#(depending on who treats him better in this particular au)
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so i like to imagine its kind of like an unspoken tradition at hogwarts to carve or write your name/initials in your bed before you graduate so later students can get a little mystery trying to figure out who slept in their dorm before them
so what if in aus where Harry is sorted into slytherin, instead of JP being scratched into the post of his gryffindor dorm bed, in a slightly hidden part of the frame in his slytherin dorm bed it says R.A.B in nearly carved letters
and what if (especially if this is an au where slytherin harry is an evil little shit (as a treat)) he eventually finds another older carving on his bed that says T.M.R
#harry potter#slytherin#slytherin harry#regulus black#tom riddle#headcanon#omg…. new thought.. what if draco has the same bed as either snape or his dad#(depending on who treats him better in this particular au)#idk if the ages match for this to line up but idc let me believe#cute idea for draco x astoria shippers: draco has lucius’ bed and astoria has narcissa’s#hnnggg now im thinking about all the students who could have the same dorm and bed as their older siblings or family…#or as someone who is connected to them in some other way or are similar to them#like deamus and wolfstar#or imagine students using spells or just a knife to remove/hide the carving of their toxic relatives names from thier bed#i have so many thoughts about hogwarts dorms and beds now
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caught! - heizou x reader
Summary: you’re a regular citizen (in a vague royalty-historical AU) who’s recently hired a maid! Heizou is charismatic and dependable, but one day you come home, discovering his real motives and occupation.
Wordcount: 1.4k+
Adopt a Wanderer: Digital Store / Red String of Fate Prompt List
If it wasn’t for you moving from a small village to Inazuma city, you never would’ve been able to justify hiring a maid.
You aren’t someone who can afford this in the long-term, after all. But you have to admit that having Heizou’s help with unpacking, settling down, and maintaining the house while you start at your new workplace has been a godsend.
Most days, you’d be lucky if you returned home with any energy left at all. Heizou would always leave dinner on the table for you after he finishes his shift. He’s been nothing but kind and patient as you peppered him with questions about groceries and how to navigate around, along with your awkward first-meeting where your home was empty save for a few boxes and zero furniture.
All in all, you’re extremely grateful. And now that you’re starting to get used to city-life, it was about time to consider when to end Heizou’s freelance contract; you’d love to keep him around, but your future plans require some savings. As such, today you bought takeout from what you learned is Heizou’s favourite restaurant, hoping to treat him to a better meal by the end of his term. Perhaps you could stay friends after that, but you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself:
“Heizou? I’m back.” You push open the door with your foot, arms occupied with takeout boxes and other belongings. “I brought…”
You’d normally return to a greeting and Heizou busying about, but there’s no-one in sight right now.
Odd. Maybe he left to throw something out. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach as you realise he might have left early after finishing his work, since you didn’t tell him about your plans aside from a simple ‘there’s no need to cook today’.
Setting down the food on the dining table, you step around quietly to check the other rooms. The longer you wander in the silence, the more random scenarios fly through your head with burglars or some other incident. There’s one door left—the storage room—but when it swings open with a loud thunk against the wall, you’re dumbfounded at the sight of Heizou changing, halfway through taking off a shirt.
“I—I’m so sorry!” You squeak and immediately slam the door close, dashing away.
You’ve seen Heizou dressed in casualwear before, but you don’t think he’s ever worn that particular top. It was dark in colour, almost like a uniform for a different job, with a golden crest that…
Heizou exits the storage room, ears dusted with a slight pink as he coughs into his fist. “Master, you’re back early!” He tries to smile, but the ribbon on his maid dress is a little crooked and he looks out of breath. “Is that ramen I smell? I can’t mistake it—you brought back dinner from the tonkotsu place I recommended!”
“Heizou…” Your brow furrows in an effort to remember what he was wearing seconds ago. “Why did you change back into your uniform? It looks like you finished all the chores already.”
“Whaaat? No… I haven’t dusted the windows today!” He steps forward to lead you back to the kitchen, throwing a glance back at the storage room where he’s forgotten to turn off the lights. “I’ll just tidy up before catching up with you—”
“That was a Tenryou Commission crest, wasn’t it?” You finally make the connection, remembering it from when you visited their office earlier in the day. But why would Heizou…
Heizou’s smile strains. “I… suppose it is.” You can tell he’s making a bajillion calculations in his head; a stressed version of the Heizou who’d ramble to you about mysteries and theories. “I can explain.”
“You don’t have to if you can’t.” You raise your palms. “I won’t question what a Tenryou officer is doing.” In your house, though? You highly doubt Heizou would need a side job. Horror washes over you, realising that you might’ve been a subject of investigation. “I’m not in trouble, am I? I swear that anything I might’ve complained about isn’t—”
“It’s not that, but you can’t tell anyone I’m an officer!” Heizou’s grip on your shoulders pulls you back to reality. Seeing his panic, you’re struck by the reminder that secret-officer or not, he’s still the Heizou you’ve known in the past two months. “I’m not exactly here on official business.”
“You can’t tell me you were just considering changing jobs.”
“Not at all—but I’m part of the investigation team and there’s a case that I can’t solve using regular means.” Heizou surmises. “Head Kujou might wring me out for going independent, but I’ve been making progress and I really need to maintain my cover as your maid.”
You maintain eye contact, and it’s awful how Heizou’s desperate expression is enough to disarm you.
“Is there anything I need to know before I agree?” Your shoulders sag, but Heizou lights up at the hints of agreement in your attitude. “No one’s going to get hurt, right?”
“No innocent bystanders, nor you.” He promises easily. Aside from his current maid dress, you can easily imagine Heizou in the Tenryou Headquarters solving crimes. No wonder he’s always had a confident charm. “If you were ever at risk, I’d leave your hair without a trace.”
You notice the pattern in his speech. “But what about yourself?”
“Huh?”
“Are you likely to get hurt?” You frown. And for a moment, Heizou’s capable aura wavers, freezing as he tries to come up with an answer.
“I’m quite adept in combat, so there’s no need to worry.” His grin is a little less practised now. “It’s part of my job.”
Instead of giving him a direct yes however, you purse your lips and continue into the living room, starting to unpack the food.
“I’ll overlook your lack of personal-concern if you’ll eat with me.” You say. You’re not close enough to Heizou to start giving him a speech, but he reads your effort to connect and his mouth tugs into a small, gentle smile.
“How can I refuse my Master?” Heizou gets the cutlery, putting a kettle on the stove to boil tea as he sets the table up quickly. “Let me plate the dishes before they get cold. I’m still being paid for this, after all.”
“Where did you learn to do all this?” You tilt your head curiously. “I didn’t suspect you at all.”
Heizou makes a guilty hum. “I just did regular cleaning like I would at home. I believe the only reason you didn’t notice my blunders was because you were too stressed yourself.” He sets the bowl of premium ramen before you. But surprises you by picking up chopsticks and raising a mouthful of noodles to your lips. “Say aaah.”
You back away in embarrassment. “This isn’t part of—”
“The food is getting cold, Master~”
Helpless against his teasing, you sigh and lean in to let Heizou feed you. When he continues this for another few minutes, you finally reach your limit and demand that he eats with you, earning you a laugh that finally sounds like his usual self.
“Thank you.” Heizou says, calling you by your real name. You feel like a sort of barrier has been lowered with that simple act. “I won’t burden you with my work, so if anything happens I’ll send an actual maid to replace me, however long you need.”
“Would it be childish to say I’d only want you?” You admit, catching Heizou off-guard. “I was actually thinking that I’ll need to end our contract soon, since I can’t afford maids long-term. But I was considering extending it just because the house might feel empty.” And if earlier is anything to go by, you definitely aren’t used to coming back to an empty home anymore.
“Well… In that case…” Heizou holds his chin. “Part of the reason I’m here is because your location is good for keeping tabs. Maybe we can figure something out.”
Roommates? “I don’t know, what if we get too used to it?” You joke, taking Heizou’s outstretched hand and shaking on it. “Housemates it is, until you fulfil your job for the greater good.”
“Do you think my work is so noble?” He muses.
Maybe not his work, but certainly him.
“You simply remind me of the heroic type.” You say lightly. “Stopping criminals even with a broom, or while you’re mopping the floor.”
Weeks later, you find out (ironically,) that your statement couldn’t ring more true.
#more maid may!#heizou x reader#heizou shikanoin x reader#heizou x you#genshin x reader#genshin reader insert#genshin writing#genshin impact imagines#genshin x you#traveler wishes
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Cryptid AU: Heart Potion Effectiveness
I’ve decided to start making little informational posts about some aspects of my au! Some general thoughts I’ve had or answering questions! For this one, I was thinking about biology and physiology and how potions would affect each Link given their differing levels of Hylian-ness. And so! In no particular order:
Twilight (shapeshifter) : Heart potions heal him very well, similarly to how it works in canon. Depending on the injury, he’ll need multiple doses, which must not be taken immediately after each other or else they could cause poisoning. It is recommended that he take one every half hour and rest in between. Note that the dosage he is able to consume will change depending on the shape he takes: a small animal like a bird or squirrel would be able to handle far less while a larger animal such as Wolfie would be able to handle more at a time. Wounds that he receives while in a different shape will always transfer over to the next one when he shifts.
Four (I honestly have know idea what to call them yet) : Heart potions also work very well for them! Not much to say here, it’s mostly the same as Twilight. Although I’ll point out that if an individual color gets injured while they’re split, the injury will remain on the body when they reform. Communication between colors is vital. (Good thing they’re good at that. Haha)
Legend (Mer) : Heart potions have a muted effect on Legend unless he’s actively in his Mer form and soaking in salt water. While he’s in his ‘Hylian’ form, he’s not using his true body, so it doesn’t heal in the same way his Mer body would. Being an entirely aquatic species, he functions better in sea water in every circumstance, and that includes healing. Since he’s not always in a position where he can soak, he relies on Hyrule’s magic for the most part. Or deals with sub par healing.
Wind (Aquili) : Wind, being another sea creature, reacts to heart potions very similarly to Legend. Although because Aquili are amphibious rather than fully aquatic, he’s a lot less dependent on water as part of the healing process. If he sustains a particularly bad wound, soaking him before giving him a potion would be beneficial. But in most cases, he responds well to heart potions. And while it’s true that he heals better while in his Aquili form, changing between Aquili and ‘Hylian’ is no issue for him.
Hyrule (Fairy) : THIS KID IS DRINKING HEART POTIONS LIKE HIS LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. Because, in a way, it does. Hyrule, while he’s a very powerful fairy and has a lot of magic at his disposal, cannot use that magic on himself. He can heal everyone else all he wants, but can’t heal himself. And so, he relies solely on heart potions to get through particularly dangerous battles or accidents. I will note that it is rare for him to get hurt badly enough to necessitate this kind of intervention. He has excellent control of his spells and his glamour. Unless he’s magically exhausted (which he never is, right? Right?), he can defend himself better than anyone. Part of his is because of his extreme caution to never EVER bleed, and partly because of his ability to turn two inches tall and be fully capable of using powerful spells.
Wild (Forest Spirit) : Heart potions are entirely ineffective for Wild, as they are made with parts of monsters. Monsters are made of evil and darkness and Wild is made of Light, so they’re treated like poison to his body. Wild is kind of sort of immortal in that he does not age, but he can definitely be killed. (I treat him kind of like a Skykid for anyone who knows Sky: Children of the Light. When he looses all of his Light, he dies. And he looses this Light to things like Malice and Gloom and attacks from monsters, since they are entities of evil and hatred). In order for Wild to heal, he needs to be strengthened by things that come from the earth. This why he cooks often and eats often.
Warriors (Sword Spirit) : Heart potions do absolutely nothing for him. He cannot drink them. He’s a sword. If he runs out of energy, he can retreat into his sword until he’s back to normal: that’s generally how injuries with him are going to look. His spirit form can only take so many hits before he has to rest. Unless his physical sword got damaged, which would be NOT GOOD. However, they do have a very capable smith in their ranks so I’m sure Wars will be fine. Haha.
Sky (Avian) : Heart potions only heal Sky half way, and in many cases, can be detrimental to his mental health. Since his is the combination between Link and Aepon, heart potions alone heal him unevenly and force a separation between his two parts. As Link is more healed than Aepon, the others might notice a change in his behavior. And due to the general inefficiency in healing physical wounds, the others will opt for different healing methods for Sky; sub par healing is not worth the turmoil that it puts him through. For best healing results, mushroom spores from Skyloft (Loftwing medicine) will be mixed into heart potions and given to Sky. But since those mushroom spores can only be found in the sky and are rarely available, Sky relies on Hyrule for the major wounds and tends to himself for the smaller ones.
Time (God) : Heart potions for Time are a MASSIVE energy boost. This can be very, very dangerous as it can cause him to loose himself, and he won’t come down from it for a long while. No one likes a rampaging God. That being said, he is a God, if Time needs a potion, they have bigger issues.
Also Time is actually legitimately immortal. With no danger of death, there’s no need for potions. I will explain the logistics of his immortality in another post I promise haha!
Original Character Sheets!
#the legend of zelda#chain as cryptids au#sapphire rambles way too long#you have no idea how much thought I’ve put into this au#I’m not even scratching the surface#cryptid lore#cryptid time#cryptid four#Cryptid warriors#cryptid legend#cryptid hyrule#cryptid twilight#cryptid wild#cryptid sky#cryptid wind#links meet au
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fwhip has said specifically that he doesn't appreciate him or any of his characters doing bad stuff. I don't think this particular storyline about him is right. This may be just a story and just an au but I think it would be better to respect his boundaries. I think I speak for a lot of when I say it was fun back when it was just a collection of our favourite characters doing silly and occasionally angsty stuff. This is just not it- im sorry. Ik there are people that may find this kinda stuff as a way to cope with their own issues but there's plenty of media out there that handle these topics just as well but let's not disrespect his boundaries. Imagine someone saying stuff like that about your characters who in fact have a large part of your own personality injected into them.
..ok...buf of all ut the whole creepy stalker storyline is like...actually canon? Sure I brought it to an extreme but he did stalk Jimmy in canon and he did create a shrine to him which would be a very very creepy thing to do and he did death loop him and never really treated him that nicely in canon It's not like I made s1 Fwhip do that, I didn't because that wouldn't fit with what we know of the character. Also he doesn't want people to make his characters do "bad stuff" did he really say this? Because real Fwhip is a man I find very intelligent and I would hope he would be more specific then that because that request in any fandom much less this is pratically impossible to mantain. And yes...maybe if someone did something like this with a character of mine it would be...weird... but I had people in my askbox telling me to kill myself for this arc and I don't think it would phase me as much as that...and even then the only thing I can tell you to do is not sending weird stuff in my askbox which some people do anyway, outside of that I'm not going to dictate what you do with my characters.
And well, what do you want me to do? Retcon that whole thing? Would it make sense? Would it be right? I don't think so. I don't think it would be right. The most I can do is mentioning it less and that is entirely dependent on the whispers not bringing it up like they did with the ranchers... If it make you feel better Empires S1 Fwhip will definitely be enough good to balance it out because he's cool and not a creepy shrine builder who eats rocks.
I do understand if you don't like it, I will tag tw: sa any time the incident is mention so if you want to you can pretend Jimmy is like this for any other reason if it will make you feel better... I know It's an unconfortable topic and hits close for many and I really want to show how horrible it truly is because some people (not you anon btw, this is sass towards another group of people) clearly don't know that... but this is a story of healing and what starts worse getting better and things will get better I promise.
And I know he won't see this, but if this really breaks his boundaries then I'm really really sorry Fwhip, I hope you can forgive me for this one day.
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As part of my propaganda for vampire au event, here's some dubiously spicy headcanons for the usual selection of Bois
Notes before going in, biting isn't supposed to hurt. Ideally, you wouldn't feel anything at all. The less their intended meal struggles the better they can properly drink. Even if they're stupid strong handling a squirming human without killing them outright is hard, alright? And most prefer the human alive at the time as the blood isn't so difficult to drink and its... dynamic? Like, the flavor changes slightly as chemical reactions take place while the human reacts to the bite. This is accomplished through either saliva numbing the area or some variation of hypnosis.
Or maybe the human is a bit of a freak and likes pain. It's whatever.
You don't have to drink from the neck, it's just the biggest, most open area where there's a main vein to tap into. Technically they could drink from anywhere but if it's actually for sustenance it's just easier to go for a vein. It's like drinking from a straw or through a wet rag. Less messy if you do it right too.
If you saw the last vampire headcanon post, you may have noticed that they didn't all have the same restrictions, weaknesses, or strengths. This largely depends on age, ancestry, and character. Vampires who view themselves as loathsome creatures have more 'demonic' weaknesses and strong adverse effects from those weaknesses. Older ones tend to have an aversion to religious symbols, but typically only those that actually mean something to them. The rose is a sign that they're quite sentimental.
Now! Onto the headcanons!
Ace
Ace doesn't typically feel comfortable drinking from people he likes. Self-conscious and afraid of causing harm. So he will usually drain his criminal victims dry and snap their neck at the end of it.
But if he were to drink from a friend, he'd do it in an embrace. Clinging tightly to them and crying after using a ridiculous amount of spit to numb the area. Mindlessly running his hand over their back and only taking exactly as much as he needs without causing harm and not a drop more.
But if he was in love? Oh, he'd be almost bawling. Barely touching them as he takes as slow and soft sips as possible. He craved this, you see. This is the most intimate thing he could think of in a very masochistic way. It would be a real struggle to not keep taking and taking--but then their knees go weak and he's holding them up. Letting them lean against him and he stops drinking entirely to soothe them from the dizziness. Clinging to them as they rest and forcing treats into their shaking hands. He's so damn guilty of letting his desire run away from him but he refuses to leave them vulnerable.
He only wants to hold them now and it will take a lot of convincing to have him try that again. But after the first time he won't slip so deeply again in his thirst, that's for damn sure.
Marco
He enjoys having a connection to his uh... Meals. So he won't typically drink from strangers. His favorite place is the throat because of how quickly he can register destress with his lips pressed there. But he is willing to drink from the wrist for smaller meals.
Often, he'll tease by getting on his knees and peppering the delicate skin of their wrist with kisses and complimenting them. The intimacy just adds a bit of zest.
Lovers... Well, lovers are held in his arms, back to chest. Laying back against him as he drinks from their neck as he runs his hand over their body lazily. In no particular rush and occasionally stopping to give them a drink or eat something. Likes drawing it out as a bit of foreplay, leaning into the euphoria blood loss can induce.
He always knows exactly what he's doing though, so there's never any permanent harm done. And his days of accidental slip ups are long past him... Can't guarantee that if this meal occurs in the middle of sex though. He's got... Other things on his mind then. It's actually a little embarrassing and he gets whiny if he's stopped from drinking in the middle of it.
Thatch
Also one to have close relationships with humans he drinks from. And as previously stated he trades in meals, so he tries not to drink too much or from somewhere that would impede their ability to enjoy food. So not usually wrists for silverware reasons.
The throat is okay though as long as he keeps it low enough. He has, on occasion, drank from a wine glass after draining a bit of blood so that the whole meal isn't interrupted for his own needs, but it's not his favorite thing to do. Thankfully his guest/meal is already sitting but he's quite good at telling when he's taken enough.
His meals are always designed to assist in recovering from blood loss and he has rooms for them to stay in if they're too dizzy to leave.
Lovers will find the dining experience much more... Intimate. Slow sips as he's got them nestled in his side, peppering their skin with praise and questioning how they like the food. If he's feeling frisky the dining experience is much more hands on. Feeding by hand and caressing their skin.
His all time favorite place to drink is actually the thigh. Really satisfying bitting into the more thick limb, but he feels greedy when he does it so he'll... Add a little spice while he's down there. It only makes the taste better on his palette so he doesn't mind at all holding his lover down while... Doing down.
And no, this doesn't just happen in the bedroom. Personal dining is... Quite a hands on experience with Thatch as a lover.
#one piece#thatch one piece#thatch x reader#portgas d ace#marco the phoenix#vampire au#suggestive content#spooky content! spooky content!#im tired so bed time now lol#one piece x reader
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@nosomatsu @synthetixflora Y'all wanted more details about these ships so here you go:
I'll start with the easiest one: Amita x Goku (Amiku? Goita?).
Like I've mentioned before, non Gochi ships with Goku will only be done in an AU where Chi Chi died and couldn't be revived, so he's a widower. Amita would still meet Goku the same way she did (via buying his farm's produce from him) in the default verse, and would continue to interact with him. Eventually, I can see Goku opening up about his family and aspects of his personal life to her more and more, and she returning the notion (albeit at a slower pace) because he's just inviting like that.
Goku's carefree but very caring at the same time, which imo would mix well with Amita's reserved nature as he would be patient and understanding with how prickly she can get - especially on bad days. He wouldn't shy away from giving her affection & quality time, which she craves because love-starved n' all that.
Amita in turn would become devoted to him and, thanks to her heightened sense of perception, could pick up on what emotions Goku might try to hide and touch upon them for his sake. Additionally, Amita doesn't fall in line with typical societal norms when it comes to expectations in a relationship, so she would *very rarely* feel self-conscious over Goku having a late wife & still caring about her immensely. Whether she's "second place" or not is unimportant, as she's more concerned if Goku's just treating her right (and he would).
Overall, I honestly think they would develop a pretty solid bond. Goku's strongest love language is sparring or sharing physical activities, and since Amita's a decently experienced martial artist, they have that as a bridge to forming strong chemistry. Goku would definitely help her become a better fighter.
Lastly, while Amita would technically become Gohan and Goten's stepmom (Idk if Goku and Amita would end up marrying ngl), depending on timeline placements that's not going to influence much. Things would be cordial either way, as of course Amita isn't going to treat his kids bad and they're respectful boys so they wouldn't be rude to her or anything.
...Now. Amita x Vegeta (Amigeta? Vegmita?? Vegita). This is a very tricky one.
The biggest hurdle with them is figuring out how tf they would even start talking to each other. Because, Amita isn't a social person and Vegeta surely isn't. One of them would have to take the first step somehow, but unless there's a VERY good reason to cause it...neither of them would lol. The most plausible cause I can think of atm is Amita wanting to spar with Vegeta in particular. Maybe from Goku's recommendation?? Eh. Would Vegeta ever spar with Amita? Well, she isn't weak, but she wouldn't exactly give him that much of a challenge either. So.....who can say.
Let's say he decides to humor her and they steadily become sparring partners. Overtime, in periods of rest, I can see Amita trying to poke at him a bit in learning more about him since she barely knows anything at all. She'll be met with that standard Vegetaness™, but thanks to she at least proving she isn't a worthless sparring partner, maybe he'd eventually let some info about his past slip. Maybe the fact that Amita isn't a part of the Z-Fighters and thus doesn't already have any preconceptions about him, would soften the edges. She also wouldn't really care about his history or his race's history of planetary conquest, so she wouldn't stand on some stupid "holier than thou" pedestal.
Basically, she'd be non-judgmental with him, and would respect his boundaries. I don't think it's unreasonable to assume Vegeta would in turn start warming up to her a bit. Mainly in the sense of he not being AS hostile to her as he is with others. Furthermore, Amita would get stronger as she trained with him, and she would be genuinely thankful for it and his company. He'd brush her off of course, but she being openly sincere in actually having enjoyed their sparring and his influence? ...Hm. Maybe that would warm up the cold shoulders.
If he asked about it, Amita would open up about her past, her heritage, and how her clan handle the concept of fighting and ki control. Idk, maybe he'd find some aspects of it interesting. But them learning about each other and not being total strangers anymore would for sure have a hand in them building up chemistry. Their relationship's origin would be the SLOWEST of burns, without a doubt. Would take waaaay longer to form, compared to Amita x Goku.
Whenever it gets going? It's not much different from how their...friendship manifested. Just throw in Amita testing the waters to see if she can get more physically affectionate with Vegeta (like sitting closer to him, asking if she could hold his hand, etc etc). She would be the one who initiates most of the time. But I imagine there would be some moments where HE'S the one to sit close to her. Perhaps have his tail brush against her. Or even, wrap his tail around some part of her body. That would tickle her pink, and though she'd try to not be obnoxious about it, Vegeta would still notice how her face would light up or the smiles she'd wear because of it. Maybe that would encourage him to be a touch more affectionate, in his own ways.
Would they ever start living together? Amita would at least open her door up to him, if he ever wanted to live with her. I guess it would depend on Vegeta's own living situation. (If he has his own capsule house? He'd probably just stay there or move it closer to Amita's house. If he was stuck at Capsule Corp? Higher chance of him taking Amita up on that offer, because her presence is more tolerable than Bulma's. Yes I subscribe to the belief that Vegeta should've never married Bulma in canon because their relationship has ZERO on-screen chemistry.)
Would their relationship look like a typical one on the surface? No. You could say they would have a more strong q-platonic coded thing going on, which is fine and dandy. They would know what they meant to each other, and that's what matters.
EDIT: Uhh sure Amita would become like Trunks' stepmom but he wouldn't call her one and she wouldn't think of herself as one so. There's nothing of note there.
#ooc.#saved.#/ shoutout to y'all & anyone else that reads all of this lol \#/ was fun to think abt & write tho! \
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Hello I love your AU!
Could you please tell us more about Elfilis and Star Dream as well?
Well, for one thing, they're a lot harder to draw. ^^; So I will gladly accept this opportunity to talk about them now and finish my sketches later~
For another thing, I will admit that they were kind of afterthoughts for GONE (this image basically tells all the story I wanted to tell). It was hard for me to even imagine a space for them to be characters...until I tried thinking of the AU as a more casual slice-of-life thing, believe it or not. ^^;
It kinda makes sense though; for multiverse-scale rulers to take something like this in stride, to be totally comfortable taking breaks to chat and get to know each other in between murder attempts. ^^ To be honest, it's almost creepier this way...for someone to ask how you've been before ripping your head off your neck...really adds to the 'inhuman' vibe of this AU in particular.
Fecto Elfilis: Probably the most sympathetic of the three, despite also being the most brutal (in a way, I feel a capacity for kindness and a capacity for cruelty are two sides of the same coin).
They kinda understand what the Master Crown is going through, since they also have a nagging 'weakness' living inside of them at all times, in the form of Elfilin. ^^ You'll see what that looks like later. ;)
Of course, they have the advantage of knowing with certainty that Elfilin is real, most likely permanent, and has feelings they can hurt (their basic dynamic is that Elfilin begs them not to do something bad, and F/E does something 10x worse just to spite him). Unfortunately, this comes with the disadvantage of having to fight with him all the time, and the constant stress and aggravation that results. ^^; Like, imagine you had a sort of sentient autoimmune disease that flared up AND psychically argued with you every time you wanted to do something fun...it's a special kind of hell, tbh, and I like to think that Elfilin knows that~.
Anyway, despite all of that, F/E is usually pretty cool and self-confident, personality-wise. They have zero respect for either of their opponents, and they get a cathartic kick out of watching the Crown have a mental breakdown and mocking it for it...even though they secretly feel the same way very often, and very deep down.
Star Dream: It thinks of itself as a benevolent god, the savior of the universe...and whether or not that idea is a half-truth or a complete delusion honestly depends on your perspective.
They ARE the only one of the three who's actually concerned with building civilizations instead of destroying them (F/E) or treating them like toys (MC). They also have the intrinsic ability to read people's dreams and grant their wishes, an ability they use to keep their colossal hivemind happy.
But is this a 'real' happiness, or a sort of 'brainwashed' happiness? Does it really free people's souls from their imperfect flesh-prisons, or does it simply remake them into a sanitized ideal...?
I think it would be interesting if it offered to mechanize the Master Crown in order to relieve its suffering (which would totally count as proving dominance)...even though it's kind of its fault that MC started losing its mind in the first place. ^^;;; The 'itch' starts when it has a small but unexpected reaction to seeing Susie's face, and becomes exponentially worse when SD admits that the form it's in is something it saw in the MC's dreams. But y'know, what better way to convince MC to have its mind digitized and have the 'weaknesses' deleted than to show it exactly what it's afraid of? ^^
In case it's not obvious, Star Dream has a very 'pleasant' and calm personality-- by now, it's learned that it's faster and easier to convert people with """"kindness""" than threats of annihilation. Of course, it doesn't like being told 'no' (you could argue that it doesn't really see any viewpoint other than its own as valid) and really doesn't like entities that can challenge it, especially "repulsive" flesh-creatures like Fecto Elfilis. ^^ If there's any potential for dark comedy in this AU, it's in the dynamic between those two~
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Here's another attempt on how I will tackle AV2 characters in my story, "The Prince and the Witch", which is a slight AU sequel to the events of Ean's Quest. While the story focuses on Nicolas and an OC, but this post details the way I will handle the main party!
IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm aware that the AV universe is supposed to have a feminist and matriarchal flavor to it. However, there are still integral parts of it that make me feel like it wasn't able to completely discard some male-dominant views. Since certain gimmicks and characterizations do rely on it, here I chose to still consider that side of AV.
Ean
He's just a Regular Guy TM in the Vale. He's had a pretty average life with the simple dream of carrying on everyday with his loved ones and watching them succeed with their own things.
Sometimes, he cares too much, and that's a problem.
He's not afraid to speak his mind, call people out, and demand responsibility from others. He also regularly establishes boundaries when he can. He's willing to back off in the face of a perceived bigger threat, but tries to find loopholes to get his desired outcome.
On that note, Ean could bottle up his rage and frustrations pretty well. He can summon them again in battle and can be scary when he needs to be.
As an elf from the Vale, he probably gets Problem Sense Tingles a la Spidey Sense whenever something in the Land of Man doesn't feel right.
He's a little shy with his romantic feelings for Iya.
He is very nurturing. He tries so hard to understand his party members, but majority of his focus is on Iya.
Among the party members, Rye is his best buddy and also serves as his teacher in battle.
He lets Ava take lead sometimes, and he is very accommodating to everyone else who offers to join them in his quest.
Iya
As someone who was born with potential and raised with praises, all she wants is validation, acceptance, and assurance. She likes doing things for others, if it will make them like her.
Her memories as old Iya are still fuzzy, partly from having her soul ripped apart, partly from being treated poorly by her family.
Song magic does rely on her voice, so she developed the habit of not saying much, until her anxiety gets the better of her.
She often sticks to Ean's side and opinions since she feels the safest next to him. She acts cutesy with him to win his affections and attention. She's always had a crush on him, though prior to her kidnapping she was too focused on pleasing her family to ever act on her feelings.
Thanks to her time in Shaenlir, she has quickly mastered the diplomatic smile. She is also very mindful of rules and would not like to break them or even go around them.
She's not as fond of anyone else in the party, but she's willing to be civil since that's what Ean wants. Emma and Gavin in particular make her a bit uncomfortable.
Rye
There's a specific type of girl he hates and it's the ones who dream of rose-colored lives with rich men saving them from a life of cold, hard manual labor. (He's good with women who he considers are rough and tough, like Emma and Ava.) This is heavily influenced by local girls, especially his older sisters.
He knows he's not as smart and he's insecure about it.
He likes to talk. A lot. He needs to spend energy talking or he'll end up very annoyed and unwilling to cooperate.
As a hunter and a farmer, he is the brawn of the party. He also serves as their cook and initially carried most of their stuff.
He utterly hates Iya and her perceived vulnerability and dependence on Ean.
He thinks what he feels for Emma is something akin to romance, because he genuinely wants to support a hardworking person like her (and Ean).
He respects Ava and Gavin as established people in their respective fields, but hates and envies Nicolas for being so privileged.
Though initially wary of Jack, they vibe together so Rye is willing to overlook the whole criminal thing.
Emma
Having grown in a kingdom obsessed with romantic love, she swore to stand out and be not like other girls for real. She delights in gross and ugly things mostly to make people leave her alone.
That said, she hates being bossed around. She will use the volume of her voice and change her posture to appear bigger.
Whatever she puts her mind to, she is good at it. The only things she would avoid delving in are romantic relationships and kids.
She wasn't too fortunate as a young girl, so as an adult, she promised to always get what she wants.
She isn't romantically interested in Rye, but she thinks he's twice as better as the other available candidates for a spouse since he has similar views on romance and wouldn't be a nuisance about it.
To deal with Nicolas, she plays dumb about his requests so he'd think she's too incompetent to be bossed around.
She likes having Ean as a leader since he allows her to do whatever as long as she's done with her part of the thing. She's less enthused with Ava around since she finds Ava a bit strict for her taste.
She likes to hang with Gavin because he's cool and they have the best banter together (after Rye).
She also likes to bully Iya a bit, because she thinks Iya should grow a spine.
As an occasional thief and mischief maker, she respects Jack's hustle; even asks him for his tips and tricks.
Nicolas
His mother is his father's second wife, thus the big age gap between him and Uthar. He was essentially a rainbow baby so Guevene spoiled him a lot.
The Uthar he met is more prim and proper, a dependable guy with a knack for pranks and fun times. He looks up to his brother and considers Uthar's word as law, so Nicolas will do the dirty work if Uthar tells him so.
Hard pass if it means he has to listen to someone else, though. He will do things when he feels like doing it.
He loves to be pampered. He feels entitled to other people's service. He does not care if they like him or hate him, as long as it does not inconvenience him.
He is very untrustworthy towards people who do not look attractive or "clean" to him, like the witches. He was taught that all these kinds of people would take advantage of him.
He initially only likes Iya among the party members because she knows how to act like a proper lady. He doesn't know she doesn't exactly like him.
He initially doesn't respect Ava and doesn't believe Uthar is friends with her.
He doubts Ean's leadership, but as long as Nicolas fulfills Uthar's request of him, he will see the end of the quest.
Ava
Her real name is Evangeline Harper. She became an outlaw because she hated her origin country's government. She eventually snuck out to sea, made her own name from befriending other runaways, and established her own crew. They use seemingly derogatory codenames to appear unserious and unalarming.
Her ship is called "Freowright". She got stuck in Seri for a bit after the Snow Queen deployed soldiers in the mainland; now Ava has two ships. The other ship, built during the resistance against the Snow Queen, she's nicknamed "The Commissioner".
Ava grew on tough love and thus shows it as well to put people in place. As both a disciplinarian, the oldest, and the most experienced of the party, Ean assigned her as second-in-command.
Unlike Ean who's happy enough to have everyone help in battle or solve mysteries with him, she sees to it that everyone does their share of the work before slacking off.
Ava once wanted to settle down, but things didn't work out. Eventually she started pushing away other potential partners in fear of having to deal with heartbreak again. It doesn't help that she willingly stripped herself of her personal sense of femininity in an effort to look powerful when she was starting out.
She doesn't like to tell her personal stories to everyone, but when she does, it's a sign that the person she's telling it to has earned her trust. The only exception is Iya, who needs much guidance as an amnesiac and lost dreamer.
Gavin
As someone who grew up in a matriarchal society, he unabashedly calls women pet names the way a clique of girls do.
His upbringing doesn't prevent him from trying to actually flirt with girls. He loves women and the company of women. And it doesn't help that he's been so used to the attention of women as a warlock who grew up surrounded by them.
He is essentially a communist who's against excessive hoarding of wealth and thus abhors nobility and royalty alike. He immediately signs up to be the party's provisions manager.
Since he's a warlock, he doesn't really see "ugliness" as an insult. It's part of the charm.
Iya is among the girls he's backed away from, mostly because she and Ean hover around each other too much. Gavin's charms did at one point work on Emma, but they decided that being friends who occasionally "flirt" was way better.
He actually wasn't as romantically interested in Ava, but his witch's nature demand that he annoy her for a bit. When Gavin notices she responds quite favorably with very feminine nicknames and monikers, this interests him because it creates a contrast from the image she portrays. It's this part of her that he likes to try and bring out more.
Jack
He tries not to get too close to anyone because as a criminal, most of his bonds are very shaky and temporary.
He's quite lazy and would rather spend time having fun with friends and what money he has in his pockets.
He has a lot of comments about how to do things. Too bad a lot of them is also outdated.
He likes to get on people's nerves to see how much he could get away with. Only Rye and Emma have "passed" this test. Jack has also learned not to cross Ean too much because Ean's wrath is something else, and that Ava hates hearing her name being lengthened, but won't try to do anything against him for it.
Aside from being the party's resident menace, he also scouts ahead with Rye.
#aveyond#av2#anne's av2 au#anne's av musings#annelaurant hcs#satoh writes#can i just switch all my tags to satoh#i feel like i'm calling myself by a ghost's name
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DSMP Fanfic Rec List because I’m bored - part 1
(IF YOU READ ANY OF THESE, DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT - even a simple "great work" or "this was a lot of fun" suffices, just comment)
Manburg vs Pogtopia Era (lots of Manburg cabinet, Pumpkin Duo, and Schlatt studies)
depressing final moments for an equally depressing man by cottageaddict
Your chest aches, a twinge you can’t quite place shooting through your ribs, and all you can do is sigh and lift the bottle to your lips once again.
“Are you- Are you drinking?!”
-
I’m a big fan of 2nd person narration and this particular work delivers it beautifully. I also adore the way they wrote Schlatt - the fear of death, the understanding and semi-acceptance of all the wrongs he’s done to everybody, and his response to it all being just Well fuck *proceeds to drink more* - he’s so very much in character.
That very specific, and honestly pretty fucking sad implication at the end hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting too, actually-
___
I Will Sing No Requiem by Rjeealdleyr
"Fundy wouldn't cry for Wilbur."
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#cfundydeservesbetter
I second the author by saying we don’t have enough Fundy fics in this fandom, so here is one. Be prepared for angsty angst!!
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Exorcise My Fat Old Heart by orojiratsu
On the day you die the sun is beaming.
OR: The death of a villain.
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More of Schlatt’s POV for November 16th and more 2nd person. This one is written so tragically and in such short sentences, it feels like a poem. Needless to say, I like it a lot.
___
Welcome Home, Theseus. by orojiratsu
Schlatt is their president, and they will stay by his side.
-
Aka, an AU where Schlatt tries to get over his alcoholism with the help of those around him and the Manburg Cabinet actually works out. Sooooooo, basically S1 heaven for me.
You get it all: functional pumpkin duo, dadschlatt with Tubbo and Fundy, Tommy getting away from Pogtopia!Wilbur, a happy, hopeful ending-
When I say that in the DSMP, Schlatt is the character that could have had it all and changed the course of the the story towards a much brighter future, this fic is what I mean.
That last chapter always gets me, i swear-
___
The Nation That Got Better by lb1412 (WIP)
In one world, L’Manberg is no more, its citizens are divided and its enemies reign supreme.
In another world, however, there is still hope.
In another world, a traveller comes with a message, a warning, an omen.
In another world, everything depends on Schlatt.
And maybe, just maybe, there is hope left for him too.
Come, gather around, everyone, for I am about to tell you the tale of the nation that got better.
-
OR, Schlatt gets a visit from a certain time traveller the night before the election and that changes a few things in the lore’s future.
Basically, it's just more Manburg Cabinet working out, although slightly differently and taking longer. I love the broship that Pumpkin Duo has in this.
The lack of heavy angst in here is a real breath of fresh air for me, btw.
ALSO, kids are treated as kids! I repeat, kids are treated as kids!
___
Swagtopia AU by PrincessLunaLover
It was supposed to just be a secret rescue mission. Tubbo was going to get his father free from prison and let him run into the wilderness, voter fraud charges be damned. But then Fundy found out about the fake charges, and went to Quackity for legal advice.
It wasn't supposed to end with Wilbur publicly executing his own son.
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Ahhhhhhh Swagtopia AU, my beloved :,)
The title speaks for itself no? An AU where Wilbur cheats to win the elections and it’s all dandy and good until Fundy finds out and decides that justice should prevail.
Schlatt and Wilbur basically switch roles and with them, lots of other things change. (I love this idea so much.)
Dad!Schlatt is a thing and the Pumpkin Duo dynamic reminds me a bit of an edgier Happy Duo - that married couple who can't stop bickering. They’re great.
Fundy gets a lot of spotlight, Quackity is really intelligent and gets to show it, Techno and Schlatt are old friends, and Sweater Duo angst is a thing, so really, what else could you want??
(Also, this fic is finished, I'm not sure why it’s marked as WIP, but it might have to do with the hints to a possible sequel that just never came to be.)
Think thats it for now - happy readings :>>>
#no one asked me to do this i felt like it#if any author whose works i mentioned ever wants me to take their fic from here i will do so immediately no problem#if you feel like adding your own fav fics to here feel free#reblog or comment or whatever#im getting desperate for new good fics#dream smp#dsmp#dsmp fanfic#manburg vs pogtopia#fanfic recs
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just in case | hhj
pairing: hyunjin x (gn) reader.
wc: 8.6k
genre: fluff. angst. suggestive. romcom. office au. valentine’s day au. coworkers to lovers. slight enemies to lovers.
warnings: alcohol, heavy making out, a both snarky and unreliable narrator, all around just inappropriate behaviour for a workplace (but what else would you expect from an office au lmao.)
summary: your valentine’s day plans of bad cable and a bottle of wine take an unexpected turn, as when leaving the office you witness a completely different side of your least favourite coworker, hwang hyunjin. perhaps valentine’s day really does hold a little bit of magic.
a/n: this is so disgustingly late, frankly i’m ashamed. but life and such, you know how it is. this is for the sweet treats from skz event hosted by @districtninewriters. hope you all enjoy, and i’d recommend checking out everyone else’s works!! also i lowkey resent this fic for how long it has taken me, so i hope it’s okay.
Sunday’s are the worst.
With the office being full of coworkers hungover and regretful from the previous night’s little escapades, as well as consumed by the dread of being forced to work during the weekend, the air always seems to hang a little lower on Sunday’s.
Of course, today is no normal Sunday. Not at all, and it is apparent in the excited buzz and extra chatter that fills the office with a tad more enthusiasm than annoyance.
No, today is no normal Sunday, but rather Valentine’s Day.
Which depending on exactly who you are and the activities you have planned for the evening, could either mean that this particular Sunday is slightly better or worse than average. For some, it’s a night of romance - budding or long-term - of roses and chocolate and candlelit dinners, of longing glances and playing footsie under the table.
While for others, it’s nothing special, no significant other to share the night with, and the giddy attitude that fills the air is only slightly nauseating.
You are a part of this latter.
It should be made clear that you don’t hate Valentine’s Day. Frankly, an extra night just to celebrate the love in a relationship is really quite sweet, and you are not such a killjoy as to rain on other’s parades.
However, that doesn’t mean you can’t hate the way that people in the office treat Valentine’s Day. At least a little.
This particularly applies to Gahyeon, who is now peaking over your cubicle, a far too cheery smile on her face.
“Any plans for the night?” She asks sweetly, expression innocent, although you’re fairly certain she already knows the answer.
“No,” you say shortly, before realizing that might be too blunt, and frankly, a little rude. “Nothing tonight. You?”
“Felix and I are going out for drinks later,” she replies, a faint blush lacing her cheeks at the mention of her fiance. You’ve met Felix a few times, the blonde sometimes opting to come inside when picking her up after a later shift. He’s nice. Cute. A well-suited match for her, based on the very brief conversations you’ve had with him.
“We’re going to Dominique’s,” she adds, and you manage to refrain from letting your surprise show. Felix clearly has expensive taste, although you suppose the ring he gave her two months ago was already a pretty obvious indication of that.
“Well, I’m sure the two of you will have a good time,” you offer, returning to face your computer screen, assuming that the conversation is over and you’re free to return to your work. However, this is not the case, as Gahyeon continues to stare at you from over-top the cubicle, chin resting over top of her crossed arms.
“I got you a gift,” she says, causing you to twist your chair to face her once more, raising an eyebrow. She disappears back into her own space, searching for whatever she wishes to give you.
“Here,” she calls out, before once again popping her head back up into your line of sight. She has a gift bag in her hand, one that is so narrow and tall in length you already have a good idea of what it might be.
After taking the bag, you find your assumption proven correct, as you pull out a rather hefty bottle of wine.
You stare at the gift, before flickering your gaze back to Gahyeon. It’s not that you don’t like it, in fact, it’s your favourite brand. Even a tad more expensive than you typically let yourself reach for, unless for a special occasion.
You’re more so just confused as to exactly why Gahyeon would be giving you a bottle of wine, on Valentine’s Day none-the-less.
Her smile falls slightly. “Do you not like it?”
“No!” You rush out, quickly changing your bewildered expression into a smile. You certainly don’t want her to feel bad for getting you a gift, however strange it might be. “I mean, no - but not no as in no I hate it - sorry, yes. Yes, I like it. Thank you.”
She smiles again, and you let yourself relax slightly, taking a breath. “I’m more so just a bit lost,” you continue, examining the bottle once more. “What is this for?”
“Well, I assumed for drinking, although I guess that’s ultimately up to-”
“Gahyeon.”
She sighs, eyes softening with what you can only recognize as pity, “Well I don’t know,” she begins, before trailing off. “I just… Well, I just figured someone should give you something nice. I mean it’s Valentine’s Day after all, and well, you know.”
You’ve been doing a rather decent job at managing your expressions thus far, but your jaw falls open at the statement.
You’re a rational person. You’re certain she meant well by this, and it isn’t something cruel or a mocking jab at you.
But the fact of the matter stands that you never even told her you didn’t have a date for Valentine’s Day. Sure, you didn’t tell her that you did have one, but you made no indication for the opposite either.
And the audacity of the assumption - let alone the fact that you’d be so torn up about it that you’d need to drink your feelings away - is enough to render you momentarily speechless.
You open your mouth, unsure of what you can even say to such a statement, when fortunately you find you won't have to, as someone approaches both you and Gahyeon.
However, it quickly becomes unfortunate as you realize who it is.
“Oh, hi Hyunjin!” Gahyeon says sweetly as the man approaches. You discreetly slide the bottle of wine back into the gift basket, hiding it behind your chair. The last thing you need is for him to see it.
It should be made clear that you don’t hate Hyunjin.
He’s just… a little irritating.
Okay, maybe a lot irritating.
A tad arrogant, ego far too large for just one person. Sure, even you must begrudgingly admit the man is attractive, with long golden hair and striking features, but he would be a lot more attractive if he didn’t act so high and mighty about it.
He’s also a bit snobby, most of this deriving from when Chan was promoting people in your division a couple months ago, and he chose him instead of you. Not that you care, obviously. You both deserved it, both rather talented in your area of expertise.
Even if you have worked here for two years longer and have put in almost double the hours of overtime work.
But hey, who’s counting?
Not you, of course, because you don’t care enough about Hyunjin to really worry about such things.
He’s just a little annoying, that’s all.
“Hi, Gahyeon,” he says, plastering on as equally as sweet of a smile as the one she is wearing, before his gaze momentarily flickers to you, and when he speaks his tone is disinterested.
“Hey,” he says shortly, before immediately shifting his focus back to your coworker, and you can’t refrain from rolling your eyes.
“Who are the chocolates for?” Gahyeon asks. You hadn’t noticed it before, but Hyunjin holds a box of chocolates in his hands, bright red, gigantic, and in the shape of a heart.
A little cheesy, but you digress.
“Oh,” he says shyly, shifting his gaze away in an attempt to play coy. “Um.”
You know the bashful display is entirely fake and undoubtedly for attention, but Gahyeon eats it up, holding a hand to her heart as if moved.
“Aw, for a secret admirer maybe?” She guesses and when he laughs at the idea, she tries again. “Or a big date planned for tonight?”
Hyunjin chuckles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, and you resist the urge to gag.
Alright, maybe Valentine’s Day does make you a little extra cynical.
“Something like that,” he replies finally, before clearing his throat and changing topics. “But Gahyeon, the reason I actually came over here was to remind you that I need the numbers for the WENUS. So just swing by my office before leaving tonight, okay?”
“Of course!” Gahyeon says, giving the man a thumbs up as he begins to make his exit. However he stops for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eye, a smirk sliding across his lips.
“Enjoy the wine,” he chirps. You open your mouth to heckle back - something sharp and witty, you figure - but he’s already gone, disappearing around the corner and back towards his own office.
You glance over at Gahyeon, prepared to give her a half-hearted glare. She knows full well about the little tug-of-war relationship the two of you share, which means she also knows about how her gift undoubtedly gave him some new teasing material for the coming weeks.
And you know she’s aware of this, because she quickly disappears back into her own cubicle, the sound of typing immediately apparent as she begins to busy herself.
You sigh, turning your attention back to your own screen, fingers resting motionless on your keyboard.
Alright, so you don’t hate Valentine’s Day, but maybe you actually do hate Hyunjin.
~~~~
It’s just past 11:00 pm when you admit that it’s officially too late for you to still be in the office. Rubbing your tired eyes, which ache slightly from staring at a screen all day, you let out a dramatic yawn. The office remains dark, everyone already having packed their things and left for the night, to their own date nights and special holiday plans.
You rise to your feet, prepared to grab your things before heading home, to what will most likely be a night of wine and bad cable tv shows. Just the kind of activities expected of a single person your age on Valentine’s Day, but you find you no longer have the will to attempt fighting against the stereotype. You’re tired and the wine Gahyeon bought you is good, you might as well make the most of it.
However, your plans are put to a sudden halt as you glance over at Gahyeon’s desk, a stack of papers laying neatly beside her keyboard.
It’s the WENUS - the Weekly Estimated Net Usage Statistics - or in other words, the documents Hyunjin had specifically asked her to deliver to him before she left the office tonight, which was roughly 5 hours ago.
Biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from letting out another pained sigh, you instead decide to take the high road, slipping into her cubicle to grab the papers.
Gahyeon isn’t normally this forgetful, just another unfortunate symptom of Valentine’s Day you suppose. The papers most likely dismissed as Felix came inside to pick her up, roses in hand, a dreamy as well as grossly in-love smile plastered across his lips.
So you can’t entirely blame Gahyeon, because if someone ever looked at you with such a disgustingly enamoured look, you might forgot about the stupid WENUS as well.
You’re the only one left inside the office, and as you head down the hallway you’re certain you’ll have to simply slip the documents under Hyunjin’s door, the man having gone home for the night.
Or more likely, to the big date or “something like that” he said he had planned.
Which is why you’re completely caught off guard by the light brightly shining from further down the hall.
Raising a skeptical eyebrow, you follow the brightness, finding yourself before Hyunjin’s not-at-all empty office. The door remains wide open and you discreetly peek inside, finding the man stationed at his desk, pen in hand as he quickly jots something down on a sticky-note.
Blonde hair messy and tousled as his chin rests in the palm of his hand, tie loosened and falling low below his collar, it’s a look you’ve never seen from the man. Always so put together, so perfectly poised with a level of arrogance attached, it’s almost a shock to see the mask fall, even if just for a moment.
“Can I help you?” He calls without looking up, voice monotone. Your hiding place behind the door frame must not be as discreet as you may have hoped.
You clear your throat, walking towards his desk and tossing down the papers. “I noticed Gahyeon forgot these, figured you would want them.”
“Great. Thanks,” he says, still not looking up at you, but taking the papers all the same. When he doesn’t continue, it’s an obvious cue to leave, and indication that he enjoys your company about as much as you do his. Yet, something in you stops for a moment, holding you in place.
“Didn’t you have some sort of big date planned for tonight?” You ask, and at that he finally looks up at you, his eyes full of an extra amount of irritation that you don’t quite understand.
“What makes you think that?” He shoots back, his scowl making itself even more evident. You gesture to the large box of chocolates sitting on his desk, which remains unopened.
“The chocolates and the conversation with Gahyeon earlier,” you explain, giving the man an incredulous stare. The two of you don’t get along, obviously, but surely he can’t be mad at your presumption, considering he practically told Gahyeon he had plans. “I just assumed.”
“Well, you assumed wrong,” he huffs, before immediately going back to his work, pointedly not meeting your eye. You scoff, turning on your heel to leave his office, having enough of the attitude for the night. You know that you too can be a tad haughty and dramatic at times, but Hyunjin really is something else.
However, before you can make it through the door, you hear a deep sigh that clearly does not wish to go unheard, and you stop in your tracks.
“I always buy a box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day,” he says quietly, and you turn back around to see the man lift the giant red heart in the air. He keeps his eyes fixated on his desk, clearly embarrassed by the confession, tone dripping with shame. “You know… just in case.”
“That…” You start, unsure of how exactly to respond to the admission, to the defeated look nestled in his eyes. It’s unsettling, and entirely not Hyunjin. “That is one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.”
He scoffs, dropping the chocolates back down on the desk with both a thud and a matching glare. He looks annoyed, but you suppose that’s better than whatever defeated, as well as slightly pathetic expression he was wearing prior.
Hyunjin’s already annoying, you can’t possibly add self-consciousness into that mix.
“Okay, fuck you,” he cuts back, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms, although you can’t help but notice there’s a lack of malice to the statement. Just slightly more of a playful jest than an angry rebuttal, although the irritation still isn’t entirely absent. It’s a bit strange, as the air between the two of you is almost always hostile, and honestly, you’re quite comfortable in that normalcy.
“If it makes you feel any better,” you continue, the words coming out before you truly give yourself a chance to contemplate them. “The wine you saw earlier? Gahyeon only bought it for me because she figured at least someone needed to give me something nice on Valentine’s Day.”
Now that brings a smile to Hyunjin’s face, as the man proceeds to let out a low whistle, as if to say: “Ouch, low blow.”
You chuckle beneath your breath. “The worst part is that I never even told her I didn’t have a date, she just assumed.”
He actually laughs out loud at that, and you realize that you’ve never actually heard the man laugh in a way that wasn’t condescending or snarky. It’s an awfully boyish sound - as well as loud - and it’s enough to catch you momentarily off guard.
“No, the worst part is that she didn’t need to be told,” he quips, shrugging his shoulders. “She was right.”
“Okay, fuck you,” you cut back, although a grin sneaks it’s way onto the corners of your lips.
Okay seriously, what is wrong with you right now? You clearly need to leave this office and go home, because there’s no possible way Hwang Hyunjin just made you smile.
Instead, for some unknown reason, you hang in the doorway. A flash of something lights up in Hyunjin’s eyes - mischief perhaps - and he smirks. “Do you want to crack it open?”
“Huh?”
“The wine,” he clarifies with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s still in your office right?”
“I mean yeah, but…” You trail off, biting your inner cheek nervously. You’re not sure what the company policy on alcohol might be - as drinking at work has never been something you’ve considered - but other than the spiked egg-nog at the annual holiday party, you’re fairly certain it’s off limits. “Can we do that?”
“I mean, I’m sure we’re the only two here,” he offers, which you suppose is understandable. “Who’s going to care?”
When you don’t respond, still slightly apprehensive of the suggestion, he continues.
“Besides, do you really think Chan would mind anyway?” He says, referencing the head of the company, and subsequently, the boss of both of you. “He’s going to come home tomorrow from his romantic getaway smitten as hell. I bet he wouldn’t even notice if we were hungover off our asses.”
Another fair statement, Chan having taken the entire week off on a trip to Italy with his significant other. “A special Valentine’s Day treat,” he’d called it, never mind the fact that they do it annually, and this just so happens to be one of the busiest weeks of the year he’s left you all to deal with.
Yeah, you’re not the happiest with Chan at the moment, especially knowing he’s going to come back tomorrow completely love-sick and dreamy when you need him to focus.
Perhaps that’s why you don’t reject the offer, why you don’t immediately call Hyunjin out for being unprofessional. Tomorrow is going to suck anyway, and frankly, you could do with a little harmless defiance against Chan.
There’s also the unfortunate truth that today is still Valentine’s Day, and sharing the wine might be a little less sad than drinking the entire bottle on your own. Even if it’s with someone as insufferable as Hyunjin, the company remains company all the same.
“Alright,” you concede with a sigh, heading back out through the door. “Let me grab the bottle.”
~~~~
After half a bottle of wine drunk out of your office’s paper cups, and a box of chocolates the man had jokingly gifted to you (with only the slightly disgusting flavours remaining), you find yourself sitting next to Hyunjin at his desk. Having pulled an extra chair over from the office beside his own, you lay your head against your arm, which is spread out across the tabletop.
The last hour has passed by in a strange, as well as confusing fashion. You’ve found that Hyunjin perhaps isn’t the worst company in the world, all though you must admit, it doesn’t feel like you’re really with Hyunjin at all.
A man most often recognized for his meticulous demeanor, never seeming to have a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in his suit, now let’s this mask fall even more substantially than when you first entered the office. The knot of his tie now completely undone, hanging over the collar of his shirt, which is absent of its first few buttons and sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Long hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and suit jacket thrown lazily over the back of his chair, it’s almost difficult to place him as the man you see near every day.
However, what’s most shocking to you is certainly not his clothing, but his personality.
The arrogance is still there, certainly. The cheap little jabs and teasing jokes, but accompanying that is a level of sincerity. Perhaps the spirit of Valentine’s Day has possessed the man, and now that it’s a few minutes past midnight he’ll go back to his normal cocky self, but you can’t deny that Hyunjin has been almost… sweet.
A surprisingly attentive listener, he let you ramble on about anything from Gahyeon and Felix’s sickeningly sweet relationship to the rise in gasoline prices, even chiming in with his own genuine thoughts and advice.
Frankly, you’re a little weirded out.
“I mean, it’s all very cliche. Don’t you think?” He says now, referencing your current topic of whether or not either of you actually like the present holiday.
“What about it is cliche?” You ask, hiding the whisper of a smile behind your wine glass.
“All of it,” he explains, waving his hands in exaggeration. He’s had a little more to drink than you have, the fact obvious through the slight redness in his cheeks, although he’s by no means drunk. Just comfortable enough to keep his guard down, which you certainly don’t mind.
“The flowers, the chocolate, the wine,” he continues. “Fancy dinner that overlooks the city skyline, or a moonlit walk along the beach.”
You snort at the sentiment. “I think you’re just describing the night you’d rather be having right now.”
You mean the statement as a joke, but Hyunjin simply smiles. “No,” he states, his voice soft. “I’d rather be here.”
“Well,” you chuckle lowly, sliding the bottle of wine towards yourself. “Then you must have had a little too much to drink.”
He reaches over, grabbing the neck of the bottle and preventing you from pulling it away any further. Other hand clutching the area over his heart and lower lip drawn out in a pout, he mocks fake offence.
“Why?” he laughs, and although his next question is said with a jovial nonchalance, you can tell there may be a weight behind his words. “Are you saying you would rather be somewhere else?”
A part of you considers answering yes, to tease and bicker and do what you always do with Hyunjin, play into the jesting match as per usual. But you find that something holds you back.
“No,” you reply. “I’d rather be here too.”
A moment of silence passes by, the only sound in the room being the ticking clock that hangs above the doorway. His eyes meet yours, and the corner of his lip pulls upward into a half smile.
“Good,” is all he replies.
After another short moment of silence, a nervous feeling beginning to turn with your gut, you clear your throat. You’re not sure what’s happening here exactly, why your body is tingling with a jittery anticipation, but you suppose it’s a sign that this strange new side of Hyunjin might be enough excitement for one night. “Well, it’s getting late.”
A flash of something passes along the man’s face, what you could almost recognize as disappointment. “Ah,” he says with a glance at the clock, the unavoidable truth that it’s past midnight and too late to still be at the office beginning to set in. “I guess it is.”
“I should probably head home,” you say, beginning to rise to your feet. You don’t manage to stand up fully however, as Hyunjin gently takes hold of your wrist, motioning for you to sit back down.
“Sorry, can I just say something first?” He asks, and swallowing down the worry that arises at the statement, you nod.
Hyunjin takes a deep breath. “Thank you for not feeling sorry for me.”
The look on your face must accurately show the amount of confusion you feel, as the man quickly clarifies. “I mean earlier with the chocolates, most people would just feel pity and try to console me for something like that. But you saved me the embarrassment, so thank you.”
You really didn’t think much of it at the time, but there is a level of truth to the statement. It didn’t even cross your mind to pity the man, and although it may have been slightly out of spite, you suppose if the situations were reversed, you wouldn’t have wanted him to make a big deal out of it either.
“But I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he shakes his head, letting out a small laugh as he seems to forgo his past seriousness. “That’s kinda our thing after all.”
“Our thing?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.
“You know,” he says, giving you an equally confused look at the fact you don’t know exactly what he’s talking about. “The teasing? The shots back and forth? That’s what we do, isn’t it?”
It takes a moment for you to register what exactly he’s saying, or rather the implications of it.
Hyunjin thinks teasing is your guys’ thing.
You just thought Hyunjin was an asshole.
Oh.
“Right, of course, our thing,” you say, doing your best to sound genuine, as if the two of you have totally been on the same page the entire time. As if you haven’t been cursing him under your breath every time he’s made a teasing comment. As if you haven’t called him arrogant and snobby for two years straight with honestly little to no substance behind it. As if you haven’t assumed every time he was being nice to another coworker, it was all fake and for his own personal gain and attention.
Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, the soft smile on his lips slowly morphing into a frown, eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement.
“You…” He trails off, mouth opening in a small “o,” before a look of mortification passes along his features. “You didn’t think we were joking, did you?”
“Well, not exactly,” you say, albeit a tad awkwardly, unsure of how to navigate the admission. In the end you decide to go with honesty. “Like I knew we teased each other, it just didn’t come off as very, you know, lighthearted to me.”
The horrified look Hyunjin wears only grows wider at the statement. Hands reaching up to cover his mouth, the man appears almost animated. “I am so sorry,” he says, words slightly muffled by the fingers that cover his lips.
“Don’t be,” you rush out quickly, reaching forward to take hold of his wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his face. “It was just a misunderstanding. If anything it’s a relief, so don’t worry about it.”
He seems to relax slightly at that, the tension leaving his shoulders, although he continues to chew on the bottom of his lower lip. “Well, I’m still sorry.”
You smile, the sentiment undeniably endearing. “It’s okay.”
He pauses for a moment, gaze focused intently at the bottle of wine, as if contemplating something. “I’m also sorry for taking the job,” he says suddenly.
The statement takes you by surprise. “What?”
“The promotion,” he elaborates. “ I know it was between you and I, and point-blank, you deserved it more than I did. I don't know what Chan was thinking, and I should have stepped back and let you have it. I’m sorry.”
It’s funny, you’ve spent the last two years wishing to hear him say those words. A deep dark part of you just wanting to hear him admit it, to acknowledge the fact that he got off lucky being Chan’s favourite. That it was you who deserved it. You, who was both more qualified and held seniority.
But now that he’s actually said the words out loud, only one response comes to mind.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Hyunjin’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. “Wait w-what?” He asks, words fumbled with shock.
“There’s no way in hell you would have, nor should have turned down an opportunity like that,” you explain, and it’s true. If the roles were reversed, there’s not even a chance you would have given up a promotion for him, and it’s not until now that you realize you never would have wanted him to do it for you either. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Eyebrows furrowing together, he stares at you in disbelief. “But you’ve been here longer, and put a lot more time into-“
“And I'm not saying I disagree with that,” you counter, because frankly, you don’t. “But throwing away this opportunity would have genuinely been the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Don’t be a saint, we both know you’re not one, and neither am I.”
He watches you for a moment, eyes scanning your face carefully, as if looking for something. After a moment he swallows deeply, taking a deep breath as if to concede. “Yeah okay, you’re right.”
That should be the end of it, but something stops you from switching topics, an itch beneath your skin that says the conversation isn’t quite finished.
Possibly deriving from the fact that Hyunjin has always been good at the job - just as good as you are - and he doesn’t seem to be acknowledging that. Extra hours and seniority aside, the two of you have always been on rather equal footing in that sense, and you don’t think it's fair to go completely unannounced.
“And you are very talented Hyunjin,” you say softly, a confession of sorts. “You wouldn’t have gotten the job otherwise.”
He doesn’t say anything to this, but you don’t miss the way his cheeks flush slightly, the faintest hint of a smile appearing at the corner of his lip.
“So don't feel bad, yeah?” You finish, even placing your hand over his own on the desktop, hoping it comes off as reassuring. “I'm sure another opportunity will come around for me.”
He pauses for a moment, staring down at your hand over top of his own. Gaze fluttering up to meet your eyes, he finally allows himself to fully smile. “Alright.”
“Good,” you say simply, giving his hand a small squeeze, before removing it entirely. You go to have a sip of your wine - the paper cup having been momentarily forgotten - but don’t miss the way your hand shakes slightly. Almost nervous, it seems. Strange.
The smile on Hyunjin’s face suddenly shifts from compassionate to playful. “So you think I’m talented, huh?”
You roll your eyes, finishing your sip before answering. “Amongst other far less kind things, sure.”
It’s almost automatic how his face falls, smile dissapaiting into a frown, eyes hollowing of the newfound joy.
Shit. This is really going to take some getting used to.
“Sorry, force of habit,” you add, quickly trying to recover your mistake. “But yeah, I do.”
He seems to regain his footing at this, that small smile returning to his lips once more, granting you a strange sense of relief. “I think you’re talented too,” he says quietly, almost shy.
“Thank you,” you reply, voice equally as gentle.
It takes about ten seconds of smiling at each other in silence for the moment to become awkward.
“I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this,” he blurts out quickly, face flushing a light shade of pink.
“At…?” You ask, not quite sure what he’s trying to get at.
“Ever since the promotion, I really haven’t had much time to myself,” he admits, leaning backwards in his chair. “So I’m a bit out of practice with the whole, you know, flirting thing.”
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait, wait-
Flirting?
Is that…is that what he’s doing right now?
You stare at him, trying to get some tell that he might be joking. That this whole thing was just a game, that he’ll say sike, and then spill his cup of wine over your shirt and you can go back to the Hyunjin you know. The Hyunjin you somewhat despise, sure, but at least that irritation is comfortable. At least it’s familiar and something that you can understand.
This Hyunjin, the one that compliments you, tells you that you deserve his job more than he does, and flirts with you, he is anything but understandable.
To make matters even worse, you aren’t repulsed. The statement doesn’t make you uncomfortable nor grossed out, in fact, the reasoning behind your heart beginning to pound faster is what you can only label as excitement.
You truly must be losing it.
You must be, as instead of putting a stop to the conversation, to the entire night by leaving his office and going home, you indulge in it. “I get that, it’s been a while since I’ve been on a date too.”
“Really?” He asks, clearly intrigued as he leans in a little closer, resting his chin in his palm. “How come?”
“Same sort of thing,” you reply honestly. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Gahyeon, I really do. The job would not even be half as interesting without her, but for the last couple months I feel like I have to do double the work. She has to go wedding cake testing one night, or bridesmaid dress shopping the other, and I always pick up her shift or stay later to finish what she couldn’t get to. I care about her, so I don’t mind doing it, but it can be tiring. Plus Chan already expects me to do extra overtime on top of that, because it’s what I’ve been doing for two years straight, and that just doesn’t leave me with tons of free time.”
It feels a bit weird, talking to Hyunjin of all people about this, considering you haven’t mentioned it to anyone in the office before. But he listens attentively, eyebrows drawn together in understanding.
“I know that’s not exactly the same thing,” you clarify, clearing your throat as if to shake off the vulnerability of the statement. “Because I’m doing it to myself, and you have a lot more responsibility in your position, but-”
“No, don’t say that,” Hyunjin quickly cuts you off, and this time it’s him who reaches forward to take your hand. “You still work equally as hard as I do, hell honestly even more. You deserve better than that, it’s not fair to you.”
“Yeah, but what can I do?” You ask with a shrug, because really, there’s not much you can do about it. “I can’t stop working as hard, because Chan will see that as even less of a reason to promote me. And I hate to say it, but the dating world doesn’t exactly love a workaholic.”
He seems to consider this for a moment, before shaking his head in defiance.“Who cares about them?” He retorts, and you can’t deny it's sweet how much he seems to take offence on your behalf. “Being a workaholic means you’re ambitious. You're hardworking and dedicated. I mean, who doesn’t want that in a partner?”
You snort at this, because if only it were that simple. “You'd be surprised.”
Hyunjin doesn’t seem to accept this as a viable answer. “Maybe you just need someone who’s also a workaholic,” he offers, reaching to take a sip of his own wine. “Someone who gets it.”
You smile at this, raising an eyebrow jokingly. “What, do you want to date me?”
He doesn’t even hesitate a moment before answering. “Sure.”
You blink.
It’s as if you can feel your eyes monumentally widen, granting him an incredulous stare. “I was kidding,” you state in disbelief, ready for him to laugh at the look on your face. To explain that he was joking, and just wanted to get a reaction out of you.
Except that this moment never comes, as Hyunjin simply stares back at you, eyes equally as wide but for different reasons. You are shocked and confused, but he seems more like a deer caught in the headlights. As if he has been caught red-handed, revealed more than he meant to.
But instead of back-tracking, instead of making some sort of excuse and pretending it never happened, he takes a deep breath. Gaze shifting to the ground momentarily, as if to steady himself, before firmly looking back up to you.
“Well you know what, I wasn't,” he says, tone blunt. It’s not even a semblance of a shy or earnest confession, but rather a fact, and he does not refrain from delivering it as such.
“Hyunjin-” You begin, unsure of what you’re even going to say such a sudden and bold statement. Fortunately, you find you don’t have to bother figuring it out, as he immediately cuts you off.
“No, hear me out,” he starts, “We’re both workaholics, we’re intellectually compatible, we’re both attractive.”
You hate the fact that instead of attempting to argue this, you’re momentarily both taken aback and flattered by the fact that Hwang Hyunjin finds you attractive.
“We won't get annoyed if the other person has to pick up extra shifts or stay late,” he continues, not even stopping for a breath. “We have the same sense of humour-”
“Okay Hyunjin, I get it,” you cut in, feeling a tad overwhelmed.
Because really, is anything he’s saying wrong? No. Is it unfair or manipulated or just plain ridiculous? Also no.
But at the same time, it’s also Hyunjin.
“Come on,” he says, his tone finally shifting to become more soft, as he leans forward to take your hand once more. This time however, he doesn’t let go. “It's Valentine's Day, and we’re both here together. You even said you wouldn’t want to be somewhere else.”
Once again, true.
“Don’t you think that means something?” He pushes a little further, and you finally force your gaze to meet his eyes, which are practically glistening with sincerity.
Taking a deep breath, you decide not to confirm the question, but also not disagree with it either. The safest option.
“How are you even sure we’re compatible in that way?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. Heart beating a mile per minute, palms clammy in a way they haven’t been in months, you can barely fathom how nervous you are in this moment.
Not a bad nervous. Not terribly nauseous, or a terrified sort of anxious, but for lack of a better term, it’s what you can only describe as butterflies.
And how long has it been since someone has given you those?
Hyunjin leans in a little closer, just a fraction of an inch, but you feel your breath halt sharply. He smiles. “Don’t you want to find out?”
“Yes,” your mind whispers, followed immediately by: “No you don’t, what the fuck?”
It doesn’t take a genius to know which one of those thoughts might hold a little more truth than the other.
“I don't know,” you answer, and after a moment of silence, you sigh. Hyunjin has been awfully honest, perhaps it’s time you try the same. “Ugh, maybe? But isn’t that crazy?”
“See, we’re both crazy,” he says, adding to the rather extensive list he’s created.
You can’t stop the laugh that escapes your lips at this, and his grin grows a little wider before he chuckles along with you. As it dies out, the quiet you are left with is full. Full of compassion, of confession, of the anticipation of what might happen next.
“Here let me propose an idea, and try not to freak out until I’m finished,” he says, waiting to continue until you give him the confirmation of a small nod. He inhales deeply. “Let me kiss you, and if there’s nothing there, you can leave and we can act like this never happened. We’ll just go back to being colleagues and tease each other like we always do, except this time it actually will be lighthearted.”
You open your mouth to respond, but he gently puts a hand up, indicating he’s not quite done yet. “And if there is something there, you’ll let me treat you to coffee after work on Thursday. And at a cafe, not the breakroom.”
Maybe you should say no. He’s a colleague, and one you’ve not so secretly disliked for over a year, at that. Sensibility states it’s not wise to date a coworker, so long as things don’t work out and you’re forced to see them again and again.
But your heart states that it’s Valentine’s Day, and your heart has never been the most sensible of influences. You’ve tossed the thought of relationships and the possibility of butterflies on the backburner for so long, what if you allowed yourself a little fraction of weakness?
After all, a kiss and maybe coffee afterwards isn’t too dangerous a proposition, is it?
Letting your gaze momentarily flicker down to the man’s lips, which remain drawn in that soft smile, you take a deep breath. “Okay,” you whisper, and he nods, although you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to glow a little brighter.
Slowly, he leans forward, so close that you allow your own eyes to flutter shut, the ghost of his breath hot against your face. You wait a moment, shuddering slightly, when you can feel him let out a chuckle.
“Are you sure?” He asks, and it’s blatantly obvious that he’s teasing you.
“You’re the worst,” you reply, although there is no seriousness behind the words. You’re about to reopen your eyes, when he suddenly leans forward fully, closing the remaining distance between the two of you.
The kiss is soft. Chaste, but also not lacking in compassion, as he leans in a little further to deepen it. His hand falls onto one of your own that rests on the desktop, fingers dusting against your knuckles. It’s all very tender, in a way you never expected of Hyunjin.
Not that you’re admitting to ever having imagined what kissing him might be like, of course.
He pulls away for a moment, eyes opening briefly. “Was that alri-”
But you don’t give him a chance to finish, because now that you’ve had a taste, you simply can’t imagine stopping.
“Just, shut up for a second,” you state, before leaning back to connect your lips once again. He allows his hand to trail up your arm with a bit more purpose this time, as if reassured by your confirmation. Settling on your shoulder, he pulls you in closer, the rhythm the two of you begin to settle into slowly escalating. A little more eager, as each kiss becomes more desperate than the next.
His lips taste of the wine you had earlier, a sweet and crisp flavour that you can’t help but internally thank Gahyeon for, as you chase after the high it gives you.
It’s sudden, how his other hand slips to wrap around your waist, pulling you upwards so that the two of you are standing. The chair you were sitting on rolls backwards, not so gracefully knocking into one of the office’s many filing cabinets, but neither of you pays much mind. Instead, Hyunjin takes the liberty of shifting you over, so that your lower back presses up against his office desk.
It’s not until now that you realize how genuinely tall the man is, as both of his hands fall on either side of you to rest on the desktop, closing you in.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispers into your mouth, and you can’t deny the way your chest warms at the statement, a strange sense of pride. At the same time, however, it is accompanied by surprise.
“Really?” You whisper back, and he nods, hand pulling back the collar of your shirt to reveal your neck and collarbone.
“Are you saying you haven’t thought about it?” He challenges, and your first thought is to immediately say no and deny it, just as you always have. But really, what good would that do you now?
“I have,” you answer honestly, taking in a deep breath as his lips begin to work their way down your jawline, approaching your neck. “It just wasn’t exactly like this.”
You have always thought Hyunjin was attractive, you aren’t blind. With long golden hair, plump lips, and a nice jawline, there is no denying that he’s pleasing to the eye. This of course didn’t change your inherent dislike towards him, but you suppose it also may have made it… manifest a little differently at times.
After all, hatred is a passionate emotion, and it’s not so difficult for the line between detestment and desire to blur. For those feelings to subconsciously manifest into something more. Something angry, and charged and deliciously wrong.
“Oh, yeah?” He smirks, only stopping for a moment, before continuing his trek downwards, nipping at the skin of your collarbone. “Tell me what it was like then.”
Breath hitching slightly has one of his hands trails down your waist, before resting awfully close to your inner thigh. “Fuck, yeah okay,” you murmer, barely above a whisper.
“We were here,” you breathe, and he hums at this, the curve of his smile pressing against the skin of your neck. “We were just in an argument.”
“Sounds like us,” he notes, moving his hand so that it actually does rest on your inner thigh. “What was the argument about?”
“I… I don’t remember,” you manage, and you don’t even bother attempting to figure it out, as imagining anything outside of the rushing in your ears and the excitement building in your chest seems beyond impossible at the moment.
“Affecting you that much, huh?” He teases, finally removing his mouth from your neck, bringing his head back so that his eyes can meet yours. They glint with mischief, and you find yourself both embarrassed, as well as a tad bothered in more ways than one.
“Shut up,” you murmur weakly, and he simply laughs before opening his mouth, surely to say something else that will affect you more than your liking. You don’t give him the chance however, as you once again connect your lips, letting your own hand wrap along his jaw, firmly pulling him into you.
He easily complies, before taking the initiative to go further, leaning you backwards over the desk. Now this is more similar to what you shamefully imagined, dirtier, far more risky and bold and something you certainly should not be doing in the office.
His computer is conveniently placed to the side, so long as you don’t mind the WENUS booklet that rests below your back - which you obviously don’t - there’s more than enough room as he lays you down, hand trailing downward along the shape of your figure.
Your mind whispers that this might be getting a tad out of hand, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the need coursing through you, that hunger for what might come next, for more. Voice of reason be damned, after all you’ve been listening to it far too much lately, let tonight be your one slip up.
That is, the voice of reason would have been forgotten, had it not taken the shape of a bottle of wine that sits haphazardly at the edge of the desk.
All it takes is for Hyunjin’s elbow to stray a little too far to the side, for the bottle to be tipped over. Unfortunately, it also doesn’t take the liberty of falling off the side of the desk and onto the floor, which would perhaps lead to a small stain on the carpet and nothing more.
No, instead it tips over onto the desk and the bottle cracks open, not shattering completely but rather into a few separate pieces of glass. The sparkling white liquid spreads across the desk top, and subvertly, the computer and keyboard.
It’s almost immediate how the heat of the moment transforms into a blind panic.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Hyunjin mutters, scrambling to grab the broken bottle before more wine can leak out and cause any extra damage.
Meanwhile, you sit yourself upward and off the desk, trying to ignore the fact that your back and shirt are now both soaking wet. Without another word, he disappears from the office, only to return with a stack of napkins you recognize from the lunchroom.
It takes the two of you all of only a few minutes to clean up the mess, the wine easily soaked up by the napkins, the computer and keyboard only having acquired a quick wiping to be fine, at least on the outside.
After a quick boot up by Hyunjin, the computer starts alright, the two of you letting out an equally relieved sigh. Both of your jobs pay fine money, but the thought of paying a couple grand to fix a company computer - not even considering the embarrassment regarding how exactly it got broken - isn’t exactly on your list of work goals.
“Is it okay?” You ask, and Hyunjin nods, giving you a soft smile.
“The computer seems fine,” he replies, before tapping a few random buttons on the keyboard, a frown playing across his lips. “But I think I’m going to need to invest in a new keyboard.”
“Bummer,” you state, which seems like a rather lame thing to say, but frankly it also could have been much worse than just the keyboard. Honestly, the two of you probably deserved a bit worse, so you can’t help but feel lucky.
Hyunjin sighs, standing up from the seat in front of the computer and walking over to stand beside you. Leaning against the desk, this time he is sure to take a glance behind himself to check that there’s nothing he might be in danger of knocking over “Bit of a mood-killer though, huh?” He states, and you snort.
Shifting yourself to stand in front of him, you go to redo his tie. “On the bright side,” you start, glancing up at him, only reveling slightly in the way he watches you intently, as your faces are only a few inches apart. “I think we can add that kind of compatibility to your list.”
“You think so?” He says, tone both a little surprised but happy all the same. It’s endearing, how his eyes light up with relief. “The wine disaster and panic didn’t tarnish the whole thing?”
“It would take a lot more to tarnish that, believe me,” you answer, finishing the knot of his tie before beginning to let go. “But I guess we’ll just have to continue this some other time, over coffee perhaps?”
Because honestly, you’d already mentally agreed to coffee before he even kissed you.
“Of course, I’d love that,” he starts sweetly, before suddenly taking hold of your wrist, grip gentle but firm. He smirks. “But if you want, we could also go to Chan’s office.”
You laugh, assuming the statement to be a joke, but Hyunjin simply raises an eyebrow. A challenge.
Surprisingly - and perhaps a little terribly, as well - you aren’t appalled by the idea. You’re more than willing to continue where you left off, and enacting what would be a little bit of revenge on Chan is almost too enticing.
It’s risky, unprofessional, and undeniably wrong on almost every level, but these are also the things that make it so incredibly tempting.
You hesitate for a moment, a wide grin spreading across your own lips. Tilting your head to the side, you look him up and down, analyzing. “You’re a bit of a freak, aren’t you?”
He chuckles at this, before mimicking you and tilting his own head to this side. “Only if you’re into it.”
And yeah, you’re a little into it.
“Okay,” you say with a smile, tugging lightly on the end of his tie as you make your way towards his office door, pulling him along with you. “Chan’s office it is.”
~~~~
psa: pls don’t fool around with anyone in your boss’ office. thank you <3
but anywho, thanks for reading everyone!! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, feel free to come chat with me about any thoughts or feelings you may have.
if you want, here are my skz and ateez masterlists for more content. i hope to see you around. :3
#districtninewriters#ficscafe#straykidsland#hyunjin fanfic#hyunjin fanfiction#hwang hyunjin fanfiction#hwang hyunjin fanfic#hyunjin angst#hyunjin fluff#hyunjin smut#stray kids x reader#stray kids x y/n#stray kids fanfiction#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfiction#stray kids suggestive#stray kids smut#stray kids angst#stray kids fluff#hyunjin headcanons#hyunjin imagines#hyunjin x reader#hwang hyunjin fluff#hwang hyunjin angst#hwang hyunjin smut#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin office au#stray kids office au#hyunjin enemies to lovers#stray kids enemies to lovers
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Some more omori thoughts while I work on fanfic ._. (spoilers!)
Something I find difficult to write/read is AUs where Mari didn’t die.
These are very common, just because. People like Mari. She’s fun to write. But there are a few events and character changes that happen entirely due to Mari’s death, and I wish we got more non-headspace looks at what exactly the group’s dynamic was becoming before her death.
Kel and Aubrey obviously had their rivalry, and Basil was a lot less anxious and just generally healthier, which is all well and good. But then there’s the sibling dynamics, which I think is one of the things Omori discusses best (as someone with siblings myself who. uh. has a complicated relationship with them lol)
Sunny and Mari is a tough one. Mari was obviously pushing Sunny to be better when it comes to the recital, but given what info we have on how Mari acted in The Staircase Argument/moment/whatever, it’s unclear how much of this was specifically focused on this particular recital and how much it was Mari genuinely resenting Sunny. Mari treats Sunny very, VERY lovingly in Headspace, and there’s a lot of cute moments in Basil’s photo album, but...
Mari was so obsessed with perfection that she pushed her own brother to. That. And Sunny doesn’t seem like a bad kid - quite the opposite, really, he seems very quiet and sweet. Remember that the creepy deadpan shit that we get in Headspace isn’t Sunny, it’s Omori. Who I think Sunny deliberately characterizes as more cold and emotionless, since that’s what HE wants to be. He wants to be neutral, to be emotionless, to not feel so awful and broken. Though it might also be how he views himself after Mari’s death - someone emotionless and remorseless. And all that is assuming that there’s no DID involved with Omori, and that he’s not literally a different person who just happens to look similar.
I dunno. Depending on how villainous you characterize Mari as, it could lean on either side of the bell curve, and the amount she pushed Sunny as opposed to how much pressure Sunny was putting on himself during the recital isn’t made very clear. It’s also unclear how much, if any, resentment Sunny was building up towards Mari as a result of the recital practice.
Either way, it’s hard to say how much of their issues were due to specifically the pressure of the recital and how much was Mari expressing feelings that she would never share with anyone else, but were forced out due to that pressure. I feel it’s also important to mention that the characterization of the parents can be used to assume elements of characterization when it comes to the children - Mom being a bit neglectful and deliberately babying Sunny after Mari’s death, and being unwilling to let go of him and thus leading to most of the issues that happen in the game (we do not stan Sunny’s Mom on this blog, sorry,) and Dad getting only sparse characterization but clearly being at least fairly strict. These two not only raised their kids with their values - elements of their characters would obviously be passed down. Which is something I don’t think you can handwave, seeing as how obviously Kim takes after her mother, how much Hero and Kel take after there mother and father, etc etc.
I dunno. On the one hand, I don’t want to villainize/victim blame Mari, but on the other, given that she arguably pushed Sunny to... that... and was obviously putting too much pressure on someone who, let me remind you, was around 11 at this point in time? Maybe 12?
So, yeah, with all that, how exactly their relationship would look without the pressure of the recital or just without the Staircase Thing specifically happening is always really difficult for me to get a good grasp on.
And then there’s Hero and Kel, which. Oh yikes. That’s honestly its own can of worms, and. Yeah. This post is already way more than long enough.
Honestly I really wanted to get some of your opinions on this, because... well... I’m really not that good at interpreting the game lol. I’ve been trying my best but so many other people’s thought pieces/posts on elements of these characters are so much better thought-out, so I thought I’d try to gauge what you all thought about this kinda thing.
And if you want to read that rant about Hero and Kel. Do feel free to tell me. I could ramble about this game and my half-baked thoughts all day lol
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post-production
Pairing: Jaskier/Geralt
ao3 link here
Notes: If you ever watched the Lord of the Rings behind-the-scene discs and thought “I wish there was a 12K Witcher AU where Jaskier is the famous actor who buys a horse for Geralt the horse trainer” then you’re in luck
Jaskier knew that he would miss the stable the most. After weeks of filming on location, surrounded by crew and actors that Valdo had already poisoned against him, the stable had become a respite of sorts.
No matter the smells (the many, many smells), Jaskier would always remember the sun beams shining through the high windows and illuminating the dust and dirt to shine on the horses. Jaskier had tried and failed many times to capture the moment on his phone— to the point where he was convinced that it was impossible. He would just have to burn the sight into his memory.
Jaskier had just one more day in this stable and on set and then he could sort of what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
Certainly not acting.
Five blockbusters in four years and Jaskier's exhaustion knew no bounds. Not to mention people he thought were his friends just clinging to him for a ride.
He had meant for his career to be music and yet here he was on what he considered the wrong marquees.
Taking a small acting job offered by a friend in order to help pay rent had escalated into a full career and never worrying about rent again.
But then there was Valdo.
Jaskier had only started hearing about the rumors during the second week of the shoot. And by, then it had been too late. Valdo's charisma and charm took hold and Jaskier wasn't to be trusted. Was he a thief? A gossip? A drunk? A backstabber? It depended on which rumor went around that morning.
"Last day, darling."
"What?" The horsemaster's gruff tone was shorter than usual today.
"Sorry. I was--" Jaskier broke off. He didn't want to say it aloud. Which was silly because he had seen Geralt speaking to his own horse, Roach many mornings. Not to mention afternoons and evenings and any other time they were shooting scenes and Geralt was brought on set to stay with the horses. "I was just telling Pegasus that it's our last day with the horses. Or my last day, I suppose."
"Hmm."
Jaskier already missed the grunts. It was unclear if Geralt disliked him because of Valdo's rumors. But truthfully, the horsemaster hadn't seemed to have taken a shine to anyone over the course of shooting.
Well, not any humans, at least.
He doted on all the horses. Roach in particular, and Jaskier couldn't blame him. She was a sweet mare and if Jaskier hadn't been assigned his darling Pegasus, he would have liked a chance to ride Roach as well.
But of course not. She was Geralt's favorite and Valdo's mount.
Not that the actor cared. The animals were more like props than living beings to him. Jaskier didn't like thinking about the amount of times he had seen Valdo curl his lip at Roach.
Just Jaskier's luck.
He had beaten out Valdo for a role which he hadn’t even known the man had wanted. And in return, Jaskier’s last few months had been lonely and uncomfortable and—
He set his forehead against Pegasus’s neck and took a breath to steady himself.
He could still feel Geralt’s presence. Lifting his head back up, he smiled at the man who showed no emotion in return. At least Jaskier knew that Geralt didn't like anyone else on the set either. In a strange way, it helped. Geralt was a part of his respite in the stables just by being impartial to the rest of the gossip of the set.
"Not the last day overall, of course. But I checked and I know we're moving on to another area for the next month or so. Granted, I guess you'll still be here if they want to do re-shoots, right? Can't go through the trouble of training so many horses over again."
Geralt had apparently decided that Jaskier wasn't even worth of his grunts anymore. As if Jaskier was the one who came out early to the stables to interrupt him and not vice-versa. Still, the actor had to admit that the quiet of the stable comforted him regardless. No one gossiping. No Valdo. Just him and Pegasus.
And Geralt, he supposed.
And Roach.
And the other horses.
Well, Jaskier supposed no moment was truly perfect.
----------------
Jaskier let his fingers run over the intricate chainmail of one of the many costumes from the film. Percival and his artistic team had done such excellent work. It was a shame that most of it would be auctioned off but with any luck, some would go into a production vault or even a perhaps a museum exhibit for film costumes. While Jaskier enjoyed the way his costume felt on him, purchasing it wasn't a priority for him.
“Percival!" He called when he saw the crewman in question. "This is for the auction, right? Do you know when it's actually happening?”
Jaskier hated how nervous he felt. He knew the horses were up on the auction block and he had a plan. Pegasus was the only good part of this filming and Jaskier didn't want to leave him behind. “For the horses,” Jaskier clarified.
“You interested?”
“Very.” Feeling much like the office was his primary school classroom, Jaskier stood up straight and put on his best serious face. “I’ve got the space and a neighbor who already shared the name of the veterinarian he uses for his farm.”
“Better prepared than most actors who make a snap decision at those auctions. Plenty of times I’ve heard of some bigshot selling off a horse after less than a month."
Jaskier couldn't tamp down the pride he felt at getting Percival's approval. Gods, he needed to leave this set. Just spend some time with Priscilla and not think about acting for a while. With any luck, he'd be spending time with Pegasus as well.
“How awful.”
“Can’t be helped. You’ll want Pegasus, of course?” Percival asked knowingly, poking fun at Jaskier's wide smile.
“Please. Send me the info and if I can’t be there and I’ll send someone else in my stead.” Jaskier couldn't help himself. “Truthfully, I’d take Roach too but I suspect the horsemaster has his eye on her.”
“Geralt?" Percival asked. He shook his head. "He can’t afford her.”
“You’re kidding.” What a shame. Jaskier had never met a horse and a rider so in tune with one another. He had just taken it as fact that Geralt would be taking Roach home with him. For the first few weeks, until gruffly corrected by Geralt, Jaskier had assumed that Geralt owned Roach and had brought her to set in the first place.
Though, looking back, it was a foolish thing to think. Roach and Valdo had been paired together for the duration of the filming and Geralt's stony glare anytime the actor mounted the mare...well, Jaskier would assume that if Roach had belonged to Geralt, he would have banned Valdo from riding her.
“Already asked him. I went to give him the info because I thought the same as you. Figured he’d be first in line but he didn’t even consider it. Poor fella. I didn’t want to push, you know?”
“Good man.” Jaskier stroked Pegasus and his eyes drifted over to Roach.
----------------
Zoltan's head poked through the door of office had housed the horse crew for the past few months. It hadn't become home, certainly, but the production team had put together a good group. Geralt would be keeping the contact information of more than a few riders and trainers in hopes of working with them again on future projects.
"You headed out, Rivia?"
"Almost packed. Just wanted to stop by the stables." The production auction had already happened but Geralt hadn't heard of any of the horses being moved out just yet. That kind of transport, especially if they weren't being kept local, took time to arrange. He had double-checked too. There was plenty of time for him to say goodbye to Roach. Give her a few extra treats, a good brushing down. The best sendoff a girl could ask for, really.
And she deserved a proper goodbye. Geralt had second-guessed himself, knowing how much it would hurt to say farewell but he couldn't help himself. Between the actors and the long shoots, all the horses deserved some post-production pampering. Geralt hoped the rest of them would get it once they were with their new owners and families.
"Surely you're doing more than stopping by."
"What?"
Zoltan gave him a perplexed look. "Roach, I mean. You're taking her with you, aren't you?"
"Can't afford her," Geralt said, trying not to grit his teeth. He had only said it aloud once before. When Percival had asked for his future plans. All of the horses were auctioned off at the end of the production, along with various bits and bobs that the studio didn't want to keep or store.
Roach was a prize mare, along with many of the other impressively bred horses in that stable.
Geralt would have loved to take her back to the ranch and shared stables that he ran with his family but it just wasn't in the cards. It was kind of the manager to even come to him and inquire. It spoke volumes about what Geralt had accomplished over the course of the shoot. At least with that gesture, Geralt knew he'd have a reference for future jobs. Perhaps not just for him but for the ranch too.
"But she's in your name. Isn’t she?"
"What are you talking about?"
Zoltan came into the room now, still looking at Geralt as though the man needed his head examined. He spoke slowly. "Geralt, I saw the finalized auction list. She's been paid for already and your name is on the front of her paddock."
Geralt froze. Surely Zoltan misread or even misunderstood. Geralt's name's was occasionally listed on paperwork as a handler if a buyer wanted to know more about a horse's temperament. But not as the owner or buyer.
He slowly backed away from Zolton and calmly headed towards the stables, and Roach's stall. He did not want to sprint eagerly or get his hopes up so instead, Geralt inhaled and exhaled every other measured step.
Roach's ownership papers were slipped in a plastic sleeve with a little metal hook attached so it remained securely on the nails of the stall door. Little dried stains and dirt covered the plastic and Geralt imagined Roach trying to get at her own papers.
Geralt von Rivia.
Undeniably, there in black and white. Geralt blinked, not believing his own eyes.
But still, there it was: Geralt von Rivia.
"Ah, Geralt!" The stablemaster came up to him, clapping him on the shoulder. "I had heard that you weren't able to bid. What a lovely surprise when I saw the name." Roach stretched as far out of her stall as she could manage, just reaching Geralt to nudge him. "And it looks like she agrees as well."
"But I didn't bid," Geralt said, confused. He stared at the paperwork for an extended period of time. He just couldn't believe it. Even encased in plastic that had corners peeling away at the top, it looked as officially legal as the other ones hangin off of the rest of the stalls in the stable.
"What?"
"I didn't bid. I told them that I couldn't. I didn't— I don't..." Geralt tilted his head and looked at the placard attached to the paddock. Geralt von Rivia and Roach.
How?
"I don't think anyone would be so cruel to play on a joke on you like this, mate."
"How can I check?"
The stablemaster pulled out his phone and held up a finger. Geralt didn't argue but watched the man dial a number and take a few steps away.
Roach stretched her neck again so her entire head came through the opening above the stall.
"Hello, girl." Geralt used both hands to rub at her face. He couldn't help it. Even if his name on the paperwork ended up being a cruel joke, he could imagine her at his family's ranch. She wouldn't take shit from the bigger stallion his brother kept and she'd teach their other mares to do the same.
"I talked to the production office. Said she's yours. The bid was placed anonymously."
"What? Anonymously?" Geralt looked at Roach as though she had the answers but the stablemaster continued to talk.
"They also included shipping costs as well as extra for feed, care, special needs, etc. A retainer essentially."
"Anonymous? How could they manage that?” Geralt leaned against the stall door, brain going into overdrive. He wasn't even sure where to start.
The stablemaster clearly could tell, and his voice softened, speaking as he would to any of the horses in the building. Geralt couldn't find it in himself to angry. It was a strange version of kindness that, in his overwhelmed state, he had no option except to accept. "It's all in the paperwork."
"Can I get a copy?"
"She's yours, Geralt, of course. Her and the paperwork."
Geralt looked at the paperwork attached to the stall and began to slide it out of its protective slip. He balanced his phone in one hand and the papers in the other as he slowly began taking photographs of each one. "I want to send the information to my friend before I— before I take her home."
"A lawyer, you mean."
Geralt nodded. "Just to double check."
“Smart man. Let me know if I can be of anymore help.”
Mercifully, the stablemaster left and Geralt let himself slide down the stall door. He knew he'd have to change pants before leaving now but he couldn't bring himself to care. He leaned his head back against the door.
He squinted at the sun through the windows as he struggled to hear the phone ringing amidst the breakdown of the rest of the set.
“Geralt.”
“Yenn.” Geralt couldn’t manage more than that. He took a deep breath to try again but Yennefer stopped him.
“Geralt? Are you all right? I thought you were still on location for that god awful film.”
“I am. I’m still there. I just. Something’s happened. I’m fine,” he added quickly. “It’s just strange.”
“Explain.”
"If someone bought you something anonymously, is there a way to tell who it was?"
"A gift? What kind of gift has you this shaken up? I am going to need so much more context, Geralt. Not to mention lunch and permission to laugh at you for whatever this is once you're back in the area.” Yennefer stopped talking and Geralt heard a few voices, none of them hers. “That is, I assume you're not back in the area yet. I just saw Eskel at the market last week. He would have mentioned it."
"No we— the film just wrapped. Everything was being broken down and there was an auction but." Geralt took a breath and gathered his words. "The horse I talked to you about."
"The smart one, yes." Yennefer's voice grew quiet and sympathetic in a way that would have surprised Geralt when they first met. But she knew what horses meant to him and respected it. They had both come a long way with one another. "I'm sorry. I know you wanted to buy her."
"That’s the thing, Yenn, someone bought her for me. I just received the paperwork. They paid for her, the board, and transportation back to the ranch. Not to mention a little more if needed. What could be needed?"
"Maybe they thought since you couldn't afford the price of the horse, you couldn't afford food, medical care, things like that."
"Oh." Geralt couldn't decide if that was insulting or thoughtful. Most people on set only saw him in his barn clothing so perhaps they couldn't be blamed for the assumption. He certainly didn't attend any social gatherings after the work day. The cost of Roach had held him back, not the care.
"You don't know who it could have been? Not a clue?"
"I'm...not exactly friendly to people on set," Geralt growled. “I certainly didn’t endear myself to that Marx asshole who rode her during filming.” He hated being on set but he was there to do a job and at least if he was there, he knew someone was protecting the animals.
"You do want her, right?"
"Of course I do," Geralt gripped the phone tightly. "I just want to make sure it wasn't some kind of mistake. Or strings attached. That she can't just be taken away at all in the future."
"All right. I'll look into it. Send me everything and give me a few hours."
"Thank you."
----------------
Geralt von Rivia.
Jaskier shifted all of Pegasus’ equipment to one arm so he could reach out and touch the paper. It felt good to see.
He looked around the stable to check he was alone before giving Roach one last pat. He kissed her on the nose and whispered, “Goodbye.”
----------------
Geralt’s entire afternoon had to shift. No longer could he throw his duffel bag in his truck and endure the long drive home. Instead he spent the day asking for another night in one of the spare rooms near the set. He went to ask after borrowing a trailer, only to find that it was one of the included costs with the purchase of Roach and far too nice for his truck.
Most importantly, he spent time with Roach. She was the last horse left at the end of the day. He had avoided people by hopping into her stall at some point, the stables full of agencies and buyers coming to collect.
A few people stopped to read the paperwork outside Roach and Geralt couldn’t stop his pride from rising. She was a star, great stock but even better temperament. And she was all his now.
Thankfully, by the time Yennefer called, no one was in the stables to hear a mobile phone start ringing inside one of the stalls.
“That was fast.”
“I’m very good at my job, Geralt.” Geralt wisely held his tongue. “Right so. Roach was bought and paid for by a Julian Alfred Pankratz."
Geralt blinked. He looked to Roach as though she could answer his questions. “I...I don't know a Julian-- whatever. Whatever name you just said to me."
Yennefer gently, "I think he's more commonly called Jaskier."
"Jaskier?"
"Yes, Jaskier. You know, one of the stars of the film series you've been working on the past few months."
Geralt bit back a growl. Yennefer was doing him a favor. He didn't need to be a twat. "I know who he is. I don't know why he bought Roach though."
He had certainly never been kind to Jaskier. If anything he had been a downright grump. Which wasn't much different from how Geralt treated most of the actors. Even the ones who had been nothing but kind to him.
He just couldn't risk it. The cast were a load of gossips and each week, Geralt heard something different about Jaskier and his coworkers. Geralt hadn't wanted to get involved.
It wasn't worth his time to be a notch in the bedpost for an actor who apparently had paramours throughout the cast and country, if the rumors were to be believed.
Clearly it hadn't mattered to Jaskier anyway.
"Bought and gave to you," Yennefer corrected. "Roach is in your name. I had to jump through some hoops to find this information. It wasn't easy. I don't think he intended on you ever knowing. He never mentioned it at all, correct?"
Most of the conversations Geralt had with the man were one-sided, or just corrections for his horse handling.
"Most of the actors left the day after the film wrapped. I haven't seen any of them save for a few who needed re-shoots with some of the sets we still had." His fist tightened around his phone. “I only told one person that I couldn’t afford Roach. He's not the type to pass around gossip.”
"I don't think Jaskier meant anything bad by it, Geralt."
"I just don't...understand."
"Me neither but unless you'd also like me to follow up, perhaps get in touch with his management?" She left the question hanging in the air and Geralt's face reddened at even the mention of talking to Jaskier again. It wasn't the man who had him worried but the whole process. Going through his team and agent just to ask why? What if he took back the gift?
Yennefer read his mind, as per usual. “He can't take Roach back, Geralt. I made sure of it but honestly, it looks like he is the one who made sure of it. No strings."
"No strings."
"Do you want me to try and find out why? Have you looked at her teeth? Perhaps you might want to look a gift horse in the--"
"Yennefer," Geralt growled.
"Take Roach back to the ranch, Geralt. I'm sure your family will be excited to meet her."
----------------
"Is this my welcome?" Geralt hadn't even gotten out of his truck yet but he was tempted to make a u-turn and leave the ranch the same way he came in. He wasn't sure where he and Roach would go but anywhere would be better than his little brother giving him a suspicious expression the moment he pulled into the driveway. Eskel pushed Lambert to try and snap him out of his daze. "Well, are you just going to look at me like that or are you going to say hello?"
"Did we know you were bringing home a horse?" Eskel asked delicately while Lambert just continued to stare.
"I didn't even know I was bringing home a horse." Geralt slammed the driver's side door shut and caught Eskel in a hug. He snagged Lambert too even though the little shit tried to wriggle away after two seconds.
Lambert went through his fingers on a very short checklist. "Aiden was hoping you'd break your rule of no autographs for this one. But you didn't do that. And you brought home a horse."
"We've got a free stall, right?" Geralt looked towards the stables. They rarely had a full house unless they were hosting some kind of trail camp. Still, he hadn't even thought of calling home to check.
"She's staying?"
"She's mine." Geralt handed Eskel the paperwork and Lambert immediately hung over his shoulder to read through it.
Eskel's eyes widened at the sight of her lineage. "How did you afford--"
"I didn't. It's…a long story."
"You didn't steal a horse, did you? Someone is going to be looking for this girl."
"She's not stolen. Her name is Roach." Geralt ran his finger through his hair, pulling at the tangles from having the window open on the long ride back home. "Melitele, can we not do this now? Let me get her settled and then I'll tell you about it."
Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look and Eskel shoved Lambert off his shoulder. "Lambert, go tell Dad that Geralt's home. When does the trailer have to go back?"
"They bought that too."
"The trailer came with the horse?" Eskel waved his hand after seeing the pained look on Geralt's face. "All right, don't tell me. I know you don't want to explain it more than once."
He left Geralt to blessed silence. Silent as a farm could get, at any rate. He patted Roach's flank and coaxed her out of the trailer, leaving it unlocked and opened behind him. The ranch was isolated enough as it was and he'd be back for it soon enough.
"This is Scorpion. That's Kelpie," Geralt introduced Roach to each horse as he walked her by their stalls, finally coming to an empty one. He eyed up Scorpion, already thinking ahead. Eskel's stallion was of good lineage. It wouldn't be a bad match to think of for the future.
He hung around the stable as long as he thought he was able to. Just because one of his brothers hadn't been sent out to fetch him yet didn't mean that Vesemir hadn't already planned it. Geralt patted Roach one last time and headed out.
The farmhouse smelled just as he left it, like horse and his father's cooking. The first an unfortunate by-product of their lives but the second, a welcome back.
They didn't all still live in the house. Eskel had a cabin on the furthest edge of the land with a herd of goats that they rented out and kept for milk. Lambert and Aiden had just moved to another patch of acreage on the opposite side before Geralt had left for the film shoot. From what Geralt could gather from Eskel's texts, they swapped out more nights than one making sure someone was there to help Vesemir with the morning chores.
"Hey Dad." Geralt leaned in and let his Vesemir clap him on the back.
"Good to have you home." Vesemir's gruff voice washed over Geralt and he felt something in his shoulders settle. He took the offered bowl of stew and purposefully brushed against both Eskel and Lambert on his way to sit at the table.
"Good to be home."
Lambert, mouth full of beef stew, used his dripping spoon to gesture to the TV.
“You worked with him, right?”
"Who?" Geralt looked up from his bowl. There was an entertainment show on the television but it had gone commercial. Lambert rolled his eyes at him.
“Jackass. Jaskier. They had a whole segment on him."
Geralt swallowed and before he could overthink it, told them, "That’s the one who bought Roach. Bought her in my name, I mean."
Eskel near choked on a beef chunk, "What?"
"Him?" Lambert's eyes widened. He shot a look at Vesemir. "Did you, uhh--" but he didn't get a chance to finish because Geralt threw a chunk of bread at his head.
"I didn't sleep with him, you ass. I don't know why he did it. I wasn't even supposed to know, according to Yennefer."
Geralt wished he knew why. It was an itch he couldn't scratch, though having Roach home and in her stall was a significant balm. He accepted another slice of bread from Eskel.
"She checked it out?" Vesemir asked knowingly. "Everything is all right?"
"The paperwork all checks out. No strings," Geralt echoed Yennefer's earlier words.
"Good lineage," Eskel added slowly. "There’s no issues with her health?”
Geralt nodded. "None that I know of. I'm going to call in Coën tomorrow to give her a full check-up and we'll go from there. I don't think there will be a problem though."
Lambert shrugged at Eskel who still looked suspicious. He eyed the door that led out closest to the barn as if he wanted to go interrogate Roach to find out more. “Oh. Well, I guess a person who buys a horse anonymously as a gift can’t be that big of an ass then like the papers say, right? Was he?”
“Was he what?”
“An ass. Was Jaskier an ass?” Lambert asked again.
Geralt pondered the question. He hadn't expected to think this much about anyone from the cast after production had set down. Definitely not Jaskier.
Truthfully, Jaskier had been the furthest thing from an ass. Sure, he had gotten to the stables earlier than the other actors but it was a strange thing for Geralt to complain about considering how late the rest of the cast were for their training sessions. He cared about the horses too. It had been sweet.
"What are you on about?" Vesemir grumbled.
Lambert, mouth full of stew, looked at Eskel imploringly, fighting to swallow. Eskel tilted his head towards the television. "The lad who bought Geralt his horse apparently got on the bad side of some folks. The gossip shows say they've been spreading rumors about him for months."
"Did he say that? Jaskier." Geralt's attention suddenly back on the television. The b-roll footage of a posh gentleman on the red carpet was not the same man covered in a dirt -covered costume after a ride or a long shoot, that was for sure. It still was Jaskier though.
"No one's heard from him. It's all come out now after the production's ended."
Eskel plucked a newspaper off of the counter and passed it over to Geralt who took it but kept it closed. Jaskier's face was on the cover or it would have been if his hand hadn't blocked the photograph from the view. "Wouldn't be surprised if he sued them for libel though. Judging by what they're saying in here, he's certainly got a case."
FALSEHOODS AND PRODUCTION WOES the newspaper headline shouted. Geralt ran through the first few lines of the article and felt the pit in his stomach begin to grow.
“I heard some of these.” He had been on more toxic sets in the past. With more difficult actors trying to make passes at him, sometimes aggressively. Thinking that crew should be lucky to get their attention. Television shows, soap operas had been worse. But this still hadn't been good. And Jaskier had been nothing but kind to him. Annoying, perhaps early in the morning but, certainly nothing like the rumors had suggested. Still Geralt had done his best to ignore him.
“No kidding? Maybe they’ll call you in to testify.”
Geralt leaned against the counter and stared the newspaper, hoping no one else heard the roaring in his ears.
Perhaps there had been another reason Jaskier was hiding in the stables each morning instead of by the breakfast tables in the craft tent.
Certainly Geralt had taken his solace in the company of animals before. Jaskier had clearly just been doing the same.
----------------
“You have more security out in the country. That’s the whole point of the privacy fence,” Priscilla argued. Jaskier had been sneaking peeks through the blinds for the better part of the morning. His face had gotten paler with each glance.
“I know you’re right.”
“I am. London will still be here when this all blows over. Or when a judge makes it blow over.”
Jaskier sighed. Priscilla hated seeing him like this, curled up on the couch, phone turned off. Country life would be pleasant in more than one way.
“You can bond some more with that horse you’ve got. I’m sure he missed you.”
“I’ll just have to come back to the premiere,” Jaskier warned. “You won’t have the flat to yourself for too long.”
----------------
"Zoltan."
"You're going."
"Going where?"
"To the premiere."
"We're a little busy here." Geralt gazed around the quiet stables and winced at the phone in his hand. What Zoltan didn't know wouldn't hurt him. The last thing Geralt wanted to do was take the journey into London and be around people that he didn't even socialize with when he was paid to.
"All the crew is invited and the production team is insisting the crew come so they don't look like asshats. Please come keep me company," Zoltan near begged.
"Too late for that isn't it?" Geralt thought back to the television stories and the articles about Jaskier.
Sure, maybe Geralt had given into his curiosity and googled Jaskier's name a few times after his first night home but the man really had vanished. No photographer had been able to capture any images of him and his team weren't responding to any questions.
Geralt wasn't sure if it was Jaskier's team at work or someone in his corner but certainly he had read a few articles about instances of Jaskier's kindness. He had experienced that first hand and judging by the rest of the stories, he felt they had to be true. Most of Jaskier's generosity came anonymously but he hadn't always been as good at covering his tracks as he had been with Roach.
"Well, perhaps. Valdo made sure of that."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, I just meant. All those rumors he spread about Jaskier. Turns out this wasn't the first person who he had done this too. I heard tell that Valdo is going to be blacklisted in the industry and then sued for gossip. Defamation or something. I'm not too sure. It'll be out in the papers soon enough."
"Libel," Geralt murmured, thinking back to the articles he had read. "Even I heard gossip around the set."
"I didn't believe any of it, personally. Jaskier was always a polite fellow and some of it was nasty. Well, I'm sure you didn't either. Otherwise Jaskier wouldn't have done you that solid."
"What solid?"
Zoltan was quiet for a beat too long.
Geralt sighed. One more piece of the puzzle. "You mean Roach. I know he bought Roach for me. But how did you know?"
"Ah well..."
"I had to go through a lawyer to find out," Geralt added.
"I did the paperwork," Zoltan admitted. "He did want it to be anonymous but I thought that was just so production couldn't give him a hard time about buying two horses."
"He bought another horse?"
Zoltan paused again. "He really never mentioned this to you? He was in the stables near every morning."
"For training."
"Not just for training. Though I guess we know now that he was just trying to stay away from Valdo and his cronies." Geralt wasn't sure what to say to that. He had never been anyone's idea of a respite and his guilt at knowing he hadn’t made the time easier for Jaskier still weighed on his mind. Though perhaps Jaskier had just been after the horses. "He bought the one he rode. Pegasus."
"Oh."
Geralt hadn't expected that. He knew Jaskier had gotten along with the horse, of course. That had been easy enough to see, sweet even. But it was still a surprise. A pleasant one.
There was something about Jaskier buying a horse for himself and for Geralt. As if the man understood the responsibility and the importance. He wasn't just buying Roach as a gift for whatever reason, he knew everything the job would entail.
"The premiere is in London. Should be a good time so long as no one leaks the news about any legal cases beforehand."
Geralt rubbed his hand over Roach's nose and made a snap decision. "I'll meet you there."
"Really?"
"You owe me a drink."
"Should be an open bar, mate."
"Well, that makes it easy for you then."
----------------
Geralt wasn't exactly keeping up with Jaskier's story but Aiden and Lambert watched enough entertainment news for the rest of them. Gossip papers would be left out around the barn by visitors without issue. If Geralt just happened to see that Jaskier hadn't been heard from in a few weeks since production shut down then, well, that was just a fact that lived in Geralt's brain.
One that he definitely didn't overthink. Not with the premiere already on his mind.
"It really was Valdo," Lambert had told him one morning. "Apparently he wanted that role of Jaskier's so badly that he decided that he'd try to make sure the guy would never have any other roles again."
Geralt didn't let on that he had known. Still, he hadn't thought about the creep since Zoltan had brought him up.
Valdo. Like Zoltan had said, it was no wonder Jaskier had always signed up to be the first person at the stables with Geralt. Valdo Marx would never deign to get to the stables early in the morning, even when it was a necessity that he do so.
"Loads of other actors apparently apologized for listening to Valdo. They'd been giving Jaskier the cold shoulder for weeks now. But still, no one has seen him."
"I can't blame him for wanting to take a break from acting. Even now with the rumors out, I think I'd find another industry to work in all together." Aiden shook his head. He looked up at Geralt hopefully, nudging Lambert conspicuously. "You haven't heard from anyone from set talking about it?"
Geralt gave Lambert an exasperated look. "I know you had overheard that conversation. I'm not taking either of you to the premiere. I'm staying for one drink and then getting on the train again."
"Told you so," Lambert muttered. "Fine. Be that way."
“Poor guy,” Eskel murmured. “I’d hide too if I just had to spend months contractually obligated with people all poisoned against me.”
Geralt kept his eyes down, wishing the conversation would change. Wishing he hadn’t been such a fool. At least he knew why Jaskier had always signed up to be the first person at the stables. Not that the information helped Geralt’s newly-acquired nausea.
----------------
It would be fine.
That's what Geralt kept repeating to himself on the tube ride into London.
Geralt would go in, have a drink with Zoltan, find Jaskier, thank him, and then never have to think of the man again. A strange sense of closure for someone he never had a relationship with, platonic or otherwise, but it was the right thing to do.
Everytime he looked at Roach or rode her around the ranch, he thought of Jaskier. It wasn't guilt or anything owed to the man. Geralt believed in the actor's earnestness and no-strings gift.
He managed to find Zoltan right away, the two of them hiding in a corner of the hotel bar through the actual film and more when crowds finally came back.
"I had wondered if Jaskier was even going to come," Zoltan confided in Geralt, leaning closer to the bar and looking over their shoulders as their lobby filled up.
"Because of Marx?"
Zoltan nodded. "I suspect there will be a healthy number of people keeping them away from one another."
"For good reason." Geralt tried not to be too obvious in his glances behind them but Zoltan knew enough of the cause. "Why come at all, I wonder?"
"Contract," Zoltan told him, pressing his lips thin. He shook his head at the thought. "It's written in the contracts that they've got to do press and this counts as press."
"The red carpet beforehand, surely. But I can't imagine a party is." Geralt shifted uncomfortably. The bar was filling up and he and Zoltan were getting squashed to one side already. The gracious and well-tipped bartender had thought ahead and topped the two of them off before the rush began.
"You've been in this business for a few years now. Surely you're not that naive."
Geralt finally caught sight of Jaskier. In a plain blue suit, unlike such patterned clothing he had worn even after Geralt had told him he’d only get the fineries dirty.
Without turning to look at the crowd or see if anyone was watching him, Jaskier hurried up the side stairs to where Geralt knew there was another reserved space, a small but grand library room that hadn’t been alrered since the 30s. He and Zoltan had stumbled upon it earlier in the afternoon while hiding from cameras.
"I'm more naive than I think sometimes." Geralt nodded to Zoltan and held out his hand. Zoltan took it to shake instantly. “It was good to see you. Call if you’re ever by the ranch. We’d be happy to have you.”
Following Jaskier’s path and manners, Geralt also didn’t look behind him as he slipped up the same stairs, closing the paneled door after him.
Geralt allowed himself a moment to look at Jaskier. The man had his coat in hand and was staring out of the rather large window flanked by two bookshelves.
“I just wanted to—“ Jaskier spun around, hand to his chest. Geralt took a step backwards. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Geralt,” Jaskier finally said, even though his heavy breaths were still evident. He stood up straight and blinked a few times too quickly. Geralt softened his voice, hoping to ease his nerves.
“Jaskier. I just wanted to catch you to say thank you.”
Jaskier flinched, just slightly. He tilted his head and looked at Geralt as though he was the picture of innocence, furrowing his brow slightly to sell the confused image.
"For what?"
"Jaskier," Geralt chastised. He was in no mood. He had been around far too many people this night. Jaskier thought so too judging by the fact that he had left the main party room for this quieter one. Still, Geralt knew that wasn’t the only reason. "Thank you for Roach."
Jaskier's mouth opened a bit and then closed again. He seemed to be eyeing how Geralt was blocking the only exit out of the room. "How do you know?"
"Was I not supposed to find out?"
"Well, it was— anonymous. I thought." Jaskier's confused expression tightened as though he was trying to remember the legal jargon he had gone through when setting up Roach's purchase and fund.
"I--" Geralt felt his face go a bit red with embarrassment at that. "I wanted to make sure she really was mine. No strings or anything. I had a lawyer friend look into it just to double check."
"Right.” Jaskier shook his head, a few locks of hair coming loose from their coiffed position. “Yes, of course."
Geralt hated that Jaskier was agreeing with him. As if it was perfectly all right for Geralt to be suspicious of a gift and also of Jaskier himself. What a pair they were.
"Look," Jaskier held up his hands in front of him, "I know you don’t like me and I didn’t to it so you’d be— beholden to me or forced to pretend to like me or whatever. You weren’t supposed to find out. But that awful man from production was going to buy her and I couldn’t let that happen and I had heard that you were had turned down the opportunity which just seemed wrong. I mean, she’s clearly your horse and—"
"Thank you." Geralt said firmly. “Just...thank you."
"Oh. You’re welcome." Jaskier swallowed and chanced a look out the window again. Geralt watched him, very aware that he had done what he came to do. Still he couldn’t make himself leave.
"Are you planning on hiding here all right?"
Jaskier shrugged. "I haven’t decided yet.”
Geralt wasn't sure what to do with that one.
"Would you like to come visit Roach?" He tried next.
Jaskier still looked uncomfortable.
“Right now?”
Geralt remembered the early training calls, how quiet Jaskier was when other people began to come around the barn, the rumors he heard even his first week on set. How he had let them affect the way he handled being around Jaskier more than anyone else. Fuck.
"Where do you live?" Geralt asked suddenly, not realizing the strangeness of the question.
"What?" Jaskier seemed taken aback which was more than fair.
"I only meant— Here in London or LA or New Yo--"
"Here. England, I mean. I’ve got a little place a little ways outside of London."
That could be anywhere, Geralt didn’t say. Jaskier still looked uncomfortable. His shoulders were hunched and he was holding himself tightly with his arms straight down at his side so his hands could be shoved into his pockets.
It had been weeks since they had seen each other last and Geralt just. He had so many things to say now but couldn't make the right words come out of his mouth.
He thought about Jaskier every time he rode Roach around the farm. He wished that it was just the two of them at 6am on the training set again. Jaskier on Pegasus and Geralt on Roach, going through the obstacle courses.
He wanted a second chance to ignore rumors and laugh at Jaskier's jokes and flirt back at him. Geralt had that open Jaskier still in his mind, who was so pleased to see both Geralt and the horses even though it was barely past dawn and he had had a late shoot the previous night.
"Did you really buy Pegasus too?" Geralt asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Jaskier blushed. "I did. He's with me. Well, a stable near me. I know I'm not the greatest at care as you saw it but I visit him and ride as often as I can." His smile was soft just thinking about the horse and Geralt again ached, thinking about the morning dew, riding with Jaskier around the ring. The soft voice that he used for the horses regardless of who could hear him.
"You’re welcome to come see Roach anytime. Especially if you want to bring Pegasus. My father’s ranch is remote and private. Sometimes we get writers or other people stay for retreats in some of the smaller cabins."
Jaskier still looked uncomfortable. Upset, even. He had taken his hands out of his pockets and he was leaning backwards, clutching the window frame. Geralt wondered how much acting he did on a daily basis.
He really hadn’t meant for Geralt to find out about Roach.
"He's really fine. I promise," Jaskier said quietly.
Geralt swallowed his nausea at just how still Jaskier was holding himself. At how Jaskier thought Geralt only inquired after Pegasus because he assumed Jaskier couldn’t take proper care of him.
And that was Geralt’s fault. For listening to rumors. For being colder to Jaskier as the shoot weeks had gone on. The man had sometimes beaten Geralt to the stables in the morning and in return, Geralt had barely spoken to him.
"I have no doubt that he is enjoying your care. As well as you sneaking him too many treats," Geralt joked, trying to lighten the mood. He hadn't mean to imply that Jaskier wasn't taking proper care of Pegasus. That hadn't been it at all. He was just. He wanted to be near Jaskier. He didn’t want to leave him just yet.
He took his eyes off of Jaskier's and they fell to his long fingers. Even though he was facing Geralt, Jaskier’s fingers were clutching the window lip.
He hadn’t been looking out the window or catching his breath in an empty room.
Jaskier had been trying to get out onto the fire escape.
Of course.
Geralt sighed, he could feel a dull ache behind one of his eyeballs. Perfect. He had already caused Jaskier enough panic for one night and now a headache. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
"Here is a card for my friend. She’s a fantastic lawyer and if you mention my name, she’ll take you on. She might laugh but she’ll do it. The laughing will mostly be at me,” he added. "You might not need her, of course. But she's the one who helped figure out it was you who got Roach for me."
Jaskier took the card from Geralt's outstretched hand and near cradled it in his hands. "Thanks."
"Do you want help opening the window that you were trying to escape out of?"
There was a spark in his eye that Geralt hadn't seen in months and he was willing to bet he wasn't the only one who missed it.
"Please."
Geralt used one hand to gesture for Jaskier to move out of the way and he did, with almost too much glee. There was a bounce in his step that Geralt was relieved to see. None of the tabloids or entertainment shows could see that when they talked about him.
He carefully examined the large window. The expansive sash was sturdy enough but Geralt was more than a match for its age. He reached up and unlocked the top before heaving under the lip.
It opened without issue.
“Thank you so much,” Jaskier gushed. He didn’t even wait for Geralt to move out of the way before climbing into the fire escape. He turned to look back at Geralt. “I really appreciate it.”
Geralt gestured again, this time for Jaskier to step back, further out the window.
"What are you doing?" Jaskier asked as Geralt had one foot out the window.
Geralt raised an eyebrow. “I opened the window. Am I not also allowed to climb out of it?"
"I guess." Jaskier looked bewildered. “There’s still a party downstairs.”
"I think you know me well enough to know that it’s not my kind of party.” Geralt enjoyed seeing the flush on Jaskier’s face at the possibility that the two of them might know one another at all. “I'm not letting you fall down the fire escape."
"Just because my upper body strength is lacking doesn't mean I've never climbed down a fire escape before," Jaskier argued even as he made for the ladder.
God, did Geralt want to know that story. He could do nothing but follow Jaskier.
Out of the window, down the fire escape, and to the ground, where Jaskier landed safely with a soft "Oomph."
"Thank you,” he told Geralt again. Then, before he could lose his courage, he added, “It was good to see you again.” He took off down the street, collar popped up around the lower half of his face.
Geralt wanted to call after him, invite him to get a drink, spirit him away before the cameras out front could find him. He imagined them getting the tube together and riding away all while Jaskier huddled closer to him, whether for warmth or so no one recognized him. Geralt fantasized the worst case scenario, with himself stepping in as the hero for Jaskier, blocking him from the cameras.
In the end, he watched Jaskier, hunched over himself in a foreboding navy coat, make his way around the corner. And then he went home to the ranch and told Roach all about it.
----------------
“Just like that?” Priscilla asked, graciously not mentioning the fact that Jaskier had put on her favorite sweatpants or that he had heart eyes whilst talking about this mysterious horse guy.
Jaskier shrugged, swirling a wine glass with one hand. “Just like that. I’ve gotten a new agent. A new lawyer seems like a good place to start.”
“And you trust him?” Priscilla held up the card. “He couldn’t afford a horse and yet has a friend who works here?”
“She’s how he found out I bought the horse for him.”
“Your funeral.”
----------------
"Geralt von Rivia," Yennefer's voice came through his phone. Geralt winced and so did Eskel even though he was near three meters away. Yennefer only used their full names when they were in trouble. "Did you give some twink my number?"
"Can you help him?"
"Yes, I believe I can. i just wanted to check his story."
"He bought Roach for me."
"Yes, the mystery-horse buyer. I remember." Yennefer's quiet voice used to grate on Geralt. He never knew what it meant. He used to think he was a fool but as their relationship developed, he realized that Yennefer's version of caring contained a lot of frighteningly quiet determination.
"I wasn't supposed to find out, apparently."
Geralt wasn't grumpy about the situation.
He wasn't.
He just wished that everything was different. That was all.
"Well, he didn't anticipate you having me for a lawyer." Yennefer paused and Geralt heard some paper rustling in the background. "Did you know about all this? His situation, I mean.”
“I’ve heard rumors.” Geralt didn't mention that he had been reading Lambert's discarded tabloids and doing some googling of his own.
“Rumors of the situation or the rumors being spread about him on set?”
“The latter,” Geralt mumbled, embarrassed. "Both, I suppose. Lambert reads the tabloids. So does Aiden."
“No wonder he talked himself in circles about you. His friend had to stop him twice from rambling on.”
Geralt wanted to ask about that but he knew Yennefer wouldn't answer. Or couldn't, with a confidentiality clause.
“Can you fix it?”
She scoffed. “Of course I can. It’ll be a bit messy but luckily, this isn’t the only lawsuit against this guy. Tons of evidence and witnesses too. He managed to get a new agent who hasn't been doing half bad of a job. Don't worry, Geralt. I'll protect him.”
"Marx?"
"Yes. It's not the first time he's done this either." Then, softer. "I'll help him, Geralt. I promise."
"Thank you."
----------------
“Jaskier!” One of the farmer’s son sprinted up to him, coming to a stop once he reached the stables. Jaskier had just gotten himself onto Pegasus for the day. “We had a man come round asking about you yesterday. Dad wanted you to know.”
“Here?” Jaskier dismounted quickly and looked around the farm to the tree line, expecting the press to come racing at him after the teen. "Take a breath, Matthew."
Matthew and the rest of his family had been nothing but kind to Jaskier since he had started boarding Pegasus at their farm. He hated to think they were being harassed by some reporters.
“One of those newspaper people. Had a camera and everything.”
Jaskier's heart sank but Matthew shook his head.
“Posh twat!” One of the farmhands yelled from the loft. “We ran him out!”
Jaskier didn’t bothering covering his mouth as he laughed along with Matthew. “He didn’t cause any trouble?” He asked earnestly.
“We said that we’d never heard of you," Matthew said proudly.
“Thank you so much.” Jaskier heaved a sigh of relief and leaned against Pegasus. He gave the horse a kiss and nodded to Matthew again. The boy, realizing just how close he and Jaskier were standing, blushed a bit before racing off.
----------------
It had taken Geralt a long time in his life to learn never to doubt Yennefer but it was a lesson that had stuck.
In keeping up with the news about Jaskier, Geralt had learned a lot about him. To the point where, when Jaskier’s best friend, Priscilla, was interviewed on the red carpet of her latest premiere and asked about the missing man, Geralt knew exactly who she was. It also meant that Geralt could properly appreciate her viciously telling the interviewer to fuck off.
Jaskier still hadn't worked on a film in weeks but Yennefer assured him it was for the best and that Jaskier was doing fine. Laying low was a part of the plan.
The successful plan as it so happened.
Lambert slapped the newspaper down on the breakfast table. Geralt and Eskel both jumped back.
"The guy who saved Roach has been saved!" He crowed triumphantly, dodging a spoon thrown by Geralt.
"Jaskier?” Eskel asked. “The trial went off all right?”
Lambert nodded towards the paper. “It says Marx was found guilty. So Jaskier and the other people he talked about are in the clear with any luck. Have you talked to him?"
"What?" Geralt looked up from the front page. Jaskier looked good in most outfits, of course, but the official black suit for court did nothing but match him to Yennefer, who was barely in the photograph, as the newspaper had tried so hard to cut her out.
"I know it says he won the case but he looks here miserable, mate.”
"Tabloid photos aren't real indicators of a person's well-being," Geralt said stiffly. Even though Lambert was right. Geralt kept picturing the animated Jaskier that he had been privileged to see for a whole thirty seconds at the premiere party.
"You texted him though, right?"
Geralt hummed. "Yennefer's helping him out."
Eskel and Lambert responded at the same time.
"That's not an answer to his question."
"That's not an answer to my question."
Sometimes Geralt really hated his brothers.
"You gave him Yennefer's name?" Eskel urged on.
“Must have,” Lambert commented, tapping on the partial shot of Yennefer buried under headline text.
"Her card." Geralt also remembered Jaskier's uncomfortable body language at the party. Curled in on himself, not meeting anyone's eyes and when he did, he looked right past them. Sometimes when Geralt closed his eyes he saw Jaskier's white knuckles against the windowpane, desperate to make an escape. Geralt provided that. He gave that to him. And Yennefer's information. "He seemed like he just needed someone in his corner."
"And now?"
"He's Yennefer's client right now. They're not friends. Yet,” he added. “Knowing Yennefer, it will depend on if she likes him or not."
Lambert turned back towards his breakfast but Eskel still had a knowing eye on his brother.
“Looks like it’s all wrapped up. He’s not her client anymore.”
"I don't have his number." Geralt admitted, just barely audible. “I never did.”
Eskel reached over and tapped on the screen of Geralt’s phone. "I bet Yennefer does."
----------------
Geralt: Do you have Jaskier's number?
Yennefer: Finally.
Yennefer: I can't give it to you.
Yennefer: But I can give your information to him.
Geralt: Thank you.
Yennefer: He's sweet but skittish. Be gentle.
----------------
Yennefer: 033 0058 0058
Jaskier: What's that?
Yennefer: Geralt's number.
Jaskier sighed and touched his thumb to Yennefer's name.
"You're calling the wrong number," she told him in lieu of a greeting.
"I don't know him," Jaskier argued. "We were never supposed to see each other again."
"I expect a gift basket after the wedding then."
"Shall I expect one for you and Priscilla?" Jaskier asked coolly. Thankfully, Yennefer laughed and he managed to keep going. "He didn't want to talk to me when we had to spend near every day together. I don't think I can manage a phone conversation if it's just me." He wasn't worried about being too honest. Not with Yennefer, not after the trial.
He'd woken up plenty of times in Priscilla's flat after an emotional night to Yennefer at the door with breakfast for all three of them.
Yennefer hummed and in a way, she sounded almost like Geralt. "You're right. Can I make another suggestion?"
----------------
Yennefer: Are you home today?
Geralt: Yes
Yennefer: All day?
Geralt: Yes
Yennefer: Good. Stay there.
Yennefer: Or outside. By the driveway.
Geralt: Why?
Yennefer: Trust me, Geralt. It's a lovely day.
Yennefer: Just enjoy yourself.
----------------
Geralt stuffed his phone back in his pocket and asked Roach, “What do you think?”
Roach just looked at him which was fair but Geralt’s heart started to race with the anticipation.
He couldn’t be sure of what was coming but he hoped. He left the stables and headed for the house. Sitting on the porch did nothing for Geralt’s nerves so instead he found himself standing in front of it.
Barely twenty minutes had gone by but still Geralt found himself picking the paint off of the porch railing.
An unfamiliar engine caught Geralt’s ear and he turned towards the front drive.
Then, there he was.
Jaskier.
In a shoddy little truck with faded red paint that was nearing pink. It looked as though perhaps Vesemir was only one old enough to have purchased it as new. He was towing a trailer behind him and Geralt would be willing to bet that he knew who was in there.
He also clearly didn’t know where to park. No doubt Yennefer had given him an address only. Geralt didn’t bother to hold back his enthusiasm, waving Jaskier towards the neat line of vehicles by the stables.
Geralt wondered if it would be too much to open the door for him but he remembered Yennefer’s words.
He's sweet but skittish. Be gentle.
Geralt could do gentle. He’d soothed plenty a horse in his time. So he hung back, just giving Jaskier what he hoped was an encouraging smile as he opened the car door himself.
"Um. Hello," Jaskier said shyly, a little nod of his head. With his priorities in place, he was already headed around to the trailer door. Geralt knew he was going to let Pegasus out but he couldn't help but feel as though Jaskier was trying to avoid contact with him at the same time.
He remembered how Jaskier needed to do something with his hands even on a good day, whether that was the infuriating clicking of the pen he used to make notes on his script or the constant twisting of Pegasus' leather reins around his fingers.
Geralt liked to think that this would be a good day but he knew how much courage it took for Jaskier to drive here with his horse.
Jaskier gave Pegasus a happy smile and guided him out of the trailer. It wasn't until the horse was solidly on the grass that Jaskier met Geralt's eyes again. Geralt could see that it wasn't just shyness. It was nerves.
Jaskier was biting at his lip and playing with the leather of the reins just like he had those mornings on set. "I wasn’t sure if the offer to visit was still there. Yennefer said—
"Yennefer was right," Geralt said quickly, beating Jaskier to the trailer door. He latched it shut, staring unblinkingly at Jaskier.
"Did Yennefer tell you to say that?"
“In my experience, it’s usually true,” Geralt joked. He took a step forward. "I'm...glad you're here."
"Oh. Oh, good," Jaskier sounded so relieved that Geralt wanted to convince him to stay forever. To gain confidence as Geralt did around his brothers, to be fed delicious meals by his father, and most importantly, to find peace with Geralt.
"I'm not...I'm not great over the phone anyway,” Geralt offered.
"I thought that might be the case,” Jaskier admitted honestly. “I wasn’t sure if I could stand to carry a whole conversation. Yennefer thought it would be easier for us just to..."
"Be together in person?"
"Well, I was going to say be with the horses. So we both have something to focus on if we need it." Jaskier lovingly stroked Pegasus and the horse nuzzled at him. Geralt had seen the same scene dozens of times over but that had been on set. Seeing it again here, on his family’s ranch was almost too good to be true.
"That works too." Geralt paused a moment and then urged Jaskier to follow him. “Come out to the barn. She’ll be excited to see you.”
Jaskier walked Pegasus through the stables. He let out the sweetest sigh upon seeing Roach again and Geralt never wanted Jaskier to leave the ranch again.
"Oh, hello, darling," Jaskier said quietly. Geralt took Pegasus' reins and Jaskier used his free hands to rub at Roach's nose. She leaned into the petting and Geralt wished he could take a photograph.
“I was a twat,” Geralt told him while Jaskier was distracted by a beautiful horse. “I’m sorry.”
Jaskier looked down and shrugged. “I’m sure you see all sorts on film sets. I can’t even imagine.”
“I bet you can.” Geralt stroked Pegasus. He unlatched Roach’s stall and gestured for Jaskier to lead her out. “You weren’t any trouble, you know.”
“I don’t know if you remember but you…you yelled at Marx one day. He was crowding me in the stable and Roach picked up on my mood and became irritated with him. You told him off.” Jaskier told all this to Roach and Geralt did him the courtesy of not commenting on it.
Geralt didn’t remember though. He had chased away dozens of actors from horses over the years. It didn’t surprise him that Marx had been one of them.
“I’m glad she was there to protect you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”
“I won’t say that it’s all right,” Jaskier said, with more strength than he looked. He swallowed and finally turned to Geralt. “It’s been…a long few weeks. Months, really. But we’re here now and—“
Roach nudged him again and he let out a little laugh. Some of the tension leaving him.
Roach nuzzled closer and Jaskier could tell she was eager to get out of her stall. “Yes, darling. I brought your old friend to come see you. I thought perhaps--" He looked at Geralt. "I thought perhaps we could go for a ride together? If you'd like."
"I'd love that," Geralt croaked, wondering how Jaskier could still be so brave after all this. That he was here and talking and asking Geralt to spend time with him. "Let me tack him up for you?" He asked, hand on Pegasus' flank.
Jaskier's brow furrowed. "I can do it."
"I know that you can. I want to do to it,” Geralt stressed. "Please," he added.
"Let's swap," Jaskier said, still lovingly petting Roach. "I haven't seen this girl in a while. It'll be nice."
"All right," Geralt agreed. He could see what Jaskier was doing.
It wasn't about a penance. Jaskier wanted them on some kind of equal footing. That was fair, Geralt supposed. Even though as of that specific moment, Geralt wanted to give Jaskier the world.
"Are you all right now?" Geralt asked, hesitating in a way that he hoped made an answer not necessary if Jaskier didn’t want to respond.
"Well, I don't know about 'all right,'" Jaskier huffed. His eyes were looking straight ahead. "Yennefer certainly settled some things. I'm not sure I'll be acting anytime soon. Or um, answering my phone calls. I've actually changed my number again. Remind me to give it to you."
"I'd like that." Geralt didn't mention that he never had Jaskier's number in the first place.
"It's not the press," he assured Geralt. "Just a lot of people trying to apologize or offering to support me. I'm talking to the same few who always believed me before everything, you know? Mostly just Priscilla and Yennefer right now."
Geralt didn't know. He was one of the people who...well, he's not sure that he believed the rumors. He wasn't someone to go around sets making friends regardless. But he had certainly heard the gossip, listened to it even.
He liked to think he made up for some of that but in actuality, Geralt knew it didn't matter. He'll always wish he had behaved differently when he first met Jaskier. He could have maybe had Jaskier in his life for so much longer. Could have supported him better during this shit time instead of just handing over Yennefer's card and begging her to take the case.
Geralt's mind was full of questions that he wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask. He wasn't even sure he wanted the answers either. What was Jaskier going to do now? Geralt knew that one was selfish because he so wanted the answer to include him.
They worked in silence to get the horses ready but it wasn’t a silence that Geralt minded. Especially not when it was broken every moments by Jaskier giggling whenever Roach tried to interrupt his actions. He watched Jaskier get up onto Pegasus before following on Roach.
“You could always keep Pegasus—“
"I was thinking maybe I could board Pegasus here? If you've got the room—"
"Yes!" Geralt said immediately, cutting off what he had started saying as well as Jaskier's nervous rant. He didn't want Jaskier to be unsure of himself ever again. Not where Geralt was concerned. "You could come by whenever you'd like. Hopefully...often," he let himself say, voice growing stronger as the sentence went on.
"Yeah?" Jaskier asked. Geralt couldn't look away from how his teeth trapped his bottom lip between them. He was grateful that they were both on horses, otherwise Geralt wasn't sure he could have stopped himself from taking his thumb and slipping the abused lip to safety. "I don't live too far away. I hadn’t realized.”
Geralt swallowed. He met Jaskier’s big blue eyes and knew his own were rounded in vulnerability. “Please."
Jaskier finally, finally, smiled at him in such a way that Geralt felt his chest loosen. Jaskier nodded and Geralt felt his heart beating in his chest again. He grinned back at Jaskier and felt something swirl around them.
“Stay for dinner? My brothers would love to meet you. My father too.” Geralt was horrified at himself. He hadn’t rambled on like this in years. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to stop himself, not when Jaskier was giggling and trying to hide it with a hand over his mouth. “My brother Eskel’s horse is the one I’m planning to pair Roach with but I’m making him grovel for it if you’d like to help.”
“That sounds nice,” Jaskier laughed openly at him. Geralt didn’t mind one bit. “I’d love to stay, thank you.”
“Thank you.”
Geralt couldn’t help but sneak peeks at Jaskier as they mounted. It seemed Jaskier didn’t mind, snorting each time he caught his former horse master. And then he did the same, with Geralt trying not to preen too much in response.
Jaskier told him about Priscilla and Yennefer meeting and how he couldn’t go to dinner with the two of them alone again, Geralt, please.
Geralt explained how the farm worked and how much he disliked being on set away from his brothers, even when the money was good. How mercilessly they had teased him about Jaskier when he had returned.
They rode through the ranch, to Eskel’s farm, and Geralt found that both of them were becoming freer with their laughs by each trot.
The two of them had a strange beginning and a tumultuous middle but perhaps, if Geralt and Jaskier worked for it, they could have a lovely end.
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ao3 link here
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yes tell us the kid au
ok it comes with a title, which is "there is something wrong in this house." Also this is obscenely long and may not even make sense
and all the crack stuff is in the backstory, bc elias is the one doing it and the fics from the kids' perspectives. elias going "actually screw this, I'm making one from scratch" is a time-honored excuse to get lil baby Jarchivist, and it's what we're going with here. but, like, making a kid is a lot of effort, and they can't even talk at first, and Agnes didn't work out anyway
So he adopts. Attempt #1: Timothy Stoker, recently lost his whole family to a tragic accident, marked by the Stranger (he hasn't hit on the ritual idea yet but he figures that having some awareness of the supernatural to start with can't hurt. But for now it's all very normal). He can be very subtle about priming Tim to be Archivist, and what better way to ensure loyalty that to be Literally Family?
Unfortunately for Elias, we've seen how Tim reacts to grief in canon, and it's making drastic life changes and getting angry, depending on how much control he feels like he has and how much support he's getting. And not having control is a big theme in this, so he goes for angry. It rapidly becomes pretty obvious that Tim is not going to be a good Archivist.
So we try again, like within a year of adopting Tim. Sasha is Tim's age, and v lightly marked by the Spiral. She's great, Elias is v excited, Sasha is going to be Archivist.
But he still has Tim. And murdering a kid who's not even to double digits is a bit much, even for Elias. But Tim and Sasha bond hard and fast, which, y'know, Archivists do need Assistants. And connection to a beloved brother is probably a pretty good way to get your Archivist back if they end up in the Lonely or the like. You can't use them as cannon fodder, but he figures that Sasha can have one keeper and he can hire randos to fill the other assistant slots.
So Elias' life is going great. Second part of plan: He needs to get rid of Gertrude... some day, but he wants the time to plan it, and she's still useful. But kids grow up, and he doesn't want to put Sasha in place until he's sure he's got a timeframe nailed down for his Ritual, and he doesn't want Sasha responsible for stopping Rituals. But kids grow up and get other careers and turn into their own people.
(Kids are already their own people, you say. Well, Elias barely treats adults like people sometimes. Obviously he's not going to be any better than the controlling and possessive and manipulative stuff we get with Jon in canon with people who also do not have the ability to fight back in the way adults can. Tim can't run away to Malaysia in this! He can't even get out of the city on his own!)
And Elias finds out that he really likes being a parent (this is not at ALL proportional to the quality of said parenting). He doesn't want to be done. And so he puts into use a lil Web artifact, which is that because I say so (and because the experience of being a child and not getting your opinion considered and all your stuff being filtered through what your parents think feels v Webby, to me) he has his kids take vitamins every night, some of which are normal and some of which are Evil Vitamins of Never Grow Up. (the Evil Vitamins have extensive world-building around how and when they're useful, they won't solve Jonah's dying issue bc they're playing on the kid thing, and he's not a kid. Also they are technically still aging, just v slow)
So Tim and Sasha just kind of. Stay 8 or 9ish. And kids that age aren't that observant. It takes them a looooooonnnng time to figure things out.
Meanwhile, y'know, Elias really does like having kids. And if one super-loyal assistant is good, surely more is better? And also, Tim leveled out when he had Literally Anyone besides Elias (because obviously your Vampire Kids have tutors, you can't exactly send em to school) to bounce off of, maybe another sibling will have the same effect. So if he were to find an entity marked orphan (or... not orphan. I think he straight up steals Martin), why not? So he basically acquires Martin and Jon the same way multiple people I know have ended up with extra kids, which is remembering how cute they are and deciding more is better. The kids take well to each other, and Tim in particular gets his big brother instinct activated hard.
And the thing is. Sasha was supposed to be Archivist, but no one really knows that. He didn't tell anyone. And he likes Jon. Jon is just as curious as Sasha, but also waaaay more susceptible to positive reinforcement (for a long time Elias is Jon's favorite as much as Jon is Elias') and reminds Elias of himself more, because boy. So now Jon is future Archivist and the rest will be his assistants. But for now they're all in Vitamin Limbo
And this all sounds very fluffy and goofy, but the actual matter of the story (though it's maybe more a series of vignettes) this is for is from the kids' POV, with them gradually realizing that there's something subtly not right with Elias, and exploring how they feel trapped, how they catch on to little things, and how each discovery has to be pitched to the other three, with varying success. And then focusing on how Jon especially just. Refuses to see it. And trying to convince him otherwise just puts distance between him and the rest and makes him closer and closer with Elias. And tonally it's kind of like a haunted house story? Only the ghost is what Elias is planning for them, and what he's already doing/done to them. Eventually at least Tim stops taking the vitamins, and then that worsens for him because he has more and more idea of how wrong things are, and can't convince the others, and can't take them all away from Elias if he can, and he feels this overbearing need to protect them all but he can't
#tma#the magnus archives#there is something wrong in this house#elias bouchard#jonathan sims#tim stoker#sasha james#martin blackwood#this is basically using the same stuff that i usually use for jonelias stuff in a family context instead#the time period is loose but the kids end up raised v proper victorian seen and not heard and all their toys are kinda that age#and they dont like. watch tv. so theyre even more isolated#also when things are good theyre v family von trapp just a lil line of adorable doll like children#also tim is the only cis kid. elias may be a regency dude planning to use these kids to start the apocalypse but he IS trans positive#thats part of what makes the realization hurt is that hes the first one to Get It for the younger three#age order is tim>sasha>martin>jon with tim n sasha being the same age give or take half a year adn martin and jon are the same#until they start not taking the vitamins and the age gaps get all wonky and longer#like tim ends up in the 12-15 range and jon is like 7#when before it was more like 9 or 10 and 7#and that gap is maintained once jon is allowed to start growing up a bit#(this happens thru elias getting a plan together but also spy vs spy with tim stealing jons vitamins)#also probably this should instead all be written as#jonah magnus#bc its a p long time scale but whatever#if i chuck the web concept for the vitamins they end up flesh instead#and start kinda. draining the kids. so i can have consumptive waif vibes for jon as things Get Dangerous#asks#mine#writing#concepts
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~ Mass Update ~
Mainly going into future plans and intents alongside ideas below cut.
Ton's of things I've in store this will prove difficult to vent it all out. But here we go...
First off rehashing and appropriately learning to tag and organize things better on my blog. Each category will have their own corresponding content, I seek to bring or share.
[Tales of Goldbrand] -- I intend this to carry a Compendium of all my writes soon that'll have everything neatly in-order including a glossary, so it'll have highlights of stories that even matter or the best stuff. I've written here for a very, long time, there's been many shifts. I want to make it more accessible. While coloring what matters for people who want to learn Captain or his Crew with less chapters. While also giving choice to find it all easily. This is essentially a step-above master-lists. I'll be doing that after the Saga I have going on, right now is done.
[Captain] -- Will provide you strictly with Captain screenshots, gifs, photo-sets. This is still his blog despite the Crew thing's will sort of make this a scuffed Multi-Muse blog. I've few more things to edit and tag fix to get all his stuff though.
[The Wild Crew] -- Afterwards this story is done Immortal Age Saga, It's something that I mainly wrote as a passion project within three days to get my warm-up process fixed. It's to allow me to get a feel for all his Crewmates and casts, in combat, in-general, to feel their presences. While also giving a bit of their backstories. At any point, I can go back and polish or tweak things in. They're NPC's but... not entirely. All will have their own 'Dreams' and their own 'Disapproval's' they have their own missions even. These things will factor eventually, they might set seeds, to betray or disagree with something, but that's all angst and more stories to be created, but overall, they'll probably always be Crew, eventually. -- I plan on making character-profile sheets of them and putting them in this Tab, it'll have their screenshots, their likes/dislikes. Some RP partners or people can also be shipped with them, but they'll all be monogamous and originally start off probably Pan. This allows them to figure out what they like on their own stories. I've always been someone who likes organic-flow. Although this one story contain all 16 characters or more, the rest will probably be shortened to a Squad of 4 and dispersed when on adventuring missions. Until I do a War Arc, that's my main goal to build too.
[Roster] -- Will contain this Crew in just screen-sets dedicated to them, I'll probably randomly produce those. I've PC players among this Crew too. I may not be done either adding more, but this Crew is mainly built around Quality. Most pirate crew's mainly, have hundreds, thousands. Even Fleets. This Crew has personalities, monsters, people who are living life's that exist with piracy. He's an particular leader that had PC players the same way, he's had split-personality serial killers aboard, tribal chieftains, succubus, all sorts of various people once on a Crew. It's often an outcast style, pirates default are chaotic in nature, so this really isn't any different, it's a Fantasy version of it. There's humanization characters aboard too though, so this cast is really decked, everything and person is vital, they matter because they remind or covet something that others can draw upon. If ever played (Three Houses or Mass Effect / Dragon Age Origins) A lot of things like that are relatable too this structure and format. Which, Is something I want to be able to give when RPing. I want a genuine feel of this new world someone else's muse will be the main-character too. Depending on what's interacting everything they'll be scale appropriately to follow the genre they're in and environment even.
[Aesthetics] -- Already explainable what you'll find here.
[Asks] -- Same thing.
[Prompts] -- Trivial things I was tagged too, I plan on compiling later.
[Writing] -- Another alternatively to randomly go-down and it works right now.
[Logs] -- Will have more individualistic master-lists and posts there, my poems from Sheik Sphere the Bard, etc.
Things of that nature, I'll probably add still. It's where a lot of my creative writing is summed.
[Gems of Hydaelyn] -- My main #tag for other characters and artists, creationist. Lot of amazing people easily to find their zones or follow them optionally if you like. Ton's I intend to support and bolster, be a lot less unspoken. I'm never the type who's been strictly inclusive. But I'll do that when I've time to even explore the dash, I'm always still planning ahead with things and projects.
[CKS] My original character-sheet it's outdated on something's but not too terrible. I'll give him polishing someday, I swear?
[21+F-List] -- Just purely degenerate stuff of Captain. I'm a pirate blog. I will represent that with openness and furthermore. I'm never projecting you some false-image. I started off a smut-writer by stripping that, I no-longer represent the same aura and identity. But those are strictly his stuff and kinks, I'm effective in executing them but they're not all relatable to me OOC. This blog will always be 18+ containing crude or dark material sometimes, romantic things, this Captain is blunt, will literally put his cock on the table in conversations. Swearing and being censored would be too uncommon and displace most of him, but there's more about him then all this.
[Other] -- I pay homage to a lot of characters, I originally am a Concept Designer. Which mean's I make characters and ideas like my addiction. Bad characters / villains or other little things I like to share in designs, I'll put there. Some villains might get little photo-sets, even if they died. Just cause I like their design, or maybe I'll give them an AU, where they won. When I've wrapped up things.
[Collabs + Ships] -- Is a new project idea. This isn't going to be something limited too romantic only ships. It'll contain, platonic, romantic, friendships, rivals, frenemies, family, PC Crew, all ships. I am desperately working on improving my gif, screenshot, posing game so I can supply 'Screen Stories' this is not only a way to RP that's accessible with even people who are upon time-crunches from work, It gives visual-representation. To impactful stories shared with others and establish bonds. That are all-valid and impactful matter.
Lot of people take a lot of their characters attributes into them and are them dialed up, I work with that and bit more, differently. I'm disconnected from my characters and they'll get hurt and injured and killed by me, that's my duty as their Author to give them conflicts and struggles. I'm their major antagonist, but that doesn't mean at-all, it's always SET that way. The characters I like to make have their own life, they live in this setting and are abide by it, they're often nothing, nobodies, and by the interacting with others, they slowly gradually building, more... Through emotional impacts, they alter, these are REAL people by all their beliefs. Each person they come in-contact with are legitimate and treated like that too. They've always impacted or given them insights to grow, or represent more. Otherwise it'd be criminally disrespectful if I allowed any emotional I felt OOC be the grudge to something IC. Captain in-particular is set on defying me. I cannot have that.
...But I can't stop him. He's met and encountered so many people and lived so many scenarios based on the actions of others, he's giving a chance right now to actually do things a lot further than impossible. The more people he meets and encounters, experiences, the more I lose. These stories are emotionally interactive where everything is a factor and adds to the dice, where the other people are the one who get to roll the dice for him, not me. That's something I want to color in. People range in emotions, they have their down's, ups, their own wholesome-grounding people, spending time with your favorite people, there's nothing more cherishing than that, being in your own comfort-zone or 'safe-space' these are all treasures that we live under, today.
Contrary if what people assume of me, I'm not another 'blogger' that's came
before, who's wanting to force a harem, then constantly is bewildered when that falls to pieces cause of selfishness or a lack of communication, or the skeletons they have in their closets and beliefs they hid behind and swindled fooled everyone.
I'm not looking to be popular or anything really, I just create stories and want to share in those, and I want to also boost others included, upward with me, especially those who make me. There's no ego in anything I do, this is purely love. I've never cared about being replicated or duplicated, I've had stalkers, I've gone through more then anyone would imagine, I've been used OOC and abused, just for my writing and cold-harshly told, i'd never amount to anything other then that or vice-versa.
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Passion. That's all I got and am anymore.
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Passion is the hardest thing to keep. It's something that can be stolen, quite effortlessly. Few words of discouragement, a bad negative representation, a lack of confidence, or small amount of time, there's many thing's that can put that flame out. Once you lose it. The difficulty to reattain is hundred-times harder than climbing any mountain for real.
I've watched the greatest creators crumble from under the pressure, from beaten down by others. I watched many of them do it to themselves because they put a grand vision of needing validation of another and once lost, felt uncompelling to press onward.
But passion also can be given BACK and drawn. It can be shown and encourage others, with a soft-triggering, that pushes them. That motivates, that constantly sticks to it. There are many that fuel me. If I ever quit, I let them down, I spit in the faces of people who're better than me in every-way. Or people who've came and given me their precious Time. That have given their character's or dedication to the abundant stories and community-driven things I've done.
There's ONLY things you can do, create, give and provide. It cannot ever come to life without YOU. This is a fact. ...I swear, If you let your creativity soar, you'll be amazed by the heights you get. Constantly polish and learn and hone the best you, challenge yourself day after painstaking day, to draw better improvement on something, no matter how trivial or unfamiliar you are. You'll find a confidence only you can give yourself.
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Future Plans
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For me, I've got so much more stories to give and also explore, I might be taking up soon some other artists and more skilled people from community and hire them for some of my future writes, to up my game or cause something thing's can't be done in-game cause no background carries it. I also got a lot of-set up things and more angst stuff I want to practice, plus I'm adamantly on that grind to produce screen-sets with the intent's to some sort of improving daily.
Additionally more people I'll be reaching out too soon for these collab's ideas and things. I look forward to shaking your hands, giving some hugs, show you my respect and admiration, then creating some enchanting stories and giving plots light. Feel free to reach out to me, I get scattered-brain but I'm working on getting better about it. Eventually will get to you though, my goals, if uninterested just say so when I poke, no bites, unless you kinky.
Anyways, cheers hearties.
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A World-- Unsure
dabi / f.reader
genre: real world to parallel world au? (is that an au? it’ll make sense dw), angst, pinning, fools to lovers? (or dabi is stubborn/scared as all get out)
warning(s): blood, violence/bar fight, descriptions of injuries, cursing (dabi and i both have a potty mouth oops)
w.count: 9.4k
synopsis: You were someone in the middle. You had no mega praise for heros to speak of, but you also had no ill will towards villains either- you had seen both sides. After a few years running a hidden, underground medical base for villains who needed treatment beneath the bar that you ran and owned, you’ve met your fair share of villains. It was odd to think of them as good people, since you depended on them a lot if you got yourself into a pinch. In fact, a lot of your patients became bar regulars on the public downlow. It’s not a big shock that you end up meeting Dabi.
a/n: teehee, first time writing for dabi! I’m pretty excited not gonna lie, since this idea was pretty interesting to think about. this is the first part of A World -- a two part series! I’ll be working on the next part asap, so hopefully it won’t be a horribly long wait- but we’ll see how my time management is in the long run lol. (also, the draft was like 8.6k, i dunno how i added a whole 800 more words)
-x-x-x-
You stood behind the bar, shining glasses as you set up the counter and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall just above the entrance of the small pub. You sighed as you set the glass down before taking the rag you were using and throwing it over your shoulder. It was quiet in the open room filled with circular tabs, rectangular booths and metal rimmed chairs- quiet except for the footsteps of employees prepping for opening.
Your black jeans hung on your waist as your white button up was slightly wrinkled, the long sleeves rolled as best as possible up to your elbows. Your hair up and out of the way so you wouldn’t be constantly fighting it when the rush started. There was a small, pocket apron around your waist with a pocket for a receipt book, a pen, some napkins and pain medicine just in case another headache walked in the door tonight and a few other odds and ends. The only other thing on your person was the new pair of steel toed boots you had indulged yourself to.
“Hey, Boss Lady,” one of your employees called. You looked around, seeing the one who called you peeking their head around from inside the rec room. The room itself was probably one of the most expensive rooms you’ve ever put together. A pool table in the middle of the room, dart boards on either side of the room, a small little entertainment center, a sofa and another mini bar inside run by a trusted bargirl you hired when you opened your pub doors for the first time.
“What is it?”
“Is the rec room rented out for the night? I heard some of the others saying it was.”
That was something else that was different about your little hole in the wall. Since you weren’t all that popular or big enough for a special vip area or an area in general for occasions like birthdays or anniversaries, your patrons could call and make reservations and get the rec room rented out. However, you only let the room be rented on Fridays, Saturdays and Wednesdays. The other days, it was open for anyone to come and go as they please so long as nothing is damaged.
It was Friday night. You couldn’t think of anyone renting it out tonight, but there was a group coming in tomorrow so long as they don’t cancel on you.
You shook your head. “No. It’s tomorrow when it’s rented. You’re clear to leave the dividing ropes put away.”
“Right on,” they thumbs upped you before retreating back into the room to prep and clean before opening.
7:45, a quarter ‘till eight- opening time. You cupped one hand around your mouth. “Hurry up and get your final prepping all done. Quarter ‘till!” Your employees all made some sort of response or sound back to you, signaling that they understood.
Part of you always felt a little guilty each opening night since you knew it wasn’t just regular citizens or the occasional hero off duty who frequented your pub. You knew of the bad people who walk in the doors, stay for a drink and leave without causing a ruckus. You knew of them, because, unknown to your employees, you had a second job.
A second job that had a lot to do with the large, concrete basement of your pub that you refused to tell them about. It wouldn’t be a great business move if you just told people you let villains sneak into your pub to go into the basement where you had a large array of (stolen) medical equipment to treat their injuries.
-x-x-x-
It was well into the midnight rush of the night when the door opened again. The loud combination of everyone’s murmurs and the smell of every type of alcohol someone could name off filtered through the air and almost made you pull out your medicine. After three years running this place, one would think you’d become accustomed to the smells combined with the noise. To no avail.
You had stepped back away from the bar, your back close to the shelves behind you lined with bottles, cups, glasses, and a small old-style antenna radio that, despite being turned on, wasn’t heard over the ruckus.
Heading to the opposite side of the bar after being paged by some random man for a neat glass of whiskey. You snagged a glass, grabbing a bottle of the cheapest brand you could find- because this man’s lack of manners towards a lady, bargirl or not, didn’t impress you. Pouring the liquor into the glass like it was second nature, you reached under the bar to scoop out a sphere of ice to drop into the glass.
Sliding it over to the already tipsy looking man, you were called- more politely this time- from another patron for a bottle of beer. Smiling at him and signaling to him that you heard him, you trotted over to the mini fridge under the bar and grabbed the brand he requested.
As you carefully, and skillfully, popped the tab off with the bar’s edge, you placed the bottle on a coaster and slid it over to him, tapping the bar top with your hand and serving him with a smile. He thanked you, which you were appreciative of, before he turned to his friend next to him and continued conversing.
Moving back to the middle of the bar, you noticed a few empty glasses in front of empty bar stools with bills pinned under them. Taking the bills and pocketing them, you took the glasses and stashed them below the bar in a small tub you kept in a metal cart for easily putting dirty dishes for later.
As you wiped down the bar top, you saw another person, clad in a full black get-up slide into a bar stool that was recently left vacant. They weren’t far from you, just a few feet, but you could smell the scent of smoke on them. You sighed, knowing exactly who it was. Anyone would think that the man who just sat down was just a heavy smoker- and he was, but not so much recently so he claims- but you knew better.
He lifted his arm to rest his elbow on the bar, his chin resting in his palm as you felt him stare at you.
You didn’t say a thing to him, only got a glass off the shelf behind you, mixed some coke with some rum and added a scoop of ice, before placing the glass on some napkins and sliding it towards him.
“Like usual?” You asked, retracting your hand as he had already started to pick up the glass to sip on it.
“Like usual,” he confirmed. This particular man had a deep voice, always laced with a small rough sound- more rough when he’s tired or just plain exhausted. It was a side effect of the smoking and other smoke-like quirks of his personality. “You seem busy tonight.”
“We’re always busy on Fridays, nothing unusual about that. It’s the start of the weekend, everyone wants to drink.” You threw your cleaning rag over your shoulder, shouting to a call of another bar sitting patron as you felt the black, clad, mask covered man’s eyes on your. “You gonna stick around all night, or are you gonna drink and go this time?”
He pulled his mask down to uncover his mouth, dark scars showing under the hood of his jacket just long enough to take a sip, and pull it back over his face. Setting the glass down, he let out a breath and circled his finger along the rim.
“I think I’ll stick around, just to annoy you.” You could hear the smirk on his face as you held back an eye roll for professionalism’s sake.
“How courteous, thank you so very much.” He chuckled at your reply as you left your place in front of him to tend to others paging you left and right. He pushed his curled hand into his cheek as he watched you pad back and forth behind the long bar. You should be grateful he at least planned on paying tonight.
He remained on his barstool the next few hours, only shifting to look around, take a short spin on the stool, or stand to stretch his hunched body before sitting back down. Each time his glass was close to empty, you’d knock your knuckles on the bar top- a signal asking if he wanted a refill- and he'd either knock back or keep the glass away from you as a form of saying yes or no.
Though, it wouldn’t be a proper Friday night mid-shift without something going wrong.
You weren’t sure why, but when 2 am started rolling around, you always grew weary of your patrons. It was the prime time for tipsy, or smashed, people to start trouble. Whether with you, or with other paying customers, or even your employees. Out of all options, you wished they’d pester you so you don’t have to deal with someone else being harassed. Though, even when it did happen to you- which was often since your place was stuck behind a wooden, polished bar- you didn’t ever appreciate it.
You glanced around the filled room and saw a few familiar faces of villains you had treated before who decided to stay in your good graces.
Them being there did make you feel a bit better about you own safety since you knew if something were to happen, they’d jump up to throw down on your behalf, even if you could handle yourself plenty well.
You were once again wiping down the wood of your bar for the gazillionth time this evening when some scumbag, a smashed man who was well over your age, stumbled his way to the bar and slumped himself into a stool and leaned over the counter like some hunchbacked gargoyle.
He reached over the bar to start to fiddle with the beer spigots that lined the end of it. Before he could create a giant mess in the tray beneath them and onto the floor, you rushed over and slapped his hands away.
Instead of hissing at your stinging slaps, he whistled at your actions to keep your property away from him grime hands as you rolled your eyes.
“Sir, keep your hands off of the bar tools.” You reached over and grabbed the half empty bottle of beer from his hands before you poured the rest of the alcohol out of it and tossed it under the bar into the bin where it clinked together with the other beer bottles you’ve tossed tonight. “I’m cutting you off. Sober up, leave your payment and get out before I have you thrown out.”
From down the bar, you knew the scarred man in black was watching you. Whenever this kind of scene went down, you could feel his and all the other familiar eyes on you. For villains, they sure were people of action and debt. Made you feel bad for calling them villains- if you didn’t think about the crimes they most definitely committed on a day-to-day basis.
The drunk man slurred what you assumed was probably something close to reluctance at you cutting him off for the night and your swift decision to kick him out after he paid what he owed.
Persistently reaching over to try and yank on the spigots again, you once again slapped his hands away, going a step further and grabbing his wrists and tossing them away back over to his side of the bar.
“I won’t ask you again, sir.”
Your familiar scarred man set down his drink, the contents in it empty as the remaining, semi-melted ice cubes fell together in satisfying clinks against the glass.
It was times like now where you wished the quirk laws would allow you to use your quirk publicly without a permit or license because of riffraff like this oh-so-lovely hammered gentleman. You were one to break the rules anyways, so you would if push came to shove regardless and you knew that your customers would keep their mouths shut about it.
You’ve gone many a night with bar fights and tassels and not a single cop was called because you could handle the situation yourself, or your trusty villain’s had your back. Your little pub and you were a bend in the rules with a great camouflage jacket over your head and trustful patrons willing to keep a secret or get so drunk they don’t remember what happened. Either option suited you well.
You weren't a hero, nor a villain. You were in the middle- a civilian with some spare time and no interest in sharing what you did the time you're not running your pub.
The man stood from his stool the moment you turned your back to him and not only did he shove his arm against three different beer spigots in a clumsy fall against the bar, but he partly climbed over the bar, reached towards you and yanked you back by your shoulder just so he could get a solid slap on your ass.
The shriek you let out wasn’t loud, it was more of shock of what was happening, followed by instant disgust. Your rear stung at the strength the disgusting man used to slap it before he was drunkenly laughing, his gross breath wafting towards you from his half climbed over body.
Before you could take care of the situation yourself, he was yanked back off to his side of the bar onto his wobbly feet. The instant his feet hit the tile and his chin even twitched to look around to see what yanked him back, glass shattered across his face.
The scarred man who had silently kept you company tonight- and previous nights before that- had grabbed the back of the man’s shirt, yanked him back and away from you as you righted the beer spigots that had already created a big enough mess and smashed his empty, rum glass against the side of his head.
The drunk man hit the ground, grabbing and holding his head as blood dripped from the side of his face and ear. The scarred man looked down at him, shaking his hand about, the purple scars of his wrist showing as he shook the limb. The glass seemed to nick his palm a bit upon impact, but nothing compared to the nasty wound on the drunk’s face.
As the drunk lay on the ground, groaning and bleeding, your defender bent to riffle through his pocket and nabbed his wallet. Pulling out both a card and a wad of cash, he held both towards you.
“What’s his tab?” His rough voice was stern as you just sighed.
You plucked bills from his hand, a handful of twenties, before you put it into your pocket. You looked around, seeing a table from the corner lift a bill in his hand before he waved it at you. You nodded- they were signaling they had his bill. They then held up four fingers and then a fist. A four dollar tab. You decided that you’d keep the extra as a bonus and maybe tip your workers as well for his behavior.
“He’s good to go.” You said as the scarred man put the card back into his wallet and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. He then picked the drunk off the tile and shoved him out the doors before making his way back to the bar.
He stepped over his glass and ice mess as he toed at a larger piece of glass that used to be the bottom of it. He then looked at you with a shrug. You could practically seem the smirk on his face before he spoke.
“My bad.”
Instead of saying anything, you placed a small plastic tub on the bar top and slid it towards him. You flicked your eyes down and he just sighed. Squatting, he picked up his mess of glass and ice the best he could before he gave the tub back to you to throw away. You had already gotten a start on the beer mess that made your nose twitch at the stench.
You always hated the smell of beer.
“Smells like piss,” you muttered to yourself. The scarred man heard you loud and clear though and he stifled a laugh at your annoyance. Once you had it more or less cleaned, you glanced at the closed fist of the man’s cut up hand. You saw small beads of red drop onto your bar. You pushed a handful of napkins towards him to squeeze into his palm. “Come down when we close. We’ll get your hand properly cleaned up.”
He didn’t argue. Just chuckled as he took a sip out of his water bottle you had placed in front of him as he shut the napkins in his grip tightly.
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
-x-x-x-
4 am: closing time. You sigh as you bid your final employee farewell before you locked the door behind them. You sighed as you walked back to the bar, untying your apron from your waist on the way. You emptied the pockets and placed whatever was inside on the bar top. There was only one person left in the bar, in the same stool he had been in all night.
You thumbed through the bills in your pockets, rounding to behind the bar and unlocking the always locked money drawer just under the far end of the counter where a small card swipe sat for patrons not paying with cash.
Tucking your cash safely away and locking the drawer shut you stashed the key on the keyring with all your other keys in the pocket of your jeans. You pulled your phone from your back pocket and checked the time. About half after now.
“Okay,” you spoke, the man already standing. “Come around the bar and we’ll head down.”
He followed your lead, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his large jacket with his hood still on even in the new found privacy. You walked back into the kitchen and beyond to a small landing that had an unlabeled door and then a separate staircase leading upward past a different doorframe. He looked up the stairs, knowing full well that beyond them lays your apartment.
Part of him was envious that you lived in your place of work. Technically, he could live in his, but he had his own separate place of peace away for breathers. He could only deal with his comrades for so long in a single span of time.
You unlocked the unlabeled door that you told everyone who asked was just a closet for your personal belongings that didn’t fit up in the apartment. Opening it, another set of stairs that lead down was beyond it.
Descending them, the man followed and shut the door behind him. He locked it when it was shut at his back. There was a different entrance to the basement he was descending into outside the bar anyways for the people who knew it was there and needed it.
At the bottom, you flipped on the lights to the large, open room. It wasn’t a giant space, but it was large enough to move around and there was a sofa, a work bench you used as a counter for coffee and random objects, tables and chairs for your patients waiting comfortably. There were two rooms off two of the left side of the main ‘waiting room’ and one to the right- all solitary rooms for overnight patients. The furthest back room had no door and just past the frame was a storage room of medicine, wraps, gauze, antiseptics, salves- just whatever you could get your hands on.
You’re even occasionally gifted treatment items from past clients in hopes to repay the debt they feel they may owe you.
You point towards the long, hard top operating table in the back as you make your way to one of the shelves on the wall. You kept all the basic first aid out in the open since they were easy to replace.
“Go sit,” you direct as the man flipped off his hood and unzipped his jacket. His white tank top was wrinkle from being inside the stuffy jacket all night and he adjusted his belt to sit comfortably and not pull on his belt loops to dig into his hips. Ruffling his black hair, he made his way to the table to lean against it.
You were soon in front of him, hand out towards him asking for his own to inspect.
“You’re always causing some sort of scene every time you come by. You realize it’s getting old, right Dabi?”
The face stapled, scarred pyro-villain just grinned down at you, chest jolting with a scoff of amusement as you pulled the blood beaded napkins he held in his hand since you gave it to him away. Then, you poked around with tweezers pulling small pieces of glass away from his skin.
“Don’t lie. You love when I come by. Besides, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”
“I don’t need to be ‘kept on my toes’,” you tutted, making sure there were no pieces of glass left in his palm. When there appeared to be none, you started dabbing the small cuts with antiseptic as he just kept leisurely leaning on your table. “If you keep coming here and just to get all cut up, I’m going to start charging you for not only your drinks, but all the patching up I do to you too.”
“Oh, you’d never,” he mused. He knew you all too well and he also knew that even if he were here daily for scratching his knee or getting a paper cut, you’d never have the heart to charge him anything when it came to treatment.
Maybe he took advantage of that, maybe he didn’t.
It didn’t help that he knew you had the hots for him- I mean, you did tell him about how you felt weeks ago; straight o his face no less. He just brushed it all off, knowing good and well that he and relationships in general just didn’t work out. Besides, he was someone the public knew the face of and he wasn’t just someone to pass on the street and forget the face of.
Dabi rejected you, you knew he would, but he let you down as easy as he could. You just simply wanted to put your feelings out there so nothing would be awkward in the future. It stung sure, but you felt more open with your feelings not bottled up in secrecy.
You wrapped his hand in gauze and called it good enough, placing all your things back where they were. Dabi looked at his hand, flipping it back and forth as he inspected how neatly you’ve gotten at wrapping bandages since the very first time.
“Not bad,” he hummed. The first time he heard of you and came to get treated, you had to treat a nasty gash on his leg and you were clumsily with your bandaging since he was already covered in scars. You were so confused on if you could cover them or not and if you did, if there was a special way. You leaved quickly though.
“Not like you could do any better. You don’t really need any more stitches or staples than you already have.”
“Don’t act like you don’t think they’re sexy,” he teased as he stood up straight, plunging his hands into his pants pockets as he began to follow you around the basement room to room like a dog. You soon left your basement, going back up the stairs, opening the door and leaving before going up the second set of stairs leading up to your apartment.
Dabi followed you the entire way with a shit eating grin on his face.
You sighed as you unlocked your apartment door and looked over your shoulder and down to the burnt man just behind you on lower stair steps.
“Do you need something?”
“Yeah. Inside.”
You cursed under your breath, going inside and him following knowing that you couldn’t argue him out of it. He often did this, getting treated and then going up to your apartment. In fact, there was a time when he would pick your lock and let himself in, so you ended up making him a copy so he could just stop doing it.
He may not be good in relationships and definitely not looking for one, on top of rejecting you, but he could very well enjoy his evenings pestering you instead. they were two distinctly different situations.
Kicking off his boots and fumbling with his jacket, he hung it on the coat wrack- not willing to be yelled at by you for making your home a mess with his junk again- and let himself in. He immediately made a beeline for your living room and plopped himself on your couch like he owned the place and paid your bills.
You had ventured to the kitchen before you went to the living room and tossed him something. Catching it, he saw a poptart in his hand, still wrapped in it’s aluminum wrapping.
“Eat. I’m taking a shower.” He shrugged as you turned and headed to shower as he flipped on your television and let himself finally relax.
It was odd, being around you and in your home. He didn’t even feel this relaxed and loose in his own apartment by himself. Where he lived was nothing fancy and it was cheap, but it was his and the location was kept on the downlow just like he needed. Spending time with the league was fine and dandy, but they could be so damned irritating sometimes, so he didn’t dare even try and nap at the base.
He let his head fall back against the couch and he took deep breaths.
On occasions like this, he did feel a bit guilty. It’s not like he was actually taking advantage of your feelings or your kindness to do what he wanted, you were just too nice for your own good and let him. Don’t get him wrong, you would scold him if he did something you didn’t like- like leaving his jacket on the floor- so it wasn’t like you didn’t want him here.
Dabi could hear your shower running just barely under the sound of the tv’s noise. Sometimes, he’d find himself thinking back to when you told him how you felt and how easily you accepted the fact he said no.
He was just coming back from another stupid league mission and had a pretty nasty cut behind his left shoulder. You were cleaning the blood off his skin, trying not to snag your rags in any staples before you were smearing something onto the wound, making him sigh in of relief of the cooling sensation.
It was when you were pasting a gauze pad on his shoulder and patching it on securely when you blurted out that you liked him. All he did when you said that was laugh at you, to which your silence that followed explained that you weren’t joking and were in fact serious. He looked at you with a face you hadn’t seen before, a look of vulnerability for just a moment, before it shifted to one of seriousness.
“I’m not interested. Sorry, doll.” You nodded at his quick rejection. Though you accepted it fairly easily, he could still see the slight furrow of your brow and dip in your lips with his rejection. You may have even seen his rejection coming, but hearing it still had to be a blow to your heart.
He was glad the relationship between you two hadn’t changed regardless of how you felt and how he said no. You still put up with his bullshit and he still hung around like a fly you couldn’t smash under a flyswatter because it kept evading the strikes. It was still comfortable here- in your place.
Dabi stood from the couch, moving to your window only to lean out when he pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. You had really gotten on his ass once when you caught him smoking in the middle of your living room without a window even open. You told him to smoke out a window, or go outside to contaminate his lungs claiming you dealt with the smell of smoke enough during bar hours.
Flicking a small, blue flame with his index finger, he lit the stick and huffed. Nicotine really accompanied his quirk- it was like he and cigarettes were just meant to be since he himself was a human-sized lighter.
He heard the door to your bathroom open and soon you stepped out with grey sweat and a cheap, cutoff shirt that just barely exposed your stomach on, towel drying your hair. You looked at him, water still barely dripping off your eyelashes and hair strands untouched by the towel.
“Glad to see you’re listening to me,” you told him as you nodded towards the smoke that he took a draw from. He puffed the smoke out the window as he turned around to lean against the open pane. His hand out the window to keep the crumbling ash from dropping inside.
“I can behave sometimes too, you know.”
You scoffed at him, turning to grab a water bottle from your fridge in the kitchen and returning to the living room. “Yeah, not likely.” You sat on the couch to mindlessly watch whatever channel the tv was on and once Dabi and finished smoking, he shut the window and rejoined you on the couch. His arm was resting on the back of the couch as you had pulled out your phone and began to scroll through apps and occasionally looking back up to the tv.
It was moments like this where the uncertainty really hit him.
It was this- these comfortable situations- that frightened him. He was a bad person, a person who’s done bad things and will continue to do bad things. He used to sit around your apartment and bug you with questions. Had you ever ratted anyone out? Were you really a completely secretive person when it came to your unofficial side job? Were you really someone to be trusted? Why did you do what you did in the first place?
Now, he didn’t ask anything anymore. He grimaced at himself. Maybe he was letting himself get too comfortable here.
“I’m going away for a while,” he suddenly blurted out. You glanced up at him from your phone.
“Have some big job or something coming up?”
“Yeah,” he lied, “some league stuff I gotta deal with.”
“Any idea how long you’ll be gone?”
“No idea. Probably a few weeks I bet.” Dabi couldn’t stop himself from lying to you and he got irritated at himself for feeling even the slightest bit bad for doing so. This was the only way though, the only way to try and get back to the rough, guarded villain he was supposed to always be.
Dabi had to get away from you for a while.
“Well,” you started, looking back down. He looked at you, seeing you frown just a bit- he bit his cheek. “Stay safe. If you need any patching up when you get back, you know where to find me.”
He lowered his chin, his eyes lidding as he hardened his resolve. His decision was final, and he had to follow through with it. He looked back to the tv, trying to bask in theses few final moments.
“Yeah, sure.”
-x-x-x-
Dabi’s irritated. He’s been irritated actually.
He’s sitting at the bar, not your bar, but the bar in the league’s headquarters. He sat slouched in a stool as Kurogiri- as usual- stood behind the bar. The glass of some brown liquor that Dabi had nursed for the past hour started to taste like static to him. He missed your bar’s liquor- the revelation made him more irritated.
The entire reason he’s avoided going to your pub and always looked around corners in the city to make sure you wouldn’t bump into him by accident was so he could squash whatever the fuck he was feeling when he was around you down into dust. Though, theses recent last couple days had proven that his plan was backfiring.
Instead of forgetting what it felt like to be comfortable and content and relaxed, he was missing it. He was missing the air of serene you always carried everywhere you went and he dared to say he yearned for it again.
Dabi clicked his tongue as he pushed his forehead into his palm when Shigiraki had walked into the bar from wherever he had been before. Seeing the hunched over excuse of a comrade, he groaned. The leader had often heard of your patchwork jobs for villains. He himself had even met with you once- not for any injuries he had sustained, but for a simple meeting to exchange greetings with potential allies. Anything helped for his cause.
Shigiraki also knew that Dabi often frequented your pub, and for whatever reason he hadn’t been recently. His sour mood as of late paired with his lack of attendance to your business and attention was too easy to put together.
“I’m really sick of you moping around here,” the leader complained. Dabi lifted his forehead from his palm and glared across the room to the leader who now took a seat one stool away from Dabi. “Go be a killjoy somewhere else.”
“Oh, piss off.”
His mood began to spiral rapidly when Toga and Twice had come into the bar as well, coming back from wherever the fuck they had been. Toga- trying her best to get on Dabi’s every nerve- was told by Kurogiri that his mood was unpleasant because he hadn’t been to a specific bar in town for some time now.
Dabi felt offended that Kurogiri connected his bad mood to the bar and not you.
“Maybe I should kick the crap outta you myself, so you can go back to what's-her-name and then maybe you’ll finally lose the attitude.” Okay, that one earned the hand-fetishist leader a growl from the pyromaniac. It only made Shigiraki scoff in a small victory, knowing that everyone around the league could see that his sour mood was solely revolving around you- or lack thereof.
Toga, ever on the hunt for new ‘friends’, immediately jumped at the idea of finally going to the mystery lady who heals everyone just because she has a kind heart. An idea that Dabi shut down without so much as batting an eyelash.
“But, why not!” Toga whined. Dabi rolled his eyes. Villain or not, Toga was just a high schooler with more than enough psychotic tendencies to warrant concern. If he had it his way- you’d never even get the chance to set your eyes on the blonde, twin-bunned psycho.
The constant chartering centering in on him and you began to grate on his nerves and before long he was stomping up to his feet and out the bar door. Shigiraki just scoffed as Toga pouted. Twice was simply mocking and jesting at the burned man who ‘just ran away’.
Dabi had had enough. He was going back to your pub- but it wasn’t going to be because he missed you. He just wanted a drink in peace and fucking quiet. At least away from those idiots.
-x-x-x-
Dabi had slithered his way into your bar- pushing his way in with a group so that when you shouted from your place behind the bar to greet them in and to tell them to just find a seat, you wouldn’t recognize him. He had stopped by his apartment before making his way here to change into clothes he hoped you wouldn’t recognize him in either.
The large, indigo tinted turtle neck he wore was way too large on his torso. The neck was horribly stretched out and pulled up as far as it could be to cover his jaw and mouth so that he didn’t have to wear the mask he knew you would recognize.. He traded his normal jacket with a different one he’d kept around for city crawling as he had it half way zipped up and the hood flipped up to hide his hair and scarred ears. Keeping his chin down, he used the shadow of his hood and the shadows the pub lights casted to keep the scars just under his eyes more or less out of sight.
He grumbled at himself. Why was he going to such lengths to make sure you didn’t see him in the first place? In the past, he wouldn’t have gone to the lengths to stay on the downlow in public like this; he would’ve just gone back home and crashed or drank alone or something of the sort. You probably weren’t even under the impression he was back from the mission you thought he was on.
He slid into a booth in the back corner where he could still see you working behind the bar. Pacing back and forth, talking and serving patrons and just doing your general work. It felt strange seeing you work from all the way in the back instead of in his usual barstool, front row seat. He bit his tongue when he caught himself almost missing his up close proximity to you.
He was soon slid a bottle of beer- even if he didn’t really like the taste- as he nursed it. He’d occasionally scan the bar to see what kind of business you had tonight. When he wasn’t, he was scrolling mindlessly on his phone with glances up to the bar every so often. He felt uneasy when you weren’t in his sights, even with you so close by.
An hour after he had entered the pub, the doors had opened roughly enough to make tables turn their heads or hush up their conversations to see who had just made the racket coming in. Dabi glanced, pulling his hood back just a bit to see past the fabric of it.
A group of three men had walked into the pub. Gruff looking fellas, but nothing all that special. They started scanning the pub area, looking from tables, to faces, to chairs, all the way to the bar. The flame user didn’t appreciate the snarl on the middle man’s face when his eyes landed on you busting the bar top with your rag.
Shutting the door behind them, the three of them split apart, one heading towards the rec room and another heading in Dabi’s side of the bar. The middle man marched up towards the bar and instead of taking a seat- opted to lean on the bar between two already seated patrons. They ended up leaving their bills and scurrying out of the joint.
You took their payment and bit your tongue to keep from telling the obviously trouble-looking newcomer off for running off your customers. In fact, you completely disregarded him.
Once your bills were collected and placed into your apron pocket, you looked at the middle man leaning on the bar square in the eyes. You held unamused eye contact with him for a beat before you shut your eyes and easily turned away from him.
Clearly unhappy with the attention he so desperately wanted, he reached over the bar and yanked on the back of your work button up. You let out a shocked, choked gasp as you dropped the glass you had in your hand. The sound of shattering glass echoed around the pub as it became completely silent.
Dabi jumped from his booth, standing at his table instead of leisurely sitting like he had been as he watched the man reach out for your shirt. He growled under his breath when he yanked you back towards him over the bar.
This trouble-seeker was new to your pub, you could tell this the moment he came in with his two buddies. He didn’t know of the amount of eyes on him now that he had gained the attention he wanted. And he didn’t know how many of those eyes were villains ready to take him out.
You coughed as he tried dragging you completely over the bar just by your shirt collar. Your lower back pushed painfully into the wooden edge of the bar as your heels came off the floor, your toes being the only leverage you had left on your side of the bar top.
You wanted to swing your elbow back and pop the son of a bitch in the nose, but you had to keep all ten of your fingers on the front of your collar to keep it from painfully pulling against your throat. You attempted to unbutton the top buttons for a window of breath, but you didn’t get the chance to before you were dropped.
“Hey!” A voice you had recognized from a past medical visit came from behind you and the man yanking on your shirt. He had groaned as he dropped you, your unsteady toes combined with your heels slamming back down to the floor and your spine dragging down the edge of the bar all made you drop to the floor. You hunched over on the floor, gagging as you pulled on your shirt’s fabric away from your neck- the hemming all stretched out and well ruined by now.
The bar felt like walls that encased around your slumped over body and you soon felt someone hop over the bar and rub your back. Looking up with teary eyes from your lack of breath, you recognized the female criminal you had treated a handful of times before. She soothed you behind the bar as it sounded like pure chaos erupted from beyond the bar.
The short screams and shouts of whatever customer didn’t feel like fighting and fleeing. you even heard your employees ducking out- as you instructed them to do when bar fights broke out. You did not want to feel out accident reports, so your rules of running when things get nasty was non-negotiable.
You were content to just stay sitting on the floor, catching your breath until the fighting was done. You knew those who were fighting against the law were already defending you and your pub- they would take care of it.
It was their safe space and these thugs had just tried disrupting that space.
It was only when a plume of fire shot out from what looked like to be the back corner of your pub did you jump to your feet. Leaning against the bar with the villainess at your side, holding you to make sure you didn’t tumble over, you saw Dabi.
“Dabi?!” You were shocked to see him. He hadn’t been around due to his work (so he told you), and you were confused on why he was here now. Why was he wearing clothes you hadn’t seen before and when did he get here?
He was quick to jump into the fray, mixing in with forces to drive the stupid thugs out of your pub, but not without beating them within an inch of their life first. Between tables being thrown, chairs knocked over, fire bursting then dispersing and fist and legs flying- it was hard to keep up with what was actually happening.
What you did see though, was from the rec room someone coming out and pointing their fingers out towards your villains- your allies. Their fingertips started to open and sharp, needle like tips were ready to be fired out of them.
You climbed over the bar, the villainess calling out to you to not get involved. You stumbled into a chair, holding yourself up as you shouted over the commotion.
“Hey! Get behind a wall or table!” You pointed to the man under the rec room doorway. “Don’t let whatever he’s gonna shoot out of his fingers hit you!” You were ready to duck back behind a table when you were shoved in the chest by the third man you saw enter with the thugs earlier. He just appeared from no where it seemed when he struck you.
Knocking you into a nearby table, you slid onto it before it tipped and you tumbled off of it when it fell. Groaning, you cursed under your breath. You were getting really fucking sick of being pushed around tonight. You got to your knees to get yourself back to your feet when you felt something push against your back and wrap around your shoulders, keeping you down.
Whatever was keeping you down and covered was warm. It covered your back and kept your shoulders encased. Reaching up, it was an arm that wrapped around your and it was someone’s chest that pushed against your back. Looking back you saw his scarred ears and neck before you saw his face. Not to mention the blast of burning blue that shot out opposite of his outstretched other arm.
“Dabi,” you gasped as you felt his body start to push more into yourself. You whined, his weight beginning to crush you. “Hey, get off me,” you huffed.
“Oh, you so owe me,” he chuckled before he fell against your completely. His arm dropped and the one that wrapped around you previous fell limp and released you. Rolling off to the side awkwardly to try and catch his fall to the tile, you saw a small needle sticking from his neck.
“Oh, shit” you muttered. Turning, you lifted a table to cover your back while the rest of the chaos kept going on behind you. Pushing him onto his back, he was out cold. Looking him over, you didn’t see any worrisome wounds on him- in fact he didn’t look wounded at all. It was only that needle in his neck. “No doubt from that guy’s quirk,” you mumbled as you inspected it.
Did he cover you so you didn’t get hit with the needle instead? You didn’t want to work yourself up into a frenzy at the thought of him taking a shot for you- but no matter how you looked at the situation, that was exactly what happened.
It was a small, thin like a sewing needle with a ball point on the back of it. Whatever this needle is coated in obviously knocked the pyro out. You peeked over the table to see the same man ready to shoot a second round from his fingertips.
“Take out the needle shooter! His needles will render you unconscious!” Your shouted leadership to take out one of the three low-level threats was clear and it was probably 20 minutes later when the three thugs were tied up and unconscious.
You sighed, finally feeling safe again in your busted and destroyed bar. You groaned for the umpteenth time knowing it was going to cost a fortune to get the tables repaired. Not to mention the seared wallpaper that peeled from the previous heat and broken glasses, frames and damaged light fixtures. You would have to close your doors for repairs for at least a month.
As you looked around, you moved from your sitting position to instead kneel at Dabi’s side.
“Can someone help me bring him downstairs? And lock the entrance.” Dabi was picked up and was soon being carried back behind the bar and through the doors, waiting for you to come unlock the way down as someone else had safely latched your pub doors shut. Your employees would understand if you just shot them a few texts.
Before you went into the back, you pointed at the unconscious needle shooter. “Also, bring him down too, but keep him tied up. I need to know what his quirk is so that I know exactly why he did and how to treat it. Anyone else who needs treatment, you can come down too.”
An hour later, you had Dabi’s unconscious body hooked up in one of your rooms to small machines to make sure he wasn’t dying. Whatever the needle was- you concluded that it at least wasn’t poisonous. You had taken it from his neck and had it run for tests. It wasn’t coated in anything, but the tip of it had released a sort of potion into his body from where he had been stores in the ball point end; but you weren’t sure what it was.
You moved away from your laptop on the small desk you had next to Dabi’s temporary bed. You leaned your elbow against the wood and stared at him.
“Until I figure out what exactly happened, I have no idea when he’ll wake up.” You frowned as worry began to churn in your stomach. It eased you that his life didn’t seem to be in danger, but that didn’t really help anything else. He was immobile and unresponsive until further notice as far as you knew.
You sighed getting up and searching for his phone. Finding it in his jacket pocket, you plucked it out and began to go through his contacts. You were glad you watched him punch in his lock code one day and held it in your memory.
Finding a contact under ‘Childish Leader’, you immediately began to ring it. You knew who Dabi worked under, and who this so called ‘childish leader’ was- you did meet with him one time after all. When the line picked up, you were greeted with a sigh.
“What,” a strained voice annoyingly greeted.
“You’ll want to come to the location I’m about to send you,” you started. You swore you heard the frown and confused brow drip on his face when it wasn’t Dabi’s voice that was on the phone. “Want to know what happened to Dabi? Then get your wrap quirked friend to get you over here, Shigaraki.”
You quickly ended the call, letting out a shaky breath and feeling your heart pound in your chest. Dabi only ever really complained about Shigaraki, and you had only met hi that one time for general introductions, so you didn’t know much about him. You hoped that just telling him what to do before sending him your coordinates would be enough to just get him to show up. You’d deal with the rest later.
You stood from your chair as you looked down at Dabi. He always looked quite peaceful sleeping- it was odd since he was always scowling when he was awake. He’d smirk and tease, sure, but you don’t think you’d ever seen a real smile on his face before.
You chuckled to yourself, touching his hair just once before you stopped- knowing he didn’t like you touching him like that. He wanted to keep you at arms length because of your feelings and you knew that- so unconscious or not, you had to keep his wants at the forefront of your mind.
A knock sounded at the door when you saw one of your allied villains come in. “Some guys are in the bar, asking for you. Some freak with a hand on his face and a gimp looking dude.” You almost laughed at the villain's description.
“Tell them I’ll be up in a moment.” The villain left as you looked once more at Dabi. You smiled down at him. “Thanks for the save, you reckless idiot.”
-x-x-x-
Dabi groaned as he rolled from his back to his side. He was only vaguely aware he was previously on his back ,which already annoyed him- he was not a back sleeper. He peeked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling above him.
That wasn’t his apartment ceiling? Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes and taking a breath. His head pounded and he opened his eyes back up to see the room he was in. It wasn’t his apartment at all. He was in a bedroom, but he hadn’t seen this room before.
The last thing he remembered was jumping into a bar fight at your pub and then covering your back when that finger-freak tried shooting something out of his fingertip at you. He didn’t even realize his body moved until he felt the needle meant for you dart into his neck.
Rubbing at his neck, he felt no pain. Getting up, he looked around the room.
This room wasn’t yours- he’d seen it before- and it wasn’t anyone else’s he knew of. He wasn’t at the league HQ either, that run down place didn’t have rooms as well kept at this one. Surely you wouldn’t have pushed him off to some random villain until he woke up and this was some stranger’s room... right?
After a moment, he started getting nosy. As he opened more drawers and books and notepads, he got more and more confused. These were all things he was interested in. All the notebooks had his handwriting in them and his name was signed on papers and sticky notes scattered on a corkboard hanging on the wall. The phone on the bedside table and he unlocked with his passcode and started going through it- it was all his information just like normal, but something was off.
He felt off. He looked at his palms, the scars he’s had since he was younger still showing on his skin. Something nagged in the back of his head and he knew that he had to get answers and the best way to do that is to track you down.
Grabbing a jacket and zipping it up to his chin and placing sunglasses on his face, he left the room that was filled with, presumably his own things, but definitely not his things.
The roads and buildings all around were the same as he remembered. However, when he came to your pub’s building, it looked different. Shabby almost. Trying to go inside, the door was rusted and jammed. Jostling with the door wasn’t getting him anywhere and he knew if he tried to bust it down you’d have his ass on the wall for the damage.
Looking up, he saw the window that lead into the living room of your apartment. Walking around the building he started up the fire escape and carefully treaded the side of the building to the window before he shimmied it open from the outside and hopped inside.
“What the fuck?” The apartment that was once filled with your furniture and belongings was empty. Not just empty, but it was dusty, barren and isolated like no one had been in there for years. Jogging downstairs, he ran into the bar to find it the same way: empty.
No tables, no chairs, no booths. No bottles lining the dusty shelves and no frames of art or recreational items in the rec room. it even still had the old, tacky wallpaper instead of the wallpaper he remembered. The stench of dust filtered through his nose and made his throat burn- it was apparent that the place hadn’t been aired out in years.
Turning back, the door to the basement he had been in so many times wasn’t even there. When he left the building to go to the basement the backway, the backway in didn’t seem to exist either. It was like the basement he had spent so much time in with you patching him up was never there to begin with.
“This is fucking crazy,” he mumbled as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He wasn’t used to feeling whatever was bubbling in his chest. It was painful, like caltrops tearing apart his stomach and chest as he searching for your number in his contacts. He began to start walking back to where your apartment use to be, to go back inside the abandoned pub, when he dialed your phone. He was soon stuck in his tracks when he caught sight of his reflection in a window.
The window’s glass was cracked, barely held in place in the frame as he stared back at his reflection. Reaching up, he ran his scarred hand through his hair. His hair that wasn’t dyed black; his hair that was as white as his mothers.
“Where the fuck am I?” He breathed as he heard the monotone voice over the phone.
-I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed does not exist-
#dabi#bnha dabi#bnha#mha dabi#mha#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#dabi x reader#x reader#reader insert#female reader#dabi x y/n#touya todoroki#touya todoroki x reader#touya x y/n#touya x reader#dabi angst#dabi fluff#dabi fic#dabi fanfiction#dabi fanfic#my hero fanfic#boku no hero fic#boku no hero fanfic#my hero fic
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Harringrove tag game! by @lovebillyhargrove
I was tagged by @mrsblackruby! tysm!! <3
1. Do they get together BEFORE MF possessing Billy or AFTER shit goes down? (Or maybe DURING😲)
Typically I say before, like at around Christmas time in ‘84. I think anybody in a small town puts aside character prejudices around the holidays and tries to make those connections with everyone, so I’ve always felt, especially since the fight was literally only a month before, that Steve would reach out to Billy the night of the Snowball and things would, well, snowball from there.
2. Who kisses who first?
Definitely Steve. I firmly stand by the hc that Billy’s never kissed a boy before Steve, and maybe Steve hasn’t either, but he’s the romantic, no way is he going to let Billy kiss him first.
3. Where do they have their first sex? (Location) (HJs and BJs count)
I don’t really have a solid answer for this? But definitely somewhere very spur of the moment, maybe somebody’s couch or the locker rooms?
4. Who says 💖 I LOVE YOU 💖 first?
Imma say Billy. Opposite of my last answer, I don’t feel like either of them would say they love each other on accident or like, in the moment. I think their first I love you’d would be very very controlled. I also think Billy has less experience with actually being in love, so when the time comes that he’s actually mustered up the courage to say it to Steve, I think he’s super nervous and practices the perfect scenario in his head a dozen times. It’s definitely not blurted out.
5. I believe this fandom is way past having hard feelings about it, so
BottomSteve! or BottomBilly?
I don’t have a strong opinion either way, but typically, I prefer bottom!Steve. No particular reason, that’s just the way I tend to read things!
6. Do they give gifts to each other?
Absolutely! Billy doesn’t have the disposable income to run out and buy Steve new things every time he wants to give him something, so I think he does a really cheesy like, giving him a kiss as a present and making a big deal out of it.
Steve is sort of the same way, in that he doesn’t like to give Billy material things, because he doesn’t want him to think he’s being pretentious or trying to hold his wealth over Billy’s head like he’s his mom or something, so he only gives Billy personal things. Old pilled t-shirts to wear to bed and a blanket to keep on the couch in his room that smells like him. Things like that.
They also try to make eachother things as presents, like food or little knick knacks in art class, but they always fail miserably and think it’s really funny when all they have to show is a smoking mess.
7. Where do they end up living? California, Chicago, Hawkins... Idk .. Alaska??)))) Any other location?
I honestly think they stay in Hawkins. I don’t think after everything Billy would be able to leave Max behind, and I also think that Steve would like having a connection to where he grew up, even if bad things happened there. If they did leave though, I see them going down south, maybe tourist trap Tennessee?
8. What are their future jobs?
In my mind that very much depends on if we’re following canon and this is post Starcourt or like, if it’s a whole new AU. Because after that I don’t think Billy would actually ever be physically well enough to work again. I know it’s a pretty unpopular opinion, bc the general hc is that he bounces back within a year or so with some scars (which is cool! I’m not knocking that I’m just sayin) but I think he'd be permanently disabled, on oxygen support 24/7, and just with all sorts of health complications from, you know, literally having a gaping hole in his chest, that would make it impossible for him to work. In that sort of scenario I usually think of Steve as a being teacher or an artist, something that he doesn’t have very long work hours or can do from home so he can be there to take care of Billy.
If we’re going with like, a no upside down or a Billy is never hurt au, I think he stays in Hawkins and just works in some sort of a mom and pop until he’s the new manager, like at an antique store maybe?
(p.s. stay tuned for an upcoming fic about Billy working in a fix-it shop!!)
As for Steve, I feel like he wouldn’t ever be able to settle on one career when he didn’t have limitations. I don’t really know what he’d eventually decide is his calling, maybe design of some sort? Jewelry making?
This is a hard question, I don’t really see them as being tied down to one career indefinitely, but I do know I don’t see either of them ever working desk jobs.
9. Who's a better cook?
Neither of them. Billy wasn’t allowed in the kitchen growing up because Neil said it’s a woman's place, and Steve is just god awful at following directions, like, can’t tell the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon or preheat the oven awful. They just eat takeout and like, cold sandwiches literally all the time until someone (Joyce) notices and teaches them how to cook on the weekends.
10. Steve Hargrove or Billy Harrington?
Billy Harrington. I don’t see him wanting to be a Hargrove anymore. He has no positive ties to the name with his mom leaving and his dad being his dad, so I think he’d want to take Steve’s last name. Also this is kinda weird but I am VERY particular about my middle name hcs (I think it’s an ocd thing? idk) and I have an alliterative name for Steve that wouldn’t work if he was a Hargrove instead of a Harrington, so that’s also part of the reason.
11. What's Max's reaction when she hears they're together?
I think probably just like, confusion. Not over Billy being with a boy, but over that boy being Steve. Like, she doesn’t know Steve well, but she knows he’s the responsible big brother to Dustin, and that’s the exact opposite of what her brother is like, so it catches her off guard. She’s definitely a little gossip though, wanting all the not-gross details about Steve from her brother. She’s basically just a little sister about it, I guess.
12. Describe in ONE SENTENCE Hopper's reaction when he hears the names Hargrove and Harrington mentioned together?
Not again.
13. Does Robin like Billy OR does Robin hate Billy?
I think she likes him. I have a little hc that she and him were together in an underground pre-gsa kinda thing in high school. She pretends she can’t stand him, but the two of them are quick best friends. (this might just be me but I think the two of them together would give statler and waldorf vibes)
14. What about Dustin?
Dustin I think actually thinks Billy is really cool. Like, he’s like a little double agent, hearing from Max all the annoying things about Billy, and from Steve the good things. He’ll gag if Steve gets too mushy over him and he’ll definitely join in with Max in calling Billy gross, and he also absolutely gives Billy a (very non-intimidating. he’s too soft) shovel talk, but I think he really likes and looks up to Billy as like, his other big brother.
15. Fav Harringrove AU?
Oh gosh, I can’t even pick. I think I like childhood friends aus best? They’re really fun to play with and it always ends up being super sweet. I’m a big fan of soulmates too for kind of the same reasons. I like mushy stuff.
16. Billy+Camaro=...??? (Not strictly Harringrove, but I can't not to ..)
I honestly don’t think Billy cares about the camaro that much. He’d be sad when it gets totaled because that was his only way of getting around and also his first car, but I don’t think the car itself has that much value to him. I mean, he treats it with absolutely zero respect, jumping curbs and driving too fast and slamming on those breaks. The camaro is just a car. 🤷🏻♀️
I’ll tag: @lifegaurd-hargrove85! @deardmvz! and @strangebrainrot! no pressure! and as usual, if anybody else sees this and wants to participate, feel free!
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