#“why are you writing a part two?”
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Whumptember 2023, Day 11
“There’s nothing else I can do”
Last resort | Character death | Medical whump
The Bee’s Whumptember Masterlist
~1490 words
CW: probably wrong medical procedure based on my own limited medical training and experience, wishing for death, blood, implied knife wounds, technical medical talk, mentioned past torture, brainwashed whumpee, medical malpractice (but the good kind ig?), needles
(Continued from Day 10: What Are You Doing To Them. Turns out Detective does save Whumpee after all. kinda. heh.)
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Where… where was Whumpee? This was all much too white, much too bright. New noises pounded on their eardrums. Weren’t they supposed to be dead? Hanging limply by their wrists, crimson red blotting out their dark flesh so that it was practically a second skin? So good and pretty for Whumper, because they couldn’t struggle anymore and couldn’t be entertaining anymore, so dead was the only way Whumpee could make Whumper happy? They were supposed to be dead. They wanted to be. That was the only way they could be useful now.
Something was poking and prodding at them. Multiple somethings, multiple someones. Whumpee shifted uncomfortably and tried to move away, only to find they couldn’t. Straps. They were strapped to a bed, and the bed was jostling around. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Every slight movement exacerbated their dizziness.
Had Whumper decided to keep them alive after all? Maybe this was just some new form of torture. That must be why Whumper put some sort of face mask on them. Poison, maybe. Whumpee would gladly take it. Even if their wounds made them so, so weak, even if the bright lights made them want to scream, even if they could barely feel what was happening to their body, even if the flurry of movement around them confused them, especially the agonizing poking and prodding.
Even if some dark horrible part of their heart fluttered because maybe, just maybe, Whumpee was being saved. If only… No, no, Whumpee didn’t want to be saved. Whumpee wanted to please Whumper and be good for them. That was their only job in life.
Was Whumper even here? They usually liked to talk while torturing Whumpee.
No, Whumpee was good. Whatever Whumper wanted, Whumpee would do, even if this wasn’t their usual style. They would take it because they had to, and they wanted to. They wanted to. They would always take it, always, always, always, always, always…
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Detective frantically patted Whumpee’s cheek, and their eyelids twitched open again. Barely. One of the EMTs shoved Detective out of the way with an understandably authoritative “Move,” and got to work wiping off a staggering amount of crimson just from the crook of Whumpee’s elbow. They quickly placed and taped down the IV before readjusting the oxygen mask on Whumpee’s face for the third time, as the other EMT worked on staunching the blood endlessly gushing from the various gaping gashes and stab wounds all over their body.
“They’re losing too much blood, tourniquet and elevate the limbs more and focus on stitching and pressure on the torso and head.”
Detective leaned back into the corner as much as they could. They almost wished they hadn’t climbed into the ambulance. They almost wished they’d listened as the personnel yelled at them to get out, before Detective’s determined glare and crossed arms made them decide it wasn’t worth trying to force Detective out when time was already a very precious and very quickly dwindling resource. Almost.
They smiled to themself, despite everything. If nothing else, even if Whumpee didn’t end up pulling through, at least they had made that sick sadist pay. A mist of red spraying to the walls. A second bullet. That was all Detective could have wanted.
Whumpee shuddered on the gurney, momentarily thrashing under their restraints before falling still again.
“Don’t they need blood?” Detective called, jarred out of their thoughts. They started taking a mental tally of all visible wounds again. “They lost so much, and we don’t even know–”
“Yes, they do,” EMT1 interrupted, not looking up from their tourniquet. “We don’t have any, they’ll get it at the hospital.”
Detective sputtered. “They’re not gonna make it to the hospital! We’re in the middle of nowhere, it’s gonna take–”
“Look,” EMT1 spun on Detective. “We can’t do anything about it, or else we would! Now stay out of the way or I’ll have you thrown out of the damn vehicle.”
They harshly tied off the tourniquet and moved to the next one. Then their face softened again. Just slightly. “We want them alive just as much as you...”
“I’m a universal donor!” Detective pleaded. “O negative! Take my blood!”
EMT1 paused and stared at Detective before remembering themself, shaking their head out and continuing to fuss over a particularly nasty gash. “Absolutely not, we can’t know that for sure, we can't test it, not to mention the malpractice suit alone would–”
“Shit!” The other EMT called suddenly. “Heart stopped beating, beginning compressions! Two, three, four…” They started pushing into Whumpee's chest before they even fully finished the sentence. The one chewing Detective out dashed to grab the AED machine, slammimg the two pads onto Whumpee’s chest around their partner's working hands, before rushing to the side of Whumpee’s head, tipping their head up and preparing to give life-saving breaths.
“Hey!” EMT1 yelled out to Detectives. “Come here and work the AED, it’ll prompt you on everything you need to do–” EMT2 finished their thirty compressions, and EMT1 stopped their orders to give two full breaths into the mask. Whumpee’s chest rose and fell with each breath before falling still again. EMT2 continued their compressions. EMT1 dashed across the cabin to press on the wounds again. ”--and make sure to yell ‘clear’ when it’s scanning AND when a shock is advised and then press the button–”
“They’re back!” EMT2 yelled again, ear pressed closely to Whumpee’s mouth and two fingers on the carotid artery. “Pulse weak as measured at the beginning, breathing normal. Continue as we were, and pay close attention to vitals!”
EMT1 froze, chest heaving shakily. “Okay, okay, nevermind, uh, go back to the corner…”
“Please, I’m O negative, I can help,” Detective begged. “They’re not gonna make it–”
EMT1 reeled on them, eyes fiery and wet, practically shaking, holding tense hands in front of themself placatingly as if they wanted nothing more than to grab Detective by the throat and hurl them out of the ambulance.
“We cannot give an emergency blood transfusion with your blood!” they yelled, breath ragged, whipping their hand up to silence Detectives protests. “We can’t verify the blood type, and if you’re wrong, they will die, and that’s not even touching on the amount of malpractice I’d be committing. There’s nothing I can do to–”
“Oh, lay off and just do it,” EMT2 called out from the other side of the gurney, pressing a cloth into Whumpee’s stomach wounds. “Guy’s a detective, they know their blood type, and you and I both know that the patient’s heart still somehow beating is one in a billion.”
They reached across Whumpee to grab their partner's arms and press them down onto the cloth so they could grab something from the cabinets, snapping at Detective to do the same, and Detective fell in right next to EMT1.
“We’re also what, twenty minutes away from the hospital? The will of God themself couldn’t keep this patient alive for that long without a transfusion.” They nodded to the blood still steadily pooling onto the floor, covering all their shoes in a dark crimson, soaking through the bottoms of their pants with a morbid stickiness.
EMT1 stared at Whumpee, searching over their frail frame as if the answers to their life were going to be etched onto Whumpee’s skin. Only different etchings, cuts, and deep purple and black bruises could be found, standing out brilliantly against Whumpee’s practically gray skin. They turned their eyes desperately to their partner, then Detective, then their partner again. “Do it. I’ll continue care until blood can be administered. If this doesn’t work, it's on your ass.”
“Always is,” EMT2 muttered with a jarring laugh. They beckoned Detective over as their partner worked in a flurry behind them, quickly tying a tight rubber tourniquet around Detective’s upper arm. “Try to keep still, lean on the wall. Get some water from the sink, too. You’re absolutely sure you’re a universal donor?”
EMT2 grabbed them by the elbow and shoved the needle into the vein without waiting for a response. Detective swallowed. “I’ve done this before. Never been more sure in my life.”
EMT2 nodded as they finished, rushing away to help with Whumpee again just as thick blood suctioned up through the thin tube and into the waiting blood bag. Detective was already starting to feel a bit woozy. Great time to remember their fear of needles.
They forced their gaze away from the slowly filling bag, over to Whumpee lying half dead on the gurney with the EMTs rushing around them, patching them up with practiced precision. They watched with baited breath each time their chest rose and fell, hoping the next one wouldn’t be their last. Up, down, up, down. Don’t pass out. Then back to the blood draw kit, sucking out the lifesaving liquid from Detective so it could continue its journey in Whumpee.
God, this had better work.
@whumptember
#whumptember2023#whumptember day 11#day eleven: theres nothing i can do#day eleven: medical whump#day eleven: last resort#whump#whumpee#caretaker#whump writing#writeblr#“but bee you didnt like day ten!”#“why are you writing a part two?”#turns out i like writing about detective and them emts because its a lot more action or something like that lol#something about completely conditioned and trained whumpees just doesn't hit the spot for me#also i am cpr certifiead and a lifeguard#so at least the crp portion should be medically correct#at least at the time of posting#the rest tho idk
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what i like especially about the pronouns in the goblin emperor is that this language doesn't just have the T-V distinction (aka informal vs. formal second-person pronouns, in this case 'thou' vs. 'you'), it also has informal and formal first-person pronouns. having BOTH of these distinctions in the same language lets you fine-tune your tone by mixing and matching. with only one axis of formality, when you use informal pronouns, are you being familiar in an intimate way, or in an insolent or dismissive way? when you use formal pronouns, are you being polite or standoffish? you can't tell just from the pronouns; there's ambiguity. but a language where you can use a formal first-person pronoun in the same sentence as an informal second-person pronoun allows you to distance yourself (via the formal first) while also being familiar (via the informal second), thereby achieving the conversational tenor known to linguists as Fuck Thee Specifically.
#just kidding i don't know what linguists call that tenor. or any tenors. i'm not totally positive what a tenor even is#but i can't let that stop me from writing a jokey post on tumblr dot com#register is a very interesting area of linguistics that i know very little about#so i'm probably revealing the depths of my vast ignorance here to all the sociolinguists who surely hang on my every word#but i've always thought of the formal/informal pronoun thing as being about two things: intimacy-distance & rudeness-politeness#and of course you can usually tell from context whether a formal pronoun is meant to indicate distance or politeness#(plus distance and politeness are related to each other (to various degrees depending on culture))#but it seems like it would be cool to have a built-in alignment chart of sorts just for pronoun combos#instead of prep jock nerd goth...why not try intimate self-effacing polite superior?#the goblin emperor#pronouns#register#sociolinguistics#my posts#f#anyway i know i said i wasn't going to reread the goblin emperor...but guess what. lol#and i edited my tags on that earlier post but fyi the language DOES distinguish between plural and formal singular pronouns#i had said i thought it used the same pronouns for plural and formal but i just wasn't paying close enough attention#so anyway i just reread the part where maia is talking to setheris in formal first and informal second#and you can see setheris going ohhh shit. oh shit oh shit oh shit#i'm in biiiiiig trouble#you sure are dude. that's the Time to Grovel signal#it's interesting because at the very beginning of the book when i first saw the formal first used i just thought it was the royal we#because i knew the main character was supposed to be royalty#but then EVERYONE was doing it. so it's not the royal we it's just the formal we#however. this does make me realize that the way the royal we would function in a language that retains the t-v distinction#is the same way i'm describing here. it's just reserving that particular tone (i'm better than you and am displeased with you)#for royalty only. which makes sense given royalty's whole deal
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a taste of hannibal, a touch of megamind, a shot of venom (pours the whole damn bottle)
i love venom (2018) a lot, it’s my go-to movie when i’m bored or sad, i have seen it many many times. i saw it again a week or so ago with a bud and finally had the opportunity to pen down this lovely au i’ve been thinkin bout
i’ve got a much more fleshed out sketch of how this au plays out. not sure if i’ll write it yet
anyway some bullet points
noir (called, ofc, noir) arrives on earth-138 in the 1920s. his first host is robbie and they basically go through the venom movie, where noir slowly learns to love earth and humanity and all that jazz. up until the 50s or so they’re an investigative reporter and occasionally a scary vigilante superhero!
when robbie is killed (not ewaf style. i forbid it), it fucking devastates noir and he host-hops for a bit, doing fun anarchy things to keep up robbie’s legacy but also losing a few morals here and there. he can do a little murder and eat nazis as a treat
the symbiotes arrive en masse and osborn infects humans with them to turn into his fascist riot police army
through vampire-hunting-esque shenanigans, hobie and noir meet, and strike up a tenuous truce to fight the government. hobie does not like him at first, but noir very much does ;)
cue a slow burn gothic romance between a freedom fighter and a devoted monster <3
#spider man: across the spider verse#spider punk#spider noir#hobie brown#noirpunk#theyre not spiderpeople in this au lol#the issue is i can write horror but i cant draw it lhkjdsf#which is why the Funnies#and the goddamn megamind scene. which somehow perfectly fits#see the fun part about it is that noir has to always be connected to hobie in order to survive#so we have Monster Who is Recklessly Devoted to Host and Host Who is Not Into This#noir’s hat and general look come from his assimilation to humanity over the last fifty or so years. hes not like other symbiotes#hes quirky. he wears a fedora. you ever seen him without that stupid hat on that’s WEIRD#two stupid old jokes in one! i like it#anyway yeah monster noir for the win#thanks discord! yall made me rework this entirely just to make it more fucked up horror <3
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An example of queercoding in Alhaitham and Kaveh's relationship: Madam Faruzan edition
Due to the rules in place for game development in China, the possibility for queer confirmation within Genshin Impact is denied, which therefore renders the usage of characters alluding to the potential romantic connection between two same-sex characters as impossible. However, the same insinuation can be made by omitting specific language which strictly conveys romantic sentiments, such as ‘couple’. Instead, the idea of secrecy or something unmentionable can be drawn upon as indicators, as this draws parallels to the taboo of homosexuality practiced within certain cultures and media forms, which the real world audience can identify.
For example, Alhaitham and Kaveh as secret housemates. This can be used to convey an idea of ‘taboo’ as Kaveh desires to protect his reputation by concealing his shame of having to live with Alhaitham. In-game, the context here is that Kaveh wants to uphold his reputation of a successful architect, but within Alhaitham’s Story Quest, upon the player’s discovery of Kaveh living with Alhaitham, this context is omitted for some time. This prompts Paimon to question what exactly Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship is, with Kaveh denying that the two used to be friends but are not anymore: “I wouldn’t say ‘friends’ exactly”.
This tactic of double entendre can be seen again in A Parade of Providence when Paimon almost reveals Kaveh’s living situation to Faruzan.
Faruzan’s can be observed to resort to a thinking pose, in comparison with Layla, when Alhaitham is mentioned in relation to Kaveh wanting to buy property, as Paimon almost ‘outs’ the truth, that Kaveh resides with Alhaitham.
She then seemingly dwells upon the subject, as she returns to it after Kaveh requests for a change of topic later in the conversation. Here, Faruzan follows up on whether Kaveh lives alone, which he fails to deny.
Here, it can be seen that she has already began associating Kaveh and Alhaitham, possibly speculating that the two live together. When Kaveh fails to supply an answer, therefore not denying her theory, she explicitly ties the two together, and asks if the two are “hiding” something.
This question evokes a physical reaction from Kaveh, as he denies this question out of fear of being revealed, with Paimon opting to leave in order to cover her role in revealing Kaveh’s predicament.
A deliberate potentiality has been created here in regard to what Faruzan has inferred, as her phrasing of “are you two hiding something from me?” is non-specific. Rather than asking: “are you two living together?”, she asks a question which holds multiple connotations. Due to the ambiguity of her meaning, her question can be observed as a non-explicit version of the: “are you two a couple?” question.
On the surface, this question is a reference to their situation as roommates, however, her phrasing is non-specific, and hints to another cause for “hiding” something. For Faruzan, Kaveh’s blatant evasion of the topic and dismissal of Alhaitham’s name, could easily be inferred as “hiding” a romantic connection – which is something that the player, too, can pick up on from her gesture of suspicion, her inquisitive questioning, and her excitement when piecing together the clues. The ambiguity of her question generates multiple meanings as to why she has surmised the two could be “hiding”.
This overt secrecy in Kaveh’s living with Alhaitham, another man, prompts the player to generate associations between this in-game secrecy and real world queer shame. In this, there is an implication of the need for Kaveh to confirm the status of his relationship between him and Alhaitham. Not only does this scene connotate an ‘outing’, in which a queer character has their queerness forcibly revealed to a heteronormative audience, but this creates a sense of secrecy, which, again, can be interpreted by the player as ‘taboo’.
Kaveh does not want to tell anyone of his living situation out of preserving his stellar reputation, however, Faruzan is missing this context. She relates Alhaitham and Kaveh together in the phrasing “you two”, coupling them together in a secret that they “hid[e]”. The player understands this as indicating to their living situation, however, this creates a separate context which Faruzan has interpreted and that, we, as the audience are not privy to, but can interpret based on her allusions to cohabitation between two men being a secret.
Whilst this is not explicitly romantic within Genshin’s world of nameless sexuality, Faruzan’s ambiguous questioning here draws parallels between real world understanding of sexuality and the connotations of queerness which stems from two men living together in secret.
(Update: For more analyses like this, the essay this is taken from is now uploaded! It can be accessed here and here as as a pdf <3)
#faruzan needs to run away from these two im so sorry you dont deserve this#queercoding is alive and real in genshin impact#but we already knew that#the fact that alhaitham and kaveh are roommates but in secret is already extremely telling#and it's stressed that they are ROOMMATES and not landlord/tenant#this is just one example of queercoding from the queercoding section of the essay but i was going insane over it#i really recommend watching this particular part of a parade of providence because the stills of the animations dont do it justice#also why did faruzan react like THAT#that was not a normal reaction to have if you find out two colleagues platonically live together#the writing genshin is crazy#lets all be crazy together <3#haikaveh#kavehtham#kavetham#alhaitham#kaveh#haikaveh meta#genshin meta
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☆ decadence divine [ act I ]
{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina
{☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied)
{☆} word count 2.3k
ARLECCHINO
Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.
She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.
They weren't making it easy, however.
Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.
Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.
Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.
All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.
"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."
Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.
Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.
NEUVILLETTE
Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.
Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.
He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.
Now a masquerade.
He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.
So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.
Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.
No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.
Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?
He dares not ponder.
Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.
"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.
"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..
He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.
"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.
He had waited too long.
No longer.
FURINA
Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.
But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..
They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.
Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.
They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.
But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.
Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.
She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.
Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.
But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.
"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.
Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.
Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.
She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.
"But if you want to make it up to me.."
#genshin impact#genshin impact yandere#genshin yandere#neuvillette x reader#yandere neuvillette#yandere neuvillette x reader#arlecchino x reader#yandere arlecchino#yandere arlecchino x reader#furina x reader#yandere furina#yandere furina x reader#fic tag#pats neuvillette this noodle dragon can be so pathetic#aiming for pathetic desperate and slightly guilty. it gnaws at him knowing he's keeping you like a bird in a cage#esp if you react extremely negatively hes like a kicked puppy#not outwardly but internally hes a MESS. sobbing crying wailing#furina and neuvi sopping wet kittens u found in a cardboard box in an alley#vs arle thinking abt all the crimes shes going 2 commit in the process w/o an ounce of guilt. blackmail? check. kidnapping? check.#a little murder for flavor. as u can see im coping horribly w being practically snowed in rn i need 2 be put down#its like 4 degrees out rn (fahrenheit) and getting colder ueueueue i am dying..........#only thing keeping me going is my furinameow plushie coming. eventually. staying strong just for her.................#also needs 2 be mentioned all the stories r separate ksjfkhdsf#no not everyone in fontaine is yan and trying 2 kidnap sorry for getting ur hopes up..#yet#anyway u cant convince me arle isn't bribing (or just straight up forcing) her agents into doing stupid shit so she can “save” you#and make you owe her#two silly goofy little creatures vs the personification of gaslight gatekeep girlboss (heavy on the gaslight)#also split this up in 3 parts bc. lol. lmao. im not writing 9 characters at once goodbye#also all the masks do actually have significance i have an entire essay on why i gave each animal to specific characters okay
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Simon Petrikov is a service top and you can fight me about it (Patreon)
#My art#Adventure Time#Fionna and Cake#Winter King#Simon Petrikov#Winterkov#Shitpost#Only the highest tier shitposts around these parts lol#I mean really he's a switch but those two are not mutually exclusive so it's fine lol#Just wait til you hear my Winter headcanons I am playing 5D chess with him lol#I did write a scratch comic about it but hmmmmm Hmmmmmmmm#Lol anyway ♪#This was meant to be a warmup project for me to pick at while I worked on Requestobers and then I finished it by Day 3 lol#So uh - excitement and all that lol#I did have a lot of fun with that BG tho lol which I like never say! But I did I had fun!#The colours are some of my favourites so that helps and all the sparklies ♪ Very enjoyable :)#And making Simon's reflection was easy-peasy too so just! It all fell together smoothly :D#The fact that people are already making BDG as Winter King videos and the like delights me so much#There's just so much to draw from! No pun intended lol#Winter just completely baffled as to why one of them - but not him?? - would take the lead over the other#Aren't they both Simon?? (Are they?) Or if not that - he's Winter!#All those cheeky waist-grabs have to count for something don't they!#Of course they do ♪ Hehehe
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i’ve decided to send an ask for each story you posted in the wip game kdnehdhs who did this to you? lives rent free in my brain 💛💛 (@a-little-unsteddie)
thank you so much 🥰🤍 still slowly working my way through the asks, so have a few more words to make up for the wait 🫶
who did this to you (pt.4) // tales of blue
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | read on ao3
🌷 preceding snippet no 1. | no. 2
Finally, finally, the familiar sound of Wayne‘s old truck rounding the corner into the trailer park interrupts the tense silence that seems to have fallen over all of Forest Hills tonight, and Eddie has half a mind to run out there, run toward them and get the whole story. Just to be sure that everything is fine. Just to be sure that Steve’s still… That he’s still there.
He stays right where he is, though, staring at Buckley‘s wild hair, feeling her shadow walk over him as Wayne pulls up to their driveway and stops. She is right in the centre of the headlights, but still she doesn’t move. Eddie wants to scream at her. Wants to nudge her and shove her out of the way — imagines it, imagines all the alternate universes in which he finds her wide eyes scared and unseeing as Wayne‘s voice sounds behind them, telling them that Steve didn’t make it.
Except in this one, Wayne said they’re coming home. In this one, shit like that doesn’t happen to eighteen year-old boys and their friends.
Aside from that girl. Barbara Holland.
Eddie swallows, his eyes flitting between bright lights to the silhouette of Buckley right in their centre. Like a doe, he thinks. Terrified of what she’ll find.
Don’t you wanna know? Eddie wants to ask her. Don’t you wanna see? What are you afraid of? What did you see? Who is he, Robin, and who are you? Why the fuck won’t you move?
In the end, it is the sound of a car door slamming shut that snaps Buckley out of her stupor, and she all but flies off the steps towards the truck. Towards where Eddie can vaguely make out the shape of a badly bruised face, the play of light and darkness not enough to conceal the deep purple splotches or the sluggishness of his movements as he raises his head. Turning toward Buckley like a flower to the sun.
She presses her hand to the window for a second, just looking at him — and Eddie is glad he can’t see either of their faces. He has a feeling that what he’d see there would haunt him forever.
#steddie fic#steddie#who did this to you#who did this to you part 4#make me write ask game#i don’t. i don’t know why this is suddenly so dark. but maybe it’s because eddie‘s not important anymore#and he knows. but he wants to crawl his way back to being in the situation just as badly as he wants to run from it#and i think that’s just. scary. petrifying. he doesn’t need to be brave now he doesn’t need to be strong for anyone.#because robin and steve have each other now and he knows snd its fine bc he doesn’t know them yknow but.#i also think eddie just wants to sit on the floor again and not be part of anything. and at the same time take care of these two.#he also wants a hug. needs one. deserves one. and wayne will provide don’t worry. but eddie’s sorta dissociated from the situation now#and that’s the worst thing that can happen to anyone who’s telling a story yknow. well anyway. sorry jfjfjdhdh shutting up now
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Fig's line "I don't think I'm an artist, I think I'm just a good friend" has not left my head at all. Just...
You're Fig Faeth and your horns came in over the summer and you pick up the bard class as a form of adolescent rock 'n' roll rebellion, and it works! It's exactly the outlet you need! You give a guy you just met drumsticks and you start a band and it's good enough that within a year and a half you're touring. You are, in every sense, good at being a bard.
And then, finally, your junior year, you start to take it seriously. Your art goes from an outlet and a form of rebellion to a practice. A discipline. (Can rebellion exist within a discipline?) Your classmates know what they want to do with their work. They all have a thesis statement. And yeah, there's cohesion in the music you make, but you've never had to think about why you make it. You've never sat down and dissected what it is about bass that speaks to you. You've never poured over your lyrics to pick at any deeper meaning. Why should you? You don't play music for a grand design, you do it to... huh, why do you do it?
(Your art is the one form of self-expression that feels as safe as Disguise Self does, because even if you're pouring your heart onto the page and then screaming it in front of thousands of people, it's not like you're really making yourself known. You can sing I'm lonely, I'm scared, I'm furious, and your fans will sing it right back, and there will still be the distance between performer and audience to keep your heart safe.)
Now you're being asked to look inward to explain the artistic choices you're making, and you can't help but recoil at that, because you'd rather do anything than look inward. Meanwhile, your classmates have no problem with it, so you start to wonder if you're a real artist at all. Can your art be authentic if it only exists to bolster a thesis statement? Has your art been unauthentic this whole time because you've never really thought about a thesis statement before? Is that what makes it art, and not just the next track on somebody's teen angst playlist?
You can't think about yourself— acknowledging your own existence makes you want to puke. So if your music is an extension of yourself, (and it is, even if it's just because the spotlight reveals only what you want it to,) you can't think about your music. You can't. You have to. Your grade depends on it.
You're Fig Faeth, and you keep multiclassing because you'd rather be a good friend than a great artist. If introspection is what great art demands, then fuck it. You must not be a bard at all.
#Dimension 20#fig faeth#fhjy#Idle Chatter#my last two years of college were when I started to get more and more nauseous about my own art#because I wasn't being taught how to make the art I wanted to make#the whole curriculum's focus was on gallery art#which infuriated me! I wanted to make art that didn't have to involve twelve layers of meaning and metaphor to be considered good!!#so I drove myself into the ground time and again trying to make (miserable) work that I thought would fit the criteria of a Real Artist#anyway it's been 4 years and I'm just now picking at why I don't enjoy creating anymore so Fig's whole arc has hit home in a major way#ALSO. AAAAALSO. THE ADHD STRUGGLE WE SEE WITH BOTH FIG AND KRISTEN. LOVING SOMETHING BUT STILL STRUGGLING WITH FOLLOW THROUGH#BEING TOLD YOU'RE NOT DOING ENOUGH WHEN IT'S SO FUCKING HARD JUST TO GET WHERE EVERYONE ELSE IS AND NOT UNDERSTANDING WHY IT'S HARD FOR YOU#it was easy and now that the rubber's hit the road it's hard for you but not for others so it must be YOU that's the problem#you must be lazy or stupid or just not suited to this after all even though it's part of a pattern that has been happening all your life#if you were good enough or cared enough then surely the discipline would come easily to you! the way it comes easily to all your classmates#SCREAMS I gotta stop before I write a second essay in the tags. I'm so normal you can trust me to be normal about D&D characters
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Part I
"Are you free Thursday evening?" Akai's facing away from him, getting out of the car in a hurry. Rei's picked him up from his flat this morning (his mustang broke down, apparently), which is how they're both running late now. It's a good thing the meeting can't start without them.
In any case, Rei isn't - things have been busy in the aftermath of the takedown of the organisation, as Akai should be well aware. He did, after all, just return from a three-month vacation to FBI headquarters in Washington. The official cover story, as far as Rei knows, is Okiya going to the US to continue his PhD, while the authorities prepared to reintroduce the reborn Akai Shuichi to the world. Now he's back for good, officially appointed as the FBI's liaison to the PSB.
While he didn't share what he was up to while he was waiting to be processed, Rei has a pretty good guess - the higher-ups have been expecting all sorts of reports from him, after all, and surely Akai is just as vital a source, involved as they both were. The thought of him doing paperwork is amusing, and strangely domestic in its mundanity. (He'd love to see it.)
So, he'll figure something out. Several people owe him favours, and he has five years of vacation to catch up on. This is the first time Akai is reaching out for a meeting outside of work (not that Rei kept track or anything), and he's not about to let that chance slip through his fingers.
"I'll make it work. What for?" Agreeing without even knowing what he agreed to, he really is pathetic. And yet. He trusts the other won't waste his time or ask for the impossible.
"Dinner at the Myosotis. Seven p.m."
Rei blinks. That rings a bell. Western style fine dining, prohibitively expensive. Waiting lists of half a year, at least. Back then, they were just barely collaborating, surely Akai didn't plan this far ahead? How, then, did he get a table, and why is he inviting Rei to go there? That's the kind of place people go to for romantic marriage proposals; not the sort of restaurant the two of them would frequent, if they do eat out.
"I've already said yes, but... that's quite high-class, isn't it?" Not that he minds - being Bourbon taught him how to frequent places like that. It's just that Akai has never given any sort of indication he might like that kind of place. Huh.
(And really, if he's being honest, any place would be fine as long as it's with Akai. They have a couple of months to catch up on, after all.)
The smile Akai gives him in response is...odd. Small and genuine, private in the way that he's only ever seen Shuichi look at a select few people. Akemi. His siblings. Shinichi. But it doesn't reach his eyes, this time; instead, they're narrowed, burning with something like dread. Rei can't quite make sense of the expression.
"I think the occasion warrants it", is all Akai says before he slams the car door shut, turning his back to Rei. And that's the end of that conversation.
Alright then. Weird.
.
After that, Rei can't shake the feeling that Akai avoids him outside of work. Takes his smoke breaks alone, leaves immediately after they're done.
In situations like these Rei wishes he could talk to Hiro. It's a best friend's duty to help figure out if he's making something out of nothing, right? Maybe Akai really is just busy. And maybe he truly is in the mood for a celebratory dinner; after all, they haven't really had time to spend together since they came out of hiding, ripped apart by work and duty. They've talked, of course, but now that he's back it seems like the circumstances have calmed down enough to consider such a thing. (Even though a nagging thought tells him the official celebratory gala will be held in two weeks, and he knows Akai isn't looking forward to it.)
The thing is, that doesn't warrant it the look Akai gave him. That look was charged, it meant something. Through the years, Akai has looked at him a great many different ways. Rye mostly cold and disinterested at first, then with that faintly concealed amusement that still drives him up the walls. Okiya usually observed him with curiosity and caution. And Akai? A variety of expressions. Laughter and pain and gratitude. That bone-deep weariness that seems to cling to him like his shadow. Just once, with surprise. But rarely, if ever, as scared as he'd looked when he'd asked him out.
What was he afraid of? It's not like Rei was going to decline dinner, even if he's a little insulted it's western food. (Then again, he's quite proud of his prowess regarding traditional Japanese cuisine, so really, that would've been a worse choice.) Akai might just crave nostalgic food.
This is the third time this week he's reached this point in the argument with himself, and it really doesn't feel like he's getting any closer to the truth.
In the years he's known him, Akai has never shown to be the type to celebrate. Not that the organisation left much room to celebrate. As Okiya, Rei never got close enough to figure out his preferences. And as for Akai...well, he seemed happy enough, if exhausted, coming back from his sister's birthday party, and that's really the only indication Rei has. Maybe he doesn't know Akai as well as he thought. The idea stings.
Still, it makes no sense. If he wanted to celebrate, the takedown was a team effort, and Rei knows agents Starling and Black are in the country. He's checked their schedules, but neither they nor Kazami are free next week, at that certain hour. (Alright, well, in Kazami's case it might be Rei's fault he's busy, but he needs someone capable to cover for him.)
The Kudos, arguably the masterminds behind the operation, have left for a vacation to the Swiss alps, too. Allegedly, they've taken Shinichi with them to recover in mountain air - privately, Rei has heard through the grapevine that talking things out with Ran didn't go so well. She's asked for some time to think about their relationship, so Shinichi is off bringing crime to Swiss ski resorts for a change.
None of the usual suspects are free, or invited. It seems it's really just the two of them.
He doesn't want to, can't afford to indulge the foolish hope that Akai might've missed him as much as Rei did (his dry wit, his dependability, the scent of his cigarettes and aftershave in their sheets). They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but is it enough for such a shift to occur with Akai?
Their work did keep them too busy to do anything but exchange short texts or calls every once in a while. That little had been a must, for Rei; while officially the organisation might be gone, some stragglers have yet to be found. Thus, he's been checking up on Akai, just to make sure he's still alright out there. (He wants to touch him and hold him and hear his heartbeat, wants to make sure he's alive. Wants too many things he can't have, as usual.)
Rei has promised himself he'll never act on these feelings; can't destroy this careful balance they have managed to attain. But if Akai's the one reaching out, who is Rei to decline? If after all they've gone through Akai still wants to stay by his side, Rei doesn't have the strength to push him away for his own good.
Throughout their relationship, it's always been Rei asking to meet him to exchange sweaters and information. For Akai to take this step now, and in such a grandiose manner, leaves him reeling, uncertain of the other's intentions. Among the living, he's probably the one who knows the sniper best, and yet he just can't figure out what this means. The uncertainty is maddening.
Damnit, really, what is he supposed to think about Akai inviting him to a high-class dinner? Just the two of them?
.
Hiro hasn't contacted him either, since that time in the Kudo mansion. He'd assured Rei he was safe, doing alright. Sorry for not being able to meet. And that was that.
(In a moment of weakness, Rei's asked Akai for his number. But Akai had revealed he'd only gotten the contact info for a burner phone, worthless after that one use.)
He's missed Hiro before, when he wasn't sure whether he was alive or dead, but somehow, knowing he is out there and not being able to reach him is worse. Hiro was supposed to have his back, and now he can't even help him out with his uncertain thoughts and feelings regarding one Akai Shuichi. Traitor.
.
Rei's fretting for hours about his look for dinner. (When was he last out on a date that actually mattered?)
It's not like he's lacking in confidence. He knows he cleans up nicely, and working with Vermouth for years has left him fashion-conscious. He's perfectly aware of how to dress up appropriately for a venue like the Myosotis. Honestly, he's more concerned (and quite frankly, intrigued) how Akai will fare.
Still, he wonders if the red tie is perhaps a bit too much. He's added it on a whim, for a splash of colour, but now he's considering whether it's too bold, wearing Akai's namesake openly. He's probably overthinking it. It's not like Akai to pick up on such clues.
He's triple-checked, by this point, his nails and hair and teeth. His suit is crisply ironed. It's perfect. What could possibly go wrong?
.
Rei finds himself at the restaurant a quarter hour early. A waiter shows him to the lovely window seats Akai has reserved for them, looking out over the city's lights. It's beautiful. The place is pleasantly quiet, a separée creating an ambience of privacy. Bathing the space in warm light is a cream candle, placed on a perfectly ironed tablecloth. After a couple of moments, the waiter returns with a bottle of quality champagne, chilled for their convenience.
Myosotis couldn't be more stereotypically romantic if it tried, and Rei finds his face burning as hot as the flame in front of him. It's a good thing he's a little early; he'll need time to steady himself to face Akai. Maybe have a glass of cool champagne to calm his nerves.
Rei runs one last check, refreshes his cologne on neck and wrist, and waits.
.
A couple minutes go by, during which he tries several different grounding techniques, to limited effect. He still perks up when, from the corner of his eyes, he spots Okiya's pastel pink hair - though it is in confusion, the excitement dying down quickly, replaced with fury. The posture of the man is incredibly familiar.
Conscious of where they are, and what is appropriate, Rei gets up from their table to greet him.
"You've kept me waiting long enough."
And with the brightest possible smile he can muster, he slaps his best friend across the face, hard.
.
"Yeah, I guess I deserve that." At least it's his own voice. Hiro's awkward smile looks off on Okiya's pretty face, and Rei has to fight the urge to throw his arms around his neck. Whether to hug him or strangle him, he doesn't quite know, himself.
"You..." 'deserve much worse than that. Deserve much better than that. Are an asshole and an idiot and it's so good to see you-'
People are noticing the commotion. Bourbon's reflexes kick in, uncomfortable with the attention. He finds himself closing the distance and hissing at Hiro.
"Take a seat before we cause even more of a scene."
Hiro-as-Okiya follows him into the separée. A waiter comes by, pouring him a glass of champagne too. The mood is as frosty as their drinks.
Hiro makes no move to continue the conversation. Great.
"...would you care to explain", Rei asks through his best Amuro smile, "what exactly you are doing here?" He considers adding 'and why you are dressed as Akai's ridiculous cover', but figures that one's self-evident.
"I wanted to see you, so Akai helped me out. The paperwork is taking its sweet time." He says it nonchalantly, as if it is that simple. As if he hasn't been MIA for half a year, and presumed KIA for years before that.
He's willing to bet this meeting was Akai's bright idea. Rei's all too familiar with his idea of 'help'. Doing what he thinks is best in the shadows, without talking to the person he's allegedly helping out.
It sucks, because he knows the FBI agent meant well. He probably thought this was a pleasant surprise. (And it is, just a little.)
It just very much does not help that Rei had quite different expectations of how this evening would go. He was expecting something much nicer than spontaneously having to decide whether he should make use of Hiro's shellfish allergy and poison him right then and there. (The answer is no, will always be no, who is he even kidding.)
Hiro's blue eyes stare at him from across the table, illuminated in warm candlelight. They clash horribly with the pink hair. It makes Rei nauseous. He looks down at the table.
He manages a strangled "I would have appreciated a heads-up." For this situation in particular and the fact that Hiro's alive, in general.
"Did he not tell you?"
"No. And it's not like I expected anything of the sort from him." 'You, however, should have known better.'
"Look, Zero-" Rei's withering glare makes him falter for a second, but he presses on. "I couldn't let you know. It was too dangerous at the time, for myself and Rye. And you."
Oh, great. Another person looking out for his supposed well-being. Except, it really only was about the success of their mission, wasn't it? As if that was ever worth his best friend's life.
He clenches his fist under the table, tries to calm himself. Fails. "I get that. I really, truly do." He rises, slams his hands on the table, leans across. Stares at the farce that is Okiya, just a lie this time.
"But it's been three years, Hiro." Then, quietly: "I thought you were dead."
Countless nights spent visiting morgues, checking if all bodies matching Hiro's stature were accounted for. Checking international flights. Investigating the ruins of the exploded building, in hopes of finding evidence of tampering. Looking over the remains of the body, burnt and crushed, with only the totality of the destruction hinting at foul play. Years and years of hounding Akai, trying to get answers from the one person who had to know, only to not make it in time. That terrible night Gin had sent him a gift, Akai falling lifelessly back into the video's frame, joining Scotch in a violent end; his last lead going up in flames and smoke. Mourning Matsuda and Date, alone.
He fights down the bile rising in his throat with practiced ease. His eyes sting and burn, but he won't be embarrassed now by giving in.
To his credit, Hiro has backed off as far as he can, shrinking under Rei's glare. Familiar blue eyes lock with his, and Rei needs to focus on them because everything else about the Okiya getup gives him whiplash he doesn't know how to deal with. Hiro takes a breath, steadies himself.
"Zero." A warm hand is gently laid atop his own. So familiar, so comforting, even after years apart. Rei wants to run, or fight, or both, but finds himself anchored in place.
"I'm sorry. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, as many times as you need me to."
As if any number of apologies could erase years and years of grief and guilt and loneliness. If he'd just been faster, if Hiro had just trusted him, they would've found a solution, it was never worth his life-
"...why didn't you come to me, Hiro?" Idiot.
Because after months and years to contemplate it, that's the root of the problem, isn't it? The start of the betrayal. The broken promise from their academy days, splintering even further. 'We can handle anything, as long as we're together.' And then fate had ripped them apart, one by one, counting down to zero. Except Hiro had had a choice.
"I'm sorry. I did what I thought was necessary." He wears his emotions on his face.
And for a split-second, Rei doesn't see Hiro. He sees Akai, a week ago; his small smile, his pained eyes. Denial and self-sacrifice. Just what in the world made Akai look at him like that?
It's disorienting enough that he finds his spiralling thoughts interrupted, blinking at Hiro. He backs off, sits back down.
"Promise me, now, that you'll never run off like that again." Please, he can't say, but tries to convey through squeezing Hiro's hand just slightly too hard, before he pulls back in time for the waiter coming in with their entrées.
"I'll try."
Rei glares at him. Not good enough.
"Okay, okay, I won't." Hiro laughs, and oh, how Rei has missed the sound. Some of the tension bleeds out of him, and he finds himself joining his best friend, helplessly.
This isn't over, the pain isn't gone. It's unlikely it ever will, and there surely will be more arguments in the future (and sparring. He really wants to knock some more sense into Hiro). The trust they're missing will be hard to rebuild.
But Rei has had no choice but to live without Hiro for three years now. Has missed him painfully, every single day. If he's going to live in pain either way, might as well have it caused by Hiro's continued presence by his side.
If he gets a second chance at life then Hiro deserves one, too.
...................................................................................
Part II
Dinner after that is slow, but pleasant.
Akai has apparently pre-ordered roasts that need several days to be prepared for them, and while the quality is good, the style of food just isn't Rei's favourite. Hiro seems pretty delighted by it though, so that's something at least.
They leave charged topics carefully untouched. Since Hiro isn't on active duty, Rei can't really talk about his PSB work, and Hiro isn't at liberty to talk about his cover either. So small talk it is. Rei shows Hiro pictures of Haro, and he's immediately taken (as he should).
By the time they've made it past the main dish, they're running out of idle chitchat. Hiro's bracing himself, seems to be working up the courage to ask something. Rei can already tell he won't like the upcoming conversation.
"So, Zero." He folds his hands together, and leans on the table, looking inquisitively. "Do you mind explaining what's going on between you and Akai?"
"Nothing." The answer comes too quick and too pressed, he's not fooling anyone. And that's without accounting for the fact that Hiro knows him too well, even after three years apart. He smiles, faintly.
"Of course. Nice cologne, by the way. I'm sure Hagiwara would approve of the selection." He taps the fingers of the hand he's wrapped around Rei's wrist earlier on the wooden table. Rei feels embarrassment well up. Hiro, as usual, is annoyingly perceptive. Still, cologne is not too out of the ordinary. He tries to cover his choice up with professionalism, and even almost believes himself.
"Yes. It's only proper for an establishment such as this one."
"Yes, yes." Hiro concedes, too easily. His eyes narrow, aiming for the kill. "And I guess red just happens to be your new favourite colour?" The crimson tie around his neck feels too much like a noose, suddenly, restricting his airflow. It's probably the damn candle's fault too, burning all their oxygen. He flushes, despite his best efforts.
"Not my favourite, but it felt appropriate for a celebration", he gets out. It really doesn't help that Hiro is wearing Akai's second skin, the one he's too comfortable seeing. Though the eyes are different, he has trouble shaking the reminder of certain evenings in the Kudo manor. Drinking their sorrows away, just the two of them.
"And you were going to celebrate with a romantic candlelight dinner?" Hiro's arched eyebrow could reach space.
"Trust me, that is as strange to me as it must be to you."
"Oh no, it isn't - I've seen the look he gets when you text him."
And Rei hates himself, hates his traitorous body that perks up at those words, hates the burning curiosity. Wants Hiro to explain, wants it to be true. Hates that Hiro knows how to play him, still, judging by that infuriatingly kind smile. Hiro is so lucky they're in public. He'd very much like to wipe it from his face.
Rei wonders, briefly, if that's why Akai selected the location, and didn't tell him the truth - if he'd asked, Rei's not sure he would have agreed to meet Hiro, the betrayal still too painful in his mind. Not that this kind of secrecy is appreciated. He really thought they were past that, by now. He'll need to deal with Akai, properly, later.
"Do I look like I care about what the FBI idiot is up to?"
He knows a tactical misstep when he sees it, and he's walked right into this one.
"To be quite honest with you: yes." Hiro hides his smile behind his glass of champagne. Badly. His eyes shine with amusement.
Damnit. What's the point of pretending when Hiro just sees right through him anyways? Rei's so tired of fighting himself at every step.
"Alright, fine. Make yourself useful, then. What did he look like?"
"He lit up like his phone's screen whenever a new text arrived." That, at least, is soothing. There had been quite a few texts. He'd assumed, after all, that he was keeping a bored and lonely Akai company. Just how long has Hiro been with him? Did Akai just ignored his best friend during their flight in favour of chatting with Rei? Asshole.
"If I dare say so, it was quite cute."
Rei doesn't bother to dignify that with a response. His burning cheeks probably provide more of an answer than he would like to give, anyways.
"Alright, I won't push you if you don't want to talk about it. Just know that I'll have an open ear for you, if you change your mind." He slips a card with a handwritten phone number in it. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. Rei memorizes it, then burns the paper.
"By the way." Hiro seems a little concerned, fiddling with his glass. "Akai gave me a couple of odd looks while we were flying back. Any idea what that's about? He went out of his way to sneak me into the country, and we had some good talks, so I struggle to see why he's upset with me?"
At this point, the waiter brings in their dessert.
A medium-sized chocolate cake, heart-shaped. A fork is delicately placed on either side.
Hiro shrugs in response to his questioning look. Amuro's customer service smile slips on easily enough. "I'm sorry? I think you've mistaken the dessert for this table."
"Ah, no, gentlemen. All dishes have been prepared according to the requests of the person making the reservation." How odd.
They thank the waiter, wait until he's out of earshot.
Disjointed information is snapping into place.
"Hiro, you've seen more of him recently. Please tell me this is Akai's idea of a joke."
Because the man has a keen sense of humour, even if it's often only for his own amusement. Gods know as Bourbon Rei wanted to strangle him for his quiet mockery.
But surely he can't be implying what Rei thinks he's implying.
"Hm." Hiro pauses for a minute, bless him, actually contemplating the issue while taking an appreciative bite from the chocolate cake. Which they will not be sharing, like that. Rei cuts it in half with his fork, dragging one half towards his side of the plate.
"I don't think so, no. It's hard to tell with him." 'No, it's not', Rei wants to say, 'you can tell by the barely visible laughter lines around his eyes.' He wisely keeps his mouth shut. It wouldn't help his case about how little is going on between him and Akai.
"But I'm inclined to say he was painfully sincere. It was his idea to arrange this dinner, and before he dropped me off, he wished me good luck. I assumed, at the time, that he was concerned about me walking back out alive without my head bitten off. Now, I think he might have somehow gotten the wrong idea about us."
Rei shoves a piece of chocolate cake into his mouth. The icing melts pleasantly on his tongue.
Akai set him up on a date with his best friend.
The FBI agent can be so smart when he needs to. How is he so hopeless whenever interpersonal relationships are involved?
"Idiot."
That's going to be a fun talk.
.
Sweater weather AU masterpost
#this one's long. I recommend a tea break after part 1#if I had any sense I'd post this split in two. for better impact. but I don't want to.#this plot belongs together#putting rei through the wringer for a change :)#anyways. i was this 🤏 close to writing “why does akai call you babygirl”#in my heart of hearts Akai blackmailed a guy for his spot on the waiting list#threatened to publicly expose the mistress he planned to bring. poor guy is probably even sponsoring this dinner#long post#akam#iris writes things#sweater weather AU
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mtdd week day 3 - caring
yeah this is a totally random timeskip thing. just pretend dedede looks older okay thank you
just another night (and it’s ours)
part 2
#mtddweek2023#two parts because i am once again proving i cannot keep things short#and that’s not an exaggeration because i only wound up illustrating about 2/3 of what i wrote#the rest of it didn’t really add anything and i can only draw so much#meta is really tired here lol#i mean they both are#i really cannot draw backgrounds#kirbyposting#my art or something#meta knight#king dedede#metadede#quinn does comics#for the record im not committing to this idea i dont rlly know why i chose this#it exists in a vacuum there are approximately 0 ideas surrounding it aside from#meta’s new look which was for something else set in the future i may or may not get to#what’s with the egg? uhh you decide tbh i just wanted an excuse to write dedede angst
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The hottest guy at the party just put his arm around you wyd
#kny#rengiyuu#modern au#your low quality fandom art hero has returned#why can’t I stop bringing these two to parties lol#this was meant to be a part of a bigger sketch page but I got distracted by writing for kiss the Devil#shoutout to all my moots in the rengiyuu tag today and all days#hope you enjoy this stupidity
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I happen to have a fic with two endings.
I can't choose the one I prefer. One ending has light angst and the other is funnier. And I just... can't choose.
So I'll guess I'll post the fic with the two possible endings in different chapters and like that YOU can choose which one you prefer because I can't. It just gives you more content so I guess it's fine.
#I didn't plan that fic to last that long honestly#it was supposed to be just the one scene at the beginning more developed#but I guess that's the fun part of writing#you never know where it'll lead you#I had fun writing it like that so no regret#it's about those two idiots in love obviously#destiel#deancas#castiel#dean winchester#ao3 writer#fanfic writing#writing fanfiction#why choose when you can have both?#two endings for one fic#that just means more content#I'd like to know which ending you preferred when I'll post it#I'm curious#probably posting it this week-end#my destiel fanfic
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Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 1, Prologue
Nemesis
Pairing: Vergil x Reader
Summary: The Abyss opening is a rare occurrence. In his youth, Vergil wanted to harness its power, but never thought he would meet his greatest adversary along the way. Years later, the Abyss is once again open and that might call for some rather unlikely alliances.
Age restriction: 18+ - there's a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Vergil has a LOT of internal turmoil, and both main characters struggle with self-worth, self-hatred, abandonment issues, etc. The reader also gets seriously injured and humiliated in this chapter, so, again, proceed with caution. It gets dark and it might be too much for some people.
Author's notes: And so, it begins! I HOPE I'll be able to update this one weekly, but I don't know if my creativity will be that nice to me xD This is something that has been brewing for a while, based on my initial hatred for Vergil. Expect the slow burn of the century, they'll be hopeless and so friggin' proud in this one :)
Also I'm so proud of this header :')
Chapter 1 - Prologue
The city was swarming with demons.
Vergil had rarely seen anything like it – chaos took over, the streets stained with blood, the sky red with fire. He marched with resolve towards his objective, ignoring the demons terrifying humans.
There was nothing he could do. He wasn’t there to be a savior – only the strong survived and Vergil had no time to spare. He searched for power, and, if he took too long, his opportunity would be lost until another Abyss was open – and that could take years.
Vergil could feel the tingle in his hands, the stench from the demons in the Abyss. The closer he got, the fouler the smell of blood and rotten flesh. He inherited that enhanced sense from his father – and Vergil constantly questioned how Sparda could have lived in Hell for so long with that horrid reek engulfing him. It had to be something he discovered only after locking Hell behind himself.
All of his senses indicated the source of all mayhem was inside the building he had just entered – if it had been a church of sorts, a castle, some headquarters… Vergil wouldn’t know. Everything was destroyed beyond recognition, and he walked upon the rests of what was once inhabited by the humans who used to live in that city.
The Abyss was close. Soon to be near the reach of his fingertips: a source of power not even the most notorious demons had access to. Something ancient, beyond creation itself – source of salvation to some, source of damnation to others.
If Vergil was about to condemn his soul, it didn’t really matter. He had already been damned; since the day he was reborn on that fateful night his home was torn apart.
Another strange smell assaulted his senses, though. Vergil couldn’t quite tell what it was – no demon; that, he was certain. It was a scent of something that certainly did not belong to all that destruction…
And it came from behind a door within his reach – only a few steps away from the entrance of the courtyard: the place where the Abyss had manifested after centuries asleep.
Along with his human heart, came human curiosity. That inherent human feeling, always distracting Vergil from his path and quest for power. That incessant itch in the farthest corner of his soul that couldn’t be ignored – and that made him divert his steps towards that door.
As his hands were about to touch the sturdy wood that resisted the chaos, Vergil’s steps came to a halt when he felt another presence behind him.
“Not a step further, demon.”
And that presence was human.
Slowly turning back, hands already gripping the Yamato and ready for battle, Vergil found a set of eyes filled with fire and resolve. They had something inside them that bothered his spirit, for he did not know logically what it was – his heart, though, seemed to identify something he couldn’t quite put into words.
As you pointed your sword towards him, Vergil furrowed his brows.
“Step aside, human.”
“I will not let the likes of you roam this place.” You tilted your head upwards, revealing in the faint light of that godforsaken place the wounds and bruises that covered your face and neck. Vergil slightly narrowed his eyes; you must have been battling since all of that started. You were probably the last line of resistance of whatever humans lasted in that pitiful city. “Leave before I have to make you leave.”
Vergil’s eyes narrowed even further – not because of analyzing more, but because of your words. How dare someone like you even entertain the possibility of making someone like him leave…?
His hands took their battle stance on the Yamato. You lowered your sword, reading his posture and correcting yours to get ready to fight him.
From all the demons you fought that day, he was the most… Different. They all looked like creatures from the darkest pits of Hell, blood thirsty, power hungry – either ready to kill and fulfill their bloodlust or trying to harness some of the power of the Abyss. But that one in a blue coat who stood before you… He looked human. Painfully human, even. If it wasn’t for the way he carried himself in that battlefield – the way he held his sword, the way his steps seemed so calm among the mayhem, the way his eyes carried only ice and rage – you would’ve deemed him human.
But you didn’t have to be a demon expert to know that blue coated young man was nothing but a demon like all the others you had fought earlier – or, maybe, unlike the others.
Nevertheless, in your experience, once a demon, always a demon.
“I do not have time for this.” Vergil hissed between his teeth, tilting his head upwards in hubris, leaving the Yamato sheathed. He turned his attention back to the wooden door – you were almost as good as dead; it would be extremely unwise to engage in battle with him.
But something Vergil still had to learn about humans was that the heart doesn’t always follow the wisest of decisions – sometimes, it acts by itself; and whether that is a good or a bad thing, it’s debatable upon the situation.
He heard as your steps lunged quickly towards him, giving Vergil only a few seconds to dash from your vicious attack, making you almost hit the door with your great silver sword. He kept looking at you with annoyance – not only because you attacked, but also because that fire in your eyes seemed to glisten even more than before.
“Leave.” You tried one more time – but Vergil was prouder than that.
He wouldn’t let himself be ordered around by a human.
“You chose your fate.” He growled between his teeth, attacking with the still sheathed Yamato.
It wasn’t his intention to kill you – with just a few blows from the sheath, you’d be on the floor, begging for your life or passed out. Vergil wouldn’t kill, but he would teach you a lesson: no human could think they could defeat him. He was much too powerful for such a weak, pitiful creature.
But you parried him – once, twice, three times. Your eyes still carried that fire, burning with rage and that something else. You didn’t fall, so he attacked again. And again. And you kept on resisting, refusing to give in.
You promised no demon would go beyond that point – only over your dead body. And you would keep that promise.
Vergil growled in disbelief, vexed by your resistance. He didn’t have time for this. Why weren’t you falling? Where were you getting your strength from? He was the son of Sparda. A meek, fragile, battle wounded human just like you should have fallen from the first blow of Yamato.
But your movements were as skillful as his. You held your sword with as much grace and strength as Vergil yielded his demonic heritage. With another blow, you parried masterfully in the right timing, both of you stepping back from each other to recover your stances.
You had your head slightly upwards; and you held his gaze. Vergil hardened his jaw, mimicking your demeanor – or was it you who were mimicking his? He couldn’t know; and you couldn’t either. The blood inside yours and his veins burned with the rage to be dealing with someone else as proud – and as arrogant – as the other.
It was the first time for Vergil, such a human thing to feel, but oh… Your eyes were crushing his pride. Your resistance mocked his power. And he couldn’t let that happen.
Charging towards you, Vergil didn’t hold back. You stood your ground, fighting him as best as you could – your body, though, begged for some rest. Even with the pain, you defended and counter-attacked with the might Vergil would expect of someone in a better shape… Of someone as powerful as him.
You, in the other hand, did not expect a demon so versed in martial arts. You thought he was going to use only his strength, like all demons did, but he had skill. As you parried another blow of his – the sheath of the Yamato threatening to break your stance, unbothered by your silver blade – your eyes met his and, there, you saw not only ice, but the sparkle of a fire that could only be human.
His eyes burned with the same fire yours did – the flame that kept telling him you wouldn’t give up: the human stubbornness.
Although you read it as arrogance.
Bothered by your eyes, Vergil pushed you back, with enough strength to make you stumble on your hurt feet and plant one of your hands on the ground so you wouldn’t fall. You let your head low for a while, taking a few deep breaths to control your spinning head. Vergil furrowed his brows as he noticed the smell of blood came from a wound in your flank – making the fact you were there, fighting him, even more absurd.
“Hmpf.” Even with that realization, he couldn’t recognize the strength in you. That would mean a mere human, battered and hurt even, could put up a decent fight with him. That you both were in the same level of power. Vergil would never accept that. “You’re not worthy as my opponent.”
You shot your head upwards, eyes stark in his blue silhouette as that demon turned his back at you in a nonchalant manner, going back to his business. He didn’t even want to kill you. That was mortifying. With those words, sharp as a sword, he cut through your heart and your pride: you weren’t even worthy of dying in a fight.
With the blood boiling in your veins, you used your silver sword to help you up. As he heard your movement, Vergil stopped; turning around slowly only to find you cleaning the blood running down your lips – those eyes setting his soul on fire.
“I am not done yet.” You spat the blood on the ground, almost hitting his boots. Vergil didn’t give you the joy of seeing how much his temper was affected by your attitude – even though his hardened jaw betrayed him. Lifting his head slightly to try to remain above his opponent, Vergil slowly walked towards you; and you mirrored his demeanor, even if you weren’t doing it in a conscious manner. “Demon.”
This time, Vergil didn’t allow you to attack first – he would set the pace of the fight; almost like leading a deathly waltz. You were his partner and you would follow his lead to your demise; as he always did with every opponent.
As soon as his domineering footwork tried to set the pace, yours refused to dance according to his lead. He tried his best to tame you – but that fire kept glistening in your eyes, and your footwork followed your own beat.
You tried to break his and make sure you were the one setting the pace, but that man in a blue coat had too much will to let himself be lead across the battlefield. His steps worked on his own – and he had the audacity to try to dominate you; the same way you were trying to do with him.
Your tiredness and his annoyance, though, made Vergil knock you down again – but still, you got up. And again. And one third time.
As you took your sword from the ground, barely able to stand up and wield the silver weapon with bruised hands, Vergil had a hard time hiding his shock – cloaked by the annoyance under his furrowed brows.
How were you doing that? You had no demonic blood like his to mend your broken body and burn in flames of survival. How could you get up, over and over and over again…?
“C’mon, demon.” You muttered one more time, raising your head as you could.
“Enough.” Vergil growled between his teeth, charging at you with a speed a human would never be able to counter.
You fell once more. With the sword away from your hands, you had to crawl on the floor to try to grab it again, as Vergil finally unsheathed the Yamato and walked towards you as a death omen. The blade glistened in the last cold rays of the day, as you ignored the blood dripping from your mouth and reached out for your silver sword. The demon approached, unrelenting, and if you couldn’t get back to your weapon, those would be your last breaths.
“Y/n! No! NO!”
The voice of a child made you and Vergil freeze where you were – eyes shooting up to the door he almost opened out of sheer human curiosity.
“Stay back!” You immediately screamed, pointing at three children looking at you both in horror. “Lock the door! Take the other children! Get out of here!”
“Y/n, no! We…!”
“GO! GET OUT! I’LL HOLD HIM BACK!” Your eyes were stinging with tears, knowing full well they wouldn’t have a chance against the demons – but you could at least give them a chance to run and save themselves.
Vergil’s fingers froze on the grip of the Yamato, his glaciers’ eyes stuck in that scene. His heart couldn’t let him move, couldn’t let him breathe. As you struggled more and screamed the last words that made the children finally close the doors and run – with a bunch of steps that could only be of a group of at least fifteen children – he watched as your bloodied fingers held the hilt of your sword once more, tears falling from your eyes as you struggled to get up.
You cannot kill your own mother.
Those words echoed through Vergil’s mind as he watched your struggle to protect the ones weaker than you. All that fight, all that will, all that power… It came from that. You weren’t just keeping people safe by forbidding demons to walk towards the Abyss – and forbidding anything to come out of it – you were there to help those kids find a safe path through the city to a safe haven. You came back to that hopeless building because of them.
Eva had died saving Dante from the hell their home became on that fateful day. She plunged in the fire for her child, she did it out of love and protection. Vergil had heard Eva tried to save him as well, throwing herself in the danger to keep him safe – but he couldn’t accept that. He couldn’t live with the knowledge that he had his mother killed, he didn’t want to believe that; and so Vergil decided to remain with the belief that she had abandoned him for Dante, even if his stupid human heart screamed otherwise.
As you tried to get up from the ground once more, Vergil saw his mother – crawling on the floor, blood dripping from her lips, tears staining her face while she muttered his name, doing her best to keep her children safe. He couldn’t kill her; Vergil couldn’t kill you.
He was brought back to reality as the floor rumbled violently. Snapping his head towards the courtyard, Vergil knew quite well what was happening: all the fighting had taken too long.
“We are done.” His words were muttered between his teeth as Vergil used the sheath of the Yamato the keep your hand pressed on the floor.
With a last glare from his silvery eyes, he left in a hurry before you let your head fall between a deep sigh.
The children were gone, they were safe. Your job was done.
**
There were many circles and places in Hell, accounted for throughout history in all sorts of arcane writings.
There was, however, one place unaccounted for – with little information, whispered around as a legend of a nightmare: the Abyss.
Some believed it was real, some said it was nothing but a tale to scare children at night. Vergil had read enough to believe in its existence – as well as to know it could take centuries for another gate to be opened once more. No one knew when they manifested or where, but one thing was certain: there was power to be harnessed on that place.
The kind of power was another mystery. The Codex Daemonica had no information on it or what kinds of demons it harbored – if it was inhabited by demons at all. Some believed Sparda had locked Mundus in shackles in that deepest part of Hell, while other said it was the home of something… More ancient.
Vergil approached the courtyard with his hand on the hilt of the Yamato, ready to unsheathe it. There was a fissure on the ground, in the middle of the dilapidated stone garden. There was no sound to be heard: no leaves, no wind, no walking. Only silence.
His steps were calm but firm, approaching with care but never leaving their regal pace behind. The closer he got, the warier his heart became. Something wasn’t right – but, at the same time his soul told him to leave, something inside him told him to walk towards the edge and peak inside.
Vergil had already decided he would be the first one to venture in the Abyss in search for power and, upon coming back, telling his findings in his arcane journal. If his father had trapped Mundus inside it, he saw no reason why he, the son of Sparda, wouldn’t be able to enter it and survive. In order to protect himself, to make sure nothing would happen to him again, Vergil needed that power – and he would go to the farthest depths of Hell and back to make sure no one would be able to threaten him anymore.
Stopping at the edge of the Abyss, Vergil looked down, trying to see something – he had already had many experiences with Hell and knew how some places looked like.
But all he found was darkness.
A darkness that came from the deep – that had no end and, still, seemed to go as far as the depths of his own soul. It was an all-consuming darkness, one that would pull Vergil willingly to its clutches – one he couldn’t understand.
He held the hilt of the Yamato with more strength, the sweat almost making it glide down. His heart pounded inside his chest and Vergil could hear the blood flowing through his head. The darkness consumed his eyes, searching for the deepest part of his soul… The part he smothered, hiding even from himself. The part covered in bruises, blood and self-hatred; the part Vergil couldn’t bear to see: his own mirror, naked and vulnerable, staring right back at him.
He had to get out of there.
Vergil’s heart rate increased and he had no air in his lungs. He didn’t want to look; he didn’t want to see. All those things, all those feelings, all those wounds… Himself. He didn’t want to see himself. He had broken all the mirrors, buried all the broken shards left from his heart, asphyxiated the light from his soul… But there, right in the back, covered in darkness, one mirror was left. One fragile heart made of glass. One ray of light cradled by his bony, bruised, pale white hands.
He had to go. He didn’t want to meet Vergil. He couldn’t look him into his eyes. Not those pitiful, helpless, bruised eyes begging for help… Begging for love. He had to go.
“Vergil…? Vergil…!”
Inside the Abyss, a familiar voice echoed, snatching Vergil away from that last mirror alone in the depths of himself. In that deep darkness, his eyes couldn’t see nothing more than the void, but a voice called him down in the depths.
“Are you there Vergil…? My son…!”
It was Eva.
Vergil hadn’t heard the voice of his mother since the day he discovered the extent of his demonic blood. Many times, he heard her voice inside his head – knowing it was all but a memory; the ghost of his mother coming back to try to comfort him in his desolation, at least a little bit.
But that voice in the Abyss… It wasn’t in his head. It wasn’t a memory. It was there… It was in there.
“Can you hear me…? Vergil…? I… I am scared.”
“I am coming to get you, mother.” Vergil’s voice was no higher than a murmur, but it was filled with resolve.
Ready to take another step and finally venture into the Abyss, another earthquake took the city. He lost his footing, tumbling backwards and falling far away from his mother’s voice as the courtyard came down and the Abyss slowly closed.
“Vergil…! Don’t leave me here alone…! Please…! My son…!”
“Mother… No!” Vergil did his best to run towards the very place his heart and soul screamed at him to stay away, ready to plunge into its depths not knowing what would happen next.
As Vergil finally reached the center of the courtyard, his hands and knees found only the stony floor as everything stood silently still.
The Abyss was closed.
**
Your empty eyes stared at the crumbling pieces of the city as its last pieces came down in destruction.
They promised. They should have waited for you. That was the deal: you went back for the children and your friends would wait for you all to come back – if you weren’t with the children, they should have waited fifteen minutes.
It had been ten minutes. You were on time. You were on time. There was no reason for leaving you behind.
They were the last way out of the city, the very last ride. The last hope of survival.
And they left you there, in the middle of those crumbling flames, filled with blood and death. You had dragged your feet until the meeting point, you wandered around, screaming their names in hopes they were just hiding to keep themselves safe. You searched; you did your best. You did your best.
No one was there. No one appeared. You were left behind. You were alone.
“Oh, child… Hush…” A snake-like voice dragged itself from the shadows, followed by cadenced steps. It was sweet, mesmerizing… Too comforting for all that desolation. “I know, I know… Your heart is broken. You don’t have to cry.”
“I am not crying, demon.” Your voice was hardened like stone, resonating between your teeth. Even if you wanted to cry, your pride wouldn’t let your tears fall for that kind of betrayal. Not for those people. They didn’t deserve your tears.
“Oh, but your heart, I can feel it…” The she-devil approached you, her hands resting seductively on your shoulders. You would have wiped them off, but you didn’t have the will to do so. “It is… Dead. Completely dead inside that little chest of yours. There’s no reason to lie to yourself… They forgot you, child. That is worse than being left behind, isn’t it? Your already hurt heart is in pieces, I can feel it.”
All your life, you learnt demons lied to get what they wanted. They listened closely to the winged words people let out of their mouths without thinking and later used those to their advantage. That demon, though… She wasn’t lying.
Your heart had already been hurt numerous times before, but that… That was the last blow to kill you. If you were left behind, people at least had thought of you – but they didn’t even remember you existed. You were forgotten, that’s how important you were. You meant nothing, you were worth nothing. Left to die because no one remembered you were dying.
Indeed, it was as if your heart had been torn out of your chest… And there was nothing. Not even tears.
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. Your chances of survival were close to none. You had been sentenced to death by those who couldn’t remember all they had to do was wait only five more minutes for you to come back.
“I know… There is no reason to fight anymore, no reason to remain in this pain…” That voice was now close to your ears, so sweet, so dangerous. “I can give you rest child…” It whispered in your ears, always so seducing. “Just give me your soul… Your blood. And I can make it all go away.”
“Hmpf.” You opened your eyes again, slowly turning to look into the blood red eyes of the voluptuous demon who stood behind you. Beautiful, but something in it made you wary. “You can have my blood, demon. But only over my dead body.”
“Hmmm. So be it.” The she-devil rolled her eyes, immediately nonchalant with your attitude. “You are as good as dead anyway. I could’ve made it painless, pitiful creature.”
Her words allowed a band of lurking demons nearby to approach and you finally noticed you weren’t being attacked before because she had claimed you as her prey. You were too weak even to fight her alone, but a whole bunch of demons… Your death was certain.
Taking a deep breath, you held your silver sword with pride. If it was for you to die that way, at least you would make it worthy of a hero. You wouldn’t fall easy and you would take as many demons as you could with you.
*
As he left the city, Vergil felt a commotion. With lost steps, still disoriented by the voice of his mother, he was naturally brought to the place – as if the demon inside himself wanted blood from the fight happening nearby.
He had never had an experience as the one with the Abyss. He was very aware of demons with psychic powers, able to instill confusion and hallucination in their victims… What he experienced with the Abyss was different.
Was his mother trapped in there? All this time, all alone, in the deepest, most dangerous part of Hell? Years and years in suffering, instead of spreading her beautiful wings as the angel she should’ve become upon giving her life to save Dante…?
Furrowing his eyebrows, Vergil let out an audible huff. He didn’t know what was worse: to believe his mother died trying to save him or that she had been trapped for endless years in the suffering and desolation of Hell.
It was definitely easier to believe she forgot him, saved only Dante and died, watching her beloved younger child from Heaven. Feeling anger was easier than mourning. It was easier than guilt.
Being forgotten was easier than being loved to death.
“Oh, child. Give up already!”
“I can keep going… Demon.”
Vergil immediately paid attention to what was happening in the distance – there he found that stupid little headstrong human who delayed him enough so he lost his chance to enter the Abyss to harness its power… And even to save his mother. He narrowed his eyes, ready to burn all his anger in you.
Until you were hit by a demon and fell on the floor, barely able to get up. They were all laughing, humiliating you. They kicked your sword away from your hands, making you crawl towards it, spitting blood, as they screamed and laughed, telling you to give up.
But, as you did with him, something made you get up and keep on fighting.
Vergil watched in awe as you finally pulled yourself again to your feet and looked at your foes, barely able to hold your silver sword.
It was pride.
The demons attacked you once more and, this time, your eyes couldn’t keep open. You put on your last defense, your last stand. You tried, but you were only human. There was nothing left inside of you and you could only do so much – you could keep your pride, but your physical strength had come to an end. You let go of your sword and allowed yourself the be engulfed by darkness.
Vergil’s hand stopped your bloody body from hitting the floor as the other yielded the Yamato.
“What a shameful thing…” He muttered, lifting his head above the eyes of the demons who stared at him. “Resorting to humiliating a half-dead weak human to feel powerful.” With those words, his hand gently left you on the floor, his feet walking in front of you to take a fighting stance. He couldn’t let you die – not like that. You deserved a better death. You deserved to die by his hands in a fair fight, not humiliated like that. “It’s time to teach you what real power looks like.”
The demons were decimated by the blade of the Yamato – in all that fight, Vergil didn’t touch your body a single time, not even accidentally. If those creatures wanted your blood, they would have to go through him, the son of Sparda. Your death was his, you were his nemesis. No one would touch you.
It took a human to kill a monster. Maybe, one day, his death would be yours as well.
**
A dark, cloaked figure of a tall man walked with resolute steps under the rain, cradling a frail body in his arms, keeping it from the water and wearing the dark veil of the deep night as protection.
Vergil carried you all the way to the next city – avoiding the looks of those concerned with and helping those who were able to flee and seek shelter nearby. He stayed in the shadows, keeping away from the big groups of volunteers who received injured and lost people – providing food, shelter, warmth and care.
You needed that. You were as good as dead in his arms. Vergil could hear as your breath was barely none, as your heart rate fought to keep you alive. Even in the brink of death, it was as if your body struggled for its own survival.
The hospital wasn’t big, although it was one of the biggest buildings in town. Seeming like an old mansion turned into a public building, Vergil crossed the entrance garden with his strong steps, not hearing much nearby. Most of the staff was probably working on receiving the refugees from your derelict city.
Going up the very few stone steps, he stopped by the door, finally protected from the rain. It was a great wooden door, heavy, adorned with iron, with a single candle keeping some kind of warmth and light in the darkness of that desolate night.
Vergil left you on the floor, ringing the bell on the wall. A woman peeked through the window, immediately initiating a fuss inside – it wouldn’t take long for them to pick you up and start your treatment.
His job was done. You would be alright.
As he was about to leave, Vergil noticed how your lips were already painted with a tinge of purple, your skin too cold for your own sake. Taking off his midnight blue scarf, he wrapped it around your body – it should be enough to keep you alive until the hospital staff took you in.
When the door opened, that strange man wasn’t there anymore. Gone like a shadow, the only one left was that poor person – beaten up, bloodied, bruised… Cozily wrapped around a deep blue scarf.
Respect was implied when one had found their greatest enemy.
**
To be continued...
#devil may cry#dmc#devil may cry fanfiction#dmc fanfic#devil may cry imagine#dmc imagine#vergil sparda#vergil x reader#vergil x you#long fic#dmc vergil x reader#well well here we are#my first attempt at a long fic :3#these two are the proudest little things I've ever written in my life#I'M LOVING IT#also yes I thought of that dmc3 scene that Vergil goes 'WHY isn't it working?!' when writing his part xD#so much to unpack about these two <3#hope to see you next week!
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Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble
I will not be brief, all under the cut
To clear some things right off the bat:
No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.
Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality
The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.
This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.
Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:
Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.
All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.
Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).
And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.
At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.
I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.
Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.
This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.
It shifts something between them.
From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.
As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.
Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.
Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.
I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.
I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.
I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.
As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.
I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.
Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great
#ty right-agent for explicitly telling me that this would be welcomed you a real one#i had a massive babble to my friend abt what if they all feed me to the hounds for speaking#and he said “girl that fandom is like 12 people big they need you to speak” and yeah that also helped#i have a hard time talking if I'm not asked/prompted to that's why i adding tags is great for me. that and i like the format#anyways.#THESE TWO.............dear lord can you tell I have been unwell abt them forever..#this is propeganda (/j) for them. btw. please you have to understand the potential here. it's so good.#it's slowburn <- my (probably) demiromantic ass cannot handle romance without a build up and this set up is perfect (it will never happen)#also i find it easier to write ANYTHING between these two from Juniper's perspective because i find it easier to get into his head#idk reggie is like the gay version of the: what is he thinking of? i could take a bear in a fight. audio ive heard.#whereas with juniper i have him trapped under a microscope#im going to tag this now so i can use the remaining tags to RANT#ieytd#john juniper#reginald crane#junicrane#starstruck#i expect you to die#<- being BRAVE!!!#when I get really excited i start getting like this internal shaking feeling and uh. yeah this rant started that#the worst part abt that is it also triggers my tourettes so like. double whammy. excited about blorbos? jail :(#but. yeah I uh. yeah. sorry this IS so long..I did warn but . AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHHAUUUUUUAHHHHHHHHHHHHH#also i did this rant in 2 parts. last night and this morning so yeah uh. yeah.#god im so messed up about these two#make me a boat by the family crest came on while wroting this and while it's mainly a roxanix song to me......AUUUUUG.....#i struggle to find music for these sillies because they have such a specific vibe to me amd I've not quite managed to find something which -#- genuinely feels correct for them and it drives me up the WALL#GOD NIGHT SHIFT JUST CAME OF SHUFFL.....all my ieytd songs are coming out to drive me up the wall.......#FINISHED I've been adding tags as I've gone alonga#thank you for reading hope you enoyed and if you didn't im sorry
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uhhhhh drabble without context :)
“Mac?” Frown deepening, Riley takes a few steps forward. “Hey. Are you… okay?” It’s a monumentally stupid thing to ask given that Riley doesn’t even think she’s okay, but Mac’s supposed to be the seasoned agent here. Plus, as much as she hates to think about it, Riley’s pretty sure that Mac’s seen worse when he was in the Army disarming bombs, or whatever it was that he did out there.
When she puts her hand on his shoulder, all she gets is a shudder. “Mac, I think you’re in shock.”
This time, he swallows. “I’m okay.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Home.”
“Where’s home?”
This time, Mac moves with sudden movements, nearly smacking Riley in the face with the speed at which he turns. “Where’s Jack?”
“Mac, where’s home for you?”
“Here. Where’s Jack?”
She just barely stops herself from sighing. Moving until she’s in front of Mac’s face again, Riley desperately looks for some sign of concussion or something to explain his behavior. “Tell me where you are.”
“California.”
Truth be told, Riley was hoping for a more specific answer, but at this point she’ll take it as a win.
“I need to get Jack-”
“He’s okay.”
Mac shakes his head, taking a step away from Riley. “I need to- they’ll never let me go out if the sun sets, I-”
“Hey, hey! You don’t need to rescue him. He’s fine.” Against her better judgement, Riley reaches for his arm, hoping that the action will ground him and not cause her to end up with a bloody nose. “Mac, look at me. Jack’s at the Phoenix right now. I mean, he’s a little busted up, but he’s also not the only one.”
This time, it’s Mac’s turn to frown. “Are you hurt?”
Riley tightens her grip a little. “No. Mac, you were- you know what, why don’t we go get Jack?”
Belatedly, Mac nods.
When they brought her onto DXS, Riley really wasn’t expecting the guy who could hack everything other than computers, the guy who couldn’t possibly be older than her but still seemed to have all the confidence in the world, to look like this. And for the first time in her adult life, Riley would be willing to admit, out loud, that she wishes Jack Dalton were here.
#context? more like bore ragnarok#all i can tell you is that it's very VERY early season one#like episode one or two vibes#why is jack not with mac when he is clearly Not Okay? who knows! maybe he didn't have a choice#maybe bad things are happening#maybe bad things happened#idk man#all i know is that i had a thought and then my chest got the funky feeling and i wanted to share it all with you#this isn't part of a bigger fic btw 😅 this was just brain braining#in which vi actually writes#macgyver#macgyver 2016#drabbles
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somewhere out there is an alternate timeline where toby was correct and people actually did hate spamton. could you imagine that. i have to imagine we wouldn't have gotten the spamton sweepstakes in that case which is crazy to think about given how much lore that gave us-
#puppy rambles#deltarune#spamton#my favorite part of the spamton sweepstakes is the part of the q&a where spamton implied he and jevil are divorced#are all the secret bosses in a polycule you think. we need to add to this deranged relationship#diversity win! all the people who were driven insane by being told their world is just a game are in a polyamorous relationship <3#i like to think gaster made a discord for all of them. just like ''hey. sorry for telling you your world's fake. here's a discord. good by'#i don't even care about the secret bosses super much but they still amuse me greatly. even if there's only two of them rn-#spamton is so hilarious. idk why everyone is so obsessed with him but it makes him even funnier to me#also his text in brackets is fun to write. it's also hard to write but you can do so much with it#since it's taken from various places on the internet you can just reference memes#... i mean the one problem is that it'd probably have to be memes from the time period deltarune's in#so like. early 2000's or 2010's#but the valentines don't regard that and reference more recent memes so who knows really#maybe deltarune's actually meant to be in modern times. i mean you could fully convince me#that noelle just likes old internet-style websites and stuff dfskljfdsdfjksfkjlsfkj-#(i mean some of the meme references are up to interpretation)#(but the two definite ones are the war thunder forums leaking military documents and also the hotel mario intro)#(and at the very least the former is a newer thing)#(there's also seemingly references to the ''let me in'' meme and the foam shower images from the april fool's newsletter last year)#(idk where the fuck else ''insulating foam'' would be taken from-)#i hope spamton just randomly contributes to conversations sometimes if you have the dealmaker equipped#i logically doubt it but it'd be extremely hilarious#i'm now imagining equipping the dealmaker to noelle. who was not there for either spamton encounter#''um. kris why's there a voice in my head telling me to be a big shot?'' ''don't worry about it''#alternatively if you just get the dealmaker from the hole in castle town cuz you have another file with it#... can you do that in chapter 2 files. if so then can you technically have the dealmaker while not having met spamton-#''player why is there a voice in my head telling me to be a big shot'' ''don't worry about it''#''i'm sparing you from having an existential crisis later-''
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