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possessivedesires · 2 years

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Injury

How would the yandere Hashira react to their Darling (who's also a hasira) coming home severely Injured and they were trying to hide it cause they knew if they were seen that injured their "partner" would force them to retire?

Kyujuro

“Where are they?” The loud voice made you freeze in mid step, knowing that you were busted. Of course Shinobu would send a letter out to Kyujuro, not knowing of the tendencies he has when it comes to you. No one knew, because no one believed you. Kyujuro was the perfect Angel, the perfect man. Who would ever believe anything he has done to you?

“Ky-“

“Firelily.” He was pissed, you knew that. His eyes didn’t hesitate to scan over your body; seeing the bandages covering your body. When you tried to look over at one of the butterfly girls for help, his hand moved his haori to block them from you. “We talked about this.”

He said with the sweet smile on his face, hiding the anger easily. It terrified you; wondering what awaited for you. Silently cussing Shinobu for sending him a letter, but know she was just wanting to help. “I-I know but-“

“Do you know what I would have done if I lost you?” You flinched at hearing him, looking down at hearing the concern in his voice. Even with him treating you awfully, you could never deny that he cares for you. Truly he does, just in his toxic way. “I thought-“

“You thought? Baby, love of my life, this…” He stepped closer to you, lifting your chin to stare at him. “This is why you don’t think. This is why you need to depend on me and only me. I can take care of you, I can protect you.”

“K-“

“There’s no arguing. Let’s go. Now.”

Shinobu

“Oh sweetheart.” You had no where to go but to her place; she had all the medical supplies and you could die without getting your injuries checked. Tears slipped over your face, staring at the woman who was giving you that innocent smile and letting you know just how much you were in trouble.

“I-I-“

“Hush now sweetheart; we don’t want you to waste your precious energy.” Shinobu had already decided that she was going to take you out of commission when you returned for the fact she didn’t like to be separated from you. But this… This made her realize just how much you needed to stop fighting demons.

You tried to struggle when she wrapped you in her arms, ignoring her sweet shushing. There was a sharp point to the back of your neck; sedatives kicking into your system while you began to slump forward in her arms. “There there, rest easy my love. I’ll take care of everything for you.”

Giyuu

This is the one that you could hide the easiest from. Mostly because he doesn’t know how to show his feelings; all the craziness is just bottling up more and more because he doesn’t know how to release it until it just cracks.

Like now.

“B-babe…?” He whispered, lowering the sword from his hand. There was a crash that made him panic in thinking there was a demon, but it was only you on the kitchen. Blue eyes were focused on the wounds crawling up your skin; poking out from poorly wrapped bandages. “It’s n-“

“Don’t… Dont tell me that this is nothing!!” He exclaimed, raising his voice and making you jump lightly. You’ve never heard him yell at you before, the sword digging into the wooden floor as he marched over to you. You backed up, trying to put the chair between the two of you and grabbing back on the cabinet. After being taken and forced to live with the hashira, this… this is the time you’ve honestly felt nervous of him. You’ve never seen him act like this before so you didn’t know how to predict what he was gonna do.

“Why did you even go?” He demanded, putting his hands on the table. You opened your mouth to answer, but Giyuu knew you. He knew what your answer would be. “Who gives a fuck about those people? You… You are the only thing I care about! I don’t care if all those people die!”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. A hashira, a demon slayer, not caring about the lives at stake. Giyuu looked at your wounds again. “The thought of losing you… No… I won’t…”

He shook his head; making his way over to you and grabbed your arm before you could stop him. He tightened his arm when you tried to wiggle out of his grasp while he pulled you back to the bedrooms. “You’re no longer allowed to step out of this house, I won’t lose you too.”

Sanemi

“Babe, I’m back home.” He announced loudly, kicking off his shoes by the door while he put his katana on the table. Pale purple eyes immediately shot toward the direction of your shared room at hearing the crash, his hands only slamming open the door seconds later.

You were trying to collect the broken shards of a medicine jar, the medicine spilled over the floor. Sanemi narrowed his eyes, wondering why you need the medicine jar in the first place and his eyes turned to look at the bloodied bandies where you were sitting.

“S-say something!” You yelled out; the silence was pressuring for you- making it feel like you couldn’t breath. Sanemi was never quiet, so to know he was standing there and just… watching you; the thought terrified you. Your body flinched when he stopped in front of you, crouching down before his hand lifted up your jaw roughly. “What happened?”

“D-demon…”

“Demon…” He mused as if it was some joke, then stood up. Your eyes widened as you watched him walk toward the door. “Wha-what? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to to talk to the master.” Your eyes widened at hearing that, quickly running toward him and flinched when you felt him grab you. His arm wrapped around your throat, locking his arm as he held you close. “Don’t fight against me, I’m not gonna let you go out on missions anymore. From hear on, you’re dead. I’m gonna go tell the master that I found your body and you’re gonna spend out your days here. By my side. Understand it?”

You tried to argue with him, but Sanemi kept a hold on you till you passed out. Immediately taking his hand off, fingers pressing against your neck to check if you were okay and put you in bed. He tucked you in, thumb brushing over your cheek. “I do this because I love you.”

Tengen

*Before his own retirement

“There’s my darling!!” Tengen cheered excitedly, sliding in front of you with a large grin. Your eyes widened; not expecting to see the hashira home yet since he wasn’t due to be back for another three days. Three days you would have time to clean up, but his smile dropped when he saw the blood on you.

“Darling, what is this?” He narrowed his eyes at you, making you quickly try to wipe the blood from your skin. “I-it’s nothing.”

“This doesn’t look like nothing.” He even put quotations on the word, hand reaching out to grab your arm. You winced are the pain spiking up your dislocated arm. “See! This is what I’m talking about!”

“Lord Tengen, I’m f-“

“Don’t. If you finish that sentence I will lose my goddamned mind.” He pulled you closer, putting his hand on your lower back to guide you into the house. You looked down at the wives were watching you; they didn’t dare to step out to say anything when Tengen was angry like this. No one could win with him.

“Hey! Wait! What are you doing?!” You exclaimed as the shackle was put around your ankle; trying to tug it out from his grasp. “What do you think?”

“L-Lord Tengen, I thought we moved on from this!” You exclaimed; not wanting to be chained up again. He wasn’t listening to you, getting the medicines that he would need. “Can’t have my darling leave again; now can I? Hmm? You don’t need to do that job anymore.”

“You can’t be ser-“

“Girls; you’ll watch her when I’m not here. Right?” He looked to the three women who nodded immediately to his request. Good luck getting out.

Muichiro

Warnings: murder

You don’t know that Muichiro even knew you were hurt; not hearing him when he was close. Especially because he said nothing as he watched you tried to clean the wound and bandage it up.

But he knew he had to do something.

“Oh? It’s the (your hashira pillar).” You looked over at hearing the surprised Kinoe to your left. “I heard they retired yesterday.”

“They’re looking good for retirement.”

“But aren’t they so young? Maybe they just weren’t ready for being a hashira yet.” Retirement? That word stuck with you, making your way over to the kinoes. “Um… what do you mean im retired?”

“Huh? Whatcha mean by playing innocent? Everyone knows you retired yesterday. Muichiro told the master.”

“What? No I didn’t. I just got back from a mission yesterday… and I was going to give my report to the master.” You were confused. But the kinoes didn’t have time to answer because the familiar spoke out from the side. “Y/n.”

“Muichiro… We need to talk.”

“I know.” His pale blue eyes looked over at the kinoe standing there; feeling annoyed with their presence before he looked back to you. “Why… Why didn’t you talk to me about this? I don’t want to be in retirement.”

“It wasn’t up for decision.” You were surprised at hearing that, but your eyes only widened when his sword slashed through the two kinoes standing there. They shouldn’t have gossiped about you. “M-M-M-“

“Let’s go home.” He said, turning his body to face you. Not a thought behind those eyes; only dreaming on living with you and spending out his days by your side. “Now.”

Obanai

There was no hiding the scent of blood from Kaburamaru; no matter how much you tried. Obanai knew as he saw those crimson petals on your clothes; there was no way that he was going to let you do anything remotely dangerous again.

“I’m fine, I swear.” You tried to argue with him, but Obanai was having none of it. He didn’t believe you; fighting against you when you tried to push him away from taking care of you. “Stop! Stop just stop it.”

He growled, demanding your cooperation. It got to the point where he had to restrained you, being able to focus clearly on your wound and taking care of it. “You’re not leaving again.”

“But I said-“

“You’re not leaving again. That’s final.”

“You can’t-“

“I can and I will. Do remember who’s hands your family’s lives are in.” He hated to use that above your head, but necessary times call for necessary plays. Your hands clenched at hearing that and he picked up your sword from the bedside. “Wa-wait what are you doing?”

“You won’t be needing this again.”

“Wait no-!” Pieces of your sword fell to the ground, Obanai breaking it without a remorseful thought. Mix matched eyes looked over at your sulken form, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’ll be talking to the master. Be good and don’t make me hurt you when I return.”

It was an empty threat, sorta, Obanai was not above breaking your legs to keep you from running. There was no more leaving the house; he wouldn’t let this happen again.”

Mitsuri

“Honeybunches!” Mitsuri cheered happily as you arrived back home, jumping in your arms and hugging you close. You winced, tears springing toward your eyes at the pain flaring but still hugged your psychotic lover back. But she noticed the wince.

“Sweetie?” She asked, leaning her head back; looking down at you and her eyes widened when she noticed the tears in your eyes. “Baby! Why are you crying? No no no no don’t cry.”

She immediately wiped away your tears, peppering your face in kisses. “Don’t cry! I’m right here for you! You’re home now, no reason to cry.”

That’s not the reason I’m crying… You thought, getting reminded of your injuries with all of her movement. Her hands gently pet your hair, putting her forehead against yours. “You’re all home now. And~ I’ve talked to the master, sooooo you’re on vacation. Permanently.”

“Wh-what?”

“I know we talked about you retiring and I thought it was a brilliant idea because you want to stay home with me.” Your head shook, feeling like your heart was stuck in your throat. No, you felt like you were sick. This was another one of her sick delusions; another one of her thoughts where she really thought you’d played along. “What? Aren’t you happy? Don’t you want to spend time with me?”

Tears sprung in her eyes, making you feel guilty. Of course she knew how it effected you; that’s why she uses it to get what she wanted whenever it comes to you. A small sign came from you; letting her down and she grinned at you. “Come on! Let’s go spend our time together! We have so much to catch up on and all the time to do so!”

It didn’t matter if you were hurt or not, Mitsuri didn’t want you to be leaving anymore. So even if you can back completely fine; the end result would have been the same.

Gyomei

“Sweetie?” You didn’t hide your wounds, thinking that you were fine. But he could hear the way the bandages rubbed when you moved; it made the hashira frown. “What happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about lov-“

“You’re lying.” His hands gently held onto your face, thumb rubbing lightly over your skin. “You know I hate when you lie to me. Did you get hurt?”

“Yes…”

“Was it on your mission?”

“Yes…” He hummed, thinking about what he needs to do to. His hands moved to your back, pulling you closer to him to hug you closer. “I’m going to go get some supplies from Shinobu; please get some rest my love.”

He guided you to the bed, helping you lay down as he left the house. But he didn’t head toward the butterfly mansion, no, he went immediately to Kagaya. He was going to fake your death, going to keep you back at his house. Gyomei made a promise to protect you and he was going to keep that promise.

#yandere demon slayer #yandere kny #yandere kyojuro rengoku #yandere sanemi #yandere giyuu #yandere tengen uzui #yandere mitsuri #yandere gyomei #yandere shinobu #yandere muichiro #yandere obanai

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deviant-sent-by-cyberlife · 5 months

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Blooming feelings

AO3 / Commissions / Links /

Summary: Connor starts to question his program and himself, seeing life in a new, different way. Maybe emotions aren’t unnecessary nuances, bothering numbers you need to lock away, but blooming flowers, worth living for.

content: pov Connor, anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort, fear of being replaced/left behind, overthinking

a/n: it was 100% self-indulgent, I’ve had really stressful weeks in the last 3 weeks and other additional dreadful ones will come. In a last attempt to help myself getting thru it all I’ve been bottling and locking up emotions, trying to bury them so I can focus on the task that needs to be done. What a genius move I know

It’s my first fic in this fandom hope you guys will like it ~

You are not supposed to and can’t feel ,

You are a machine Connor,

Not a living thing,

Software instability ^

RK800 heard Amanda’s harsh voice in his head,

A voice calculated, cold and emotionless,

“Connor?

What got to ya?

Told ya not to lick that blood.”

Warm, brown eyes opened to see,

Him and Hank still standing in the lift,

“Did your battery die or what?”

“Sorry Lieutenant, no,

I was sending the report.”

The two of them were leaving a scene,

Where they saw,

The 3rd deviant case in the week.

Connor’s been… experiencing a mild unease,

That he couldn’t place,

Nor he could find,

Any malfunctions in his program.

He ran tests after tests,

But to no avail,

There was no problem in his system anywhere,

Even now,

As he was staring at Hank,

He had the urge to lie to him instead.

I wasn’t sending any report,

Not even writing,

Just heard Her voice and …

Had the impression of concern,

Even something that humans call dread,

But why I had the impulse to hide,

Keep it a secret,

And lock it inside?

But Amanda’s tone rang again,

Voicing his concerns in his head,

But you know that don’t you Connor?

It would mean you are a deviant,

And failed your mission.

Therefore who would need you anyway?

An android,

Which was created to hunt,

Became the hunted rabbit in the dark,

Even Hank,

That drunk police,

Would turn away,

And laugh in your face.

You always accomplish your missions, eh?

Software instability ^

“Jesus Connor stop staring at me!”

The grunt of the grumpy man,

Pulled Connor out of his head,

The door of the lift just opened with a ping,

Letting a little bit of fresh air in,

“Sorry Lieutenant,

I was running some checks in my software—“

“Ugh, forget it.

I need a fucking drink.”

Days went by and that unease didn’t cease,

If anything it increased,

He was waiting in Hank’s car,

While the man stopped at his favourite burger place.

More and more deviant cases happend,

And he was a silent witness to it all,

With every new case,

A new weight appeared in his synthetic cage.

He started to … see these deviants in a new light,

Somehow sympathy crept into his heart,

Sympathy?

But I.. yes,

I’m sure that is the feeling,

What humans call sympathy—

Feeling .

To feel something —

“Alright, now we gotta go back to that shithole.”

He jumped as Hank climbed into the car,

Didn’t realise how long he’s been thinking,

While Hank’s “interesting” music choice screamed inside,

He took an other trip into his mind,

‘ Eyes are the window to the soul’,

He heard once a long time ago,

‘I’m an android. I don’t have soul’,

How easily I answered,

Whiteout a blink and a second thought,

At that time,

That possibility wasn’t unlocked before my eyes,

Feelings,

Amusing little butterflies,

Whose fills up chests,

And helps to bloom,

The pretty flowers of souls.

But now..

“Do I have a soul?”

“What?

What the fuck ya talking about,

Where did that come from? “

Unintentional whisper left the men made lips,

Spreading panic through artificial skin.

He froze,

His system showing error codes,

He just stared ahead,

Onto the dark rode,

Not daring to move.

I.. I failed my mission

Software instability ^

Now Hank knows,

He must realise that I’m …

I’m a deviant now.

He will report,

And sent me back,

Where they destroy and replace Me with Something else.

“.. Fuck knows,

I’ve been seeing all these cases for weeks now,

Seeing at first hand what these deviants do,

Learning their motives and stuffs….

They don’t look that different from me,

Or the other folks I know and see.”

From under a shocked silence,

Connor just stared,

Not registering what Hank just said,

“You know,

At first I saw you as a tin can,

Like an additional machine to a computer,

But then, khm,

All I’m sayin’ is,

That you are more .”

“… you mean, Lieutenant..?”

“Oh Jesus Connor, ughhh.

Maybe you do,

Maybe you don’t,

All I know is that,

We are quite similar at this point.”

“So.. you aren’t replacing me?

“What the fuck would I do that?

We are partners, aren’t we?”

He felt something in the air,

Something inevitable and comfortable.

But with comfort,

Came uncertainty, overstimulation and burden,

However there was something.. freeing there,

The looming weight of being replaced,

Had lifted and gave place,

To a chaos so colourful yet deep,

He felt his fans heating.

It f-feels … scary.

But strangely lifting too.

So this is what ‘waking up’ entail,

Liberating on one side,

And anxiety filled on the other.

They are not the never ending attacks of mosquitoes,

But the kiss of bees,

Worth living for.

Feelings filled his chest,

But for the first time in his life,

He didn’t try,

To shoo them away and stay in the dark.

Software instability ^

B̩͎͍̾ͅr̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ā̤̓̍͘ḳ̯͍̑ͦ F̘͍͖ͫ͘r̴̨̦͕̝ẹ̿͋̒̕ẹ̿͋̒̕

An impenetrable wall broke,

Slowly collapsing,

And leaving painful cuts,

Then,

When the last piece fell,

Darkness befell.

There was no Amanda nor update checks,

Only silence and Himself.

However in the dark,

He saw a blue flower blooming hard,

As he stepped closer and tried to touch,

It omitted pollen,

And embraced him in warmth.

As he looked down,

He realised,

There are many little blossoms under his shoes,

Waiting to bloom.

“Ya comin?”

Hank’s waxy voice slipped through the haze,

Comforting him once again.

We are partners in this case,

And friends in some way,

He really is waiting for me to step forward,

And spend days in union.

“Yes, Lieutenant,

I’m coming.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m a sucker for symbolism and metaphors :’D

Ps. English is not my first language, but I tried to somehow get the feeling of Hank’s accent in writing.

My writing requests are open ~

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devildomimagines · 1 year

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Levi’s Birthday Collab 2023

It was my honor to work with Kael for this collab event! Check out their Twitter page here and their Tumblr page here. If you love Levi, I promise you won’t be disappointed 🥰 They created a partnering piece of art for this fic!

I’m so excited to finally share this Spies AU Fic to honor the birthday boy Leviathan~

"Mammon, take the next left."

"Yeah yeah, I know."

"Jump over the infrared sensor in the next hallway."

The white-haired agent effortlessly lept over the invisible trip line, "I told ya, I know!"

"Watch out for the center display case."

Mammon swiveled around the case with ease. "Dammit Levi, I know! We went over the blueprint again and again, I know this place like the back of my hand. So quit it!"

"Is that so?" Levi spun in his computer chair, "Because last time you said that, Lucifer had to come bail you out."

"Tch, that rich guy had too many gadgets," Mammon lowered his voice and came to a pause at the intersection of halls. He peeked around the corner to watch the pair of guards turn down another corridor.

"And you've got a habit of getting distracted. Anyways, this museum is nothing to scoff at, it's got plenty of security. It's only been easy for you so far because you've got me, the genius hacker, working on it."

As Mammon ran ahead, he smiled. He would never admit it aloud but Levi was good. It's been a breeze so far, at this rate they'd grab the painting and be home before sun up.

The painting in question was done by the mysterious artist M.C. Everyone wanted to get their hands on this work in particular as it was described to depict the human condition. Investors would pay a pretty penny to be the owner and the money was already burning a hole in Mammon's pocket. If they were going to finish the job early anyway, Mammon wondered if he could make away with a second prize. There was another work close by their goal that had piqued his interest when reviewing the building plans. The painting was owned by the old King Solomon. People debate whether he was strictly the owner or if he was possibly the painter. The painting would pair well with the work by M.C. and could potentially score the syndicate a huge bonus. The commissions the two of them could earn was making Mammon drool. He turned right for the section that held Solomon's painting.

"Mammon, what are you doing?!" Levi shouted into their comm system.

"You'll thank me for this," Mammon smirked.

"No no no no, you idiot, don't!" Levi typed furiously to try to disable the security devices in front of Mammon as he ran. He was barely keeping up but so far he'd turned off the sensors, exchanged the camera feeds to run on a loop, and diverted guards' attention by signaling a trip of the alarms in a far part of the museum. That was as far as luck took them though.

When Mammon entered the room for the ancient mural, the roll-down security gate came crashing down. "Levi, what the hell's going on?" There was only static on the line in response.

Levi could hear Mammon through the camera feed in the room but the room seemed to be a dead spot for their comms. "That moron," Levi growled his frustration as he scanned the cameras throughout the facility. Someone must have brought those gates down. Then he saw him, it was tough to miss the bulky mass running through the halls, "Diavolo... which means," his thought was cut off.

"That's right, Leviathan," a new voice entered his ear.

"Barbatos..." Levi sighed. Another genius hacker enters the chat, Levi thought as he tried to free Mammon. Nothing that he attempted would get the gate up or restore the connection with his partner. Levi frustratedly ripped off his headset, grabbed a tablet from its dock, the extra painting canister, and rushed to the nearest entrance. He'd have to make the grab himself. "Damn you Mammon, you couldn't stick to the mission this one time." Levi tapped on his tablet as he ran, "You just had to be greedy and push for something more than we came for." In the distance a gate crashed shut, Levi smiled having used their tactics against them.

Levi could hear the door rattle as Diavolo banged on it. It wouldn't completely stop him, just diverted him to a longer route. Diavolo was a professional that didn't wander into dead ends like the deadweight Levi was working with. Levi took a moment to crouch down near a safe wing. He scanned through the security cameras on his tablet. They were still on loop and the guards were addressing his false alarm. The main problem was Diavolo and Barbatos from Devil's Associates. "Why'd they have to be here tonight?" Levi grumbled and got back up to run toward the painting. It is a straight shot but once there, the room that stored the treasured piece would take time to navigate. At night there is a fingerprint scanner to open the room, of course, sensors at all different angles, and a wall trip that would alarm if the painting was removed.

First up, is the fingerprint scanner. Levi held up the tablet to project the saved fingerprint that he and Mammon had gathered during their recon. The panel beeped and the gate lifted offering entry to the room. Next, Levi had to avoid the sensors. Unfortunately, there was no way to disable these infrared sensors. If he had turned them off, the night guards would get an alert. Levi pulled a pair of goggles out of his pocket that would allow him to see the infrared with ease. He shimmied and contorted to make his way around the beams and towards the painting. Levi was the most unfamiliar with the last security measure. To figure out what kind of mechanism hid behind the way, Levi pulled out his tablet and took a few x-ray images. The purple-haired agent frowned as he assessed the pulleys and possible ways to bypass the whole thing entirely. The only idea that came to him was what he went with. There was no sense in wasting time when the mission was already compromised. He might as well try to get out of the museum as soon as possible. While Levi pulled the framed photo from the wall, he kept his finger on the hanging nail to simulate the pressure of the painting. Once he placed the frame on the ground, Levi grabbed his tablet and chose to overload the mechanism's battery. If it fried itself while the pressure was adequate, he hoped that at the very least they would note to replace the battery without having the alarms activate. It seemed to do the trick! There weren't any guards rushing him or blaring noises so that had to be a good sign, right? Levi snapped the corners of the frame and freed the painting. Delicately, he rolled the paper and put it into the canister.

"Levi," Diavolo entered the room but stayed by the entrance cutting off Levi's exit.

He looked around the room, trying to figure out anything he could do but he was stuck. The infrared beams were the only things between them. Maybe Diavolo thought Levi had disabled them? "Diavolo, you're too late, I've already got the painting."

"Hm," Diavolo scratched his chin and smiled, "That may be so but you're going to have to get past me if you want to leave with the painting."

If it came down to a fight, there's no way Levi would come out the victor. Diavolo had muscles on muscles, Levi wouldn't stand a chance.

By some miracle, the ventilation grate at the top corner of the room busted open. "Thought you were going to leave me behind?" Mammon smirked, propping himself up on the wall and hanging out of the vent.

"Mammon!" Levi wouldn't admit it but he was thankful to have such a tenacious partner. "Take the painting!" He chucked the container up to the man in the corner.

"Whoa!" Mammon caught the canister and saluted to the men standing in the room, "See you on the outside!"

"Wait, you're not going to help me??" Levi whined as he watched white hair disappear back into the vents.

"A shame," Diavolo shook his head. "Barbatos will probably trap him in the vents or intercept him outside. What are we going to do?"

They were locked in a stalemate. Well, nothing to lose, Levi thought. "This," he shoved his hand out in front of him, triggering the infrared sensor.

Diavolo and Levi covered their ears as the loud alarm bells rang throughout the museum.

"Are you going to stay and get caught with me?" Levi provokes.

Diavolo frowns but makes a quick exit.

Levi leaves next. He pulls out his tablet to find where the guards are coming from. Since they were previously on the other side of the building, the majority are running together in a large group. Levi pulled up the blueprint to find the closest exit, "Mammon you better make it out," he huffed and packed in his tablet. There was only one exit at the rear of the museum that didn't have a guard posted. Levi already unlocked it and it would get him close to their rendezvous spot. Just as he began running toward freedom, Levi could hear the sounds of the guards shouting. "Mammon, you better make it out so I can kill you myself." He barely made it through the doors and into the cover of night but he made it nonetheless.

~~~~~

Also posted on AO3 here 😎 Check out the other written works from the collaboration under the AO3 Collection at LeviBdayCollab or search #leviathanbday2023 here and on Twitter!

#leviathanbday2023 #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me fanfic #leviathan's birthday #spies au #spies #art heist #My writing

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firemama · 2 years

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Hey, Tumblr.

Sav’s 2022 saga of misfortune has come to a spike this fabulous May with a serious car issue. What makes this so bad, Sav? well... my only source of income, at this time, is that I am a delivery driver with shipt. Hard enough with the gas crisis- 5$ a fucking gallon- in orlando traffic, you might say. You’d be right.

I’ve got no savings; most of my money was burned through during a month long period of homelessness, a couple months of not being able to work due to being generally transient and out of town and thus out of my shipt metro and unable to even deliver for income, medical bills for an injury, moving and storage costs, and some other bullshit. I’ve got no savings, and i’m pushing debt on my credit card. And at this time, with my car in need of repair, I have no source of income and another bill.

So I am asking for donations, if anyone has something to spare, however small.

Patreon Paypal Kofi

If Donations arent your speed, or you would like something in exchange, I also do commisions. Moodboards for small cost donation/commissions as low as a dollar, and I also do art and writing commissions. Hit me up to talk about commissions if you’re interested. Some basic information about that is pinned to my blog, and my other blogs.

For those who are not familiar with Sav’s 2022 saga, the summary is:

Orlando/Florida major property tax increase. See: sudden rental cost hike. 1200 to 1300 will net you poorly managed slum lord apartment in orlando now. Our previous rent of roughly 1300 (which had been steadily increasing with every re-sign of the lease) suddenly jumped up to just shy of 1800, and would continue to climb with future extensions.

Preparations to move to new york for sibling’s school; see, also very fucking expensive, because im talking New York, New york. but its sib’s grad school, scholarship, gotta go, very important.

Just before moving time, a series of... events occured. Including but not limited to:

Major fall out with roommate (one of three tenants) which would result in one less person paying rent come renewal. With just me and the sib, never could afford to stay in our current house anyway. So, no going back, no resigning lease if New york falls though.

Rather serious workplace injury to my dominant hand. At the time, thought, oh kind of serious- a deep injury to the knuckle joint that... i probably should have taken in to get stitches, but.. didnt, and instead just bandaged it up. “I cant afford medical bills right now” i said, unaware of a big storm coming.

My work, a few months prior to this, had every single Senior Manager quit in the span of a couple weeks for the entire franchise. This was a warning sign. At this point in time, it is much worse. For starters, I had been demoted from Manager to Assistant Manager and then to Associate again... because my Migraines had become worse (from stress because COVID and the mail system and all the mangers left and xyz) and i could not keep the minimum 50, then 40 hours. Despite being demoted, and less pay, I was responsible for neigh all the managment responsibilities at my location because there was no one else. For 11$ an hour. And then all the other less-senior managers from other locations also quit, because no one was making more than the average Mcdonalds employee. Very bad, all around.

I had to submit my resignation anyway, because we had an out-of-state move coming. And I was already being paid less, and expecting to take on the work of more than one salaried job. But before I submitted my resignation?

(Tw, injury)After two-three weeks of excruciating pain despite the visible damage to my finger being healed, and no increase of motor function, and also a strange mishape to my finger. I finally filed for workers comp, belatedly, and went on down to an urgent care. The deep injury, if you’re curious, had been caused by a tape gun; specifically, a customer trying to grab the tapefun from my hands anddesimating my hand, most expressly my poor fucking finger joint. And upon xray at the urgent care, they found a metal tooth from the tape gun in my finger. more specifically in my finger joint. quite literally grinding against my bone. doing serious damage to my joint. (I am now legally allowed to complain about pain and no one is allowed to tell me im complaining too much. broken off sharp metal tooth in my finger for nearly three weeks.

Surgery, obviously, to remove the sharp foreign body from my hand. It was a very quick surgery, actually. But to the point, my workers comp covered most of the injury. Most. Not all. expensive, like I thought, and i definitely couldnt afford it. but necessary.

And then we found out the ‘scholarship’ covered less than a 16th of the overall tuition to the gradschool in new york despite it’s title of ‘full ride scholarship’.

New york fell through, and we would not be able to keep our then-current lease.

so now we have less than two weeks to find a new place. And all of our research and propsects were in another state we cold not afford to live. we had no time, and due o afformentioned text increases, out prior 1200... just does not exist. not for sale anywhere. If it does, we ‘technically’ make too much to afford it, because our combined annual income if I ‘pretend’ to still work at UPS is too high for rent control. (the irony is that we could barely afford 1200-1300 and yet somehow rent control says we make too much money for it). If I say I do not work for ups, which I dont, because i quit... well we dont meet minimum income.

Mostly, we’re screwed!

4 days before must-be-out-of-house, we find one option. 1200$ 2 bedroom that will allow our two cats. We do a fast walkthrough, because we dont have any options anyway. Place has infestations twofold, the maintenance guy is trying to fix 12 different holes in the walls, and we cant test the power or water because it isnt on yet and we cant really wait. Front door locks, has AC, theres an on-site laundry facility, has working fridge, sold. We mostly only interact with property manager, who I did like quite a lot, and he assured us he will help fix the issues and can get the place ready by our frantic date.

I move into apartment with all of our stuff. We rapidly find several, several issues. No smoke detectors, window (ground floor) with no lock and two that can’t even close all the way. Both of those things, some of you may know... are illegal. It was not the only illegal aspects, such as one room being incredibly unventalated, most of the lights not working with no other light sources, occasional plume of smoke from the fuse box, and (this is in florida) no netting on the windows. Things that are not included in the ‘illegal’ list but still very much problems: hidden mold (did you KNOW it’s not illegal for landlords to rent a property with mold?), and other fucking stupid shit. The real show stopper, however, was that the apartment’s payment portal malfunctioned. We paid them the deposit the rent, everything... and it paid it back to my sibs account.

This is when we meet the actual landlord. Who is insane. She is incapable of texting legibly, and is almost incomprehensible over the phone. She does not know the landlord laws- which is her only job as a landlord- which she showed by telling us it’s our responsibility to provide smoke detectors, for example. (no, that’s illegal). She tries to back up this claim by saying it is stated in the lease we will provide the smoke detectors. Which proves she cannot fucking read a lease, either, because it does not say that in the lease, it says we are obligated to provide batteries for pre existing smoke detectors, and even if she had written that into the lease... it would still be illegal. it breaks housing codes. like a lot of other shit. Her excuse to all these issues was “well this isnt luxury housing.” Our windows not locking and you meeting builing code, lady, is not luxury, it’s minimum.

This whole thing is summed up with her ignoring all these issues and demanding we pay her. I tell her we did, because we did, but the portal doesnt work. She says that isnt her responsiblity, pay her again and make it work. I am speechless. It does not matter if im speechless, of course, because she never lets you get a word in edgewise and will simply talk over you, but anyway.

Obviously, only option or not, we cant fucking stay in this apartment. Legally, we cannot, and if we play along despite that, we wave our rights. And im sure if we give her money, she will try to keep that fucking despoit and declare our rent non refundable or some shit. So we declare that she broke our lease (illegally) and that we’re going to leave as soon as possible. She threatens to call the police because we’re scamming her- as if we get anything out of this. could kill her and feel no remorse. she gave me a crazy stress migraine that was not relieved by excessive stress panic attack or crying.

We break the lease. With nowhere to live, we put all our shit in storage. more costs we cant afford. Insues a month of having no home. I go out of town for a while and bum a guest bedroom. Sib stays with partner.

We spend most of that month looking for somewhere to live. I burn through savings with no source of income- cant deliver outside of my Metro zone for shipt, and other issues with delivery, and I wont be in one place long enough to apply to work anywhere. Spend money on storage, on moving trucks getting shit back and forth, on ‘non-refundable application fees’ and on medication for the cat, and on follow up appointments and medication and treatment for my fucking hand.

some fucking asshole backs into my car on easter sunday. Not once- no, he backed into my car and then paused. surprised he is no longer backing up. tries to back up again, continuing to back into my car he is already hitting. pulls forward a little. backs up again. slightly louder crunch and this time he realizes what he’s done. Mind you i am on the fucking sidewalk less than 6 feet away from my car, walking to it, about to get into it. He looks me dead in the face and tries to leave the scene despite me trying to flag him down. Only stops because someone stepped out into the road in front of his fucking truck to stop him. Is drunk. fights insurance trading like hell. Takes about an hour to get it from him on threat of the cops.

ensues, while without home, an exausting insurance battle. drunk guy tries to claim the damage was prexisting. I have witnesses, and I also have a fucking picture of the back of his truck with pieces of my car stuck in his bumper. Eventually he gives up, and I spend stupid amount of time conversing with car insurance. My car is old. and it is also a saturn, which is a company that no longer exists. It is also not technically one saturn, but two saturns franken-steined together with different parts of two older saturns. Obviously, despite the damage being cosmetic, they want to declare my car totaled. not-drivable. Obvious unacceptable, nd even if i did, the value on my car is shotty and i’ll get nothing from them for it. dribble car is much more valauble. but because it’s cosmetic damage, on an old ass already costmetically ugly car... basically zip on pay out. not even enough to get the specific cosmetic damage fixed.

Hardly fucking matters, because the check... is now being held by the bank. When will i be allowed to have it? they dont know yet.

Technically, my fucking car isn’t okay to be driven yet. I have to wait on a new title to be delivered, take it to a dmv to be inspected and declared drivable, hope to god it passes, and then pay them for all this shit. The check, if i ever get it, will probably fucking pay for that. *thank god for insurance.* so glad i pay them for this. I will have a car that is not repaired and no money to repair it with. fuck. At least it’s mostly cosmetic, except for my slightly warped gas tank hatch that is now a struggle to get open.

We find an apartment. This is great. We have a place to live.

This means more moving fees.

so we’re back in orlando. I have no savings left. I have a bit of credit card debt I cant pay off, and we still need some essential shit to buy for this place. but hey, we’re not homeless. Place isnt perfect yet- has rats, might have roaches, neighbors are wild and loud, pretty sure theres an active drug dealer based on the weird activity in the parking lot at all hours day and night.

but we’re not homeless. and im back in my metro, so i can deliver, so I have a source of income again. Everything will be fine.

Check is still being withheld. car is still technically not supposed to be drivable. this is fine. I will make enough money to survive this month, wrack up a little bit more debt on the essentials we need, but thisll be fine for a month or two until better work... good thing i can still deliver.

Lived here for a week. Sibling’s car breaks down and needs repairs. uh oh!

The day we get my sibling’s car back from the mechanic’s? today? today? Obviously, my car breaks down. Obviously. fuck.

There’s more. This is a mostly abridged highlight. Other details- such as the fact that I had to borrow money from someone to get even this far, and my very old cat needing a vet visit that i just cant fucking afford yet- are all involved. My hand still has poor mobility- yesterday someone commented “I thought you were right handed” because they noticed i dont use it to do things like pop the fucking water pressure cap off my car engine to refill it’s leaky collant tank. Our current fridge may or may not be cool enough to store dairy in, we arent sure yet. we still need to buy a fucking dryer, we dont have a means to wash/dry clothes yet, and I dont own a lot of clothing so I’ve been stretching one outfit over a week.

Look, 2022 is fucking killing me. At this point I need roughly 6000$ to magically make it out of may without debts in three different places. Obvious not feasible, and it would still put me out roughly nuetral with no money. So... whatever I can get. Preferable enough to get the fucking car fixed so i have income. And then hopefully rent so we don't end up homeless again and with an eviction on our record.

If you read all this, please. Even if you dont wanna donate for nothing in return, it’s literally only a dollar to commission a cute little mood board.

#munchatter #donations #I am once again asking you...#eh that meme u know it #I think im going to have a mental breakdown #real soon #sorry if this has typos its 6am and I made this because im so stressed i cant fucking sleep

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squibbles-gubwee · 11 months

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Hey! I cot a commission from @artsyfartsybro for a Rook x Leon oneshot and was kind enough to say i could post it!

Warnings: Cursing, mild sexual themes (No actual sex or nudity, does include grinding/sorta frottage) , talk of amputated limbs.

Without further ado:

Punch Drunk

•••••••••••

Sugary lemon lime tingled on his tongue, sparkling with hints of grapefruit. The carbonated drink fizzed against his lips, and the cold of the aluminum can felt pleasant in his warm palm. Drips of condensation slowly creeped and dripped off the drink, a few errant drops streaking up Rook's wrist.

The whole gala was dimly lit, with streamers of softly glowing and flashing lights strung up between tall pillars and high walls. The floor was a glossy wood that was flooded with yokai of all kinds, mingling, dancing, eating, laughing…

Rook's eye itched. He didn't dare rub it though.

The man instead took another sip of his soda, eyes sweeping the crowd of guests, watching the security guards posted up everywhere. He didn't get why he had to be part of everything, but he supposed if the turtles needed his help, it was the least he could do for saving the world. And honestly, he had such a hard time denying them, especially if Raph started giving the big puppy eyes.

Do not. Itch. Your eyes.

Rook blinked hard, trying to prevent messing with his contact lenses. He couldn't see better out of them, they were purely cosmetic to help him blend in with the Yokai crowd with their gold color. He needed to stay hidden amongst the various shaped bodies. He felt far too normal yet not at all. Odd one out in a sea of oddities. He hoped the kids were doing okay.

Ping!

The Aegean haired man pulled his phone out as he sipped his sparkling water.

[You stick out like a sore thumb.]

Glaring, Rook whipped his head up and looked around before spotting Leon, snickering with a few river otter yokai, laughing as he typed something on his phone.

Ping!

[You're acting like a wallflower, get over yourself.]

Oooh ho ho ho. Rook felt his face get red as he shot a message back.

[It's not like movies, you know. I won't be ousted for leaning against a wall because I need to cool off. There's so many ppl literally doin the same.]

….He defended himself too much. Way too much.

Rolling his eyes, Rook went back to looking over the crowd. He took another sip of his drink, and thought quietly about when he should jump in the fray and start mingling more. Which he normally, y'know wouldn't HAVE to worry about, except today his leg was being particularly Bitchy. It ached something fierce, from shin to hip.

Must be a pressure system coming in.

"Excuse me. Is this wall taken?"

Rook stiffened and looked over, noting the toad yokai who just walked up. He shook his head, scooting over a bit to make more room available to the amphibious woman. "No! Sorry, I can leave-"

"No need! I just need a break. Carbuncles are always so chatty. Good fun, but I need time away from them, you know?"

Humming a noncommittal reply, Rook turned his face away, making sure to avoid showing too many features to the stranger. "Mh, yeah."

"Are you having fun at the party?"

"Huh? Yeah! Yeah, I am, I'm just, y'know. I'm waiting for a bit, having a rest before I jump in to go dancing?"

Rook gave a charming grin, masking his anxiousness. He knew how to rub elbows. He went to plenty of parties and shindigs. It was just the talking he was bad at.

…he should go get some food. Yeah, yeah that-

"Oh! You intend on dancing with your friend?"

"Hm?"

"The kappa who keeps looking your way. Is…Is he not, or…?"

You have to be fucking kidding-

Rook scrunched his nose in confusion and whipped his head around, catching Leon just as he went back to chatting up the Kawauso. Definitely caught staring. The human sighed and looked back at the toad yokai.

"He's my uh, boyfriend actually."

"And he is not with you?"

Shaking his head, the navy haired man waved her concern off. "He's chattier and knows I have issues mingling. He can do what he wants. He thinks I'm lame. Pun not intended."

The toad woman looked back and forth between the two, before puffing herself up some. "Well! How about we show him, hm? You mentioned dancing, care to join me for one?"

Rook looked up. He glanced over at Leon, showing off a slight of hand trick that had several of the otters gasping and a few itachi nearby to stare in awe.

"Mustelids, tch…you can totally see the card."

Rook turned red and looked back at the toad once more. "Ah, sorry I…Well, I'm down, just be mindful of my leg-"

"Great!! Come on, there's a song with a good beat on!"

And soon he was whisked away, led like a stray dog right into the den of lions. The toad had taken his drink, putting it on a table and dragging him away. Swallowing nervously, Rook allowed himself to be pulled along, the toad's grip firm and eager as she led him onto the coloured floor.

This was a trap. This was a trap and you were so fucking stupid. She knows. She SO knows you're human and she is going to reveal it right now, or get security to throw you out. Or better yet? In fucking yokai jail. Yeah. Yeah good for you you jeopardized the whole mission and-

They were dancing.

Rook blinked as he continued to box step, finding the music and movements wholly taking him as he flowed through dance moves and step routines he remembered from years passed.

Right, left, twist, left, right, twist, right back, left back, left forward, right forward, Left, Right, left, right.

…Rook grinned, grabbing slightly webbed hands, and the toad woman squealed and croaked a laugh as he spun her into a rumba, mindful not to crush any toes with his prosthetic foot. The music was quick, so he kept his pace up, weaving steps through the lit tile dancefloor.

He was having a blast. Teasingly, he sashayed his hips some and the yokai laughed before taking a dramatic pose and pulling out all the stops. They two danced chaotically, playfully, freely.

Leon couldn't help but stare.

His hand clenched. Unclenched. His eyes bore into the two, entirely disregarding the group of kawauso he had been entertaining. One whined as she tried to grab his attention, wanting to see another trick.

"Dude, just like, go talk to him already. You've been eyeing him all night. Live your shitty high school prom romance movie moment."

Leon whipped his head back around, laughing and waving the woman off. "No, no, it's fine! It's all good-"

"Oh no," a particularly dark-furred otter hummed. "You got it bad. What, is he your friend you never told you liked him? You've been texting him all night-"

"He's my boyfriend," the terrapin huffed.

The gravelly bark of a laugh came from the yokai. "You haven't been acting like it. You might go cut in before that Ōgama can get her warty hands on him!"

Leon frowned, his muzzle scrunched some. He wasn't…worried about something like that, but… well, the two were drawing attention. He and Rook were supposed to keep a low profile.

Steeling himself, the red-eared slider slipped away to the dancefloor, slinking between bodies in search of the human. Once close enough, he fell into rhythm and easily gravitated closer, before sidling up close to the two.

"Mind if I cut in, guapo?"

Rook's eyes narrowed.

Yes. Yes he did mind. Leon didn't get to just… just decide when Rook was having a nice time that he could now cut in. Not when he wouldn't be near the man earlier, claiming that he was going to "cramp his style".

Please. Rook didn't need him.

The toad woman chuckled, and Rook felt her loosen her grip, only for the man to squish her hands and lead her into a tango, ignoring Leon. His shoulder was cold to the lowest degree, and it left the amphibious reptile in shock as the two danced away. He swore he saw Rook turn his nose up and away, even, as he spun the bewildered toad out and back in.

Oh.

Really now? That was how the therapist was going to act?

Glaring, he watched Rook dance for some time more, the human commanding the room with how he moved on the floor. He had to admit, Donatello did great work on the prosthesis. It seemed to really help, and it was quite flexible.

However, after two, three more songs…

Rook stumbled. Figuratively and literally. Leon caught him wincing and at one point, Leon feared his knee was giving out as he awkwardly caught himself from falling, playing it off like a dip.

Leon brushed past several people, and this time cut in by simply grabbing the human's hands.

"Sorry miss, but I need to steal my boyfriend."

"Like hell you do."

"Oh! Here you are, have fun!"

Oooh, the look the mutant got as the amphibian ran off was utterly livid.

"Can I help you?"

The mutant ignored the petulant tone and slowed their steps, swirling here, there, flowing and weaving to the edge of the crowd. At one point, there was a soft gasp from the human and he stumbled again, so he was swept up and spun, until the two of them were off the dancefloor and the Hamato was dragging him down a hall.

"Let- dammit, Leon! This is getting more attention! Let go-"

Rook was slammed against a wall, teeth clacking, and the terrapin had him trapped between an arm and a corner.

"What the fuck was that, hm?"

"What, you weren't doing me any favors. I made a friend and went to have fun."

Green thumb and forefinger flicked him in his head. "Fucker. I'm talking about the attitude- we're on a mission! You, and that stunt, got a lot of attention."

The human rolled his faux gold eyes. "I'm sorry, is the mutant turtle from the apocalypse telling me what parties are like? Leon, no one actually cares. In fact, even if I had eyes on me, they're not going to assume it's suspicious to actively seek out the limelight. It's a party. YOU acted suspicious when you stole me away like that. It wasn't- you just leave! You don't try to ease out all sneaky like that. That was weird!"

"Mm, yeah. That. Don't think I didn't catch what was happening." The medic glared. "You were also overdoing it. You needed to stop if your prosthesis was hurting that bad."

Rook became red. "It- it wasn't my prosthesis-"

"REALLY? Because I watched you almost fall into a group of fire spirits. I bet they would so listen to whatever fucking excuse you have."

"Leon-"

A thick finger pressed to his sternum. "If you can't take this mission seriously, you shouldn't be here. Not only are you pulling some petty shit back there, but not taking care of yourself is a pretty big no-no. You should have stopped the moment your prosthesis started fucking hurting. But no! No, you had to go do this prideful 'I don't need you telling me what to do' shit! You nearly compromised us! You could have caused the whole mission to fold!" Huffing, the mutant crossed his arms. "What, if it was me are you going to act like you wouldn't jump down my throat?!"

"No! Yes?! Leon, it's fine-"

"No! No it's not! You could damage the port! Or your nerves! You could have caused irreparable damage, you know this!! So why did you think it was okay?!"

"BECAUSE IT WASN'T THE FUCKING MISSING ONE, ITS THE STILL HERE ONE THATS HURTING!!"

Leon stared quietly, but Rook barreled ahead, fire licking in his eyes.

"I'M SORRY I DIDN'T STOP HAVING A FUN TIME! SORRY I ENJOYED MYSELF DOING MY FAVORITE FUCKING THING. WHEN AM I EVER GOING TO DANCE LIKE THIS AGAIN?! NEVER!"

Under normal circumstances, Rook would probably be emotional and start crying, but he was just too heated right now that they wouldn't come. Instead, a sticky, muggy anger clung to his skin and refused to let go.

His leg was shot for the rest of the night, but he didn't care.

"I-"

"NO! NO, IT'S MY TURN. You wouldn't listen so I won't either! I get it. You don't want to hang out with me because I cramp your style or whatever. But you don't get to be mad at me when I have fun!"

"When it hurts-"

"IT ALWAYS FUCKING HURTS! IT JUST SOMETIMES HURTS LESS THAN NORMAL!" Rook hated screaming. He hated it so much. "I have more metal in my stupid fucking flesh and blood leg than the prosthesis. It hurts. Always! And if I let that keep me in bed, I'd be riddled with sores and wounds. I will not quit doing stuff I love because it hurts me."

"There's a balance!" Leon chided, cupping his face and staring into those glossy aurum eyes. "You can't overstrain yourself, you know thi-"

"I WOULD RATHER DANCE TIL THIS PINS AND RODS PIECE OF SHIT ROTS THAN BE MISERABLE," Rook howled, cold fire in his lungs and salt in his eyes. "I REFUSE TO LAY AWAKE AT NIGHT, WISHING I HAD ONE MORE DANCE, ONE MORE TIME TO HAVE FUN, ONE MORE-"

Leon smashed his mouth against the other, and despite the few hits to the plastron or arm, he kept kissing. Teeth scraped and clashed, and Rook was all fury as he kissed back. Nails scraped against the back of the mutant's head and shoulders, making him churr deep in his chest. Rook slotted a knee between his legs, and Leon couldn't help but grind against it.

The two broke away in heavy, hot breaths.

"You're insufferable," hissed Rook.

"Bite me."

Leon yelped and moaned as the human dud just that, teeth sinking into the meat of his neck juncture. The two then began angrily making out once more, tongues swiping at one another between bites and nips to lips and jaws.

"The contacts are pretty, but I much prefer your real eyes."

"Oh, please."

"Pft, don't you know? I've been wanting to do this all fucking night." Leon growled, voice husky and a bit gravelly. A three-fingered hand slipped down the back of Rook's slacks and palmed his ass. "Just drag you into a hall or closet, have you all to myself and-"

The two flinched as Leon's phone beeped loudly. The ninja pulled the device out and answered, only-

"WE ARE TRYING TO DO A RECONNAISSANCE MISSION, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?!" Donatello screeched, making them flinch. Out of the corner of his eye, Leon could see a camera not far away, pointed right at them.

Oh boyyy…

The adults both winced, Leon shifting his collar to hide a bite mark and Rook looking away, face red.

"Ah, 'Tello! Uh, we were-"

"QUIT DRY HUMPING YOUR BOYFRIEND AND GET BACK TO WORK, NARDS!!"

Nothing more was said, and the call ended. Quickly, their clothing was sorted out and fixed. Rook stared down.

The duo shuffled out of the hallway, keeping a foot's distance between each other. Neither one would look at the other, and Leon watched as Rook limped to the tables to have a seat, successfully cowed.

Right.

Back to work.

#rottmnt #ocs #omwf #once more with feeling #future leo #future leonardo #future leo x male oc #peepaw leo #omwf rook #omwf au

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irregularbillcipher · 9 months

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don't really have another place to put this, so… here's an alternate section of the last section of my flatland fic that had to be cut! the way the conversation was headed with this exchange didn't flow well with the rest of the chapter, but i do like parts of it, so you go, for anyone interested!

“You’re a writer?” Andy asked, leaning forward, fascinated, and nobody in the shop could think of a time they’d seen the boy more starry-eyed. “What sorts of things do you write, are— novels, or— or newspapers, or— or poetry, or even just like, medical papers or—” “A little of everything, I work on commission for a paper,” the man chuckled, and it was clear from his somewhat sheepish reaction that he wasn’t used to such a positive reaction to his line of work. “I take it you like to read?” “Mmm hmm!” he said excitedly, exactly as Bill said, somewhat tiredly, “Anything he can get his hands on.” Andy frowned, and rolled his eye. “You read too, Bill.” “Sure, but I’m not such a dweeb about it.” The Square ignored him, and instead asked, “Well, what’ve you written, anything we’d know?” “I mostly write for the paper, so nothing too interesting, but… oh!” He passed for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he wanted to bring this up, before finally asking, “Do you two read the dreadfuls? You’re probably the right age for it, I’ve worked on a few of those—” he started, but he was cut off by Andrew’s gasps. Clementine snorted softly at the noise and moved toward the boy to hand him a pen, already recognizing the excited grasping motion when he desperately wanted the materials to write something down. Chuck, also used to this, tore off a piece of paper and handed it to the boy, unable to hide a fond smile. Even Bill seemed impressed now, and he said, as Gus watched Clementine and Andrew with a soft amusement, “Well, now you’re never gonna get him to stop pestering you.” “That’s alright, I don’t mind,” said Gus gently, before peering at the page Andrew was scribbling on. Andy had already filled it with writing and scattershot drawings, trying to collect his thoughts and questions before he opened his mouth again. “You know, you’re fast at that. That’s a real skill.” Andy stopped his scribbling at that, and his eye shone. He wrote “it is?” on his paper— he really only ever got this excited in conversations with Bill and Clementine, who were a bit more used to his tendency to fall back on writing when his mind was jumping ahead of itself, and he winced a little, trying to compose himself enough to speak again, but the man was still looking over at what he was writing, and answered happily. “Oh, it definitely is! Getting down your thoughts quickly, organizing yourself before you blurt something out, trying to get the details of a conversation— all real skills. A lot of professionals have a hard time with that sort of thing. Great for interviews, or observational writing… or research, if you’re only going to see something or talk to someone for a very short amount of time. Having a system to stop yourself from getting overwhelmed and to sort out your thoughts is very valuable.”

Andy beamed, tapping the paper until he found his voice again. “I… I usually only use it to help things make sense, or… or pass notes. I never really thought it— y’know, I never thought it would be useful for— for anything else…” And he hadn’t, but now that the idea had been presented to him, he seemed smitten with it.

“And you don’t have to make it useful if you don’t want to, or even pursue it,” Gus said, “but you seemed to have a sort of… a writer’s instinct, I suppose, and that sort of thing would be really useful for any creative. You do this a lot?”

He nodded excitedly. “Mm hmm! Every time I need to— anytime I really need to think or— or I want to remember something or figure something else, I— I like to sort of write it down and draw, always like— always like this,” he said, properly presenting the scrawled notes and pictograms. “Done it ever since I was a kid, I just— I sort of figured it was because I was… well, y’know, slow—”

“You’re not slow,” said Gus and Clementine at the same time, and Bill rolled his eye at how much that made Andy light up.

“No, but really, I’ve only been talking to you a few minutes, but I can tell you aren’t,” Gus said. “Honestly, being that interested in the world around you and getting in the habit of just… writing… I know that sounds silly, but that’s such a hard skill to master, just writing and observing and asking questions… and making your own language? That’s not slowness. I sort of wish I’d been like this at your age, honestly, just to get good writing habits started. I never would have been smart enough to come up with a whole language, though, that’s skill!”

Andy was still grinning, but he pointed at Bill. “He helped me with a few, too! Um, I came up with— with most of the symbols, but once I started using them for— for talking to him, it gave me more ideas, and he gave me more ideas, so…”

“It’s a collaborative effort,” Bill said, and he looked a little smug when he added, “and we’re not looking for any more collaborators.”

Gus didn’t seem too disappointed by that, which in turn seemed to disappoint Bill. Instead he just said to Andrew, “So you’ve already got a cowriter! And you said he helped you come up with ideas?” when Andy nodded, the man just gestured to Bill. “Don’t lose him then, it’s rare to find an editor, a proof-reader, a collaborator, and a muse all in one. I haven’t even found a good editor.”

“We could edit for you!” Andy said, nearly beside himself. Clem winced at the enthusiasm and held up a hand, looking as if she were about to speak, but the boy kept babbling before she could. “Me and Bill— I’m— I’m good at writing even if— I know I sound, um— I know I have trouble with w-words, but my marks are good when I’m writing, and Bill’s just smart in— he’s just smart in general, we could—”

“Oh, no— no, no, I’m not asking— I’m don’t want to put you to work, Circles, I appreciate it, but it’s alright. I’m just saying that if you ever wanted to graduate from someone who reads books to someone who writes them, you and your friend seem to have the instincts to be able to do pretty well, if you two are already writing so much you’ve made a secret language. And if you ever do decide to pursue it, I know a publisher, so I can talk to people for you—”

“But he can’t be a writer,” Bill said, and he sounded as tired as he did annoyed. He’d joined Andrew up on the counter, and snatched the page from Gus’ hands. “He’s gonna be a lawyer. And I’m sure as hell not gonna be allowed to take up writing. Y’ever seen anyone like us in the office when you visit your publisher? Like him?”

Clem put her hand down. It seemed that whatever she had wanted to mention had been mentioned, most likely with much less tact than she would have delivered the news with. Her eyes drifted over to Andrew, concerned.

For the first time since the ice had been properly broken, the Polygon’s face fell. “… Right. I— of course.” It was as if he suddenly remembered who he was speaking to. The two boys in front of him, bright as they seemed, were not Sebalds, or Caesars, or even Hills. They were a Cipher and a Kryptos— an Equilateral and a Square, one Irregular, and one Abnormal. It was half a wonder anyone was allowing them to pursue the careers assigned to their castes, there was no possibility of them being allowed to do anything more. “Well, if… maybe law books, then? A few Squares have been allowed to write those, haven’t they?” he offered, as he saw Andrew’s face crumble a little.

Bill’s face, on the other hand, seemed to be a plastered over with sick satisfaction, a pride at being the one to wrestle Andrew’s attention back from the Polygon and crush the stupid hope this jerk was filling his head with.

“Yeah,” the Square said softly, a bit distant. He had taken his page back and was staring at it blankly. “Some law books are written by Squares.”

The look on Bill's face faltered, ever so slightly.

After seeing this reaction from the boy, Clementine looked very much like she wanted to smack someone round the head, and nobody could be sure if she wanted to smack Bill or Gus.

The Polygon was bouncing slightly, as if trying to shake off his awkwardness. “… You could still be a hobbyist. There’s no laws against you being allowed to write in general, even if you don’t publish…”

“Mmm,” was all that Andy could seem to offer. He didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect, but he managed a weak smile.

“… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by all that, I just… I was impressed, really,” Gus all but whispered, and when Chuck went to reassure him that he hadn’t done anything wrong, Clementine pulled him aside, and they spoke in frustrated mutters.

The atmosphere was tense, until Bill grabbed the page and jotted down a few things, half words and half pictures, before passing it back to his friend.

You already knew that dandy was being stupid. Stop moping. Just ask whatever you were gonna ask him. Chuck’s trying to suck up to him, but he’s right. We all make him too uncomfortable, Clem loses a sale.

Andrew read over it and bristled slightly, glaring at his friend, who rolled his eye, grabbed the pen, groaned, and added a symbol that he very, very rarely wrote.

Sorry.

Andy could practically hear the “sheesh, you’re really twisting my arm, not my fault that idiot didn’t know what kinda jobs Squares could have,” but he sighed and checked next to the apologetic image, a way of declaring that it was accepted, although the insult he wrote next to it made it clear he still thought Bill was taking a little too much pleasure in being a jackass.

“I can, ah, go… if I’ve made things too awful,” Gus said, unsure of how to interpret the near-silent performance the boys were putting on in front of him. “Just talk to Ms. Playfair, if, um, if you’d like, just focus on the order—” and it seemed very much like he wanted to take that escape, but Bill waved a hand.

“No way, we still got questions for you. Just don’t put your foot in your mouth this time, alright?”

“I’ll try,” the man nodded.

#wish i hadn't had to cut the line about bill being andy's 'collaborator and muse all in one' but ah well #also i promise i am working on this fic! i know it's been a year but... life got in the way #so have this alternate version of a scene from last chapter to tide you over as i get back to work

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dubioushonour · 10 months

Text

I'm rotating Project Sekai TWEWY AU in my head again because I was jotting down notes for it.

The SEKAI Ends With You? What a Wonderful SEKAI? Are You Asking For Death from Hatsune Miku?

It would run like a mix of original TWEWY and NEO, because I think the entrance fees are GREAT for character but the group team aspect is essential. Band groups would all be the same. I think mostly they all start as strangers except when it's fun if they weren't.

(If they knew each other before the story starts they still know each other, but also LN is together already because I feel like that's fair. I would say Vivids and BAD DOGs are aware of each other but haven't teamed up yet until they all end up in the same team after death)

I do not have a full idea of what everyone's fees would be, but:

Tsukasa's entry fee is Saki's memories of him

Mafuyu's entry fee is her memories, period, because she doesn't have anything else to take

Mizuki and Ena both get appearance fees (middle school mizuki and invisible Ena, maybe?)

Saki's entrance fee is her health

Minori's entrance fee is her determination or her memories of Haruka (kinda interlinked???)

Nene's fee is her voice, little mermaid style, obviously

Ichika's fee is not knowing who Hatsune Miku is or any of the virtual singers

Reapers are the virtual singers. Regular Miku is the Composer because I think that's fair, but due to Unfortunate Circumstances I Haven't Decided Upon Yet she doesn't actually have enough reapers to keep a proper game going so she's split herself into five, weaker versions of herself to keep the system running. (idk who her conductor is. Part of me says it's the little marshmallow avatar of us, part of my says It's Teto).

Otherwise then I would say One variation of a Virtual Singer each to accompany said Miku (this works out mostly fine because each Miku is basically paired off anyways. Exceptions are VBS Miku, who gets Meiko rights and N25 Miku, who gets Len.)

Pins and Powers would likely be based off songs, undecided if they would be based off all songs or just commissioned ones. Everyone gets 1 power, but it has the potential to evolve into a different one (As You Like -> Showtime Ruler as a maybe example). The big group all out attack would naturally be named after the big main group song.

For fun I would also say we get Bonus Reapers for virtual singers who are in the game, but not properly (Una, Flower, GUMI, VY1, VY2, who have in game vocals off the top of my head without checking).

- Tiny addition but I think it would be something like

MMJ Miku gets Rin and Gumi

L/N Miku gets Luka and VY1

WxS Miku gets Kaito and Una

VBS Miku gets Meiko and VY2

N25 Miku gets Len and flower

No one stays Perma Dead in this AU because I am just not about that in the Miku Friendship Therapy game. The main crux would be that yes, everyone is playing to come back to life and there is a genuine danger of losing and dying. (and tbh probably some side characters might die) (things happen) (stories need drama)

But ultimately Miku is just trying to fill her Reaper ranks back out after An Unspecified Incident, so she would rather them alive but with a side job if they lose.

(currently have no idea who the winners of the game would be. Leo/need is in the Leo/lead though) (I feel like n25 would jump at the chance to be Reapers)

Maybe? A background plot about someone trying to take over as composer while regular Miku is weak and split in five pieces but I haven't thought that hard about it. One of the other Big Vocal Synths trying to encroach on Miku's territory while she's down, maybe. (It couldn't be... Teto Territory... UNLESS?)

Anyways this concludes PrSk brain rot au ramble 2 Electric Boogaloo, thanks

#prsk #project sekai #absolutely not tagging everyone in this #because that would just #clutter the tags unnecessarily #but the general tag is fair game for brain rot #i feel like #if i gotta look at the yandere y/n reader inserts when i go into the tag #i get to subject you guys to Thoughts

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mishy-mashy · 2 years

Text

Some snippets of Teddy (Black Butler OC)

Includes;

• His horrible first impression on the dorm as someone extremely unlucky

• Cheslock and Violet being annoyed by Cole while Teddy's out of commission

• Cheslock knows some Latin

• A breakfast at the Violet Wolf after a school production

• Cleaning up the auditorium

×××

His horrible first impression on the dorm as someone extremely unlucky

(When the fish at breakfast started moving, despite being dead, Teddy manages to trap it under a dish lid)

"Good morning, good - stay still! - sir! I don't suppose you could- yikes!" I yelped after a particularly strong jump from the fish. "-help me keep this thing contained?"

Cheslock put his hands on the lid to help give more strength to keep the lid down. Surprisingly, it was a lot, or just helpful, because it became much steadier.

The beating and flopping inside stopped. We went silent, watching the lid before deciding to carefully lift it, when the lid's edge grazed its skin, and-

"NO!!!" I slammed the lid shut again as the jumping began again with vigor that it shouldn't have.

Violet inspected the overturned plates and drinks caused by a dead fish.

Huh. So even the dead can still physically cause trouble, he thought idly.

I laughed awkwardly at Cheslock, knowing my reputation was already shot as a weirdo, and a dead fish flopping in my breakfast was not going to help that.

Even Cheslock was already being fed up with me, if that look was any indication.

"Teddy. Are you always gonna be involved in dumb shit, or is this a one-time thing."

.... Curses.

I kept my plastered on smile, though it was obvious even I was doubting myself of being able of that.

"Hopefully a one-time thing?" I tried.

Judging by the absolute silence of the dining hall, and with everyone knowing my record, absolutely no one in the school could believe me on that, nevermind this dorm or Cheslock.

Don't look at me like that!?!!

Unfortunately, that point was proven when the moment I gave the fish to Cheslock, it flopped once again. Before he could throw it out of panic, it jumped out on its own and woke up three other dead fishes.

We evacuated the dining hall. Some kids stayed behind to try some weird ritual that I reaaally wasn't looking forward to.

"At least it can't get any worse?" I tried with a shaky smile, only getting a flat look from the prefect's fag, and disbelieving looks from everyone else.

As if the world was mocking me, a loud crash sounded right behind us, inside the dining hall.

Was that the chandelier?!!

Cheslock facepalmed, dragging his hand down his face with a groan.

".. I'm sorry."

×××

Cheslock and Violet being annoyed by Cole while Teddy's out of commission

"I'm sorry," Greenhill apologized simultaneously with Midford once again, their voices pathetic.

"It wasn't intentional, so it's fine." If it were Cole, on the other hand..

Cole was still here. He was all smiles and enjoying the fact Teddy wasn't here, but right now, the two really did not want him here. Having one kid with a concussion was already troubling, and it fell to them to deal with it. As it impacted them personally, the added annoyance of a Maurice Cole was truly unnecessary.

They didn't have to deal with it, but they were the ones present at the time it happened, and were also something akin to Teddy's brothers, via the fag system.

"Well, I-" Cole made to speak.

"Choke on it and die, Mole." Cheslock glared.

"Hn," Violet agreed, noncommittal.

So annoying.

×××

Cheslock knows some Latin

"Great. You ran one," he said dryly.

"Yay.. what do I get for two?"

"A kick to your back to make you run five."

I made a sound akin to a crying groan, barely able to keep myself from collapsing to the ground and giving up then and there.

"Moriar, Cheslock, moriar."

(*Latin for "I'll die, Cheslock, I'll die.")

He answered back very fluently as he dragged me by the arm to straighten up, "Non morieris."

(*"You won't die.")

Well, now that was a surprise. "You know Latin?"

"There's too much Latin in the school to not know some things. Get up."

×××

A breakfast at the Violet Wolf after a school production

When breakfast came around, with a typical British breakfast, I once again scraped the baked beans off of my plate and onto Violet's. He didn't mind, since he seemed to like the things.

It's not that I couldn't stomach them. I just didn't like them enough to eat them without being confused. I like sweet things too, but when it's kidney beans being sweet.. it's weird.

I don't like them.

So I gave him my baked beans at the admonishing of Cheslock that we both ignored. In return, Violet reached under my arm and refilled my glass with a fourth serving of orange juice.

Somewhere to my right, one of the scriptwriters - Scott, I believe - seemed rather tipsy.

....... drunk. He looked to be drunk. In the morning, off of apple juice.

Some students sitting around him were nodding along with whatever he happened to be saying.

"While I'm glad everyone's noticing Teddy's feminine beauty," he went, slamming his glass on the table, "they've got it all wrong and made-up in their damn skulls! Cool beauty?! What cool beauty?!"

"Bluewer," one sighed dreamily.

"That..!" Scott made to object, but simmered down when he thought about it. ".. sounds right, actually.." he muttered.

×××

Cleaning up the auditorium

I spent the day sweeping,

"I have a broom, but no dustpan. Two brooms, and no dustpan. A mountain of dust is now here, so I must ask now—WHERE'S THE DUSTPAN?!"

Helping pack things,

"Shove it."

"Don't shove it."

"Shove it!"

"Don't shove it!"

And helping to look over the overhead lights to make sure they were fine.

"Strike a pose! YEAAAAHHH!!!! Anyway, this light works."

".. This one doesn't."

"... Uh oh."

"..."

"....... VIOLEEEEETTTTTT!!!!"

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #teddy #oc #cheslock #gregory violet #violet wolf #weston #edward midford #maurice cole

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keefwho · 11 months

Text

May 29 - 2023

7:56 AM

Before I forget, I had a dream where I was Link and my friend Daisy was Zelda. Without going into ALL the details because I can’t quite remember the timeline, Ganon showed up at the castle we were at and tricked us into going back in time with him so that we could either continue the cycle of reincarnation or end it, all by choosing to kill and ancient version of ganon with our modern sword or not. I woke up before we made a decision. The dream was pretty long, there was a lot going on and it was fun because it felt like a Zelda co-op game.

11:37 AM

I feel lost and unsure. I feel like I’ve regressed as a person in a lot of ways over the past year. Mostly with my personality and the kinds of things I identify with. I feel like I’ve been losing myself and cling onto others in an unhealthy way. Tomorrow I want to discuss this further but I didn’t want to keep this in right now. Ultimately I fear losing the friendships I value and systems I’ve built up so I know something has to be done. I don’t have the answer yet but tomorrow I’ll plan different kinds of action I can take to help figure this out.

I also fear telling those close to me about this because I don’t want to be viewed or treated like a drain on others. I don’t want people to fear my potential lack of emotional stability and distance from me. I don’t want to be seen as anything other than an equal, even though I rarely feel like one to begin with.

Lately I’ve been craving constant re-assurance that I really am thought about and appreciated. How I operate has become based around it which is a problem. I know the solution, it’s to believe in myself more and understand that just because someone doesn’t show their feelings the same way I do doesn’t mean they don’t like me. I struggle with that. I also don’t know how often someone is thinking of me or how they view me so I assume the worst, all because of my low self worth. I end up convincing myself I am hated unless I get solid and consistent evidence like sweet messages or offers to hang out. This problem is completely on my end and while the basic solution is known, it is hard to put it into practice. One idea could be to create a sort of hierarchy of priorities so I can remember not to jump ahead of core issues. For example, self care has to come before addressing any social problems. It can be easy to focus on obvious surface levels issues when in actuality, something deeper should be corrected that will make those surface issues much easier or solvable to begin with.

12:25 AM

I have to be brief because it is late. Today went well, I was very motivated and productive. I have no more commissions for the next 2 days. I did a good workout today. I meant to hang out with my new pal David while I worked on my avatar but then planned Zelda time happened instead. Daisy and I played it all evening. Now it is bed time and my tummy is kinda cramping which I don’t like. It hasn’t done this in a long time. I’m wondering what I could have eaten to cause this.

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Note

FINALLY SOMEONE SAID THE TRUTH.

I admit that i enjoyed act 3 but it feels like really rushed i have so much complain with that.

The build up until act 2 was so good it give us so much premise but the final blow si meh. Sorry that i want to share thing long rant with you

1. Why the final talk is with yae, no offense to her but we need ei to explain not to mention she witness khaenriah downfall so she can give us more information, i feel like they do it for the plot armor so they can just keep dragging this

2. So many things that quite inconsistant, the shogun is show no mercy to anyone that even did a little thing outside what she think its right, how come she can still have a talk with signora, when sara is falling like that, and also there is no clarification about sara right now.

The traveler was so done at first they refuse to help thoma and ayaka at the beginning. But they seem so happy and forget everything how come they are not RAGE ( okay maybe this is to bias and personal) when this nation provide nothing about our siblings information and also why they are not mention anything about their problem in ei stroy quest. Its nonsense! She is right in front of youu, ask about your siblings, ask about khaenriah, ask about ukmown god!!. How come they can just forget like that. Also mihoyo really waste the potential about twin things i thing ei will give us so much help bcs of the sympathy that we both rn lost our twin but noooo.

3. Kokomi seem lost some brain cell, she make a very succesfull grand intro but she become meh in act 3, how come a great strategist like her let the sus sponsorship slip just bcs they are desperate, not to mention her screen time is really small and her role seem so unsignificant and it feels lile she is a plain npc.

4. The awesome world quest that we have done doesnt get any mention at all! Inazuma owe us so much with cleansing sakura, thunder sakura, tatarigami, obarashi quest. It has so much potential that yae or ei or anyone else aknowledge what traveler has been done but nooo.

cracks knuckles... i suppose it's time for my promised dissertation. interestingly enough, you touched on a lot of the main issues i had with chapter III.

i think that if i had to pin the main issue, it's a lack of overall cohesiveness? we were jumping all over the place without the chance to ever flesh things out. inazuma is a smaller cast, but i feel like we didn't get to see any of them shine. since i'm most interested in the genshin characters, i'll break down my problems by going over everyone and their (lack) of impact on the story.

was ayaka not questioned or placed under suspicion for being close to thoma before his escape? i wanted to see her broken up over her duties as they relate to the yashiro commission, paired with having someone she genuinely cares about in danger. it would've been an interesting struggle if she was forced to choose one or the other. instead she just kinda took a back seat.

speaking of thoma, i don't even have anything to say, because he just... was there? for .0001 seconds. said "lol this sucks ig" and that's about it. i know we're going to get a story for him in the future since he's a 5* but i'm not getting my hopes up 😭 then in the raiden shogun's character story, man is peachy keen! be upset with the raiden shogun! have some inner conflict! even if it's just using loaded language because he's under surveillance for going against the raiden shogun, that'd be so cool. saying something like,

"Traveler, what's with that expression? Oh please, there's nothing to worry about. We're under the Statue of the Omnipresent God's protection. Nothing bad has ever happened here." *wink*

i also don't know what to say about gorou. he was... there....... i think. what is he fighting for? what are the stakes for him? what makes him place so much trust into kokomi? i'm out of things to say about him because i don't remember anything he did or said.

kokomi... oh kokomi... i was so hyped. so excited. i thought that maybe we could see a foil to the raiden shogun. that she'd have a moment where she's forced to realize, just like her opponent, sacrifices must be made that will hurt people who will never understand why she made them. or maybe something to show her military prowess. but instead she just accepts a mysterious patron's help (?), sees her people aging like the grateful dead from JJBA, and goes oh well. that sucks. what can ya do. oh bye traveler i guess, good luck with that. ????????????? HUH... similar case to thoma where she's gonna get a character story but like. she won't be the leader of the resistance anymore. that was her whole shtick. they took her shtick away. also she forced me to interact with more NPCs whose names i've already forgotten so i'm tilted about that still.

KUJOU SARA... AN INJUSTICE. A DISGRACE. a slap to my woman loving face. the build up was there. yae miko's comments about sara probably knowing the tenryou commission is involved in shady dealings, but is choosing not to think about it. sara being forced to confront reality and challenge her adopted father with the truth. being able to blaze a new path for herself in the process. when she started running to the raiden shogun i was ultra hyped up. sara, a devotee to the shogun for so long, was about to see her god interacting with the same people who led inazuma to this awful state. how would she react? would she stay ignorant, like yae miko so coyly said, choosing to look away in favor of following her god's footsteps? or would she be forced to recognize the raiden shogun isn't as divine as she once thought, and challenge her belief system?

we open the door to see the raiden shogun. the loading screen ensues. the camera pans to the ominous room, clouded in darkness, hinting at the ominous confrontation that is to come. the music takes a serious timbre. and then...

well fuck that potential character arc i guess. (we still don't know what sara made of any of this since she poofed out of existence from the story at this point)

kazuha also was handed a similar treatment. we've been with him for a while longer now. he is our introduction into inazuma, the one who first gets us emotionally involved by regaling us with the bittersweet tale of friendship that led him to becoming a wanted criminal. a kind soul who loves nature yet was dealt a cruel hand by fate, forced to watch his home nation turn into a hostile place, where his dear friend ultimately perished as a result. we get the scene with his friend's vision lighting back up. he parries a block from the raiden shogun, in the same area where his friend was killed by her. the parallels. the drama. except this time, he wasn't too late. he protected the traveler where he "failed" to protect his friend in the past. did he feel redemption at this? or was it a bittersweet reminder of what could've been?

WELL i guess we'll never know because we didn't get to talk to him again 😭 idk who got a bait and switch worse, him or sara. jesus christ mihoyo.

then we have signora. why is the raiden shogun talking to her? does she know about the gnosis being taken, and if she doesn't, what was her plan to get it from the archon? what does she think about scaramouche? and oh, okay, we're fighting here now. good fight + god tier music. pog pog. okay, now we've beaten her up, and raiden shogun wyd— wait no not signora her lore is still on CUPS not YET raiden shogun and— ah she's dead. okay. non nerds who didn't read artifact lore are going to know nothing about her. signora has such an interesting story, and yet... well. ok.

then we get raiden shogun redemption (?) arc. i was hype for this as well, though at that point, idk why i bothered being hype. i knew they were gonna do a cute power of friendship something or another, and i'm good with that, so long as it's executed well. what i was envisioning was like seven different buffs to correspond with the seven different visions, the dreams of those whose ambitions were stolen serving as the spear to penetrate the raiden shogun's heart of stone. maybe a hydro vision giving us extra healing for a time, with the voice acting over it being like,

"Even if the rest of the world forgets us, let our will carry you through this one final time. Succeed where we couldn't, Traveler."

so on and so forth.

but instead we got— you get the idea at this point. why bother spelling it out anymore.

at that point i was surprised the raiden shogun didn't go "oopsie woopsie!! we made a fucky wucky!!!" because that was the vibe i was getting. i love ei, don't get me wrong, but i wanted to see her challenged with what she had done to inazuma in the past year. maybe meeting NPC #2345259 who lost her sister to the vision decree or something, reminding ei of the love she held for her sister... being forced to come to terms with the extent of what she's done in pursuit of eternity.

anyway. please for the love of god mihoyo hire better writers for the main story. that is all i ask. thank you.

#genshin impact spoilers #answered #Anonymous

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wthtorke · 3 years

Text

Incandescent (Kofi commission)

Kofi one shot commission by Insta is day_of_mayhem!

(I might have gone off on this one lmao Enjoy!)

Incandescent.

The night had been quiet, the trees softly hustling against one another as the wind blew. First, it was the strange noise.

From your little house in the woods, a sharp noise rattled through your bed, making you jump up in surprise. Running to the window, you saw what could only be described as a falling star, coming quickly towards your house.

You could barely brace yourself against the windowsill as the star ripped through the clouds, falling far into the woods. Panting and scared, you looked for any signs of it. Any burning trees, smoke, noise coming from the general direction where it fell. You found none.

From the window, you caught sight of your truck, still parked in the driveway. Grunting to yourself, you made your decision as you grabbed a coat and the wooden axe from the fireplace, running to your car, hoping to find the fallen star before anyone else did.

Gripping the steering wheel hard enough your knuckles turned white, you drove through the path in the forest, stopping when even more strange noises reached your ears.

Stopping your car, you tilted your head slightly, trying to catch it again. Seconds passed before a sudden blast made you jump, looking into the direction a flash of light also happened. Leaving the car, you held the axe close to your chest as you slowly walked towards the noise, breathing quickly as you did.

From the trees behind you, a slick, black ridged tail moved quietly as its owner's drool fell onto the tree branches, slowly stalking towards you.

'Hssssssss..'

Eyes widening, you turned around in time to see a black creature jumping from the tree, arms outstretched and claws ready to tear into you.

Falling to the ground, the creature landed heavily on you, claws grappling your axe handle as you barely had time to process its weight before shiny, sharp fangs closed itself repeatedly before your face.

You only realized you were screaming when the creature shifted its weight to your chest, cutting your air as it reeled back to strike one final time to kill you.

Closing your eyes in fear, you could only open them again as an animalistic roar reached your ears, and then the crushing weight wasn't there anymore, a screech and a heavy, wooden thud following suit. The creature had been rammed from on top of you, instead hitting the tree it jumped from hard in its back, falling to the ground, briefly shaken.

You took your chance to get up as well and dart between the trees, out of the creature's way. You only bothered looking for whatever had knocked it out of you when the black creature hissed into another direction, and you realized there was absolutely nothing there.

Still, under the dim moonlight, the creature leaped into nothingness, surprisingly landing on the thin air, snapping and hissing, swinging its tail around. You watched as it tried to hit something with its piercing tail. With a roar, you jerked back as it seemed to hit its goal, whatever was beneath it started zapping and glowing with failing electrical power, soon revealing what the thing was perched on as it didn't stop its struggles for one second.

At this point, you had come to the conclusion that they were indeed aliens, and the star was no star but probably a ship that crash landed, even if you had no idea where it was now. The stream of roaring and screaming snapped you out of your thoughts, the massive humanoid alien trying to shake the creature from it’s back as best as it could, while still trying to dodge its deadly tail.

You looked around, your fight or flight instincts screaming at you to do something, anything. Looking at the dark forest behind you, you had no idea if there were other alien serpents around or more alien warriors to help this one. It was when the serpent's tail pierced the warrior's arm and you saw bright green blood explode everywhere that you took action.

Running towards both of them with your axe in hand.

Your decision was made as the blade of your weapon sunk into the black creature’s back, it’s startled shrill making your ears ring as it’s tail hit you hard in the chest, both making you fly a few feet back and thankfully escape it’s weird fizzing blood that you’d later come to know was pure acid.

You shook your head as you tried to breathe again, all the air knocked out from your lungs as you landed on your back. Your vision threatened to darken as you sat up, trying to spot where the aliens were.

Slowly your ears started focusing again as did your eyes, permitting you to see that not only was the black serpent not on top of the alien warrior anymore as said warrior was about to jam it’s blades into the serpent’s throat. The most intense occurrence of all your life didn’t last more than 5 minutes it seemed.

Getting up on your wobbly feet, you noticed just about how much blood there was around the ground. You watched as the warrior clutched his side, chest rising and falling as he stared at you, and while he could absolutely kill you if he so wanted, he didn’t.

Not that you were opposed to that, of course.

You felt the adrenaline die down in your blood, the cold air finally making you shiver a bit. You looked at who you supposed was a ‘he’ and back towards the general direction of your car. If his ship had truly crashed, he was stranded. Hurt and stranded.

“Safe,” You said, pointing back where your car was, “Together…?” You questioned, montioning between you and him with your less hurt hand. He took a few moments to analyze the situation before making his decision. He was hurt, more so than he’d like to admit, but less than he’d be if you hadn’t shown up. He nods, slowly, unsure, later following you to the truck, all but hauling himself up the back of the pickup truck. ‘I’ll definitely need to hose that down in the morning.’ You thought as you saw the green blood streaks as you got into the driver's seat.

The drive back was smooth, no longer fueled by raw fear and adrenaline. You felt tired, maybe because of the bruises forming where you got hit or well, the fact that this was more action than you had since….Well, ever. Getting home, you didn’t really know why you snuck him through the garage door, you had no neighbors and no family living with you but somehow it seemed the right thing to do, he was an alien after all.

He seemed to know the concept of showering, at least. He washed all the dirt and grime off of his body and you were more than a little upset at yourself that you didn’t see him take off his mask, only noticing your mistake when he got out of the bathroom and the metal was so clean it was sparkling.

You watched as he sat in your living room and started patching himself up. While he wasn’t bleeding profusely anymore, the roaring surely gave you chills down your spine as he plunged some kind of needle into his thigh, pumping the syringe’s contents into his system before sewing his wound shut.

You pointed at the couch and told him to make himself at home, as far as that could go, anyway. You passed out as soon as you hit the pillow, your body paying no mind to the huge alien downstairs.

The next morning, he was gone.

As much as you were expecting it, it still felt...odd. Like some kind of fever dream. Only you knew it happened by the state of your house and garage. If you didn’t know it was an alien, you’d have thought a wild bear had wrecked your house. The floor was muddy, some things were out of place or straight up on the floor while some you couldn’t tell if they were touched at all.

Sighing, you gathered the broom, mop and trash bags to start your new mission; Cleaning the house.

Cleaning was usually boring, but this time it just felt restless. Even as your favorite songs played in the background. Of course, no alien could just have a slumber party in some human’s house but still, much had happened yesterday. You wondered when the government’s men were going to burst through your window and shoot a sedative up your arm because you’ve had alien interaction.

You were cleaning the kitchen cupboards when a reflection that very much wasn't your own caught your attention in the mirror. Squinting a bit, you jumped back when your eyes focused and revealed your guest's reflection, only his position was right behind you. "FUCK-” You turned around quickly, hitting your knee in the process, ”When did you get here?! God-," You started coughing a bit from the sudden intake of air.

You looked back at him when you heard strange noises coming from his helmet, almost like someone was tuning a radio before the words became clear, recordings.

"No-, trails."

You blinked in confusion for a second before realizing what he meant, slight dread setting in your gut at the prospect that an alien could speak, or well, play recordings of english to you. "Trails-, in the forest? Wow..that’s, that’s very nice, actually, hadn’t thought of that,” you thought over your next words, taking in his huge form as you did, “You’re headed home now, I suppose?”

He shook his head, motioning to his still tender wounds from yesterday’s battle against the serpent.

The serpent.

“Oh, Um-, That thing is dead, right?”

He nodded, “Exterminated. Contained.”

Contained.

“Great, great-, well, if you’re not planning to kill me and take over my house, you’re um...very welcome to stay?” You said, a bit unsure.

He nodded, walking over silently towards your garage door, you heard rummaging around, following to see him picking up after a broken vase you didn’t remember was there.

He was a considerate roommate, you could say. Wherever this alien came from, he knew of common sense, or just had a very strict mama as he helped in the chores he could. You suspected he didn’t trust you to clean his trails properly, but you weren’t complaining of free help.

Another thing you could tell is that he learned fast. Very fast.

He’d been skeptical of you, at first. You’d never catch him sleeping or eating, always the same passive expression of his mask looking back at you. You couldn’t blame him, but even then, it was hard not to speculate what was underneath it. Did he look like Davy Jones? The Shape? He didn’t seem to be aquatic. Maybe a lizard? His skin was mottled like one, at least.

3 months passed by before you both had that feeling. He’d been here for too long. His wounds were beyond healed, no one had shown up for him, no government, no other aliens, nothing. You’d seen him mess with his wrist gauntlet a few times, seen him test the cloaking device he had, it worked.

So, why was he still here?

It was on a similar night that you met him that you mustered the courage to ask.

The stars were bright, as was the moonlight. The breeze was soft, you both sat outside for a bit, looking into the forest. He told you he feared they’d come at night. You guessed he spoke of other humans, the kind that would want to study him alive, in the name of ‘science’, and he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Are you waiting for your people to come get you? Have you sent a signal yet?”

“Yes.”

Your breath hitched a bit, the cold air around you prickling at your skin. “Oh-, well...have they replied?”

“Yes.”

You nodded, “So, I guess they’ll be coming soon, right?”

You waited for another robotic ‘Yes’ to hit your ears, to shatter your fantasy of living a nice life with him, somehow.

“No.”

“No?” You asked, lifting your head to look at him, “Why not?”

He turns to look at you for a second, at least you could assume he was looking at you behind the mask.

With that, he lifted his hands to the object of your speculation during the last 3 months, fingers slowly snapping off tubes that connected it to the rest of his armor with an audible ‘Fzzzzz’.

You held your breath as he hooked his fingers around the mask, snapping it off as well. He hovered the mask for a second before slowly lowering it away from his face.

You could feel your pupils dilate as you took in the sight of him, the spiky crown around his forehead, the mottling, so similar to the rest of his body, going down to his eyes, you lingered there for a moment, taking in how yellow they looked, and how they were staring directly into your own.

You gulped as you kept lowering your gaze, spotting the fangs, the tusks, the strong jaws that could very much clamp around your neck right now, if he so wanted. Everything about him screamed predator before, but now, having the last piece of the puzzle, you could only think of one word to describe him.

Perfect.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding when his hand touched yours, so tender, mindful of his talons, yet still enveloping your cold ones in warmth. You looked up at him, fingers slowly squeezing his own, an attempt to show him you weren’t afraid, just stunned.

“Stay.” He said, in a much deeper voice than any he’d ever played for you before. His voice.

You only realized you were crying when the tears caught in between the crinkles of your smile, stopping their journey straight down your face, giving them a shortcut to falling down your chin, to where his other hand was raising up, gently tipping your face up, as he lowered his own, pressing your foreheads together.

“Stay.” You repeated, in a much quieter, shakier voice than his, but with every bit of intention behind it, still smiling as he squeezed your hand again.

Suddenly, the night didn’t feel nearly as cold anymore, nor did it feel as lonely as it once did.

#fluff lots of fluff #The Predator #predator #predators #yautja #yautja x human #human/yautja #yautja/human #kofi commission #Alien #alien relationship #yautja x reader #reader

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syllvane · 3 years

Text

muscle memory pt. 3- sylvie x reader

a/n: i said i was going to post tomorrow but i couldn’t help myself. anyways, spoilers for episode 2 and 3 of loki, minor spoilers for the beginning of episode 3. final word count is 1.7k words!

read the previous part read the next part read the series

“How is Loki doing?” You asked Mobius, walking with him to the mess hall.

“He’s doing great. Making real progress, I would say.”

“Didn’t you have to have a meeting with Renslayer this morning because of his actions?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. His face scrunched up for a second.

“It’s like every time he is making progress, he takes two steps back.”

“That sounds more believable. You still think he’s worth all the trouble though?”

Mobius sighed slightly. “I really do believe in him. It’s not just an issue of whether I believe in him though, it’s whether Ravonna and the Timekeepers do.”

“Oh, you’re on first name basis now, with Renslayer?” You turned and grinned at Mobius, who immediately flushed after realizing his mistake.

“Not a word of this to anyone.” He said strictly, although there was a smile on his face as well.

“Yeah, yeah.” You said, standing in line with Mobius as he ordered his lunch before sitting down at a two-seat table. “Ravonna and Mobius-”

“C-7.” Mobius said strictly, although you could tell he was partly amused by your antics.

You continued in the same quiet, sing-songy voice as before.

“-on a jet ski. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

Mobius finished taking a sip of his drink and then applauded quietly, so as to not draw attention.

“Has anyone ever told you that you truly have all the originality of a grade-schooler?”

Before you could answer, you were interrupted by a tall man with long dark hair speed walking over to where Mobius and you were sitting.

Although he seemed to be in a hurry, you could tell that he was sizing up everybody in the room, including yourself.

“I found- oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there. Would you mind moving so that me and my partner could discuss something?” He asked politely, even smiling.

You locked eyes with him, smiling back at him.

“I’m good, thanks. You can just pull up a chair.”

His smile wavered and he maintained eye contact for a couple of moments longer before breaking it, going to a different table and pulling over a chair.

(You ignored the pointed look Mobius shot at you, like he was asking you to be the bigger person here. Unfortunately for him, you had no such intentions.)

“Right. I know how the Variant is hiding.”

Mobius leaned back.

“Talk about burying the lead. How?”

Loki smiled slightly, this smile much different from his last- he was proud of himself.

“He’s hiding in apocalypses.”

There was a moment of silence. You and Mobius exchanged a glance.

“Which one? There’s like a million all across history.” Mobius pointed out and Loki took a second to compose himself before starting his explanation.

You sat back as he explained his reasoning, watching with amusement as he put more salt and pepper into Mobius’ salad, handing him your own drink when he realized that Mobius’ drink was empty.

He gave you a nod of recognition and Mobius sent you another, even more exasperated glance as Loki poured your drink into the salad (although, in your opinion, seeing Loki grin like that made it worth it).

—— “How was Pompeii?” You asked, not even having to look up from the apocalypse case files to figure out that it was Loki who was approaching you.

He stopped for a minute, almost taken aback by your observation, before continuing and taking a seat in front of you.

“I was right, naturally.”

You scoffed slightly.

“Naturally.”

You looked up at him to find that his piercing eyes were already looking at you, almost curiously.

“You’re already sorting through the apocalypse files.”

“Naturally occurring disasters with no survivors, cross-referenced with the candy that Mobius picked up. You were confident that you were right so I figured I should start looking.”

Loki raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly.

“You’re smarter than you look. Could’ve saved me and Mobius some time.”

“He forgot to cross-reference?”

He nodded, hesitating for a moment before he grabbed some of the files that you hadn’t started looking over yet.

You looked at him appreciatively, though he wasn’t looking at you anymore.

The two of you sat there, looking at the case files in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Mobius walked into your office as well.

“What’s this?” Mobius asked, taking a cursory glance at the file on top.

“Kablooie.” You said simply and Mobius sighed slightly, frustrated that he hadn’t thought of it.

He grabbed a couple of files as well, standing up as he started reading.

“I think I have something,” Loki said a couple of minutes later, splaying the case out on your desk so that everyone could see. “Class ten apocalypse. Alabama, 2050.”

You looked it over and even just with a cursory glance, you could tell that this is where the Variant was hiding- you looked over at Mobius and saw pride on his face.

“You’re gonna take my job if I’m not careful.”

“Now to pitch it to Renslayer.” You said and Mobius nodded, already halfway out of your office. He closed the door behind him and you looked at Loki. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this excited in a while. In fact, the last time I saw him this excited, I think we saw a jet ski on a mission.”

Loki smiled to himself, though the expression disappeared when he looked back at you.

“And what about you?”

“Hm?” You tilted your head slightly, caught off-guard by the question.

“What excites you?”

You held his gaze for a couple of moments, feeling uncomfortable with how he looked at you, as if he knew something about you that you didn’t know about yourself.

You finally looked away, standing up.

“We should go meet Mobius. We’ll be heading out as soon as he gets the approval.”

“You say this like it’s a sure thing.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Renslayer say no to him. Come on.”

——

The rain sounded a hundred times louder when you were listening to it hit the roof of the Roxxcart, so loud that you could barely hear the sound of your own voice above the noise.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, positioning your reset baton defensively. The man standing by the plants seemed to hesitate slightly, although he was still much too calm for this kind of weather.

“Hurricane sale. Azaleas are half-off.”

“Could that be you?” You asked Loki, your eyes never leaving the man. Although his eyes continued to look between you and Loki, his gaze lingered on you longer.

“I… mean… I would’ve worn a suit, but it could be.”

You took a couple steps towards the man and he backed up, looking at you pleadingly.

“I don’t want to do this.” He said quietly and you tilted your head slightly, confused.

You took another step towards him.

“What-”

He grabbed your arm and a warm feeling came over your body.

A woman’s voice in your head lulled you to sleep, promising to bring you home and then everything went dark.

…

“Sylv, why are you acting so weird?” You asked, taking another sip of wine.

The blonde woman across from you smiled, although you could tell that she was forcing it for your sake.

“Another one of my suitors came and visited me today.” She said. You made a face and she laughed slightly.

“Complete fools, every one of them.”

“Fools for being deeply in love with me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, almost as if she was allowing herself to play the part for a couple of brief moments.

“No, I’m above self-flagellation. They’re fools for thinking that they could ever win your heart.”

She laughed.

“And why is that?”

You leaned back in your chair.

“I have it on very good account that someone already has it.” You said and Sylvie‘s smile faded and her gaze didn’t quite meet yours, almost as if her mind was preoccupied elsewhere.

She looked back at you, her look apologetic.

The scene around you grew distorted, nothing quite clear anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

Her words repeated everywhere around you like you were in an echo chamber rather than…

Rather than…

Where were you?

The blonde woman that had been there a moment ago disappeared and with her, everything else.

…

When you came to, Mobius was kneeling beside you, waiting for you to wake up.

“C-7… are you okay?” He asked slowly, looking at you with more concern than you think anyone else ever has.

You propped yourself up and you looked around wildly for Loki or for the blonde woman- Sylvie- who had been in your head.

“Where are they?” You asked and you hated how desperate your voice sounded.

“They escaped. Take it easy, the Variant did a number on-”

“Mobius, I have to find her.” You said, trying to stand up only to be overwhelmed with nausea and dizziness.

Mobius supported you, keeping you from falling back onto the ground.

“I know. And we will, but we have more pressing issues right now. Come on.”

You didn’t protest, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to convince Mobius even if you promised to get him a jet ski afterwards.

What you had to do now, you would do alone.

He helped you through the portal back to the TVA and the rest of your team followed, all of them being immediately assigned to different Nexus events that were happening simultaneously.

You, being injured, were given the pass to stay back at the TVA.

You wondered if the Timekeepers knew what you were about to do, if they could’ve predicted it- after all, they were the ones who had made you, right?

You headed to the sector of the TVA where they issued TemPads, looking at the data of where all the TemPads were jumping to and from when you stumbled upon something odd- there was a TemPad that only had one jump registered in its entire history.

TVA to Lamentis-1, 2077.

Huh.

The Variant- Sylvie- whatever her name was, must’ve found out a way to stop the TemPad from feeding data into the system, but it must’ve reset when she jumped to the TVA.

You grabbed one of the TemPad’s that were out of commission for charging, unplugging it.

It was low on battery, but it would have to do.

You opened a portal for yourself using the exact same coordinates and time that they had put in and without any hesitation, you walked through.

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.”

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys. You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own.

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way.

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked.

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.”

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.”

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?”

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.”

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

#Richard Alonso Muñoz #richard alonso munoz x reader #the letter room #oscar isaac #richard alonso muñoz x reader

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