various orifices?” you grumbled.

“You’re so melodramatic sometimes,” he said, “You always assuming the worst about people, F/N. Makes me wonder if you were double crossed a lot in your previous life.”

You don’t even respond to this, just continue to stare ahead. He’d noticed that lately you’ve been avoiding his gaze. He wasn’t sure how much you had figured out about his abilities, but you seemed to have pieced enough together that the more you avoided his eyes, the less direct influence he had on you at the moment. He was sure that it was one of the many reasons you were so moody lately; you stubbornly refused to be soothed by him. Regardless, whether you were trying to avoid his hypnotic gaze or not, it’s no matter. It’s not like you’re going to be able to avoid the overall influence he has over this city, especially if you spend your free time watching television he’s created.

“It’s rather tame, considering the situation you’re in. Contract or not, it’s not like you’re going to be going anywhere anytime soon,” he continued, “You’re lucky I care for you as much as I do, trying to work with you like this.”

“Hooray for me,” you said.

You really were a brat sometimes. Vox at times wondered if it was because he was too soft on you, and you didn’t realize the amount of actual power he held over you. Either that or you just didn’t care anymore. Whatever. It was all big talk because at the end of the day, you both knew you couldn’t do anything about your situation.

“You already have lots of benefits, which you would retain. Nice apartment, clothes, up to date tech. Besides that, you can come and go regularly, as long as you’re back here within twenty-four from when you last left. You can do whatever you want during that time. You also would be working for me a minimum of forty hours a week, with the occasional granted vacation at my discretion. That’s pretty much it, along with you occasionally being cooperative with my… desires,” he said, “So you’d have plenty of time to yourself. I didn’t put in anything that would force you to do anything too unsavory with me.”

Though he certainly would have liked to be more pushy in that department, he knew going too far could result in the kind of hate fueled relationship Valentino and Angel Dust shared. He honestly didn’t have the energy to have that much drama in his own life. Good night, he could hardly handle the drama that was in his life now. Besides, he was sure you’d come around willingly, even if it took a few centuries.

You glared at him as he finished speaking, as if to say, how generous of you.

From inside his vest, he pulls out the contract and holds it out to you.

“So, we have a deal?” he asked.

You sit up and take the paper, still avoiding his eyes. You seem to be reading it over, though your hold on it is lazy.

“… This still says you can fuck me at least once a week if you want to, or else I’m not allowed to leave the building,” you said, “Did you really think I wasn’t going to notice shit like that?”

He laughed a bit awkwardly.

“I mean, I did say I would like you to be at least a little cooperative,” he said, crossing his legs, “We could wait a little while if you’d like. I mean, you’d still have more freedom than you do now, even with that minuscule restriction. You should know by now that I’m a patient man.”

You stare at it again, forehead wrinkled.

“You know what… I see where you’re coming from,” you said, finally making eye contact, “Tic for tac, eh?”

“That’s a crude way for you to put it,” he said.

You shrug.

“Crude or not, it’s the truth,” you said, a sardonic smirk appearing on your face, “You want me to give a little to get a little.”

Before he could say anything you hold up your hands with more energy than he’s seen you have in days.

“No, no, no! I understand. I’ve been in hell long enough to know how people like you work. I get where you’re coming from, I really do. I’m not stupid! So trust me, I’m being completely serious when I say that I think you should take this lovely contract of yours and shove it up your glowing blue ass!” you ripped it in half on the last word, your smile still present but a nasty look in your eyes.

Vox felt his eye twitch as you continued to smirk at him, tossing the paper at him like you would throw trash across the room. You then lie back down and turn back to the TV, ignoring him again as if the last few minutes hadn’t even happened at all. Though you were attempting to pull your face back into the blank expression of earlier, he could see in your eyes a mixture of emotion, rage, yes, but also a certain smugness. What, did you really think you were tough shit for mouthing off to him like that?

He felt like his head was going to explode. Before he even registered how he was reacting, he had grabbed you by the hair and was pulled you back over.

“Ow! What the hell are you doing, Vox?” you yelled, the smug look gone from your eyes, “You’re hurting me!”

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? I’m trying to be generous to you because I actually like you, but you know what? I’ve clearly spoiled you rotten already!” he fumed.

He was practically seeing red as he dragged you over, causing you to yelp. You try to kick him, but he only grabs onto your ankle and pulls you closer to him, spinning you around so that you were pressed against the back of the couch, his arms on either side of you. His fingers are still gripping your hair, forcing you to turn your head towards him.

“You know, you’re right, who needs a contract?” he said, “I can do whatever the hell I want with you, and what are you going to do about it?”

Your voice cracked as you attempted to speak, but he didn’t pay any attention to what you were trying to say. He could feel his systems overloading with the amount of rage he was feeling, shouting over you.

“I hope you like the view from up here, because you’re staying here for the rest of your miserable eternal exist. You can work and live here 24/7,” he said, “Anything else we should change in the arrangement? You didn’t like the idea of fucking me once a week? Fine by me. Why not once a day? Twice a day? Every hour? Would you like that better? Huh? Answer me!”

As he finished speaking, he finally heard what you were saying, “-m sorry! I’m sorry, please, stop!

As he heard your pleading, he felt himself being brought back down to earth. While his rage was still present, your begging brought him back to reality, and it was finally registering how upset you were. Hysterical. Terrified. You were sobbing, more afraid of him than he had ever seen you, even on the worst days of your fighting.

“D-d-don’t hurt me. I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry! Please, don’t hurt me!”

He released your hair with a rapid exhale, and you automatically moved your head away from him, arms shielding your face. Shaking, it was sinking in just emotionally distraught you were, as well as the damage he had done to the couch. He hadn’t even noticed he had been digging his claws into the polyester, a row of gnashes beside your head. The situation was completely getting out of control. He pushed himself off of you and turned away. He didn’t even say anything, just left the room and went through the wires to his office. His head was overheating, and he was going to crash at this rate if he didn’t calm down.

Damn it! He hated how out of control you made him feel. It was pathetic. There was only one other person he could think of that made him get near as frustrated as he was feeling with you at the moment. He wasn’t the kind to act out, and here he was acting almost as ridiculous as his business partner did. The only saving grace was that Vox at least tried to keep his infatuation as quiet and private as possible.

It was more than his emotional irregularity though. The fact that he felt this way at all about you was humiliating. Affection, fondness, it was a weakness, and he knew it. Valentino got away with just having simple lust and taking what he wanted, but genuine affection demanded gentleness and tenderness. It was beyond him just not being able to do as he pleased with you, he didn’t want to. He wanted you to come to him willingly. It was the thing holding him back from just hypnotizing you into his arms or using a “love” potion, and now he had probably set any progress towards your affection back significantly.

He rubbed his forehead, which was starting to cool down a little. What was going on up there? He was going to end up doing something rash, something he regretted, if he didn’t get things under control and under control fast. Something needed to be done, but he didn’t know what. Nothing had gone how he had wanted it to. He would need to rethink his approach.

---

You spent a long time shaking on the couch, arms and blanket wrapped around you, crying. You were an idiot. Clearly your brain was turning to mush just sitting around the house all day. Did you actually think you’d be able to get away with speaking like that to an Overlord of Hell?

There had to be a way out of this place. Had to. But the more you thought about it, the more impossible it felt. Even if you did manage to get out of the building in one piece, Vox had this entire city under constant watch. Every corner of Pentagram City was crawling with his tech and media. It would take minutes if not seconds for him to find you and bring you back by force. At this point, maybe you should just sign a contract with the douchebag. Surely, he’d get bored of you eventually, right? Maybe if you got lucky he’d even get killed off one of these days in an extermination, and you’d be off the hook completely.

But how long would that take? Decades? A century or two? What if he never tired of you? Eternal death or not, you didn’t want to spend that much time living and sleeping with some psycho you hated. No. That wasn’t an option. You weren’t going to do that. But what then? You had thought he was going to literally rip your head off just a few minutes ago for telling him no. You were pretty sure things weren’t going to get less volatile around here if you kept rejecting him.

You wiped at your tear soaked face with a tissue and tossed it across the room. It’s light material just sent it floating to the ground though. It looked as pathetic as you felt.

“Damn it,” you cursed, smashing your head into a throw pillow and lying back down, “I hate this fucking place.”

#yandere x reader #vox #vox x reader #yandere vox #yandere hazbin hotel #Eh I can't believe I wrote this and actually published it for people to read.

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autisticsupervillain · 9 months

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Autistic Avatars not realizing that they're Avatars because they're just "like that": a thread

The Eye

Special Interest in the supernatural = constant food for The Watcher

You know about Interest? TELL ME EVERYTHING

"Hey man listen to me infodump about this horrifying ghost story I read for twenty minutes, alright?"

I need to Know everything about something before I partake in it.

"How did I Know that? Eh, I probably hyperfixated on it at some point."

I cannot be misunderstood so I'll beam the facts into your brain.

The Web

I must plan everything 200 steps in advance before doing anything.

I have prepared for all possible outcomes, I can now have this one conversation.

If I set up all these variables long in advance, then I can do everything correctly and Win the social interaction.

I cannot do anything before The Plan says to.

"I practice my social skills by talking to my spider friends." -Martin "Autism" Blackwood

The Stranger

I cannot socialize without being Uncanny.

If my socialization seems like an act, that's because it is. I practice it in the mirror every day.

Theater Kid

How do you Normal Human?

The Anatomy Class.

Assuming fellow Stranger Avatars also just have the 'Tism. They're not trying to be creepy, honest.

Can't do faces. Doesn't notice when you get replaced.

Being subtly off is too subtle for me.

The Lonely

"I have failed the social interaction. Let the fog reclaim me."

Talking to people is draining my batteries even faster than ever. I need to be alone for approximately 384,400,000 years.

Nothing can overstimulate me in the cool, blinding fog.

Nothing unpredictable can happen in the fog.

The fog is your friend.

The known connection between autism and depression feeds the fog.

The Dark

Why is the sun so god damn bright? I'm going to blow it up I swear.

Night Owl.

Everything's decently quite at night and people leave you alone.

Same overstimulation preventatives as the Lonely tbh. Dark and fog are good concealers.

The dawn is your enemy.

The dread florescent lights shall never bother me again. They break upon my arrival.

Can and will infodump to the monster under my bed. Even now it feels like it listens.

The Spiral

Autism makes getting other mental illnesses recognized hard.

Autism dissociation from body and mind. When did it become 3 AM and why do I hurt? Why am I grumpy? What vital self care task did I forget?

Literal mind doesn't often match reality. Reality is specifically unspecific.

Spaced out and wandered off. Where the fuck am I?

I'm not a mental baby, please stop treating me like it.

I'm not inherently dangerous, please stop treating me like it.

Memory problems my beloathed. Did that happen? I dunno.

What Is Time?

What Is Me?

The Gender

Why do things only make sense to me? What does no one else make sense?

The Flesh

Autism Genderfuckery = Flesh fueled dysphoria.

Meat is the only texture that's palatable. Especially the Mystery Meat.

Will never try any other foods. Too picky.

Infodumps about the horrors of meat processing at dinner and ruins the meal for everyone. More steak for me.

Hates PETA.

Double the arms means double the stim. You weren't using them, right?

Working out is a great stim.

The Corruption

Practices social interaction with the bugs who live in my walls.

"Insects are disgusting. I love them!"

Will protect endangered insects by any means necessary.

According to all known laws of aviation-

Relationship boundaries struggles.

Difficulty noticing sickness symptoms.

Is that nausea or am I overstimulated? *Accidentally causes supernatural plague outbreak*

Difficulty getting diseases diagnosed because of both Autism and noticing too many symptoms so the doctors assume they're faking.

Forgot vital hygiene needs.

The Bugs Are My Friends! They keep me company when I'm sick!

The Buried

Weighted blankets are insufficient, I need the Earth to reclaim me.

Avoid social interaction by tunneling everywhere like a mole.

101 facts about worms.

Forgor hygiene again. Time to become dirt.

Digging a hole is good stimming.

That guy who had to be buried alive to sleep properly. What do you mean you don't want to be buried?

The End

Aradia Megido from Homestuck.Com

That's it, that's the list.

The Desolation

The Autism Temper.

Losing relationships and friendships to ableism and your own disability constantly.

The Fire is a wonderful stim board. Watch it crinkle.

Just watching candles melt for hours.

The fire and thrill gives my life passion again.

Jude Perry.png

The Vast

Accidentally terrifying people by infodumping about the horrors of nature.

The stimulus of falling.

Nature/Space/Weather Documentary on in background always.

Okay, but from how high did you fall? I want to calculate your velocity as you fell through the void.

Weirdly enough... power scaling?

Power scaling is just the art of determining how easily your favorite characters can destroy mankind so... yeah, I can see it.

Brain empty, only terminal velocity.

The Hunt

Cat Autism

The inherent hyperfocus of the hunt. The chase. Your prey.

Studying the habits of your latest hyperfixation/Hunt assigned prey for days at a time.

I've spent so much time hunting in the woods that I forgot about human society. The Missing Person's Bureau have written you off for dead.

Returning to society to sell your wears and realizing you aren't human anymore.

That's okay. Social interaction is random. The Hunt makes sense.

It's black and white. Predator and prey. Humans hunting monsters. It Makes Sense.

The Slaughter

The incredible human WW1 documentary.

"Did you know?" *Describes horrible historic warcrime*

Takes apart puts back together guns from their collection.

The list of known casualties from this war is incomplete. With my help, they can expand it. :)

The Extinction

The world is spiraling towards its end and only you seem to care.

It hurts to be this passionate about a lost cause.

You Will Make Them Care.

#the magnus archives #autism #the eye #the web #the stranger #the lonely #the dark #the spiral #the flesh #the corruption #the buried #the end #the desolation #the vast #the hunt #the slaughter #the extinction

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thisismeracing · 9 months

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Congratulations on 1k <3

Mick + drunk + fluff

Drunk | MS47

⸺ the one where your favorite driver drunkenly confesses his love to you. ✓ mentions of alcohol and food.

⁕ one word, a thousand stories blurb night (CLOSED) ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

Mick was usually a very composed guy. He was often the designated driver whenever their friends decided to party, and when he wasn't, he still wouldn't get hammered. That's why Yn was so confused when she opened her door only to find her friend and, at some point, a coworker barely standing in front of her house.

"Mick?" she asked, confusion written all over her face.

"Hi, Yn. Wie gehts?" he slurred, starting to use his native language, and Yn frowned even deeper.

"I'm ok, I guess. You...not so much eh?"

She took a step back and motioned for him to get in, which he did stumbling inside and leaving his shoes at the entrance.

"How'd you get here?"

"So many questions," he mumbled jokingly rolling his eyes, or trying to because he was so drunk Yn swore that wasn't a proper eye roll. "I ubered here, or someone did... I dunno."

Yn took a deep breath and went to her kitchen to get the kettle ready. He would need the strongest cup of coffee and the coldest bath, and she would give it to him because if the roles were reversed Mick would sure take care of her, no questions asked.

"Wait, don't leave me alone, Yn." He stepped into the kitchen behind her and almost fell trying to sit on one of her stools.

"I had no idea you were this needy when drunk," Yn joked and Mick didn't answer. His hands were on the marble counter and he was watching with lazy eyes her every move.

They met when Mick started in F1. Yn worked with Mercedes and was close friends with Esteban, so it wasn't a surprise when they hit it off from the start. Once Mick went to Mercedes, they became even closer, and what used to be platonic, started having its own space in Yn's heart. She was in love with Mick.

What she didn't know at the time was that Mick was in love with her too.

"I had to talk to you."

"And it couldn't wait until you were sober?" she quipped.

"No, I'm terrified I'm-" Yn's coffee machine started its crazy noise swallowing what Mick was about to confess.

He directed his blue eyes to his palm, and he could almost hear a small and sober part of himself screaming that this was not a good idea, that she probably wouldn't be into him that way.

"Let's go, you're getting into the shower. I think I have a sweatpant that's going to fit you just right," she clicked something on the machine and started walking to the corridor.

Mick followed her in his drunk haze, just like he would follow her sober. Lance even joked once about how he looked like a found lost puppy while trailing behind Yn in the paddock.

"Can you hold yourself? Shower without falling in my bathroom or destroying it?"

"Of course!" His offended face made Yn chuckle.

When she reached the door, ready to leave him be, Mick's muffled voice called for her.

"I can shower, but I think I'll need some help with this shirt..." and sure enough Yn turned around to see Mick's torso on display while his head was stuck on his shirt.

Yn's laughter boomed around the walls of the bathroom, and she could almost hear Mick doing the same and being interrupted by a hiccup. She reached for the shirt and detangled him before quickly turning around and leaving, trying to ignore how intimate it felt to take care of him in such a vulnerable state.

While Mick showered to sober up, Yn got him coffee, some crackers, and hungover pills for he would definitely wake up with his head pounding the next morning.

When she walked into the room, he was sitting at the edge of the bed, a towel on his broad shoulders and some droplets of water running from his back to his waist, stopping at the waistband of the sweatpants he was wearing.

"Gotcha some food and coffee to help you sober up, are you feeling any better?" Yn asked, settling the tray on her nightstand.

"I love you," he whispered, and she was thankful her hands were free because otherwise, she would have dropped everything on her bedroom floor.

And, of course, part of her tried to tell her that it was the kind of 'I love you' you tell your best friend, but the second their eyes met Yn knew exactly what kind of confession that was.

"You're drunk, Mick..."

"I'm in love with you, Yn." He started again. "I have been since my first year in the grid, and I'm sorry I'm saying it like this, but-" he hiccups interrupting his own rambling, and then they're both laughing.

There's some kind of relief in finally sharing the truth, letting it free to go around.

"We'll talk about it in the morning, ok?"

"But...do you love me back? You don't even have to love me, you can just like me, do you like me back? I- I've never done this before, how does one ask if the other is in love too, but without sounding like a fool? Or is it just because I'm still a bit drunk?"

Yn giggled, rolling her eyes and carding her fingers to his blonde mop of hair that was still damp from the cold shower. She dipped down and kissed his forehead, and Mick closed his eyes enjoying the caress of her lips on his skin.

"I'm in love with you too, your dork."

"Can you kiss me?"

"We're not having our first kiss with you drunk," she shook her head.

"Oh- Scheiße!- that's actually true! Mhm but wait," Mick holds his pointer finger up as if he's about to state something, and Yn takes a step back to watch him attentively. "I just crashed your cozy Friday night at home- do you still love me? After taking care of me drunk? After I put you through all this trouble?"

Yn rolled her eyes, kissed the tip of his nose, and added, "Yes, Mick Schumacher, I still love you."

"Even after I accidentally dropped and spilled half of your shampoo on the bathroom floor?"

"Ye- Wait WHAT?"

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: That was a bit longer than I anticipated lol 1k words, but I hope you guys like it!! yay *forehead kiss* Don't forget to like and reblog this piece!

#ms47 #requests #op: blurbs #one word a thousand stories blurb night #mick schumacher imagines #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher imagine #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #millie writes

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larluce · 3 months

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AU where Merlin is Arthur's familiar

Firstly, for everyone that doesn't know, in European folklore of the medieval and early modern periods, familiars were believed to be supernatural entities or spiritual guardians that would protect or assist witches and cunning folk in their practice of magic. They're almost always represented as some kind of animal, like a cat or a bird, sometimes a demon.

So, having that cleared up, how would Merlin be a familiar and how would he be Arthur's familiar of all people when Arthur isn't a sorcerer?

That's the thing, in this AU a group of evil druids or sorcerers find out about Merlin's identity earlier and his whereabouts while he is still in Ealdor. Not wanting Emry's magic to be under the command of some prophesied king and desiring that power to themselves, they kidnapped him and make a ritual to turn him into a familiar (a merlin especifically). They also erase his memory so Merlin doesn't remember he was ever human. Just when they where about to bond the bird to the sorcerer/druid leader to have Emrys magic under their command, Merlin manages to escape. He doesn't know who he is or where to go, he just knows he has to go far away from there.

Somehow, probably through his run away ordeal, familiar Merlin ends up in Camelot's castle, with an injured wing. He's chirping in pain when the young prince finds him in his yard.

Arthur: (covering his ears) Why are you making so much noise? Shut up! (looking closely) Wait! you're hurt? (picks him up carefully) I think your wing is broken. (Merlin chirps louder) Alright, alright! I'll find help. (runs as fast as he can) Gaius! Gaius!

The court physician bandages the bird's wing, but he can't take care of it due to his work, so Arthur does it. He makes a place for the bird in his room and feeds it. He tries to not get attached to it knowing the bird will have to return to its natural environment as soon as it recovers. However, after the bird's wing is healed, it doesn't want to leave, not matter how many times Arthur frees it in the forest, it always comes back, so finally Arthur decides to keep it. He has a bit of a fight with his father, because he never let Arthur have a pet, but after the bird protects the prince of a witch that was in disguise by stinging her eyes out, the king finally allows the prince to keep it. The prince, very happy, brings the bird to his chambers.

Arthur: (with Merlin in his forearm) Now the you're oficially my pet- (the bird chirps in protest) Well, my, eh... animal companion? (the bird deadpans) We'll work on that later. The point is, I should probably give you a name. (the bird moves its wings, excited) What about...bird? (the bird shakes it's head) Yeah, I've been calling you that from the start, so no. hmmm. What about falcon? Gaius says you're a falcon, though you're too small to be one, honestly. (the bird chirps, offended). I should just call you falcon or little falcon. No, it's still too long. Lil' falc? No. hmmmm. I think Gaius said you were a especific kind of falcon? How was it? Mar... Mer...Merloni? Merlon... Merlin! That was it. I'll call you Merlin.

Without knowing, Arthur just finished the last step of the ritual: naming the familiar, and with that, becoming the familiar's master. When the bond is created, a flash of light blinds him and, suddenly, the bird is replaced by a boy, who now is sitting on him, while he's spread on the floor.

Arthur: (looking up, shocked) What the fu-

Merlin: (looking down, confused) Arthur! Why are you smaller now? Wait... I can talk? (brings his hand to his face surprised) And I have... hands? Where are my wings? (panicking) Arthur, I lost my wings! And my feathers!(crying)NOOOOO!

Arthur: Merlin? That's.. you? Merlin? Mer...Merlin, shut up! (Merlin stops crying) And get off me! (shoves Merlin aside) How did this happen?

Merlin: You think I know?! Maybe that witch cursed me to be as ugly as you as a revenge for turning her blind. (sobs) My wings, my beautiful wings.

Arthur: (offended) Excuse me? Is not like you were a "handsome" bird either, you poor excuse of a falcon.

Merlin: How would you know, human with so little imagination that names his bird after their species?

After their stupid fight, they go to Gaius, in secret, of course. They can't have the king knowing the prince's bird was cursed. The physician does his investigation and, after Merlin discovers he can turn to his bird form and his human form at will and do some magic stuff, he concludes Merlin is, in fact, a familiar.

Gaius: Incredible! I thought they were a myth. It's said they're spiritual guardians of magic itself and that just the most powerful sorcerers could summond one and tamed them to become even more powerful.

Merlin: No... it can't be. I'm just a bird! I can't be a magical creature! I can't!

Arthur: (Knowing Merlin's scared due to his father laws and believes) Merlin. It's okay.

Merlin: (crying, almost hysterical) NO! I'm not a monster! I swear! I'm not evil!

Arthur: I know. Human, bird or familiar, or whatever, you're a good person. Well, a good being. Nothing is going to change that and nothing is going to happen to you, alright?

Merlin: (calms down) alright (snifs)

Arthur: But we need you to remember. Do you have any memory of you being anything but a bird?

Merlin: No, I've always been a bird. Although... (thoughtful) I don't... remember being a chick before.

Arthur: A what?!

Gaius: He means a baby bird.

Arthur: Oh, right (blushes). I knew that.

Merlin: Yeah, my very first memory is just before I came to Camelot, when... I was trap in a... cage. (he trembles at the memory) There were humans with capes, I think. They said they wanted to... control me, to had me at their mercy. I don't know what they wanted to do with me but I escaped. I thought I wouldn't make it. (with tears in his eyes) I was.. so scared.

Gaius: They must be the sorcerers that summonded you.

Merlin: Great. So not only I'm some magical entity but I'm sorcerer's slave now?

Arthur: (fiercely) You are NOT a slave! You are... ("mine" he is about to say, but stops) your own.

Merlin: (suddenly scared) What if they look for me?!

Arthur: I won't let them take you. I promise.

Gaius: And I don't think you have to worry about being some sorcerer's slave, Merlin. If you were bonded to one, you wouldn't have been able to escape in the first place.

Merlin: That means... (hopeful) I'm free?

Gaius: And in Camelot where magic is forbidden, so you're safer as you can be. You'll just have to keep pretending you're a bird, if that's not a problem with you.

Merlin: I'm completly fine with that.

Arthur: (joyful) And me! (composes himself) I mean, I like him better when he can't talk. (Merlin frowns at him)

Times goes by. At first, Merlin stays in his bird form and tries not to do magic, because, apparently he's been doing magic all this time without knowing (honestly, how was he supposed to know all the things he accidentally broke or dirt in Arthur's room were repaired and cleaned by him? He just thought Arthur has very efficient servants!). But it becomes impossible, not only because not doing magic makes him sick, but Arthur keeps running into danger time and time again, so he has to use magic to protect him. Arthur scolds him everytime he does that, he doesn't want his friend to be discover, but eventually it becomes rutine. Also, Merlin starts to take his human form more and more frecuently, because he needs Arthur to understand him, sometimes to give him a piece of his mind, to warn of some danger he finds out, or simply to cheer him up when he's sad or pass time.

Merlin: Is magic really evil? (he looks at his hands)It doesn't feel evil when I use it.

Arthur: How does it feel to you?

Merlin: It feels like... flying (he smiles and closes his eyes) So natural and beautiful, like the earth under my feet and the wind moving my feathers. And I feel it everywhere, not just inside me, but in every living thing. In every flower that blooms, every pup and chick that is born. Even in you. It's suppose to corrupt you, but instead of feeling wrong, I feel so good and... so alive.

Arthur: (looks at him for a moment, completely in love and then composes himself) I don't believe magic is evil. Not anymore.

Merlin: (open his eyes, surprised) Why's that?

Arthur: At first I thought you were an exception to the rule, but then Morgana-

Merlin: (even more surprised) She told you?!

Arthur: (just as surprised) You knew?!

Merlin: I could feel the magic inside her (he admits, guiltily). I wanted to be wrong. She's one of the kindest human I know, but then I saw her doing magic and... I just couldn't tell you. It wasn't my secret to tell, I'm sorry.

Arthur: It's alright. I understand. (he sighs) She was... so scared, Merlin. She begged not to tell my father, like I could ever do that (he laughs dryly). And she didn't learn magic, she just have it. She didn't even know she was a sorcerer until recently.

Merlin: Oh... (thoughtful) That explains a lot of things.

Arthur: What do you mean?

Merlin: Morgana isn't the only one, I think. Sometimes I fly around and I feel people with magic inside them. Some of them are evil, so I call you, but there are others that just do minor stuff, like healing spells and potions. But there are other too that… don't do magic at all and yet… the magic inside them is so strong. I thought maybe I was seing the potential of magic, but now…

Arthur: (in heavy realisation) So it's true. My father's been killing innocent people all this time.(with tears rolling down his eyes) I've been killing innocent people all this time.

Merlin: (hugging and comforting him) No! Arthur you did nothing wrong. You didn't know.

Arthur: (crying and hugging tightly in return) I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!

Aaaand that's it. I don't know what else could happen. Apart of merthur getting together obviously. There would be a lot of pinning and confused feelings. Arthur first meets Merlin as a bird after all, so accepting he has a crush on his bird friend is not going to be easy. The same goes to Merlin. Lets not talk about when they both discover they're bonded and Arthur could technically control Merlin and use Merlin's magic at his will if he wanted. And I guess at some point the evil sorceress/druids would try to get Merlin back. And then Merlin finding out he was human before and has a mother in ealdor… Damn that's a lot of angst.

Anyways, I still have a couple of fics on going so I don't think I'm going to write this anytime soon... or ever. So if anyone wants to write it feel free to do it. Or just comment any ideas you have for this concept/prompt below so I can keep them in mind if I write it in the end.

EDIT: I DID A PART 2, GUYS!!! -> LINK

#merthur #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merlin #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merthur prompt #merlin prompt #merthur fic #merthur fanfic #concept #king arthur #arthur #merlin x arthur #arthur pendragon #merlin emrys #Merlin as Arthur's familiar/Arthur's shapeshifter falcon AU

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thankssteveditko · 4 months

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Sony's PlayStation 5 Presents Insomniac's Marvel's Spider-Man 2 (the third game in the series)

I beat the main story and have enjoyed my time with the game overall! I want to talk about spoilers and things that I liked and disliked in the story, so here's a post with some scattered thoughts.

(Hello! I haven't forgotten that this blog exists! Like I said, no update schedule, I will read more of the Lee/Ditko comics whenever I make time for it. I've actually been sitting on a mostly-complete version of this post since I beat the game in October, thinking that I'd finish the rest of the side quests so I could throw in thoughts on those. But... eh, I'll do that whenever the inevitable DLC rolls around. I just wanna get these thoughts posted.)

Spider-Cop No More

First off: they downplayed the cop shit!!! This was the first thing that really struck me about the game, and I'm stunned that they actually listened to criticism on this. I thought we'd just be stuck with it forever.

It'll never be completely gone, of course. Spider-Man is always going to leave criminals webbed up for the police to take to prison, hoping that they'll do their time and come out the other side as Productive Members of Society. That's just a thing I begrudgingly accept as part of the genre that will probably never go away. But Spider-Man is no longer repairing police surveillance networks. You're no longer beating the shit out of random drug dealers. Gangs of escaped convicts still wearing their orange jumpsuits are no longer terrorizing the streets of New York.

Instead, Peter and Miles are played more as firefighters. Sometimes very literally! They work with firefighters, they rescue people from collapsing buildings, they rush injured people to the hospital. In general there's a huge increase in the number of random onlookers present during the big action setpieces, and the Spider-Men frequently have to save them from harm. One of the major side quest lines is even literally about a cult of arsonists, and you'll routinely find burning fuel tanker trucks you have to extinguish with your webs. It's great! Love this for them.

I also generally liked the side missions in this. There's a lot of good stuff with the Spider-Men being neighborhood heroes willing to help out anyone in need, no matter the problem. Some of them can get corny, sure, but that street level stuff has always been the real heart of Spider-Man to me.

Gameplay

The gameplay's as fun as ever. That probably goes without saying. I will not be spending a thousand words explaining that swinging is fun.

In particular, I really liked the changes to the Focus mechanic. I never loved the way Miles' game made you choose between healing and doing your special attacks, but here your four specials have their own cooldowns, and the Focus meter is spent on either healing or finishers. It still offers that risk/reward element, but those vicious cycles where you can't do any real damage because you keep needing to heal aren't nearly as bad as they were before.

Personally I didn't turn off the swing assist or turn on fall damage, because the streamlined swinging never bothered me in these games, but I'm glad the options are there for people who want them.

Kraven

I liked Kraven in this! I liked the way they leaned into his Hunters being this weird death cult, and him wanting to go down in a blaze of glory against a worthy foe, to the point that he's actually disappointed anytime a foe can't kill him. It riffs on things people liked in Kraven's Last Hunt without being the exact same story. I like that Kraven's gang is renting out this manor or whatever and just being a complete terror to the wait staff. I liked the way Kraven hunting Peter's rogues' gallery clashed with Peter's belief in giving his villains second chances. I liked that they were willing to have Kraven kill off a couple of the minor villains from the first game to sell how dangerous he is. (I know some people hated this, but like, come on. We already fought the Sinister Six. They don't need to do that again.) I like the way Kraven pushed Peter to the absolute brink, turning him more and more aggressive with the Black Suit. Good stuff all around, even if the Hunter enemy types did wear out their welcome a little bit by the end.

The Black Suit arc

I think I liked the way Insomniac handled Peter's Black Suit arc overall, but there's a tradeoff here.

They REALLY lean into the body horror tentacle stuff, with Black Suit Peter basically just being a skinny Venom by the end. The sequence where you play as Mary Jane while the symbiote puppets an unconscious Peter's body around and goes on a rampage against the Hunters was REALLY great at selling how scary Peter is becoming, and it made me completely change my tune on the inclusion of the MJ stealth missions in the sequel. Having to beat an out-of-control Peter as Miles immediately after Peter beats Kraven was also really good. This is all cool!

BUT, the thing is... with the symbiote powers being so freaky from the start, it really pushes my suspension of disbelief when Peter and co. take so long to become wary of it. I guess when you've been bitten by a radioactive spider and given superpowers, and when you live in the same universe as the Avengers and the X-Men, your perception of what's "normal" is going to be pretty warped. But they buy the whole "organic exosuit created to treat Harry's illness" story WAY too easily lmao. How do the self-aware slime tentacles help with his illness, exactly?

And I'm not sure how I feel about giving Peter Anti-Venom powers in the last act. It feels like it's primarily a concession so that they can give players that branch of their skill tree back, but honestly, the designer in me thinks it would be really cool (if risky) to just permanently lock players out of Peter's most powerful skills past a certain point. Yeah, it'd definitely piss people off, but it drives home the idea that Peter's given up greater power because it's the right thing to do. It'd put you in his shoes! Instead he just gets the symbiote powers back, but it's fine because the Venom voice in his head is gone and also the slime tendrils that explode out of his body are white now, which means they're good.

I have to say it. I'm sorry. The glistening white goo... they turned Peter into the Amazing Cum-Man. I changed back to the Classic Suit after rolling the credits and forgot I still had the Anti-Venom skills equipped, so I just saw regular old Spider-Man exploding his white goo everywhere. Terrible.

Assuming Peter is just stepping into more of a supporting role to Miles and not fully retiring after the events of this game, I really hope the Anti-Venom stuff is gone. I get that he needed it to counter Venom, but that's not what I want for Peter Parker.

Miles

Miles is good in this, and I really like his arc where he struggles with whether or not he should avenge his dad by killing Martin Li. I like how all that plays out. Unfortunately, they don't quite stick the landing when it comes to making him and Peter feel like equals in terms of narrative focus. His arc is definitely the B-plot to Peter's for the middle chunk of the story, which I guess was kind of inevitable since they decided to do the Black Suit arc. But Miles does at least get a lot of moments to shine, and by the end he's very much taking the lead as the main Spider-Man.

Becoming the main Spider-Man also gets Miles a new, wholly original suit that ended up being super controversial, and honestly... I kinda like it? Or at least I like what it's going for, even if the actual design could still use some work. It's something totally unique for Miles, and I like spandex/streetwear combo suits like what the Spider-Verse movies have popularized. But showing his hair is really pushing the limits of his secret identity. He hangs around Brooklyn Visions WAY too much for his classmates to not recognize his voice and haircut. And I understand why people would be wary about it becoming his "canon" look moving forward. But I think it's got potential.

On the subject of Miles, though, I will say that while I liked Miles' side missions, it feels like he's often saddled with the game's broad, kinda touristy, kinda token attempts at Showcasing The Diversity Of New York, in a way that Peter isn't.

I like that Miles has a deaf graffiti artist girlfriend that he and Ganke sign with, and I like that there's a series of side missions that explore some local jazz history, and I like that there's a mission where Miles helps a gay classmate ask his crush to prom. I like all these things! I like Spider-Man being involved with his community, and that said community includes such a wide variety of people! I like that this game slows down to savor these types of moments instead of just being all action all the time! But when I step back, I notice some patterns.

Hailey doesn't have a big role in the main plot, especially when compared to MJ, but Miles gets a side mission where you briefly play as her with muffled audio to teach you what being deaf is like. There are no major queer characters in the story - unless you count Felicia showing up for exactly one mission to mention she has an unseen, unnamed girlfriend in Paris now - but you get a side mission where Miles helps out a gay couple at his school, who then never come up again. To put it very uncharitably, they can feel like Very Special Episode missions. It's like the devs going: we're going to give Miles a Gay Mission, and an Impaired Hearing Mission, and a Cultural History Mission, so that we can say we touched on these things, but we're gonna make them all optional and keep them far away from the full-blown Superhero Stuff like fighting costumed villains. Those flavors cannot mix. Meanwhile, Peter gets to have a whole elaborate subplot about teaming up with Wraith to track down fucking Cletus Kasady. There's an imbalance here, and I think it's part of the reason why Peter still feels like the "main" Spider-Man for so much of the story.

I think this was all written with admirable intentions, but as others have pointed out, you can kinda tell that this game was mainly written by some white guys based in California. These attempts at depicting various marginalized groups can feel kind of detached in the same way that Insomniac's map of New York doesn't quite line up with the real thing. But I dunno. I'm not really the one to dig deep into some of this stuff as a white woman from Florida. I would be curious to read others' takes on this.

Maybe I'm just being overly cynical about the writers' well-meaning but corny and kinda out of touch liberal politics because of the podcasts.

The podcasters

I wish Jameson was in this more! They psyched us out by giving him a full character model for, like, two scenes. I like him being MJ's boss, but I wish we saw inside the Daily Bugle offices to get more Jameson.

At least his podcasts are better than the ones in the Miles game, though. Him completely trusting in Roxxon was just too much for me. Here he condemns Oscorp for the symbiote shit, and he also gets some moments where he takes the ongoing crises seriously and isn't just ranting about the Spider-Men. He isn't just a conspiracy theorist crackpot here. Shit like his "fuck Spider-Man, we have a justice system for a reason" speech makes him feel more like a human being with a point of view, rather than just a caricature. Definitely an improvement.

Unfortunately, I still find The Danikast grating. I'm sorry, Ashly Burch. It's not your fault. The quirky heckin' wholesome millennial podcaster lady who catches you up on current events and then reminds you to drink 64 ounces of water a day in the same breath is just too much for me. At least she doesn't have any lines as bad as her throwing in a "damn" and then going (direct quote here) "That's right - no censoring! That's how REAL I'm being right now!" like in Miles' game. Instead they give her this, like, almost psychic insight into the main plot to try and make her the angel on Peter's shoulder. The second Peter gets the symbiote she's like "Wow, y'all. Have you seen Spider-Man's new black suit? Something's different about him. He's been giving me such bad vibes lately. #NotMySpiderMan" Also she's supposed to be this, like, underdog independent podcaster who started her show on a whim and has become the voice of the people... but she's got billboards plastered all over the fucking city. Which makes her feel like an industry plant lmao

Again, there's a detachment with the writing. This is, like, some middle aged white liberal game dev guys' idea of what a modern leftist teenager would think is a Cool Activism Podcast. Unfortunately, because Insomniac thinks Danika's a hero, Mary Jane's triumphant ending is that she quits her job at the Bugle to become a podcaster, too, delivering a thinly veiled monologue about the pandemic to kick off her new podcast literally titled "The New Normal." She's going to save the world with podcasting, because that's the highest form of activism, I guess.

Venom

So! Venom! Venom was... okay.

Surprising no one, Harry Osborn is Venom. Harry's okay both as himself and as Venom, but I'm not sure his arc is a smooth one. He starts out as Peter's comically perfect best friend who returns to reminisce about the good ol' days and hand him his dream job on a silver platter, and then later he becomes a little ball of rage over the fact that Peter gets his symbiote and can't/won't give it back. I'm not sure that pivot is handled the most convincingly. You kind of have to write it off as the symbiote messing with their heads, I guess.

When he actually becomes Venom, I'm... mixed on the execution. On the one hand, the cool factor is absolutely there. He's a very cool big monster, and Tony Todd is great in the role. But he also wants to take over the world and make everyone a symbiote, and aside from any lingering resentment towards Peter, that's really all there is to him. It makes for a good video game to have a bunch of symbiote enemies and creepy symbiote nests and symbiote tentacles climbing up the sides of buildings in the last act... but is that really what I want out of Venom? Probably not. But he sure does look cool as a big monster guy to fight, and I was happy he was briefly playable.

Suits

Part of me feels like there's something lacking about the suit selection here, but almost every suit I liked in the previous games is back, and also I'm the type of person to give Peter the Classic Suit the second I unlock it and use that for most of the game. So does it really matter for me?

Peter's selection feels dominated by the various live action movie suits, but I get that those are going to be some of the suits people want to wear the most. I wish he had the Peter B. Parker skin to go with Miles' Spider-Verse alts, though. No idea why it's missing. Really I think I mainly just want more of the Spider-Verse designs.

Also I've complained about how most of the original suits designed for these games make Peter and Miles look like they were bitten by radioactive Alienware products, but I can just, you know. Wear other suits.

Misc thoughts

Everyone's already made this joke, but it's extremely funny that the Avengers didn't help with the symbiote invasion. Took one look at that and decided it wasn't their problem

On the subject of other superheroes, I do wish these games would acknowledge the Fantastic Four more. Peter's close relationship with that team feels woefully underutilized in his various adaptations

I like the trope of a boss fight that's a heightened version of a personal conflict between two people who are close, where throughout the fight the boss is airing out their grievances while the hero tries to get through to them emotionally. That especially works for Spider-Man! But WOW has Insomniac played that card a lot of times by the end of Spider-Man 2 lol

They're teasing the addition of Silk, I guess? I'm gonna be honest, I don't know shit about Silk, but I guess it was inevitable that they'd give us some form of Spider-Woman at some point. Gotta work all those costumes in somehow, and they're not brave enough to let one of the boys cosplay as Spider-Gwen.

They WERE, however, brave enough to let Harry say he loves Peter. I liked that little moment. They presumably meant it platonically, but clearly ol' Yaoi Lowenthal knows what's up

Post-leak addendum

So, obviously, by the time I got around to finishing this post the big Insomniac leak happened. I wish the game industry wasn't so secretive that it took a massive, dangerous data breach just to get our hands on some very basic info that would be public knowledge if Insomniac was a film studio, but here we are.

We now know that Insomniac spent somewhere around $315 million making Spider-Man 2 - triple what the first Spider-Man game cost to make. A quote about this from a leaked presentation has been stuck in my head ever since I first saw it on Twitter. “Is 3x the investment in [Spider-Man 2] evident to anyone who plays the game?”

To be honest, I'm not sure it is.

I liked Spider-Man 2, but I'd probably say that overall I liked it about as much as the first game. It's certainly a somewhat bigger game, with marginally more realistic looking graphics thanks to the power of the PS5. But I think I could do without ray tracing and more realistic hair rendering and whatnot if it meant that these games didn't take like five years and hundreds of millions of dollars to make. I could not give less of a shit if the swinging animations were recycled between games. I'd be fine with them being shorter, too.

I like these games, but as we look at that leaked project lineup and realize that Insomniac is turning into The Marvel Game Studio, I think about how many smaller, more original games that those resources could go towards if they scaled back the Marvel stuff just a bit. How many Ape Escapes or Patapons or Gravity Rushes could get made for the budget of just one of these massive AAA tentpole games of Sony's, which are apparently barely even breaking even? How many could be made for the budget of the "smaller, cheaper" Miles Morales game, which somehow cost $156 million to make despite using an updated version of the same Manhattan map from the first game? Hell, how many smaller games could have been made with the $39 million that went into remastering the first Spider-Man game for PS5 a mere two years after launch? How many people will lose their jobs if any one of Insomniac's upcoming Marvel games underperforms - which, in this case, could mean selling "only" 5 million copies? And would hardcore PlayStation fans even accept those smaller games at this point, now that they've been trained to only appreciate mega-budget Prestige Games with cutting edge graphics and treat everything else with disdain? How much worse will this get as the graphical arms race continues?

I think I just miss Japan Studio. Fuck Sony. Uhh but anyway the Spider-Man game this post was supposed to be about was good, some writing complaints aside. 8/10

#tsd post #other media

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mikareo · 5 months

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⌗ SEASONS OF LOVE ₊ ˖ ་. a 呪術廻戦 miniseries

“ ࣭⸰ ★ SERIAL ROMANTIC ; gojo satoru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . episode one ! ꒱ . . . word count; 1.2k ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᯇ remember when we first met?

⊹ ⠀⠀ you might possibly be the least helpful person in the world when it comes to making a hinge profile...gojo can attest to that.

contains; gojo satoru x fem reader, university (year 2) au, fluff, gojo's a dick, swearing, best friends to lovers, love triangle

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀pm or send ask to join/be removed from taglist,, ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀link to miniseries masterlist

"y'know, i'd appreciate it if you could help at least a little bit."

gojo can feel your hard glare targeting him, piercing into his skull like a red laser beam, yet still chooses to ignore you. he doesn't understand why you can't just finish unpacking later. you're kind of being a buzzkill. yes, he'd be a better friend if he continued to help you unpack your boxes and organize your cluttered dormitory; but he's got more important things to do. things that require his complete and utmost attention. things that are life or death on a college campus. things that will make or break his entire young adult experience...

...things like finishing his hinge profile!

"i promise— wait no. i pinky promise i'll put all of your shit away later, just tell me which photos to pick for this prompt, i'm stuck." he's begging and pleading for you to focus on him, which isn't unusual when dealing with a narcissist such as himself. c'mon. c'mon. gojo knows exactly how to win you over. it really isn't that hard. all he has to do is beg and whine a little, give you some puppy dog eyes, and you'll do whatever he says! there's no way he's actually going to put all of your clothes away; that'll take like...forever.

with an eye roll in response to the cheer of joy gojo lets out, you set your boxes to the side and lay beside him on the carpet. he can feel your nose tickling his neck as you lean close to see his screen, and he wonders why his heart skips a beat. eh, it's probably nothing.

"this is so dumb, satoru." you point to his screen, your finger directed at his favorite prompt so far.

don't hate me if i: have blue eyes

"okay, wait!" he flicks your forehead, laughing as you pout, and clicks on the 'add image' prompt. "it's like a thing now! girls hate guys with baby blues like mine!" being handsome is so hard nowadays.

if he asked anyone at jujutsu university who the biggest player on campus is, they'd name him off without blinking twice. while only being a freshman last year, gojo managed to become a household (or a dorm-hold?) name that'll be talked about for years after he graduates. there may be a possibility he's either flirted or made out with every girl in his graduating class, not including you, all in one school year. without the use of dating apps, he went on a total of eighty-seven first dates from august to june; albiet seeing a few girls more than a few times for some special alone time, if you get what he means; and he had the absolute time of his life and needs to recreate that thrill again.

"you don't need an app to get girls, you get plenty already."

ugh why do you always have to rain on his parade?

"obviously i don't need an app, but it's way more fun this way." he argues, "imagine if i hit a hundred first dates before may. i'd break last year's record."

"and why are you getting so butt-hurt about my dating life?" he's treading into dangerous territory. the two of you never talk about your romantic experiences, considering you never want to talk about them with him. "it's not my fault you had a total of...hm what was it? zero dates last year?"

"just find a fucking photo and get this over with."

yeah, your love life is off limits...

a chuckle rumbles from his throat as gojo continues scrolling through his camera roll, searching for a photo that screams 'boyfriend material'...or to be more specific 'one night stand material'. while he's searching for a photo that'll make girls want to sleep with him, he doesn't notice that his brightest smiles only appear in the photos with you. then again, he never notices you; and if he ever did, it's unlikely he'd date you anyways. you're his best friend. he doesn't want to ruin that. he can't ruin that, because then he'd have to imagine a life without you in it.

a particular picture stands out from the rest, and you choose to point it out. it's the two of you in your high school uniforms, standing side-by-side beneath the cherry blossoms after your third year graduation ceremony. his hair is slightly shorter and his height hadn't reached its full potential yet, but you look absolutely adorable— almost like a kitten that he's protecting from the no-good boys of the world (technically he belongs in that category, but that's besides the point).

"do you remember when we first met?" a soft hum is murmured in his ear and gojo finds the sound quite comforting.

he thinks for a moment, completely blanking as the memory escaped his mind, and takes a random guess. "middle school? english class?"

the look of disappointment on your face immediately tells him he's wrong.

"look it was a really long time ago, i know that at least." no amount of excuses will make up for his awful recollection, but he tries nonetheless. gojo satoru is a shitty friend. that's just how it is. you both know it and he tries his best to be better for you, however, he can't help the way he is. some boys are born to be boys. "i'm trying my best—"

"it's alright, just stop."

you're so upset.

"there are more important things to remember, really it's fine."

why are you so upset?

"i'm sorry," he mumbles. this feeling of guilt isn't familiar to gojo and he can't help but hate it. "i'll try to remember."

what is it that you were trying to reminisce about? he wants to know but he shouldn't pry any more, you're clearly done with the conversation and want to move on with a concentrated thinking face gracing your features. you look pretty. woah. you look really pretty. he's never thought that before. why hasn't he noticed before? suddenly, the thought of however many hinge girls want him isn't very appealing and he just wants to make you smile again. you're so pretty when you smile. his heart is beating ten times faster than usual and he's urging it to calm down, but it won't.

...maybe that's a good thing, though.

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ckret2 · 5 months

Text

Chapter 26 of human Bill doing his best to arm-twist his captors into doing anything he wants, featuring: the gang going to the mall, where Bill tries on some of the most ridiculous outfits known to mankind, to Mabel's delight and Stan & Dipper's despair.

(please click on the second image, you can't imagine how long it took to make those two patterns. (Okay you probably can, it was a couple hours.))

####

Bill said, "Well, you can tell Stanford that if he's got a problem with my drinking, I'd like to see him try to get a good night's sleep in an alien body without some kind of sedative! I've got a fresh new liver, three little cans of cider a day won't kill me before one of us finds a way to get me out of this body!"

Exasperated, Mabel said, "Why do I have to tell him? Just talk to each other."

"You think I don't want to? He's the one who's put two doors, an elevator, and a trick vending machine between him and me."

Mabel supposed that was true. "Okay, fine. More importantly: what do you think of going shopping?"

Bill shrugged. "Sure. I'll take any opportunity to go outside. It'll be a good test run for other trips."

Mabel frowned, clearly disappointed by the reaction. "That's it? I thought you'd be more excited. You can finally get more clothing!"

"How much clothing do I need?" He gestured down at himself, wearing his hoodie and a borrowed skirt. "I'm not naked, what more do you want from me?"

"To like your clothing!"

"Oh, right. I keep forgetting you have a whole thing about people other than you being happy."

Mabel socked his arm. "Do you just not care about clothes? I didn't expect you to be like Dipper about it."

Eugh. "It's not that I don't like fashion in general," Bill said, eager to distance himself from the household wet blanket. "I have very strong opinions on other people's fashion! It's just..."

It was just that he didn't relish the idea of standing in front of a mirror, partially nude, staring at the bone-caged skin prison he was locked inside.

He still put towels over the bathroom mirror when he showered.

"Well," he said, "isn't the whole point of fashion self-expression? And my self can't be expressed in this body." He tugged on the collar of his hoodie, "This is as close as it's gonna get."

"Does clothing have to express your self? Can't it just look really cool?" Mabel asked.

Bill considered that. "I do like looking really cool."

Maybe he didn't have to see it as dressing himself. Treat it like inflicting his design whims upon a helpless human puppet. He'd done that before, he liked doing that. He was lucky, at least, that as far as puppets went, this was an incredibly good-looking one. Aside from the neck.

"Do I have to wear that, though?" Bill skeptically eyed the knit garment held in Mabel's hands.

"Yep! Grunkle Ford's orders! It's to make sure you don't talk to people."

"Can I put it on over my hoodie?"

"As heartwarming as it is that you love it so much: no, you've gotta take it off."

"How come?"

"It's safer this way! Your hoodie might freak people out."

"Freak them out how?"

####

Soos trudged into the kitchen at 3 a.m., yawning, and turned on the lights.

The Bill Cipher, triangular and angular, gold-bricked and one-eyed, hovered in the air.

Soos screamed. "He's back! Everyone watch out! You stay away from my family, you—" Soos picked up the nearest weapon and chucked it at Bill.

The spatula bounced harmlessly off his chest and clattered to the floor. Bill took his hood off. "Wow. Thanks for getting my hopes up, Questiony."

"Oh, whoops. Sorry 'bout that. At a quick glance, that hoodie makes you look a lot like... you." Soos looked Bill up and down again. "Hey. How come you're standing on the kitchen table in the middle of the night?"

"Eh." Bill shrugged. "It passes the time."

####

"Sometimes I curse your species's overactive pattern-detection instincts." Bill snatched Mabel's offering out of her hand and trudged to the bathroom to change.

He emerged a moment later wearing the tank top Mabel had knit for him, and tugged out the hem to examine it. She'd cross-stitched on the chest: "STAY BACK! I BITE SALES PEOPLE!"

"I'd be pretty insulted," Bill said, "if this wasn't the funniest thing I've ever worn."

####

Stan pulled the old Diablo near the porch to minimize the amount of time Bill would spend in open air between confinement in the shack and in a vehicle; then waited leaning against the car, glowering at the ground like the world's surliest chauffeur (he'd even put on his suit), for Dipper and Mabel to escort the prisoner outside.

The second Bill stepped off of the porch, he looked up in amazement. "What is that?"

Dipper and Mabel looked at Bill's face, then in the direction he was looking. He was staring straight into the sun without squinting. Mabel said, "The... sun?"

"No, not the sun! I mean the—" Bill gestured toward the sun. "Whatever it's doing."

Mabel looked skyward again. She didn't see anything else Bill could be referring to. "Shining?"

"I know what sunshine is!"

"Then what are you asking about!"

Bill studied the sky a moment longer. Finally, he said, "Guess I don't know what sunshine feels like! It's been a long time since I've been naked in the sun."

Stan's head snapped up to stare at Bill. Bill was still completely clothed.

After another few seconds, arms outstretched, staring in blank-faced wide-eyed wonder at the sky, Bill concluded, "I think I'm photosynthesizing again."

This time Dipper looked over. And, Bill was still completely human—a species notoriously well-known for not photosynthesizing. "'Again'?"

Bill didn't respond. Instead, with a shrill cackle that startled the nearby birds out of the trees, he took off at a full sprint.

"Hey!" Dipper tore after him. Stan tensed up, but then grunted, leaned back against his car, and waited for Bill to trip.

Bill's run was the awkward bouncing gait of a moon astronaut on fast forward: someone who at some point had definitely learned how to run, but clearly wasn't used to doing it in this body on this world. He switched to an odd sideways crab-walk gallop—which was, surprisingly, faster—and then attempted, and failed, a cartwheel. Dipper dove for Bill, Stan laughed at them both, and Mabel shouted encouragement at Bill from the porch; Bill hopped back up just before Dipper could catch him.

He attempted a second cartwheel but was caught in the middle by an invisible force jerking his wrist. He yelped and tumbled to the ground. "I think I twisted my arm!" He sounded way too giddy about this.

Mabel looked down at her own wrist and the chain bracelet. She wasn't being actively pulled toward Bill; but nevertheless she couldn't pull her wrist any further away from him. "It worked."

"Of course it did!" Breathing heavily, Bill got to his feet and leaned backward on his heels, using the tension of the bracelet around his wrist to keep from falling. "What, did you ever doubt me?"

"Yes," Stan said. "Always," Dipper said. "Every time you open your mouth," Mabel said.

"You're all haters."

Mabel took a flying leap off of the porch. Bill toppled on his back again.

Once they were all loaded in the car—Dipper in the front glaring in the rear view mirror, Mabel and Bill in the back with Bill making faces at the mirror—Stan said, "Okay. I'm not getting you anything nice, because you're not worth it."

"Aww. And after I made you almost five grand?"

Dipper's jaw dropped. "He what?! When did—"

Raising his voice, Stan went on, "So we're going to Shop Thrifty. Any complaints?"

Bill said, "You don't wanna go there."

Stan turned to give him a dark look.

"You don't," Bill said. "They were robbed this weekend. Security's gonna be high."

"No they weren't, you can't know that. You're making that up. I'm calling your bluff."

Dipper cleared his throat. "Actually... yeah, they were robbed. I've been investigating the possibility that it might've been..." At the sight of Bill's keen gaze in the rear view mirror, Dipper trailed off into mumbles.

Bill waited a second longer to ensure Dipper was properly cowed; then said, "See? You can trust me! But if you want to go to the thrift shop..."

"Ha." Stan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel; then reluctantly said, "I guess we could go to the mall—"

Mabel pumped her fists in the air. "THE MALL!"

"Yes! Finally!" Bill dragged his hands down his face in relief. "Civilization! Other people!"

"Hey!" Stan turned around to point threateningly at Bill. Bill held up his hands to block the accusatory finger. "This still isn't a social trip. Talk to anyone and we're going back to the car."

"I know, I know. I just wanna look at people. That's all!" Bill said. "You know that feeling when you come out of a couple weeks in the hole? When you're grateful just to see anybody?"

Stan's frown deepened; but he didn't say anything. He just turned around, ignored Dipper's curious look, and started driving.

Mabel and Bill high-fived.

####

As the car pulled into a parking spot, Mabel handed Bill a pair of mirrored sunglasses with one lens popped out. Bill rolled his (yellow, slitted) eye, but he switched his eyepatch over to the lensless side of the sunglasses and put them on. "Nobody'll notice my eyes. They only look inhuman at certain angles."

"We're being extra cautious," Mabel said.

"If you're gonna make me wear shades any time I'm in public, can I at least pick a pair I like while I'm here?"

Mabel said, "Sure!" at the same time Stan said, "Not a chance." Dipper looked between the two of them, and said, "I'm with Stan."

"I wasn't taking a vote." Bill leaned forward to shove Dipper's hat over his eyes, and followed Mabel out of the car before Dipper could retaliate.

Bill's grin got a little wider and his gait a little bouncier the closer they got to the mall, until he was practically skipping through the automatic doors. "Look at this place! I can't remember the last time I visited a bazaar this booming in person! Two stories, even! Wow!"

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance. Gravity Malls was, by far, the smallest mall either of them had ever visited. You could see from one end of it to the other in a straight shot, and the anchor store was just a more popular chain's discount outlet location. Dipper muttered, "He's trying too hard to talk up the place."

Mabel giggled. "Maybe he's easily impressed."

Bill evidently didn't care. He was too busy taking in the sight of all the stores and all the people who didn't hate his guts (or, at least, didn't know they did). He chipperly said, "Hey there!" as he wove around a haggard teenage kiosk salesman.

"Hello?" Snapping into sales mode, the kiosk kid said, "Are you interested in genuine gold-plated signet rings? We have rings with dragons, eagles, Chinese characters, American flags, football teams..."

Bill did a u-turn without slowing down. "Boy, am I! You got any secret societies?"

Stan wrapped an arm around Bill's shoulders—"No, you're not interested."—and dragged him away. He lowered his voice. "What happened to no talking to anyone?"

Bill laughed. "Sorry, I got excited!"

"Uh-huh. Get 'excited' one more time, and I'll assume you're 'forgetting' the rules on purpose and we're going home."

Bill stopped laughing. "Okay, fine." He trudged alongside Stan, sulking.

####

Stan tried to direct them toward the discount outlet store; Bill looked wistfully at Edgy On Purpose; Mabel overruled them both by grabbing Bill's hand and bodily dragging him to the coolest store in the mall: 18th Century, the place where the almost-and-barely college kids shopped, and Mabel's newest fashion avatars now that she'd had a year to explore "teenage" fashion and had gotten over it. "You can tell it's for college kids, because they also sell bedsheets and inflatable furniture," she explained as they entered, just before abandoning Bill with Stan as she ran off to start collecting clothing on Bill's behalf. Bill and Stan side-eyed each other, and Bill drifted off toward the small home goods section.

"Ooh, Dipper look." Mabel pointed at a sales rack. "Out-of-season prom dresses! Those are the fanciest dresses!" She dove in eagerly, checking the size tags.

Dipper hovered behind her, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, trying to stand far enough away that it didn't look like he was an active participant in this shopping trip but not so far away that people might start wondering why a thirteen-year-old boy was in the dress section by himself. "Are you shopping for B—for Goldie, or for yourself?"

"For Goldie, obviously! He likes having a triangular silhouette, he needs dresses!"

"Does he want dresses?"

Mabel made a vague I dunno sound. "I haven't asked him yet."

"Maybe you should?"

"It's fine, I'm going to! He can tell me when he catches up!" Mabel pulled out a sequin-studded dress that looked like it had been constructed out of fluorescent pink peacock feathers. She paused. "Okay, it's not exactly his style, but do you think he might try it on anyway?"

Dipper groaned. "Mabel, he's a guy, he's not gonna try on a dress. He wears top hats and bow ties, remember?"

"I know, but... just for fun...?"

Dipper shook his head. Mabel sighed.

Bill rounded a rack of clothing, using a curtain rod he'd claimed out of the home goods section like it was a cane. "Hey, star girl. I know we're here on a focused mission, buuut do you think we could spare a minute to try something just for fun..." He trailed off as he and Mabel simultaneously realized they were both holding a pink peacock dress. Bill's face lit up. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Shut up! How are you this cool!"

"Where's the dressing room."

They took off for the back of the store, Bill tripping over a whole clothing rack as he went.

Dipper watched them uncomfortably, decided he didn't want to follow, and picked his way to the front of the store, where Stan was leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed tightly and a sour look on his face. Dipper asked, "Does it worry you how well Mabel and Goldie..."

"Ohhh yeah."

####

Bill swung open the dressing room door. "Well? Whaddaya think?" He fanned out the feathers as best he could with his hands.

"It's so beautiful," Mabel said.

"It's hideous," Stan said.

"It's kinda baggy around the shoulders and chest," Dipper said.

Bill shrugged. "I've got the shoulder span of a snake and the hips of a sumo wrestler, what do you expect?"

"It's okay, I can tailor anything we get," said Mabel, who had never tailored anything in her life but was sure she had a book on it in Piedmont.

"Tailor nothing," Stan said, "we're not getting this! What, are you crazy?"

Bill said, "Obviously."

Stan gestured at him. "What in the world would you wear this for?"

"Who cares? It looks cool and this body is merely a meat armature to drape coolness upon." Bill stepped back into the dressing room to eye the dress in the mirror. "Color's a little uniform, though. I'd need some accessories to break it up."

"I think you're right," Mabel said, stroking her chin. "You know what color goes best with hot pink?"

Simultaneously, she and Bill said, "Lime green," then cracked up and pointed at each other excitedly.

Stan and Dipper exchanged a tired look.

####

"How about this one?" Bill looked at Stan and Dipper, who were standing guard while Mabel searched for more clothes. "It's obviously the best shirt in the store, but is it me?" Bill was wearing a loose Hawaiian shirt covered in bright multicolored triangles with animal skin patterns—leopard, zebra, tiger, checkers—and a pair of black jeans that fit his hips but consequently drowned his ankles. "Trick question. It's me all over!" He laughed. His laughter petered out. "It's... it's more me than I am. Wow."

Dipper and Stan didn't laugh. "I'm a Hawaiian shirt kind of man," Stan said, "but if the choice was between that thing and going naked, I'd go naked."

"Keep your nudist fantasies to yourself, Stanley." Bill studied his reflection again. "The shirt's great, but they make the pants look dull. I need something that coordinates with it. But what..."

Mabel returned while Bill was musing on his shirt. She wordlessly held out the pair of cheetah/tiger print rainbow leggings she'd been retrieving. It matched the shirt perfectly, in the sense that they both had so many colors on them that inevitably some of those colors were accidentally the same.

Bill accepted the leggings with an expression close to awe. "You're a fashion genius," he said. "Are you sure you don't want your own planet?"

"Not from you," Mabel said.

And for a moment, Bill actually almost looked hurt.

####

Bill held up several shirts thoughtfully. The first was an eye-searing abomination; the second was a retina-burning nightmare; and the third was about the same, but it was covered in smiley faces, and somehow that made it worse.

"I feel like they'd all have the right psychological effect on my enemies," Bill said, "but all three is a little redundant, isn't it?"

Not looking, Stan asked, "Is the effect you're trying to have boring your enemies to death? Because it's working."

Bill scowled. He chucked all three at Stan's face. "Fine! Stick them in the 'maybe' pile, I'll narrow them down later." By this point, the "maybe" pile in Stan's arms was almost too big for him to carry.

"My willingness to indulge Mabel is losing to my annoyance at indulging you," Stan said. "I thought this was going to be a quick trip."

"Yeah, well, I'm kinda getting into it."

"Well, would you get out of it and dress like a normal person?"

"Okay, fine. I'll try on something subtle—"

"Goldie!" Mabel ran up waving a ruby red jacket over her head. "Look what I found in the clearance bin! Glittery vinyl!"

Bill's eyes widened.

Reverently, Mabel said, "It looks like a 50's diner booth."

"Is the picture on the back a—?"

"Yeah, it's a puking kangaroo."

Bill snatched the jacket from her hands. "I'll try something subtle after this."

Stan groaned. "I'm gonna stretch my legs." He dropped the "maybe" pile on the floor. "Dipper, make sure the demon doesn't try to end the world while I'm gone."

Dipper resigned himself to the fact that this shopping trip was never going to end, and curled up on the floor to wait to die.

####

"Now, this is a keeper," Bill said, examining the summer dress in the mirror. With Stan gone, Bill had a moment of leisure to properly inspect the way the fabric moved and draped. He was using the opportunity to grab the skirt and twirl it like a three-year-old who'd never worn a dress before. "It really speaks to me."

Mabel asked, "Is it because it's covered in—?"

"It's because it's covered in yellow triangles. I know what I like!" He spun around to see how the skirt flared out, tripped and fell over—"I meant to do that!"—and heaved himself back upright with his curtain rod cane. "I'm fine, shoo." He waved off Mabel's attempt to help, and brushed off the dress. "Too bad it looks weird with pants. I'd prefer my legs covered, but dresses are the only thing most human stores carry that flatter my shape, so what're you gonna do."

"What about more leggings?" Mabel asked.

"Do they have any black ones that don't look like cheap spandex?"

"I think I saw some that look like jeans!"

"It'll do. Good thinking, star girl."

"Any time, triangle... guy." Mabel paused. "Hey... just out of curiosity—since I don't think we ever really covered this, since you're an alien and all—aaare you a guy or a girl?"

"I'm a triangle! C'mon, you already know that."

Mabel opened her mouth to protest that Bill hadn't answered her question; hesitated as she realized that maybe, in fact, he had; and instead asked, "Is a triangle more like a guy or a girl?"

Bill paused as he gave the question a moment of contemplation; and then he said, "No, not really."

Dipper, who'd been using the "maybe" clothing pile as a pillow and pretending to ignore everything Bill did, finally gave in to the urge to glance over curiously.

Mabel concluded a triangle must be either in the exact middle of the scale, or else outside of it completely. "Oh! Okay."

Bill elbowed Mabel and said, "Keep this bit between you and me," blithely ignoring the fact that Dipper was totally within earshot and now seething about being ignored in return. "But if anyone else on this planet asks, I'll usually imply I'm a 'man,'" he put the word in finger quotes, as though he wasn't wholly convinced that "men" really existed, "but—that's strictly for business."

"Business?"

"You know, work stuff," Bill said dismissively. "It makes things easier. See, for the last few millennia, most humans have taken a male's suggestions a bit more seriously than a female's, even when the entity they're talking to is an all-knowing extra-dimensional divine alien angelic muse. Crazy, right?" He said this like he was imparting some great secret he'd figured out by himself.

"Ugh, yeah," Mabel groaned. "Sexism."

"Sexism," Bill sighed, as if he had any dog in this fight at all and wasn't just pretending he could commiserate with his only local friend. "So I figure I can get things done faster as a Bill than a Jill. But honestly? Your local gender system doesn't make any more difference to me than it would to you if somebody asked how many sides you have."

Mabel considered the matter of her hypothetical sides. "I feel like I'd have seven sides."

"Oho! I stand corrected." Bill laughed. "I would've pegged you as a pentagon. I'll remember that."

Mabel had no idea what information she'd just conveyed to Bill, but she felt like he was impressed she had an answer at all.

####

"How about this one?"

"I love it. It's so mysterious," Mabel said.

Stan said, "I thought you were gonna try on something subtle?"

"What's more subtle than camo! That's the whole point of it!"

Dipper said, "You're not wearing camo."

Bill looked down at his galaxy print tank top, galaxy print button up, galaxy print skirt, galaxy print leggings, and galaxy print sneakers. "I guess what counts as camouflage depends on the context."

"Wh—" Dipper blinked at Bill in disbelief. "In what context could this possibly qualify as camouflage?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Drily, Stan asked, "You got travel plans taking you to outer space anytime soon, pal?"

Bill's shoulders slumped.

"Now put on something you might actually wear," Stan said.

####

Bill opened the dressing room door with four sets of basic black leggings and pants, a couple shorts, and several plain tops in various shades of gold and yellow. "Okay, done."

"Not gonna model each of these for us?" Stan asked.

"Do you want me to?"

"No."

"Fine! You kids don't need to weigh in on these—they're not as fun as the other outfits you were busy unappreciating." Bill shoved the whole pile against Stan's chest, burying the "maybe" outfits he'd insisted he would narrow down. "Okay, let's go."

Stan scowled. "How many outfits did we agree to get you?"

"You didn't." Bill headed to the front of the store.

Mabel started to follow him, paused, glanced back at Stan, and said, "Maybe you can just... toss some of it back on the racks?"

"Maybe you can toss most of it," Dipper said. "How much does he really need, like two shirts and two pants?"

Mabel laughed. "Shut up, that's what you wear!"

Stan rolled his eyes, but headed to the front of the store with an armload of clothing.

The cashier smiled as Bill approached, read his "I BITE SALES PEOPLE" shirt, and quickly turned her attention to Stan. "Hi! Did you find everything you needed?"

"Yeah, and then some," he grumbled, shooting a look at Bill and Mabel. He dumped the pile of clothing on the counter with a heavy groan proportionate to the emotional weight of carrying Bill Cipher's shopping, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Where'd I put my wallet?"

As the cashier scanned the clothes, took off the security tags, and stuffed them into bags, Stan alternated between snatching up the bags to sling them over his arms—looking grumpier with each one—and searching for his wallet. "I'm sure I put... ah-ha!" He withdrew it triumphantly. "There! I know I've got a twenty in here somewhere."

The cashier immediately stopped scanning to give Stan a perplexed look. Hopefully, she asked, "Will you be paying for the rest by card?"

"What do you mean, 'the rest'? How much could this stuff—?" Stan grabbed the price tag on one of the shirts, squinted at it, and grabbed his chest. "Holy moly! For one shirt? This is robbery!"

Mabel winced. "I guess it's a little bit pricier than the thrift shop, but it's not that bad—is it?"

"Not that bad?! For prices like this, it'd be cheaper to get a boat ticket to Taiwan and rob the sweatshop where they sew this stuff! Forget it!" He started sliding bags off his arms and tossing them back on the counter. "Keep them! We're not shopping here!"

"But Grunkle Stan!" Mabel grabbed his coat. "We just found a bunch of stuff that's perfect for Goldie! Please?"

"Do you think I care? He'd be wearing potato sacks if I had my way! We'll go to the outlet store, those are the prices he deserves."

Dipper groaned. "Do we have to do this whole thing all over again?" He and Mabel both looked pleadingly at Bill, waiting for him to protest the return of his carefully-curated wardrobe of tacky golden horrors.

Bill shrugged. "If he didn't bring enough money to the mall, there's nothing we can do about it now."

"Hey! This isn't on me! If it wasn't for you, we'd be at the Shop Thrifty right now!"

Bill scoffed. "Come on, Stanley. It's the 2010's. Even at a thrift store, how far do you think a Jackson's gonna carry you?"

"I think it'd get me a sock I could cram in your mouth, how do you like that?" Stan tossed the last bag on the counter, told the dismayed cashier, "And he looked ugly in everything he picked out, anyway," and stomped toward the door.

"I'm so sorry," Mabel said to the cashier, and hurried after Stan with Dipper. "But Grunkle Stan, we found so many nice things here! We could at least get a couple shirts or leggings..."

"Hey," Bill said. "It's okay, kid."

Mabel shut her mouth, but she didn't look happy about it.

The party trailed behind Stan past a couple of stores, before Bill sped up to walk alongside him and asked, "Well? What's our haul?"

Stan grunted. "What?"

A slow, sly grin spread across Bill's face. "Come on. You can fool the humans, but you can't fool me. What's our haul?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill raised a brow.

Stan only lasted a couple of seconds before he cracked a mischievous smile as well. "Oh, did you mean this haul?" He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a pair of leggings. And then another pair. And then, from his other pocket, a Hawaiian shirt. And—

Mabel gasped. "Grunkle Stan," she hissed. "You didn't!"

"Aw, man." Dipper smacked his forehead. "So all that was an act?"

—and three pairs of socks out of his jacket sleeve, and a dress from his inner coat pocket, and— "Yeeep. I've still got it."

Mabel and Dipper exchanged an exasperated look.

"And you were gonna hit the thrift store." Bill lifted his sunglasses so Stan could see him roll his eye.

"Hey, they've usually got less security than the mall. It's a safer score."

"Cheaper, too."

"You shut up! I'd like to see you do as well."

A bright smile snapped across Bill's face. "Would you! Then get a load of this—" He showed off the front and back of one empty hand, then the other; curled one into a fist; pushed his fingers into the fist and plucked out a corner of fabric; and then, like a magician revealing a long line of scarves tied at the corners, pulled out one garment after another, shirts and skirts and pants. Mabel buried her face in her hands. Dipper looked around like he expected mall security to run up and immediately arrest them all. Bill said, "What'd we lift, almost half the stuff I picked? Neither of us managed to get the kangaroo jacket, did we."

"How did you..." Stan trailed off, jaw dropped.

Bill smugly stuffed the clothing back under his tank top. "All that, and... these." Bill lifted one foot and wiggled it, showing off the yellow foam clogs he'd changed into.

"You just walked out with those on?"

"Sure! You'd be amazed what you can do in plain sight—as long as you don't call attention to it."

"Where the heck are your sandals?"

"Not my problem." Bill gestured vaguely back toward 18th Century with his curtain rod cane. "From the lost-and-found they came, to the lost-and-found they shall return."

Stan, having had his attention called to the curtain rod cane, snatched it out of Bill's hand with a muttered "No weapons," and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Bill watched it go with an expression of miffed resignation. Stan said, "Okay, but how'd you get the security tags off all of those?"

And Bill's grin was back. "Maybe I'll show you—if you show me how you got all that clothing out of those bags into your pockets."

"I thought you were watching."

"My eye is better than my physical coordination. Give me a couple pointers and I'll give you a couple."

Stan looked doubtful. "I just saw you hide half a suitcase under a tank top. I don't think you need any more help with..."

"I'll sweeten the deal," Bill said. "I'm not really a clogs guy. You set me up to walk out with a pair of proper dress shoes, and I'll help you grab a couple rings from that booth at the door?"

Stan scowled. Bill grinned wider. "Come ooon. I know you were eyeing those rings too."

"If we get caught and you throw me under the bus, I'm dragging you down with me."

"I wouldn't dream of it! I don't think either of us can afford to show up on the police's radar, do you?"

"All right, fine. You've got yourself a deal, Cipher."

Mabel silently slid her cell phone over to Dipper so he could text Soos and Ford about this unsettling development.

####

(Thanks for reading!! As always, if you made it this far I deeply appreciate any thoughts & comments you want to share! Stay tuned next week for the unsettling development to get Even Worse.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #my writing #my art #fanart #bill goldilocks cipher

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fridayth13 · 8 months

Text

—when they hate you (or do they?)

↳ mammon, leviathan, mephistopheles, thirteen, and raphael × gn!reader (separately)

↳ genre: fluff(?), enemies to lovers-type beat | wordcount: 1.7k | warnings: cursing, lower demon tries to eat you (mammon), kissing mention (thirteen), you get locked in a closet by solomon (raphael)

↳ notes: when i tell you i worked on this for months 🤡 hfdfjkgdgjfdgjdg

—mammon

between the demeaning remarks from mammon and the fact that you wouldn't take his shit from day one, one can probably guess there'd be a problem

but lucifer appointed him to escort you and show you how things are in the devildom, so it's not like mammon could just say no

but eventually your constant bickering seemed to create a fifth type of migraine for lucifer, so he let mammon off the hook and told you to choose another one of his brothers to escort you around rad

you, being you (and still feeling very petty about mammon's comment of you needing a babysitter. like he was one to talk) you did not listen

the freedom was thrilling, in your defense

after being constantly followed and berated by mammon everyday, being able to go around campus without anyone telling you where to go made you a bit excited

that is, until you found yourself cornered by a random lower demon looking for a snack

but before you could even consider making a run for it, the demon stiffened, their previous predatory sneer freezing into a grimace

they fell to the floor immediately after

and there stood mammon, glaring down at them, his fist positioned upwards like he was ready to land another punch

his glare rose to you

"if you're gonna run around rad all willy-nilly without an escort, at least know when you're bein' followed. idiot."

you merely blinked at him, still reeling in surprise

mammon tore his gaze away. if it were anyone else, you'd almost say he looked flustered

"oh come on, don't go lookin' at me like that! what, did ya really think i'd let some lowlife snack on ya? lucifer'd murder me on the spot!"

you didn't even notice you dropped your bag until mammon picked it up off the floor, carrying it on one shoulder. he gave you a rougher-than-intended nudge on the shoulder

he still wouldn't meet your eyes

"come on, human, let's get ya to class"

—leviathan

it all began.. with the tsl trivia quiz. and then it went downhill from there

though leviathan honored his word and gave you a pact and you began respecting his otaku expertise, on a personal level? yeah no

maybe he was still butthurt about the quiz..? you didn't want to assume the worst about him. you barely knew the guy after all

but also he tried to kill you over his hyperfixation. maybe you had the right to assume whatever you want

and honestly, you were bound to get tired of it at some point

"you're just a random normie anyway lol"

"what, you think i'll just let some normie into my room?"

"ugh, i can't believe a normie beat me at a gamee."

forget tired, honestly, you were getting sick of it

you decided you've reached your limit on a random thursday morning

"hey, normie, pass the salt, would you?"

you ought to throw it at his head at this point

your teeth ground together in irritation

you didn't even notice that you'd crossed the room and moved around the entire dining table until you had the demon's collar by the fist

"i have had it with you!"

"wH- eh?" leviathan could only sputter as your grip tightened on his shirt. "what is your problem?"

"what's my problem? what's your problem?"

you didn't catch the hitch in his breath, the growing red of his cheeks, too blinded by annoyance to look anywhere but the narrowed pupils of his eyes

"would it kill you to have some manners, goddammit? i haven't done a single thing but breathe near you and all i hear is normie this, normie that, do you even know my fucking name?"

levi gulped nervously, but he surprised you nonetheless

"..m....mc.. your name is mc." he mumbled.

you were silent for a moment. but even after all the shit, you decided it would have to do for now. this wasn't worth being late to class over

"i'm not done with you.. demon."

you let go (he heaves a sigh of relief below you) and pick up your bag and leave. simple

all the while, levi watched you leave with his heart hammering in his chest

—mephistopheles

let's be honest, it's not very hard to make an enemy out of mephistopheles

even if you weren't an angel, as a human, you managed to get on his nerves just fine

you'd think with his status and titles and riches that fighting with him on a near daily basis would have some serious kind of ripple effect against you

but you quickly learn that no, he was just the most dramatic bitch in the universe

we been knew

but this only served to annoy you more, really. it was clear that he didn't even take you seriously enough to fight you properly

instead, he resorted to being petty and snarky and obnoxious about literally everything and you wanted to break his stupid nose with his stupid cane

depending on who you are, you would be delighted or very irritated to know that you get on his nerves just as badly!! :D

he knew the demon brothers were a bunch of oafs from the start, but honestly, the way they tumbled over each other to kneel at your feet was just a whole new level of pathetic

you were just some random human exchange student, after all. how great could you really be?

that was what he thought until one day, when his younger brother came barreling into the newspaper club room, completely unannounced, for his first surprise visit to his older brother's school

before mephistopheles could question him, he noticed you standing awkwardly in the doorway

"meph, did you meet mc?" his brother's bright grin seemed like a slice out of the sun as his eyes darted between you and your so-called enemy

obliviously, the kid continued rambling on. "your school is really really big, and i got lost after dad dropped me, but mc found me and brought me to you!"

huh

mephistopheles raised his eyes to meet yours. he couldn't quite read the expression on your face. but he didnt push you further

"is that so?"

(as he soon learned, you were actually pretty great)

—thirteen

in thirteen's defense, you were not the target of the trap

obviously

(so clearly, it was solomon's fault right?? riiiight???)

but you didn't seem to think that way. and to her discredit, you did still get caught in it

upside down and dizzy, the rubber rope latched around your ankles and wrists bouncing with the slightest breeze, you swore you would get her back for this

and you did:

after setting you free, the day after, she reset the trap. all you needed to do was push

in your defense, being stuck upside down for hours, even if on a mere accident, was not fun in the slightest

you were even late for class :(

unfortunately for both of you, the reaper seemed to take this as an act of war

and so ensued your rivalry

unfortunately for everyone else, you were both incredibly stubborn, headstrong, and dramatic

so more often than not, other people ended up falling victim to either of your pranks

belphegor gets caught in a tickle machine intended for you, mephistopheles suffers a bucket of ink falling from the door onto his head, not to mention the time lucifer got hit face first with glitter glue

legend says you were both almost suspended

but that wasn't even taking into account how much everyone hated being there for your verbal fights

satan has had to leave so many rooms just to keep from getting irritated at your antics

it isn't until asmodeus intervened one day that some of the poor witnesses figured out how to make a little entertainment off of this predicament

"good heavens, would you two just KISS already?!"

and, well, in asmodeus's defense, it had just been a joke on his part; a way to get you both to shut up

but much to both of your discredit, neither of you were all that good at hiding your blushing

—raphael

it started with solomon, being the good, amazing, wonderful peacekeeper with no ulterior motives that he is, he hatched a plan to get you and the angel to make up

a plan that was totally not for his own entertainment whatsoever, no

he even got luke to help him out :D

and that was the story of how you and raphael got locked in a room together <3

"luke, please let us out. right now."

a muscle ticked in raphael's jaw as solomon laughed from the other side of the door

"sorry!" luke exclaimed. "we can't open it just yet! not until you talk and make up!"

"solomon....." you warned

"tsk tsk tsk. come on, mc, we're only trying to help you. both of you"

"define 'help'." raphael muttered

you snorted at his quip

"well, for one, the fact that spears rain from the heavens whenever you fight"

"that is none of your business!"

you couldn't help but laugh at his words, even as he glanced your way with incredulity. if anything, the bewildered look only made you laugh again

"guys, you know i could just summon one of the brothers to let us out right? why bother with all this?"

"i know you can, of course," replied solomon. "but. you know. we'd much rather you didn't"

"we just want you two to stop fighting.." luke said

your shoulders slumped at his voice. luke, at least, was being serious

you glanced sideways at raphael. he met your gaze, and the look on his face told you he was thinking the same thing

the angel sighed. "..okay"

"okay what?" luke asked

"we will try to get along."

"really?!"

raphael chuckled. "yes, really" the soft smile on his face faded as he saw your expression

"what."

"nothing, nothing, i just don't think i've seen you smile so nicely before" :)

"which would make sense, given that you're annoying"

"you-"

"haha," solomon chuckled. "they're getting along already"

"it doesn't sound like it.."

"guess it's our time to leave, luke"

"wait, wh- HEY. solomon, put me down!"

you and raphael exchanged glances

"who shall i call?"

"lucifer"

you shared a short, conspiratorial grin

"just what i was thinking"

dividers from @clutteredfun

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somerandomdudelmao · 1 year

Text

Okay. This is it. Theory time.

I'm going to write an essay on "how I love elaborate lore in Mystic Hands by @characcoon " It may or may not be a complete circus, but at least you'll have fun watching me getting it wrong eh?

Okay, first of all, let me put on my clown suit for this performance. Because, I'll be honest, I can only understand 70% of a complex text if I don't use a translator. And the translator also tends to change the meaning of the text.

I'm also writing this essay through a translator and just hoping for the best, so...ahahaha...yeah.

Chapters nine and ten of Mystic Hands gave me something to think about. Mostly because, all of a sudden, Bishop and his lab-military squad turned out to be more than background characters. And let me tell you, I grew up on the 2003 series. I may not remember all the nuances of the plot there very well, but I remember the asshole named Bishop perfectly~ But I'm not sure how similar 2003 Bishop and MH Bishop are, so I'm just...anxious in advance and start looking for things that would ring a bell.

From what I learned in chapters 9 and 10:

Bishop is an asshole.

He has his precious organization.

He also has access to empyrium and a recipe for crafting an incredibly toxic herbicide.

He also has a mustache. ( funny how this part puzzles me the most)

Michelangelo talks about him as a cruel and despicable scumbag who should have been rolled in asphalt at the first opportunity. He also calls Bishop a liar, so I guess in the future Bishop and the turtles have a... "adventure" haha... And of course we all know how fun stories with a cruel scientist and mutants can be. Yep.

This is where I start trying to put the puzzle together.

When Michelangelo sees the glowing blue stuff in the vials he reacts rather emotionally and says it could be a version of a anti-mutagen. He also says that it might help bring Raph back to normal when he asks Donnie to analyze the thing.

Donnie does the analysis.

The so-called "anti-mutagen" turns out to be an herbicide. Yes, very toxic and suspect and containing empyrium, but only herbicide.

In this moment. ONLY at that moment does Michelangelo realize that his information about the substance and its capabilities was wrong. And for SOME reason, it makes him absolutely furious.

And this is where the shit hits the fan.

Everything written above leads me to believe that the Turtles have already dealt with Bishop and his "anti-mutagen" in a bad timeline of the future. Whatever happened, Michelangelo came out of that adventure with the certainty that the blue stuff was a anti-mutagen. Which in itself is not suspicious, because even with his constant sleepovers in Donnie's lab, Michelangelo is still not that advanced a science dude. If he was young enough, Bishop could pour Sprite into a test tube, call it a anti-mutagen, and Michelangelo would buy it.

What a good thing they had Donnie for situations like that, I thought. And then I thought again. A little more anxious.

Did they?

Obviously, if Donnie had participated in the "adventure" with Bishop, he would not have allowed the turtles to call the strange liquid a retromutagen without analyzing it at least ten different ways. Even if Bishop hadn't given him a free sample, Donnie would have found a way to extract as much information as possible. Michelangelo was his lab partner. There was no way he would have missed something that important.

So...I guess at that point in the future, Donny wasn't there. Which leaves me with two possibilities. Either he was dead, or...he was taken out of the game for some reason.

The death option looks pretty straightforward. Donnie wasn't there to take control of the situation, so Bishop could probably afford a lot of free lying.

But I tend to think more about the second option.

Because Michelangelo, after getting into the past, intends to keep Donnie away from Bishop. This cannot be dictated by logic. Donnie, of all turtles, would be best able to consider if Bishop tries to pull something sneaky. Donnie has his technique, his knowledge, and his ability to hack any computer with just a dessert fork and rage. And yet Michelangelo takes Donnie with him into the tunnels. Because I'm sure he's guided not by logic but by fear.

Which leads me to the second option.

Donnie was not there at the time of the "adventure". Maybe physically he was alive, but he wasn't there at that moment of the future. Because Bishop did something to him.

That's why Donnie couldn't discover the lie about the anti-mutagen. And that's why Michelangelo wants to keep his younger version away from Bishop.

Now. This is where my knowledge of the 2003 series comes into the chat. More specifically, about one of my favorite stories from there - season 4 episodes 24 and 25 - "Good Genes."

( These are the episodes in which Donnie mutates, turning into a monster because he was previously stung by one of Bishop's mutants. Donnie's brothers spend a very "fun" amount of time trying to figure out how to cure him, but none of them are smart enough. So they are forced to make a deal with Bishop to reverse Donnie's mutation. Bishop was nice enough to actually do it and at the end of the story Donnie is fine again)

What if. Listen. WHAT IF something like this happened in a bad timeline.

Maybe Donnie was infected by Krang. Maybe he mutated for some other reason. Something happened to him. Something that caused the rest of the turtles to go to Bishop for help, because Donnie was usually the one who solved problems like this and Donnie wasn't there at the time.

This is where I pull out the "squeeze apple juice out of oranges" pokemon, because I'm starting to use information that isn't in the fanfic. We have the art, and the post.

And Donnie is not having a good time there. There's also the idea that the anti-mutagen in Mystic Hands doesn't work as neatly and conveniently as it did in 2003 and 2012. It doesn't turn a hypothetical mutant turtle back into a regular turtle.

The art quite clearly complements this thought.

At first I thought - hey, anti-mutagen works differently. I guess it's because it's supposed to reverse a secondary mutation or Crang infection?

Then I thought again. You know, more thoroughly. Bishop was lying.

There was no anti-mutagen, at least not in the sense that the turtles needed it. They only THOUGHT the thing existed because Bishop convinced them it did.

So. What are the chances that Donnie was infected with something the turtles couldn't handle on their own? So they had to enlist the help of Bishop. But unlike the man in 2003 this Bishop didn't do his part honestly and used some version of the toxic herbicide on Donnie?

What are the chances that at first the herbicide actually worked as a cure for Krang, because in this universe Krangs are apparently very evil vegetables? How long did it take for this substance to start killing Donnie himself? Because there's no way I'm going to believe that this caustic stuff is harmless to living creatures of any kind. Was the herbicide slow enough for the turtles to think the "anti-mutagen" was working and happily celebrate Donnie's healing? Maybe it took hours, maybe days, but my guess is that at some point the herbicide destroyed Donatello, giving enough time before that, however, for Michelangelo to remember that "blue stuff = cure for krangification."

That's why Michelangelo was so furious when he found out the blue stuff wasn't a retromutagen. He realized that Bishop had lied to him by calling this toxic crap a healing possibility. He realized that Donnie, his Donnie from the future, was not healed. He realized that Bishop probably didn't even try to heal him, taking advantage of the incompetence of the turtles.

_________

Either that or Bishop in the future just stole Donnie and experimented on him for fun and science or something. And I just wasted a lot of your and my time for nothing~

Everything I've written here could be complete nonsense haha. And I'm not even sure I used half the terms correctly, because translating things from English into my native language and then translating back is tedious. But I hope that at least this post will be fun to reread when the fanfic plot moves on and mysteries are solved lmao

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #riseofthetmnt #mystic hands #idk what Im doing #it’s just some silly thoughts #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 2 months

Text

And I Know It's Sad, But This Is What I Think About

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 4

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

6.2k words

Warnings: Language, brief mentions of alcohol, spoilers for The Great Gatsby

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Thank you as always to @agentstarkid for being the best and reading all my silly love stories💕

After my third Richmond game, April and I found ourselves once again having dinner with the Greyhounds at Ola’s. This time, Roy Kent and I sat with some of the players, who I was pleased to watch flirt with April; my beautiful assistant and best friend deserved the attention of hot, rich athletes, I decided.

While flirting with professional soccer players seemed to come easy to April, it felt like Roy and I were still figuring out how to flirt with each other. We sat close enough that our shoulders were touching, I flashed him plenty of coy smiles, and he made a point to whisper in my ear every now and then- although it was usually something like “Can I fucking leave now?” But still, if we were going to convince people that this was real, we’d probably have to step things up soon.

I remembered something Keeley had texted me the day before- we needed another date, and soon.

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” I murmured, loud enough for only Kent to hear.

He grunted and shifted in his seat. “Why?” After I simply narrowed my eyes at him, he sighed. “Keeley texted you too, hmm?” He sighed, shoveling another bite into his mouth. “What were you thinking?”

I thought for a moment, trying to avoid something simple like dinner, where we’d have to talk to each other and act like two people who were interested in each other. “Want to go on a picnic? We could bring a couple of books. Wouldn’t have to say a word to each other.”

Roy blinked, clearly processing what I’d just said; I could practically hear gears whirring before he finally spoke. “Sounds fucking perfect.”

Satisfied that I’d done my part, I turned my attention back to my delicious meal; if I got nothing else out of this fake relationship, at least I’d be well-fed for the next few months.

“Hey there!” Keeley Jones plopped down on my other side, smiling broadly at me.

Suddenly very aware of the eyes of the team on me, the way they’d been the night I “met” Keeley the first time I visited Ola’s, I returned her smile with one of my own, going so far as to playfully bump her shoulder with mine.

“Thank you again for inviting us to sit with you and Rebecca,” I gushed, and I really meant it; if I was going to be hanging out at Nelson Road, it was nice to do so in a comfortable suite with champagne in my hand. “It was actually really fun.”

Keeley’s smile widened; it was warm and friendly and genuine, making it obvious why everyone seemed to adore her. “I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself! We’ll have to get you a Kent kit now, eh? I’ve got an old one you could have if you like.”

I swore Roy stiffened next to me. “That’s alright,” I assured her. “I think April was going to order one for me to wear to their next game.” I turned to Roy with a shrug. “Gotta look the part, right?”

Roy mumbled something about getting another beer and stood, pausing only to briefly touch my shoulder; I ignored how warm his touch was. Once he was gone, I turned my attention back to Keeley, whose eyes were following Roy with something that looked a lot like pity.

“How’re you two getting on?” she asked in a low voice, scooching closer.

The only response that felt right was a shrug. “It’s fine,” I murmured. “Definitely working on getting used to each other. Going from complete strangers to dating is… a unique way of getting to know someone.” She seemed to be waiting for me to continue, so I added, “We’re going on a picnic tomorrow. I told him we could bring a couple books, that way we don’t have to just stare at each other the whole time.”

The corner of Keeley’s mouth tugged upwards knowingly. “Now that is a perfect idea,” she said, eyes shifting back to Roy as he approached, beer in hand. “Absolutely perfect.”

“How’s here?”

Roy grunted in response and dropped the picnic basket to the ground. Ten minutes felt like far too long to look for the “perfect” picnic spot, but Keeley had been kind of specific; it needed to be a public enough spot that they would be seen, but secluded enough that it didn’t look like they were trying to be seen.

He was beginning to wish they’d just gone to the pub again; at least then he could have a pint.

Instead, he helped spread out the blanket they’d brought with them and opened up the picnic basket, the one Keeley had dropped off at his house early that morning and that his date- when the fuck would he have to start saying girlfriend?- had loaded with lunch and snacks. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of food she’d packed. Probably something trendy and vegan-y. Was she a vegan? Roy didn’t fucking know. But she was young and trendy and pretty and-

“Here.” She shoved something wrapped in white paper into his hands. “Should we eat first?”

Roy gingerly unwrapped the bundle, immediately recognizing its contents. “Is this a fucking kebab?”

She shrugged, already chomping on a bite of her own kebab. “Yeah. That a problem?”

Ignoring the annoyance in her voice, Roy took a bite; fuck, he’d know that flavor anywhere. “Where’d you get this?”

“That kebab place you like.” Her tone was casual, as if it didn’t matter. “I asked Keeley what you like, she sent me the address.” After eating another bite, she shrugged. “The owner asked me to bring in a headshot next time, said he’d give me free kebabs for life.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Roy’s grip tightened on his kebab; he ate there at least once a week and still was never given so much as a discount. But she goes in once and gets kebabs for life? Fucking hell. Well, at least he’d get to take advantage for the next few months. Maybe he would benefit from this charade after all.

Still munching on her kebab, she reached into the bag she’d brought and pulled out a book, settling herself into a comfortable position before opening it. Roy took the hint and grabbed his own book out of the picnic basket, a murder mystery his sister had given him for his birthday. He glanced up over the top of his book to get a glimpse of what she was reading.

“The Great Gatsby?” he asked, raising his thick eyebrows.

She nodded, her gaze still on her book. “It’s my favorite,” she said simply. After a moment, her eyes flickered up to meet Roy’s. “I try to read it every year.”

Not sure why he was still talking, Roy sat up a little straighter. “Every year? I mean, yeah, it’s a fucking good book, but why would you read it every fucking year?”

“It’s… familiar.” She set the book down, now fully looking at Roy. “Everyone is desperate to be at Gatsby’s parties, to be surrounded by his wealth and glamor, to drink his booze and enjoy his hospitality.” She frowned, eyes flittering back to the book. “But then only a handful of people attend his funeral. Once the party is over, no one cares about him anymore.” She looked back at Roy. “That’s going to be me, isn’t it?”

Roy was speechless. Something about the softness in her eyes was so familiar, almost like looking in a mirror. That’s going to be me, isn’t it? How many times had Roy mumbled something just as cynical and broken? How many people- reporters, women, friends, even family- had stopped calling once he slowed down? How many more once he stepped off the field for the last time? In her eyes Roy could see the same dejection and fear of loneliness that had nestled itself inside Roy’s chest these last few years. It was something hard to explain, something one could only understand if they’d felt it deep in their souls. And it seemed to be something they both shared.

But instead of admitting to understanding how she felt and allowing her to glimpse behind his scowls and hard expressions, Roy simply shifted on the blanket and bit off his lunch. “Fucking hell. Are you always some fucking tortured poet, sunshine?”

Her face faltered for only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for Roy to want to kick himself for ruining the moment. She quickly recovered, picking her book back up and burying herself back into Jay Gatsby’s empty affluence. “Read your fucking book, Kent,” she mumbled, flipping a page absently. “There’s a photographer in those bushes.”

Sure enough, when Roy glanced around out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out the familiar sight of a camera lens.

“So, how’s it going with Roy Kent?”

Lanie looked perky as we sat in her office. My guard was immediately up; a perky publicist was never a good sign, I’d learned. It usually meant they had something rotten to tell you.

Anticipating whatever it was, I slouched into my seat, ready to narrow my eyes or scowl at a moment’s notice. “It’s fine,” I mumbled. “Keeley Jones said our picnic date got a lot of positive attention, and she said the Greyhounds’ viewership has skyrocketed since I started attending matches. So, it looks like we’re doing our jobs pretty well. Is my press looking good?”

Lanie nodded, eyes on her phone. “Good, good,” she said absently, as if she wasn’t really listening.

“Lanie?” I called.

She looked back up at me. “Well, with the Roy Kent stuff, you’ve got plenty of attention, and it looks like people are excited to see you in a new relationship, especially with someone who looks like him.” She ignored the way I wrinkled my nose. “But, uh, this morning I got wind of something that might take a little attention away from you and Roy.” She handed me her phone with a grimace.

The photo was kind of blurry, but I knew the two figures immediately. Everett- my most recent ex- nuzzling close to Cameron, the woman who had once called herself my best friend until she found out that a boyfriend of hers hit on me. Even though I had clearly rebuffed him and told Cam right away, she very publicly ended our friendship and even more publicly accused me of trying to steal her man. And now, irony of ironies, there she was, attached to my ex-boyfriend like the leech Lanie had always warned me she was.

“Lovely,” I finally snorted, gingerly handing the phone back to Lanie. “Do we think it’s real or just for attention? I know Cam’s new show starts filming soon.”

Lanie rolled her eyes. “Please, they’re not clever enough to pull off something calculated. If anything, he’s trying to make you jealous and she’s trying to get revenge on you. Idiots.” She sighed and dropped her phone onto the coffee table. “But, of course, your name’s being dragged into it. The phrase ‘love triangle’ has been trending on Twitter all morning.”

“Gross.”

“Agreed.” Lanie rolled her neck, something she often did when she was stressed. “I’ve been on the phone with Keeley this morning, and we both agree it’s time to step things up with you and Roy. Go public, make things official. Attend an event together that’s not a Richmond dinner.”

How much further could I slouch before I ended up lying down on the couch? “What event did you guys have in mind?”

“Your annual fabulous karaoke party!”

Keeley Jones strutted into the office with Roy right behind her. She greeted Lanie and I each with friendly hugs and kisses on cheeks; Roy, on the other hand, opted for short nods to each of us. Lanie stood and motioned for Roy to take her seat beside me; we shuffled awkwardly to ensure our knees wouldn’t bump.

Once we were all settled, I turned to Keeley, who now stood next to Lanie. “My karaoke party?” I echoed, feeling my stomach churn.

The “party” was the main fundraiser I threw every year for my nonprofit back home; it was near and dear to my heart, incredibly personal, and my favorite night of the year.

And now I’d have to share it with Roy Kent.

Sensing my unease, Lanie smiled at me, one of her reassuring smiles, the kind she always had for me after a bad bit of press. “It’ll be great publicity,” she pointed out. “You’ll probably raise even more than you did last year. Can you imagine how many people will register for the livestream? Especially if he sings,” she added, pointing at Roy.

“Sing?” the manager practically spat. “I have to sing at this party?”

With a sigh that even I knew was overdramatic, I turned to look at him, taking in his scowl and furrowed brow. “It’s a karaoke party,” I explained slowly, remembering how condescending he’d been the very first time we’d spoken in front of the elevator at Keeley’s office. “People pay a pretty penny for a ticket, there’s a paid livestream of all the singing, and I always release a new song, with all the proceeds going to my nonprofit. It’s… kind of a big deal.”

When Roy frowned, I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he processed this new information. After a moment of silence, he opened his mouth. “You should invite some of the guys. They’d definitely fucking sing.”

Keeley bounced happily at Roy’s suggestion. “That would be perfect! And it would really show the two of you becoming part of each other’s worlds too.” She quickly tapped at her phone, somehow lighting up even brighter. “And it’s a bye week for them!” She shot me a wink. “Looks like the universe is really lining things up for us, hmm?”

All I could do was smile weakly, my mind spinning from learning about my ex-boyfriend and ex-friend becoming an item and finding out that I’d have to spend my favorite night of the year with a man who had barely glanced at me since that night we played darts together. I made up my mind to ask Lanie if my reputation really needed this much help or if she, as usual, was overreacting. Just as soon as Roy and Keeley left, I decided. Surely, with the numbers my upcoming tour sales was doing, along with the amount of people already signed up for the fundraiser’s livestream, and with all this social media attention, could dating a former soccer star turned grumpy coach really help that much?

“Oi, sunshine, your place or mine?”

Sunshine. Roy’s gruff use of the name he’d mumbled during our picnic had me snapping back to attention, out of my planned objections to my publicist. I stared at Roy blankly, trying to imagine what in the hell I’d missed that had him prompting what I thought he might be prompting- especially in front of his ex-girlfriend.

“She was zoning out,” Lanie quickly explained as she threw an M&M at me, her usual way of bringing me back to attention. “We want you two to have a sleepover,” she said loudly, as if she was repeating herself- which she probably was. “Something simple and domestic. Something you can post on your socials so continue this little soft launch. Something to help make things believable.”

Roy nodded. “Keeley says just being seen in public isn’t enough to make it seem real. We’ve got to really sell this shit.” He scowled at me. “So, your place or mine?”

Okay, so that made a lot more sense than what I’d feared he was asking me. “My place,” I said, clearing my throat. “You can come over to my place.”

Roy let out a low growl as he pulled up to the front gate of the address on his phone. He quickly punched in the gate code she’d sent him, relieved he didn’t have to call her to let him in, and drove up the short driveway.

Her house wasn’t what he’d imagined; with the money he- and the rest of the world- knew she was worth, Roy’d figured she lived in a fucking castle or some modern monstrosity. Instead, he walked in the moonlight to the door of a sweet two-story house, blinking as he read the doormat that declared “There’s no place like home”. He heaved his duffel bag over his shoulder and sharply knocked on the door, sucking his breath between his teeth. Another step in this weird, weird fucking situation he found himself in.

When the door opened, Roy instinctively took a step back, forcing himself to look her in the eye. She nodded curtly to him, gesturing for him to enter the house. “Kent,” was her simple greeting.

He returned the curt reception with a grunt of his own and followed her inside and into her sitting room, marveling at how the house did not match his expectations. He’d figured it would be something like Keeley’s place, all bright and pink and stylish with fluffy pillows everywhere. But everything was simple and cozy, and there were a lot more photos than he expected. Her family, he assumed, as his eyes lingered on a photo of her with a couple of pre-teen kids. In one corner was a piano, one he figured she used a lot, and one wall was completely covered with a bookshelf, which housed a large and clearly well-used library. It reminded Roy a bit of his own place if he was being honest. Simple, homey, and probably a refuge from a life lived in the public eye.

Before he could ask about the framed drawing that was clearly done by a child around Pheobe’s age, something brushed against Roy’s leg. “What the fuck?” he bellowed, looking down to see a cat staring back up at him.

“That’s Sydney,” his host explained, picking up the animal. “Syd, say hi to Roy.” She kissed the top of the cat’s head. “Apparently we need to get used to him,” she stage-whispered into the cat’s fur.

Roy snorted as he focused his gaze on the cat. He could almost appreciate the sarcasm in her voice- almost. Instead, he gestured to his duffel bag. “Where can I set this down? Are you sticking me in the backyard, or do I have to sleep in my car?”

With something resembling a smirk on her lips, she set the cat down and once again beckoned for Roy to follow her. “I’ve got a guest room,” she assured him as she led him down the hall. She let Roy enter the room alone, choosing to linger in the hallway and watch him drop his bag to the floor. She cleared her throat as the cat- Sydney- caught up with them. “I ordered a pizza,” she mumbled, shifting her weight. “We could, I don’t fucking know, watch a movie or something until, well...”

Right. Fucking sleepover. “Yeah, sounds fine,” Roy muttered, staring at the cat. He’d probably spend most of his night looking at the animal, he realized. “I’m just gonna… throw on some fucking sweats. If that’s alright.”

She nodded, her cool demeanor reappearing. “Do your thing,” she said airily. “Let me know if you need anything.” After giving Roy a firm, businesslike nod, she was gone.

With a shake of his head, Roy quickly threw on some sweats and a t-shirt, trying not to put too much thought into what the evening ahead held. Was this really necessary? Did the other fake couples Keeley knew- which she assured him was quite a few- have to go to such lengths? Knowing Keeley, she was probably just trying to push Roy’s buttons, see how far she could take this shit before Roy snapped.

But again, he was trying to prove to her that he was willing to go above and beyond for her. Anything for Keeley, he reminded himself as he trudged back into the sitting room.

He plopped himself down on the couch, where Sydney the Cat was already perched and watching Roy with narrowed cat eyes. Jamie had once compared Roy to a cat during a team dinner, he remembered. Not very social, easy to annoy, but incredibly loyal and affectionate once they decided to let someone in. Keeley had found the comparison hilarious and proceeded to call Roy “Fluffy” for the rest of the night. He chuckled to himself at the memory; he should send Keeley a picture of Sydney and let her know he remembered the joke. He always remembered Keeley’s jokes.

As he reached for his mobile, a voice came from the direction of what he assumed was the kitchen. “You eat pepperoni, right? I forgot to ask.”

The most glamorous popstar in the world strolled back into the sitting room holding a cardboard box in her hands with two bottles of beer balanced on top. Instead of her usual dresses or fashionable outfits Roy and the rest of the world was used to seeing her in, she wore a particularly tiny pair of sleep shorts and a Greyhounds sweatshirt- the one Roy had seen her wear to their matches lately.

Roy wasn’t blind. He knew she was a stunning woman, whether she was on an album cover or, apparently, in her pyjamas. And if he’d bothered to give the matter even two seconds of thought, he would’ve noted that he rather liked her figure, especially when she looked so comfortable and domestic. But Roy couldn’t think about that. Not when he heard Keeley’s name come out of her mouth.

“Keeley said to make sure we both post on our socials,” she was saying, either missing or ignoring the way Roy’s eyes lingered for a moment too long on her bare legs. “Why I couldn’t just send you something to post is beyond me.” She set the pizza down on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch, a respectable distance from Roy’s spot. “Like, is you coming over really, truly necessary?”

Roy snorted and made himself busy with a beer. “I was thinking the same thing,” he admitted. “But Keeley’s always got a method to her fucking madness. You learn to just fucking go with it.” Deciding he needed to look at something that wasn’t the way she was stretching out comfortably on her couch, Roy stood abruptly and meandered over to her bookshelf. “You read a lot?” he said, scanning her collection more closely now.

“When I can,” came her breezy answer. “I’d love to say I’ve read everything on that shelf, but that’s mostly a collection of books I want to read.”

“Maybe we can do more reading dates.” Roy didn’t know what the fuck made him say that; it just slipped out as he stared at a particularly worn copy of The Bell Jar. When he glanced over his shoulder, he was surprised to see a smile on her face.

She shrugged and sipped her own beer. “Sure, Kent. Sounds good.”

Ignoring whatever feeling was forming in his chest, Roy returned to the shelf, recognizing some names and finding himself curious about others. Finally, he spotted a stack of games on the bottom shelf. He noted that there were about four versions of the same game. “You like Scrabble?” he blurted out, desperate to put distance between himself and his picnic suggestion.

“Love it,” she laughed. “When my parents came to the States from Mexico, they were each pretty young and worked really hard to learn English. They wanted to make sure all of their kids were fluent in English, so in our house we were always reading and playing games like Scrabble.” Her smile became a smirk. “My youngest brother refuses to play with me anymore because I kind of win a lot.”

The competitive streak that made Roy a football legend started to bubble up in his chest. “That so?” He picked up one of the boxes and brought it over to the coffee table. “Let’s see, then.”

“You can’t put that word!” I cackled, throwing my head back when I saw the word Roy was putting on the board.

Roy smirked and put the ‘C’ down with finality. “I absolutely fucking can. And I did so…” He shrugged. “Gimme my points, sunshine.”

After updating Roy’s score, I snapped a photo of the board. “That’s going on Instagram,” I warned him with a smirk. I quickly shared the picture and put my phone down, trusting that Lanie would text me later about the post blowing up.

We finished one game, then another, and started a third. We didn’t talk much, but it didn’t feel as awkward as those first few dinners with the Greyhounds. Sydney laid close to Roy, clearly already used to him, and I couldn’t deny the warm feeling in my chest when I saw him absently stroke her fur between turns. Maybe we’ll be friends, I thought fondly as I put down the tiles for my latest turn. Real, actual friends.

“Calamitous?” Roy read, wrinkling his nose. “What the fuck is calamitous? Is that even a word?”

I smirked and sipped my beer. “It absolutely is!” I stood and strolled over to my bookshelf, returning with the Scrabble dictionary my sister had given me a couple years ago. “Look it up.”

After shooting me a suspicious look, Roy flipped through the book; his scowl told me he had indeed found calamitous.

“It’s a good word,” I said as I sat back down. “One of my favorites. I’ve just been waiting for the right time to put it in a song.”

His gaze turned thoughtful as he stared at his letter tiles. “You written anything lately?” Before I could answer, he opened his mouth again. “You said something about a song for your fundraiser thing. It’s a new one, right?”

I nodded, squirming a bit as I thought about the song, one I’d been pouring a lot of myself into. “Yeah. I always release a new song after the party.” My eyes fell so Sydney, curled up close to Roy. “Want to hear a bit?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

His almost silly answer was enough to get me to my feet and retrieving my guitar from the extra room I often worked in. When I came back, Roy sat up straight, his gaze trained on my guitar as I settled on the couch.

“It’s called ‘Nothing New’,” I explained as I began to strum my guitar. “Here’s the chorus.”

Lord, what will become of me

Once I've lost my novelty?

I've had too much to drink tonight

And I know it's sad, but this is what I think about

And I wake up in the middle of the night

It's like I can feel time moving

How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?

And will you still want me when I'm nothing new?

When I finally looked at Roy, his mouth was agape, and he was blinking rapidly.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered. “That’s good. That’s really fucking good.” He shook his head. “Reminds me of that shit you said the other day, about Gatsby and funerals and all that.” He sighed, a heavy, sad sound, and his voice was almost impossible to hear. “Fucking reminds me of me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that; I vaguely knew the story of Roy’s injury, the one that ended his career, and Dani had said something about it taking a while for Roy to find his way back to Richmond after his retirement. But I didn’t think Roy was the kind of person who liked to talk about anything, let alone what was probably the worst time in his life. So instead, I watched him stare stonily at my silent guitar, not saying a word when he stood abruptly, something I was quickly getting used to seeing.

“I should fucking sleep,” he mumbled, taking care to grab a couple of empty bottles. “Gotta be out of here early for training. Thanks for the pizza. And the beer.” He nodded to my guitar. “And the song.” After nudging Sydney gently with his foot, Roy turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen; I didn’t move from my spot until I heard the guest room door shut with finality.

Roy sighed as he sat down in front of the assembled reporters, all waiting to pounce on him after a hard-earned Greyhound victory. As always, Keeley stood in the back of the room, an encouraging smile on her face, the kind of smile that always gave Roy the strength to tackle what was probably his least favorite part of the job.

He answered several questions about the match- probably one of their best of the season, if he was being honest with himself- before the topic he was dreading finally reared its head.

“Coach Kent,” some wanker from a publication Roy couldn’t be bothered to remember called out, “care to say anything about the rumors concerning your latest fling?”

Instinctively, Roy bared his teeth and squared his shoulders before leaning forward, ready to growl out, “No.” However, a raised eyebrow from Keeley had him taking a deep breath; she’d trained him for this, he reminded himself. He knew what he was supposed to say. “We’re just… spending time together,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “It’s been… nice, getting to know each other.” When he looked at Keeley, she was giving him a big thumbs up; it was enough to have him continue. “She’s different than I expected,” he added, nodding more to himself than anyone else.

“How’d you two meet?”

He coughed into his hand; he knew how to answer this, too. “She’s good friends with Dani Rojas,” he explained, wondering if it sounded as rehearsed as it felt. “So, she came to a match and then came out with the team afterwards. We danced a little, and then she gave me her phone number.” Again, Keeley smiled encouragingly. “It’s been kind of fucking cool, having her at our matches. She’s really embraced the Richmond way.” That last bit was something Keeley had come up with; normally, Roy would think it sounded incredibly lame and positively cheesy. But, since Keeley was the mastermind, he didn’t complain one bit.

Another reporter spoke up. “Will you be at her upcoming fundraiser? The karaoke party is legendary.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Roy answered with what he hoped was a good-natured smirk. “Get enough drinks in me, I might even fucking sing.” For a brief moment, the chuckles that filled the room reminded Roy of how this room sounded when Ted was there; he hadn’t realized he actually missed that sound.

“Have you heard her new song?” The voice was hopeful, as if Roy was about to give everyone a big scoop, let the sports reporters have something the gossip columnists would kill for.

For the first time since the press conference began, Roy’s smile was real. “I’ve heard a little,” he admitted. “And I won’t tell you a fucking thing, except that it’s fucking brilliant.”

Roy maneuvered around a few more questions- Would she be attending more Richmond matches? (“Hopefully.”) Would Roy be going to any of the shows during her upcoming tour. (“We’ll see.”) Who won their Scrabble tournament? (“No fucking comment.”)- before he was finally set free. He and Keeley reconvened in his office, making sure no one else was around before assessing how Roy’s first official acknowledgement of the “relationship” had gone.

“You did a great job,” Keeley assured him from her perch on the edge of his desk, a spot she’d taken countless times. “Might be the most charming I’ve ever seen you at a presser, Roy. Looks like she’s really rubbing off on you.” Her wink had Roy’s insides squirming. “Did you really hear the song already?”

“Yeah,” Roy mumbled, slouching in his seat. “She played some for me the other night, during our sleepover.” He surprised even himself by not rolling his eyes at the word sleepover. “It’s fucking sad,” he continued, completely unprompted. “But really beautiful. Nothing like the fluffy stuff you hear on the radio.”

Keeley gently tossed a stray paperclip at Roy. “Oi, I like her fluffy stuff! And so does Phoebe, I might add.” Her smile widened. “Your niece wants to know when you’re introducing her to your girlfriend, by the way. It’s all she talked about at our last Pheebs and Keels Day.”

Roy shook his head. “Oh no,” he scoffed, folding his arms. “Not fucking happening. Last thing I need is for her to get attached. Look what happened with-”

Fuck.

The smile disappeared from Keeley’s face. “Right,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “Yeah, might not be the best idea, eh?” After a moment, she perked up again, reigniting the energy in the room. “Have you two kissed yet?”

“What the fuck Keeley?” Roy hissed, looking around the obviously empty office; she’d sure recovered quickly from the awkward moment he’d caused.

She shrugged, clearly unfazed. “You’re officially together and are starting to go out in public as a couple. It’ll look funny if you don’t start being affectionate soon. I figured maybe you two’d gotten it out of the way already, so your first kiss isn’t in front of the cameras."

Shit. Roy hadn’t even started to think about how they’d act now that things were “official”. Had she?

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” Roy mumbled, wondering why he was blushing so furiously. “I’m a forty-year-old man, Keeley. I know how to kiss a woman.”

“Yeah, but she’s not just any woman,” Keeley pointed out as she stood. “Just something to think about.” She paused, studying Roy’s face carefully. “You really did do a good job in there, Roy. I almost believed you for a second, smiling and blushing as you gushed about that gorgeous girl.” Her smile returned, completely full of mischief. “Anything you want to share?”

Roy narrowed his eyes at his ex and threw the paper clip she’d tossed at him earlier. “Fuck off, Keeley,” was all he managed before the giggling blonde strutted out of the office. He looked down at his phone to check where the guys would be going after the match; after all, he was expected to be there with-

“Hey there!”

Roy looked up at the sound of Keeley’s cheery voice. His “girlfriend” came into view, smiling tightly at Keeley as they squeezed by each other through the doorway. The popstar saluted as she entered the office.

“Hey, Kent,” she hummed, pausing by the door and leaning against the frame. “I was thinking, want to ride to the restaurant together?”

He heard what she said. He knew he had. But the only thing he could focus on was her mouth, the same mouth that had left lipstick marks on his cheek and had formed a smile when she won two Scrabble games in a row. The same mouth he’d have to kiss soon. He’d kissed plenty of women; hell, he’d more than kissed plenty of women. And those were kisses he’d actually meant.

So why the fuck did his palms feel sweaty at the thought of fake-kissing this woman?

“Kent? Kent?”

Oh fucking hell, she’d caught him staring.

Roy cleared his throat and stood up, pocketing his mobile. “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as they walked out of the office. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fucking fine.” Roy’s hand balled into a fist at his side as he fought the urge to clear his throat again.

“Okay then.” They walked silently down the hall, looking nothing at all like a couple in love. Finally, she bumped him with her shoulder. “Saw your press conference,” she said, her voice light and teasing.

Roy nodded, wondering if his face looked as warm as it felt. “What’d you think?”

When he glanced at her, she was staring straight ahead- and smiling. “You told them you liked the song.” Her voice could only be described as pleased.

“Well, yeah,” Roy mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s the truth. It’s… it’s really fucking good. I can’t wait to hear the rest.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Finally, she looked at him, her face serious now. “Hey, there’s some reporters hanging around outside. D’you think we should hold hands or something?”

Roy’s eyes flickered down to her outstretched hand before returning to her face; she gazed at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for his answer.

“Probably a good idea,” he murmured. With that, he took her hand in his, giving it a small squeeze as they walked out of the Dog Track.

He kept her hand in his as they walked through the parking lot; while his eyes stayed trained on his giant black car, she smiled sweetly at the couple of reporters who called their names and even offered a small wave in their direction. Roy held her door open and helped her climb inside, closing the door once she was settled. Once he was in the driver’s seat, he resisted the urge to grab her hand; old habit from dating Keeley, he told himself.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why his hand felt so cold without her fingers intertwined with his.

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten@ladygrey03@book-of-roses@thatonedogwithablog@misshall14@wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff@akornsworld@itswhateveripromise@purecinnamonextract@oceanncurrent@dearvoidgoodnight@hopefulromances@respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog@hotleaf-juice@emmy2811@captainorbust-blog@preciousbabypeter@shion-ah@royalestrellas@eugene-emt-roe@littleesilvia@teenwolf01@sisinever@yagotgames@queen-of-the-downtown-scene @emmaallisonann @mrdsturd @confessionsofatotaldramaslut

#roy kent i'll write your name #roy kent iwyn #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso fanfiction

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krizariel · 8 months

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Inspired on an episode from HIMYM - because is my background noise show:

Tim hooking up with Jason thinking he is a hooker because whoever introduced them (probably OG Bernard) was playing a prank on Tim for being a prude/too puritan and is not like Tim had much time to find a date for the wedding he had to go to. He is still friends with his ex but it hasn't been that long since the break-up and its awkward and now they have to go to the same wedding since they are within the same group of friends.

Bernard: You should totally bring a date

Tim: what? who am I gonna bring? I'm too busy as it is and I'm not going to bring a random guy from grindr

Bernard: Eh, just bring an escort

Tim: I'm not THAT desperate.

Bernard: Pfft, what's the big deal, no strings attached, get to show everyone you are doing just fine, no one has to know, you leave with your dignity AND a good time

Tim: You cannot be serious.

Bernard: Oh I'm so serious. What, Tim Drake can't hook up with a hooker now?

Tim: Just no, and seriously shut up. I'll see if I can find someone and I have nothing to prove I don't care to make Steph jealous. Plus I'm sure she won't bring a date.

Wedding comes, Tim shows up and Bernard is with his date and another very handsome man.

Tim pulls Bernard to the side because what?!

Tim: Who is that?

Bernard: Oh, you know, found you a date *wink*, thank me later.

Tim: With a hooker!?

Bernard: What, too handsome to be a hooker uh? No one would ever suspect anything

Tim: That's beside the point! I had said no-

Bernard: Geez, give it a try no one said to sleep or do anything with him? He is just a companion tonight, whatever else happens is up to you

Tim: I know that! But-

Steph: You guys ok there?

Steph and her date had joined Jason and Ariana (Bernard's date) and they had come looking for Bernard and Tim.

Jason: Hey, you are way cuter than described.

And he winked at Tim. He was way too handsome, towering the whole group.

Tim at first is kind of forced to go along but it would be awkward to reject Jason since he was already there, and it was not his fault plus damn he looked stunning. They hit it off just fine, in fact it was great, Jay was a total nerd, they spent most of the night talking, drinking and flirting, and Tim started to feel all giddy and more emboldened to just flirt back. Is not like he will see him again right?

The event was at a hotel and they were going to leave their own ways. At first Tim was reluctant because well, he has never done this before and maybe this is going to be really expensive but… what the hell, he hasn't been with anyone for some time and he really finds he likes Jason even if he is a hooker and might not actually like Tim. So he invited Jason to his room to which Jason just said: Was starting to think you were not going to ask. That would have been no fun.

They hook up, sex is amazing, 100/10 would do it again … , and Tim leaves a few $100 bills by the table and just leaves a note with his number saying call me. Tim thinks well… at least maybe this way he knows Tim is still interested to see him again. Tim feels crazy because what has his life come to… and no, is not like this will be a Pretty Woman kind of plot, Jason probably has other people to see and WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM!? He will totally not tell anyone about this and certainly won't tell Bernard how did it go.

Well, Jason never calls him, Tim doesn't have his number, so he can't call him. Not long afterwards Tim has an accident on his bike, the paramedics come get him and Tim sees Jason there. At first Tim thinks maybe he is hallucinating because he totally has a concussion but-

Tim: Jason? what are you doing here?!

Jason: My job?? Didn't Bernard tell you I was a paramedic?

Tim: WHAT? AREN'T YOU A HOOKER!?!?

Jason: What.

Jason has half the mind to not punch Tim because he is having flashbacks of having such an amazing time with this rich kid that seemed nothing like the rest but then he wakes up alone and with money by the bed table. So insulting.

Jason: I'm a fucking PARAMEDIC… now shut the fuck up before I fucking make your injuries worse and lose my license.

Anyway, they clear things up (and Tim cant look at any of the nurses in the eye because they start giggling). Bernard, Ariana and Jason work at the same hospital and Ariana and Jason are good friends. Bernard invited Jason with them, telling him he had a good friend of his who is really cute but pretty lonely and can't find a date since he barely has any time to get himself out there. Jason shot him down at first with thanks but no thanks, but Ariana (Bernard's gf) told him Tim is actually really nice. Since Jason didn't have any plans he ended up accepting.

Jason: So you slept with me…thinking I was a hooker?!

Tim: …. Listen I wasn't going to do any of it, I swear but you were so funny, witty, smart, loved talking to you and in just a few hours I found I really was starting to like you, you were amazing… and didn't matter what you did for a living. I genuinely wanted to see you again and now I'm babbling and not making any sense I'm sorry-

Jason: The fuck is wrong with ya?… after another string of curses

Tim: I- … I'm sorry, I know this is a mess and I understand if you don't want to see me again-

Jason: No, I was talking to myself because for whatever reason I find ya oddly sweet.

Jason: But first, I'm going to do something for myself and slash Bernard's bike tires :)

Tim: Oh, can I join you?

Jason: Sure. It's a date Timbit ;)

#jaytim #timjay #jason todd #tim drake #the dicking can be done by anyone that's up to you #no capes au #not fic #sorry i just wanted Tim to embarrass himself big time #by screaming BUT YOU ARE A HOOKER??#I swear i love my ducky disaster

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dreamauri · 9 months

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‧˚⊹ 𝗱𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 ଓ :: 𝗠𝗩𝟭 ‧₊˚⤾

— you are reading: part three !!

╭╯ pairing . . . max verstappen x fem! driver! reader ) ┊ summary . . . a day for max and leila ) ┊ genre . . . angst/fluff ) ╰╮ warning . . . bleeding, passing out, mentions of cpr

( fic masterlist | general masterlist ) ( requests ) ( taglist )

Max found himself petting the sleeping pup gently as he watched Leila sit on his lap and read through a dictionary, helping her pronounce the occasional words.

He had found out that his means of communication of her was through German, one that she'd find muse in making fun of him in while they waited for their flight. "Um . . . Thirsty?" She said confused.

"You're thirsty?" Max looked down into the book, confirming the word. "Let's get you something."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MEDIA DAY THURSDAY JULY 21 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

Max had come to learn a lot more about Leila during the flight. Including, the fact that she could not sleep before washing her face, can not sleep with socks nor shoes on, and can absolutely not sleep alone.

He found himself laying back in the business class chair, watching some movie on the presented screen while patting the child that was laying on him.

He's come to like her very much, reminding him of Victoria, his sister, and the relationship he shared with her.

Arriving at Hungary was easy, the two were quick to get settled into the hotel before going down for breakfast. "She eating cereal." Max talked with you over the phone, updating you on his new responsibility.

"If you could get her to eat some protein that would be great. Eggs or chicken, anything." "I have bacon." "Avoid pork." You winced at the idea.

"Omlete?" "Yeah, that's good." Cutting up ⅔ of his dish into bite pieces, he gestured for her to ear. "How's he doing?" "He's OK. Still sleeping. But recovering." Max nodded even though he knew you couldn't see him.

"Leila, eggs?" "Ya3." [ew] She pushed the plate away putting her tongue out in disgust. "Hot chocolate?" "Eh?" She looked up at him confused looking at where the dutchman was pointing, the drinks station. "She likes mango. Try that instead. Alright."

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"Ba7lam M3ak, besafina." [i dream with you, about a boat] The girl sang quietly as she held onto Max's hair as he carried her on his shoulders through the paddock. Sadly enough, the tween was wearing a red ferrari cap that contrasted with Max's navy blue shirt and orange lion cap. "Wen ba7ar tani." [where we go sailing again]

"Aussieee." Mkayla cooed once she spotted the australian shepard, leaning down and showring the pup with affection. "Thank you, Max. I'll take it from here." She gestured, ready to take the child off the driver. Leila clung to Max's leg once he put her down, hiding from the middle aged woman. "allez, ma chérie. Max a des choses à faire." [come on, sweet heart. Max has things to do]

Leila shook her head. "je veux rester avec Maxie." [I want to stay with max.] "She can stay with me." Max nodded with a soft smile, gently placing his head atop Leila's head to comfort her. "C'est charles." The tween whispered watching the ferrari driver pass by.

"Lets go say hi." He picked her up from under her armpits, setting her on his waist. "Thanks, Mkayla. C'ya, Aussie." With a quick farewell, Dutch boy quickly caught up to the Monégasque. "Non non non, tu vas m'embarrasser." [no no no, you're going to embarrass me] "I don't speak French." He reminded her, even though he could probably put together what she said.

"Charles, Mate." "Max!" The drivers greeted each other, sharing a quick, hand shake. "What's this?" Charles was obviously curious, its not everyday you get to see max carrying a child wearing Ferrari merch. "Babysitting. This is Leila. She's a big fan." He introduced, holding the girl towards Charles like she weighed nothing.

"Well Hello." "Salut." Her voice was small as Max set her down. "Ah, tu parles français?" he kneeled down to her height, a small smile covering his face. "Oui, J'habite en France." "Très beau." He winked at her, taking the hat of her head and signing it. "I'll see you around, Leila." He ruffled her hair, putting the cap back on. "She doesn't speak english." Max told him. "You might want to stick to the french." ". . . How have you been communicating?" "We haven't."

". . . Did you kidnap her?" "What?! Why would you even think that? Look, if I put my hand out she'll take it— Leila seriously? You're dumping me now?" The girl took Charles' hand smiling happily. "I thought she doesn't understand what you were saying. I think I'll keep her." The Ferrari reminded, picking the girl up to his chest. "She doesn't." Max folded his arms as the girl giggled, sticking her tongue out at Max. "You owe me a football match." He booped her nose.

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FREE PRACTICE Friday July 21 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

"Goan!" [goal] She whisper shouted, as she kicked the ball ( she somehow got her hands on ) between Max's legs. He could only smile as he watched her kick the ball around the garage as everyone packed up for the night.

"Bist du bereit, zurückzugehen?" [are you ready to go back] "Dein Akzent ist sehr schlecht." [Your accent is very bad] She teased making Max once more give up on using the language for being made fun of by an eight year old.

"Yallah." [come on] He held out his hand. It was the only word he knew, disappointingly for you. After spending a week in an arab house hold, he was able to pick a few words, including: la2 [no], inshalla [in gods willing/never gonna happen], and khalas [enough]. He already knew Habibi [darling/sweetheart], but that wasn't making anything any better.

"Leila, seventeen is going to kill me." He picked her off the floor starting to make his way out of the garage. "attends- uhhh . . l'anniversaire de nunu c'est demain, on doit lui faire quelque chose." [wait uhh, nunu's birthday is tomorrow. we have to make her something.] "Anniversaire, birthday? Who's birthday?" "l'anniversaire de dix-sept, seventeen." "You want to buy her something?" "Make."

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"Fuck mijn nek." [fuck my neck] Max groaned, flexing his musche as he opened his eyes after they adjusted to the sunlight. He was sleeping on the ground which had become a mess of paper, glitter, and beads. The only thing was missing was the girl that had passed and left him do all the work.

"Lei— Oh shit. Leila?" He quickly stood up, sobering up from his sleep to start starting for the tween. "Lei—" "Shh." You came out of the bathroom, covering his mouth. His eyebrows furrowed in surprised as you put a finger over your mouth, which held your toothbrush. "She's sleeping." Your mouth was muffled as you pointed at the girl sleeping in bed in her pyjamas.

Max sighed in relief, moving to the night mare that has been haunting hm for the past two days, adjusting the blanket over her. "She likes me more than you." Max whispered, putting his hands on his hips proudly. You could only glare at him as you continued to brush your teeth.

"Cousin thief." You mumbled going back to the bathroom, spitting out the toothpaste. "Hey I— I got something for you." Max came back with a neatly wrapped up box. "Happy birthday." You looked between the gift and him, a small smile creeping its way onto your face.

"You don't have to—" "—I'll keep it then—" "—mine." You took it out of his hands, gently starting to unwrap it. "It's a bottle." "It's water bottle." He chuckled clarifying, smiling with a shrug. "You broke yours so and I know you loved the last one. So, I thought I'd get you a new one." "Oh that is sweet. Thank you, thirty three." Your turned around, starting to fill it up with water.

"Thirty three?" "Yeah, since you keep calling me by my number." "That's because I don't know your name." "You kon't know your teammate's name?" You gasped, faking heart break. "I didn't— Hey! Don't know!" You laughed, wiggling your eyebrows as you exited the bathroom. "Senta." You answered.

Max peaked his head out the door, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. "Is that your name?" "It's my middle name." ". . . Isn't that German?" He asked confused. "Pick a country. First France, and then one from the middle east, now Germany? What's next?" "Netherlands." You joked making him glare.

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QUALIFYING Friday July 21 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

"There he is! Lighting up the whole paddock!" You cheered as Daniel rolled passed on the scooter in the Alpha Tauri fireproofs. "Seventeeeeeeeeeeeen~" He pointed at you with the laugh that made your heart warm. "Danieeeeeeel RIIIIIcardOOOOOOOOO." You sang as you swung Leila's hand.

"Up you go." "ba3raf atla3 lewa7di." [i can get up on my own] She huffed folding her arms as you set her on the couch in the hospitality. "ana 3arfa, bas enti betegbari besor3a awy." [I know, but you're growing up so fast.] You kissed her cheek gently. "lazem aro7 delwa2ti. wa3d mesh hatemshi men hena?" [i have to go now. promise you wont leave] "wa3d." [promise]

Q1 :: you easily made it into q1, sitting in the top ten comfortably knowing you wouldn't be knocked out. rolling back in the pits, you waited in the garage with the warm tires which you'll stick with till the end of Q2.

"Who's out?" "Sargent, Magnusson, Hamilton, Tsunoda, Albon." "Hamilton? Huh." You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "He forgot he's in a Mercedes?" You joked as the team started pushing you out for Q2. "Danny is in, whoo!" You cheered to yourself as you waiting for the go.

"Who's P1 right now?" "Zho." "What? You're joking. Good for him." "Not for you though." "Eh, easy peasy lemon squeezy."

Q2 :: "We are P3. P3." "Who's ahead?" "Norris and Kraus." "Which Kraus?" "Killian." "Alright, you think I have enough time to give it one more?" "Negative. Negative. We are ok where we are. You will have a chance in Q3."

A sigh came from your mouth as you rolled back in your garage to get a change of tires.

Q3 :: "P1! P1! Great job Seventeen." "Yaaaaay." You cheered quietly giggling as you let the other cars pass by on their hot laps. "And Max?" "Max is P3. P4, P4." "Oh? Who's up?" "Kraus is P1." ". . . Which one?" "Meike." "Really?" Your voice darkened. "I'll give it to him."

"Starting grid tomorrow is Meike, you, Killian, Norris, Verstappen, Zho—" "Wait you're joking. Max P5? Are you sure? Is he ok?" "Affirmative." "Dang it. I'm sandwiched by two brothers now, I swear if they drag me into their family drama I'm going to **** **** ****** ******** **** ******." Safe to say you traumatized Jj. "A—alright. Just don't fined."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Happy birthday to you." You heard the team and Lando sing down the pitlane. Happy birthday dear Meike, happy birthday to you." Laughs errupted throughout as Leila watched quietly. "Yala halan balan. Heya Abu El fasad. Haykoun 3iedmilad El Leila as3ad El a3yad. Fal yaha Abu elfasad." [an egyption (?) continuation of the birthday song] You hummed quietly.

"Betghanilo leh?" [Why are you singing for him] Leila asked taking her back pack off. The garages were mostly empty now, you had dismissed a Mechanic, taking up his sweeping chores instead of him.

You shrugged in answer to the question. It just felt right. "Toz fih." [A vulgar/extremely rude way of saying who cares] "3andi 7ega liki." [I have something for you] Getting up in a random chair and dumping her bag on the table. "Max!" She called. "Found a cupcake from the Aston Martin hospitality!" Max raised the cupcake as he entered the garage, proudly placing it in the table top.

"What is this." You laughed looking at both of them as Max held up a lighter. "Sanna 7elwa ya gameel." "Oh no." You sighed hiding your face as they begun singing. Leila had apparently force-taught Max the arabic version of the happy birthday song, and his accent was horrible, with the occasional mistake. "Sanne 7elwa ya gameel. Sanna 7elwa ya, nunu/senta. Sanna 7elwa ya gameell~."

Leila did a little zarghroota ( failing miserably ) as you laughed blowing out the little flame. "How old are you now?" Max asked leaning on the table, with a look of mischief on his face.

"The big two three." You joked folding your arms, leaning on the table as well. "Hah, I'm older." "Older than dinosaurs." You mocked, a genuine smile on your face as Leila pulled you away from Max, handing you a pop out card.

"Aw look, is that me?" "Da enti, Dija, baba, teta, gedo, ana, we da Max lewa7do." [that's you, dija, dad, grandma, grandpa, me and that's Max in the corner] you could only laughed as she pointed at the drawing Max.

"He looks just like you." You teased as Leila pulled out 2 handfuls of accessories. "I technically made these since, Leila slept and abandoned me." You laughed as she put the bracelets and necklaces on. "I love them. Shukra, ya 2amar." [Thank you, beautiful] You kissed Leila's cheek, offering a hug to Max next.

"Thanks Max, you made my day."

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RACE DAY Friday July 22 2023 — Hungaroring, Hungary

"Killian." Walking down the pitlane, the older of the Kraus Brothers looking to his side seeing his dad, gently holding his shoulder. "Give us a minute." Leon dismissed the mechanic, pulling his son aside.

"Deal with that Seventeen girl. She losses this round. We won't have to worry about her nor her ego again. Make sure your brother wins." "I- . . . Alright." He couldn't even protest because the man walked away, walking to the pole winner car.

"Killian? Killy willy?" "Huh?" Everything alright, mate?" "Yeah . . . Everything is-" He got in to his car with a deep sigh. "Everything is. Peachy."

"It's lights out and away we go at the Hungarian Grand Prix."

Lap 1 :: "Meike gets away well, so does Seventeen, so does Killian. It's masked driver sandwiched between two Krauses." "I can already tell this will not end well for Seventeen."

"There is contact on turn one, and the two Alpine drivers are out! Zho drops a few positions and Riccardo spins out."

Lap 6 :: "Verstappen overtakes Norris on turn 3 and he is now in P4, one position away from the Kraus vs Seventeen battle. Max is charging forward to aid his teammate."

Lap 38 :: Killian felt his heart beating in his mouth, you were going to over take his brother any moment now, and gain P1. He couldn't let you lead. He couldn't over take you either, the plan that he had scripted had failed. And he had no other choice.

"Sorry." He whispered to himself.

"OH! AND- KILLIAN DRIVES INTO THE REAR OF SEVENTEEN!" "Massive crash there catching Norris, Hamilton, Leclerc and Sainz!" "Verstappen was able to get away safely. And that is a red flag."

"Oh fuck! Y/N? Is she okay?" Max's voice popped up on the big speakers as he begun to slow down. "She has not responded yet." "I need to-" "Max stay in the car. Stay in the car. The marshals will take care of it. Red flag. Red flag."

As soon as Killian managed to get out of the car, he heard crying. Like a seven year old balling her eyes out.

Back in the garages, Max was quick to leap put of his car, running through to your garage. "She's up. She's—" "What is she doing?!" He yelled, gripping his hair, watching you on the screen. You were lifting up the side of Lando's flipped car so he could crawl out.

"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" He shouted at you even though you couldn't hear him. Lando was the quick to run to the medics once he got out. "GET TO THE FUCKING MARSHALS!"

You could feel your head spinning as you let car drop the few inches you lifted. You couldn't hear anything, and you your limbs were numb. Your ears were pulsing as you took a step forward to the Marshals, only for you to find yourself weaken.

"And she's on the ground— she fell!" "Where are the marshalls?! She's bleeding! WHERE ARE THE MARSHALLS?!"

Max could hear the commentators, his ears ringing as he watched someone come to your aid. The world was blurring before him as he watched them commence CPR.

Sobs. Snapping out of his trance, Max found a lost Leila at the entrance of the garage, crying her eyes out. Not even waiting a second he was quick to lift her into his arms, bouncing her gently as he tried to calm her down.

Mkayla was quick to come for support, whispering reassuring words to the tween in her second language. "C'est bien. C'est bien, Leila. Y/N est bien." [It's ok. It's ok, Leila. Y/N is ok]

Max himself didn't even know if she was going to be okay. He's seen crashes like that, and they never ended well. Especially after seeing the fate as the previous holder of the number Seventeen had met.

Final Lap :: "and Max Verstappen takes the win. Breaking the record of the most consecutive wins with 12 races in a row."

"This is for, Seventeen." He sighed as he crossed the line. "This was her win." "Thank you, Max." The Dutch heard Christian over the radio, a deep shaky sigh coming from the driver.

Hopping out of the car, Max was quick to go to where his team waited for him, patting his back gently as he pulled the reaching Eight year-old into his arms. Pulling her over the fence ( not giving a single shit about getting fined) , he kept her in his arms as he walked to the cool down room.

Sitting in between the two Krauses, he braided the girl's hair gently, occasionally wipping the silent tears that streamed down her eyes. When it came to the podium, Max had failed convince Leila to wait for him, ending up with her joining him, hugging his leg on the top pedestal as they played the National anthems.

He felt anger, raged. Watching Meike celebrate made Max want to punch him in the face. But he held back, holding up his trophy slightly for his team, before walking out hand on hand with Leila.

17: oh no im bleeding to death

lando: *not injured, is fine*

17: i want to play prince charming

( taglist ↳ @lorarri - @benedikwonn - @mycenterfold - @iamahallucinanionnn - @lizzieolseniskinda - @chelseyyouraverageluigi - @michellekstyles - @ironmaiden1313 - @azxulaa - @mistrose23 - @lazybot - @hockeyboysarehot - @iloveyou3000morgan - @livster

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findafight · 1 year

Text

Not me writing a prologue for a fic I'll maybe never write about Steve being on the Dream Team lmao. I saw a pro basketball player Steve post a while ago and couldn't stop thinking about it. Anyways-

At the end of March Madness in 1989, the scout for the Pacers has lunch with the head coach of a community college basketball team that somehow made it to the first round before being pulverized. They sit across from each other, the coach seemingly a bit overwhelmed but not outright surprised. That's good, it means Jerry, the scout, doesn't have to worry about him freaking out or babbling too much.

The team captain had caught his, and possibly others', eye. Good layups, a few three pointers, solid defence, and a helluva lot of potential add up to someone to keep an eye on, except they can't because the guy plays for a rinky-dink community college and only had one televised game. The only reason Jerry saw the kid is because the Roane County Community College Ospreys had put in a hell of a fight the past three seasons. Jerry wonders why the hell the kid hadn't been offered a scholarship somewhere...not Roane County. Doesn't matter though, because they're here now.

"so. You wanted to talk about Steve?" Says the coach, August Nearaly, a bit weary.

Jerry nods, sipping his coffee. "Yeah. Wanted to get a sense of him before I actually talked to him."

August sighs. "As a player or as a person?"

Raising his eyebrows. "Is he that different off the court?"

"no! No, not like how you probably think. Harrington's a sweet kid, but also incredibly...well, not weird, but. Peculiar? He's got quirks. Bit paranoid, but not in a conspiracy way. In a 'no one should walk home alone in the dark' or 'hey, where'd John go? He was right here and then I did a headcount and he's not?' kinda way. Y'know? Like, they're all adults, but he does headcounts and worries anyways."

"huh. Oookay?"

"it-- I'm not saying this to rag on him, to be clear. It just too a while to get used to. Honestly, it's been good for team building. Makes them think of each other not as individuals, but part of a unit that needs everyone healthy and whole to work."

"that's good. He's a team player."

"oh yeah. It's not surprising, really. He's from Hawkins." August says the name like Jerry should know what that means. It's a town, sure, but other than that... Jerry's at a loss. Maybe something a few years ago about a fire? "He has most assists in Osprey history. Some of the guys joke that he's allergic to the ball."

"He's good on the court?"

"Jerry. I know you're here because you saw the March Madness game. You know he's good. He'd be even better if he could afford those fancy prescription goggles Horace Grant wears."

"seriously? Why not contacts?"

"don't make them for his prescription. You didn't see his interview? Kid's got thick horn rimmed glasses. Too many concussions apparently. God knows how he tells players apart when the jersey colours are similar."

"shit. That's why he was squinting the whole time? I thought he was just stressed."

He shrugged. "eh. Probably a bit of both. He takes it seriously, but not too seriously. Y'know? Half the guys were shitting themselves from nerves and Harrington stands up in the locker room, hands on his hips, and gives a speech worthy of the most melodramatic underdog sports movie."

Jerry laughs. "No shit."

Waving his hands, August nods. "no shit! He says all this stuff like 'we worked hard...we deserve this...we may not win but let's do our damn best. The worst that could happen is we lose, and that isn't the end of the world. So let's go out there and play some basketball!' or something, his was better, and the boys cheer. Then they put in fifty points to one-thirty."

Jerry winces. "Must have hurt, huh?"

August grins. "No way. One of the best games they ever played. You saw it. You wouldn't be here if you hadn't. They played their goddamn hearts out." He leans forward. "My boys don't have the same facilities as the big universities, or the funding to offer scholarships. They're at Roane Community because they want a degree or certificate but have other responsibilities. Parents or siblings to stay close to, jobs to work, people to take care of. They joined my team because they like playing basketball, loved the game and wanted to spend some of their precious time playing it. They put the work in on the court and off it. And we made it to the NCAA tournament because of it. We put in fifty points against the goddamn Michigan Wolverines! The champs! And they knew that. I've never heard of a locker room after an 80 point defeat so happy."

"seriously?"

It's all pride when Coach Nearaly says "yep. They may not be the best basketball players in college, but my god, they're probably the best team."

"because of Harrington?"

"partly. They all contribute, make sure they do things right. It's not a one man show, that's the point. They rally around him, but they all are part of the team, and know it. That's what Steve makes sure. Why I made him captain."

"So, you think he'd be a good pick for the Pacers?" This is, after all, a business meeting.

August nods, picks at his pancakes. "I'll be honest with you Jerry. You're not the first scout to talk to me about Steve."

"really? Who?"

"you know I won't say. But, between me and you, Steve's Indiana born and bred. His wife's planning on getting some lib Arts degree in Chicago or Indy, and your offer might be the deciding factor for them."

Jerry blinks. "He's married? At, what? Twenty-one?"

August nods. "Just turned twenty-two. High school sweethearts or something. Obsessed with each other." He chuckled, a bit ruefully. "I'm a bit jaded but damn. You mention her name? He lights up like the fuckin Fourth of July."

Jerry whistles. "Honeymoon phase gets us all."

"for almost two years? Nah. It's just love." It sounds a little wistful, coming from August. "Anyways. I dunno if the other team is serious about him, and if they are, they'll probably be disappointed. Kid isn't moving out of the Midwest. He's got family here, and is getting a goddamn elementary education degree. He won't uproot his life for a chance at the NBA. But, if you offer. Well. He'd at least seriously consider it."

Humming, Jerry chews his eggs as he thinks. "You think he'd be up for the lifestyle? The road games out numbering home ones?"

There's an air of seriousness when August levels Jerry with a look. "If he doesn't want to, he'll tell you. You gotta give him time to talk to his family though. This offer? It'll come out of left field for him, even if I give him a heads up. You get that, yeah? You want to recruit a kindergarten teacher to the NBA without any build up. He needs time to process that and then see where the people in his life are at with it."

"I guess it is unusual."

"try being the community college basketball coach getting two goddamn calls from NBA scouts. Thought I was hallucinating."

Jerry laughs, counts some bills for the tip. "Thank you. For your time and insights. Let Steve know I'll call tomorrow?"

"will do. He'll still probably drob the phone on you, though."

"as long as he doesn't hang up!"

#Steve Harrington #platonic stobin #steddie #stranger things #qpr stobin #teacher steve harrington #stobin #dream team steve au #listen. famous basketball player steve is friends with lead guitarist Eddie Summons (alias to not be as connected to the who 86 thing)#steve and his friends have a very nice vacation in the summer of 92 to Barcelona.....#literally none of the characters are here its just two randos talking about steve lmao #finda writes stuff #finda's rambles #also hos number is 52 because that adds up to seven hehe #sorry to the guy who actually got drafted by the pacers in 89 but i dont care #also. my experience with team sports is that one time we won handily but felt bad because we didnt play very well and we could FEEL it #and the next game we got pummeled but played so much better and could feel the team come together it was magical

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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 2 months

Text

You'll always have my heart

Every year on her birthday, without fail, she would receive a gift from an anonymous secret admirer. She's gotten necklaces, chocolates, flowers, each gift sweeter and more extravagant than the last. This year, when she opened the box that was tied with a red ribbon, she shrieked and dropped it to the ground. - by @unboundprompts

@vampirefilmlover

-----------------------------------

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Mina looked at me with a sly smile. I shrugged. "Eh, after uni I'd probably just buy a cake and rent a movie. Why?"

"Dammit, Rose, you can't celebrate your birthday like that! No, tomorrow I'll pick you up at eight, and we're going out."

"But-"

"No," her look turned stern. "You are going to party. You only turn twenty-three once!"

I sighed with a smile, nodding. There was no talking Mina out of this, and maybe just mage,it would be fun. Right? I mean, parties and bars and discos weren't really my scene, but then again, maybe getting out of my comfort zone would be good. Maybe I'd meet someone cute and get laid? Yeah, this plan wasn't too bad, I supposed.

Still, there had been a reason why I didn't really want to go out. Ever since I turned seventeen, every single birthday, I'd received an anonymous gift. The first time, it was a necklace. It had been made of silver and had a tiny bat-shaped charm on it. I didn't wear it often, but I absolutely loved it. When I turned eighteen, I got a set of ruby earrings and a bouquet with dark red roses. Every single gift came with a single note:

For Rose

This year, I had wanted to stay home. I had wanted to see who the person was that had given me those wonderful gifts. Besides the jewellery, I had gotten luxurious chocolates, leather-bound copies of my favourite books - how that person knew what my favourite books were, I didn't dare to ask - and at one point they'd even given me concert tickets to my favourite band. The gifts were huge, incredibly lovely, and thoughtful - especially since the giver had always been anonymous.

-----

He didn't need to look at a calendar to know it was almost time again. Her birthday. She didn't know him yet. She had seen him on the boardwalk, of course, but they hadn't talked. She was always leaving in a hurry the second it became crowded, and she always seemed to be in the company of her best friend. Still, Paul didn't mind watching from afar. Not yet anyway. She was his, or would become his in the near future - so he could wait until she found her own way to him. And if it took too long, he could always interfere anyways.

Over the years, he had given her many things, from small trinkets to bigger gifts. This year, he wanted to give her something that showed her a bit about who he was. What he was, what he was like - and something that would show her what she could potentially mean to him.

The other boys had looked surprised when he said he'd go out on his own tonight to feed, but they soon caught his drift. During the feeding, he would find the most perfect gift.

-----

"Happy Birthday!" Mina grinned as she threw my front door open. "Are you ready to go?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Where are we going, I don't really do well-"

"In crowds, yes, I know. We'll go to a small bar downtown. I invited just some friends from uni. There won't be a big crowd, and I let them all swear not to break out in song." She grinned as she saw my relieved expression, realising how much I hated being sung to on my birthday. Taking a deep breath, I nodded, grabbing my bag and heading for the door. It would be alright, maybe even fun - and if I didn't go now, I'd never leave the house at all.

The bar was nice and small, as Mina had promised. Strings of fake flowers hung around the door and were wrapped across the bars on the ceiling. Some dreamy popsongs were playing on the radio, and the light inside was dimmed but cosy. Yeah, this was a good place. As I ordered some shots for all of us, we got talking. We played some rounds of never have I ever, some truth or dare - and I felt absolutely perfect. A bit tired, sure, but this was good. It was fun.

"Will you get home safely?" Alex looked at me as he was about to walk to his car, being followed by Robin and Sam. I smiled and nodded. "Yeah, it's not too far. Besides, Mina has to go the same way."

"Alright. Happy birthday, Ro!" He stepped in his car, dragging the others along when they wanted to burst out in a happy birthday song. I laughed as he pushed them in the car, and waved as they drove off. Mina stood next to me, looking rather satisfied with herself.

"You had fun tonight."

"Yeah, I did."

"Good. Now, let's get you home. You said something about cake?"

I nodded. "Can I get a raincheck for that?"

"Tired?"

"Very. I just want to get home and dive straight into my bed."

Mina chuckled. That's how we finally ended up at my door, smiling and laughing. She said her goodbyes, and as I walked to the front porch, I noticed something standing on my doormat. I walked closer and saw that it was a box wrapped in shiny blue paper. Once again it held only one note.

For Rose.

I picked it up, surprised by the sudden weight. The box definitely looked lighter than it was. I walked inside, locking the door behind me. The box ended up on my kitchen counter as I decided to grab a piece of cake before opening it.

It was only when I put the cardboard box with cake back into the fridge that I noticed that my gift seemed to be leaking. A slimey, red substance formed on the bottom of the box. Weird. It was sticky and had a strange coppery smell. Quickly, I tore the paper off. I tore the top of the box off and threw it behind me on the ground.

I peered inside the box.

I screamed.

A heart. A human heart. An actual real human heart that was still bleeding laid in the box. Someone had given me a heart. Someone must have stolen that heart. Did - did the giver kill? Is that the message? That - that I'm next? Or that he can kill me anytime? That this is the beginning of some strange blackmail plot? Oh god - there was an actual human heart on my counter and -

I ran to the bathroom, throwing up in the toilet.

Forget cake, forget a joyful reunion with my bed - I needed help. I needed someone to come in and say, "Ma'am, you're right. This is absolutely insane. Don't worry, we'll take it from here, and we'll make sure that no one will ever deliver a human heart to you again."

I didn't notice how much time passed, as I leant against the cold tiles of my bathroom. I tried to calm myself down, but every time I thought I was calm, another wave of nausea hit me. It wasn't until my doorbell rang that I realised I couldn't just stay on the ground and that I had to get up.

-----

Paul had thought it was the most romantic thing he could do - while also conveying to her what he was and could be. Giving someone an actual heart, telling them not only are you mine but I am yours and I'd give my heart to you? It was the shit chick's loved, right?

But when he heard her screams, heard her get sick, heard how she cried and whimpered, and was close to breaking down in panic again, he knew that he needed to help her. So, he flew down to her front door and did the only thing he could do without being a total creep. He rang the doorbell.

It took a while, but after a couple of minutes Rose - his Rose - opened the door. "Yeah?"

"Hi, I'm Paul. My bike broke down and I was wondering if I could maybe use your phone?"

Rose nodded, not really answering. When she stepped aside, he assumed it was an invitation and stepped forward.

"I'm Rose, by the way. Phones in the kitchen, just eh - I got a horrifying package, and I don't think I'm capable of cleaning it up, so just please don't freak out?"

"Don't worry, doll. I can help if you want."

"It's not gross in the way you think," Rose mumbled, pointing him towards the kitchen. Seeing how much the heart had leaked, he could sort of understand her reaction to it. Also, he realised now that being human meant she had other standards than a vampire. Where another vampire would have thought this gift to be cute and thoughtful and heartwarming, he now realised that for a human, it was none of these things.

"Do you have some trashbags?"

"Yeah, the cabinet on your left. Why, what are you-?"

"Cleaning this up for you. It's probably just a stupid prank or something."

"Sending a human heart is a stupid prank?" She sounded panicked. He knew he had to be quick.

"It probably is a pig heart - it won't make it any less creepy, but at least it doesn't come with murder?"

He saw her relax a little. "I didn't think about that. I mean, I am still horrified, but in this case, I'm just really glad it is not human."

Paul smiled, finishing the clean-up. As he brought the trash out, he realised that he still had to make that phone call if he wanted his story to be consistent. So, he dialled the video store and told Max that his bike had broken down. He hung up and was glad to see that Rose had calmed down a little.

"Will you be alright?"

She nodded, biting her lip a little. "I think so. Thanks, for helping. You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did. It's only kind, and I didn't want your birthday to be ruined by this."

"How did you know it's my birthday?"

He just pointed at the cake standing on tne counter, that had Ha and Birt written on it.

"Do you want some cake, as a thanks for helping?"

Paul shook his head. "I would like a date, though. Let's get some Chinese tomorrow."

Rose didn't know why, but without thinking, she agreed. "Pick me up at eight?"

#the lost boys #marko #david #paul #tlb #dwayne #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #the lost boys x reader #lost boys

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