#If everyone thought the same thing the world would be so damn boring.
Note
what? That description in the post is actually much more on point than yours in the tags! He throws pizza boxes? Who does he call unintelligent? He hides behind his mental illness...?!
Which behaviour did you consider arrogant? He was quite self-doubting, Miles actually gave him a few talks on that!
alright, I said I would answer this yesterday afternoon but the day got ahead of me and my brain was too fatigued to open a laptop so here's hoping you still give a damn enough to read it. First of all, I think it needs to be understood that I never said I necessarily disagreed with the traits presented in the post, nor did I state that the traits I mentioned within the tags were all there was. I did nothing but defend Joe 100% of the time when I first made this character because he is a super, soft, sweet man... but he is also human and that is what makes him compelling. He is not all positive traits (just as he is not all negative) and that is what my tags were trying to point out - instances of opposite behavior. One does not negate the other. I want a character to be complex, especially one that means so much to me. Recognizing flaws and mistakes and what would be considered 'negative' personality traits, does not mean you hate the person/character. On that note, since I do have ten thousand reasons why I love Joe and wish to protect him at all costs throughout various posts on my blog and have been meaning to address some of the things you mention anyways, I'm gonna try to go point by point. Under a cut because its gonna get long, I think.
Also want to note that sometimes, nailing down Joe's characterization is pretty difficult even as a casual observer that doesnt put much thought into it because whitechapel (i love it, i truly do) is very inconsistent with its writing. He has 5 cars in the span of four seasons, for example. The way he reacts to people and stress changes. He is very puppy (my little golden retriever boy) in season 2 and, while he remains the same in some aspects, he is back to being Joe in season 3 and 4.
I touched on everything in this ask (I think. My brain is mush right now) except for the mental illness post because I believe that deserves its own meta so that will be the next thing I go insane over. And again, thanks for sending this! For real. You motivated me to actually sit down and write out the various things in my mind rather than let my blog stay a shrine to all things Joe (stay gold, ponyboy) because it is/was so tempting. As my comfort character, I'm motivated (especially during this time of my life) to really build up how wonderful he is and ignore more negative traits (that again, dont necessarily negate the positive ones. Personality aspects co exist, even when they seem to contradict one another) and that's not the kind of writer I want to be. But, more importantly, that's not a true comfort character. I find strength in the fact that Joe is as fucked up as the rest of us in his own ways. He's struggling. He can be mean. He yells when hes frustrated and he makes snap judgments about others before getting to know them. He's a person. Like me. Like you. Like all of us. THAT is what I find comfort in. I love that he is three dimensional and I get that some people don't like acknowledging things like that, I do... but personally, for me, I don't believe in entirely herowashing or only focusing on the good. I love him because he is as flawed as me but he fights to be anyhow.
What's that stupid quote from the last episode of season 2? I may stumble, but I never fall.
For the pizza box thing - season 4, episode 4. The exchange that leads to it starts at 14:42. I wish I could gif it but alas. I don't have photoshop on this computer and won't have my mac back until next week. Basically, Joe and Miles are looking at the whiteboard while Joe tries to piece together the common factor shared between the cases thus far. He asks a question about a victim and Mansell speaks up and supplies the necessary information. Joe is extremely frustrated and goes on a bit of a tear. It culminates with him picking up the empty pizza box at Mansell's desk and throwing it at him. The whole exchange is as follows:
Joe: What about the first victim, Harry Barnett, did he have a record?
Miles: Well, we've got his prints on file. Something to do with a stolen car.
Mansell: Yeah, it was a hit and run. Barnett was questioned but he reported his car stolen, so the case never came to court. I've got the file here somewhere.
Joe: Why didn't I know about this?
Mansell: Well, I've been concentrating on cracking the code.
Joe: Well, get on to it, will you? It's important! Sort your desk out, it's a disgrace.
Mansell: Yes sir.
Joe: How can you think straight with all this chaos and crap everywhere? A young man's life hangs in the balance and all you can think about is which topping to have on your pizza! We gotta stay focused or otherwise we make mistakes!
And then he throws the pizza box at him. I'm not saying he's a bad person for it, I'm not even saying I wouldn't do the same thing (I absolutely would) but I AM saying that I won't ignore the fact that he does it. Reasons why this was called out by me in the tags to come towards the end when I tie all of this together. For now I just wanted to give the reference of when it happens.
Calling someone unintelligent. Does he say "Gosh (insert name), you are so unintelligent!" No. If he did we wouldnt be having this discussion and I wouldnt be writing the character because I like to have to dig not have things handed to me. There are multiple instances of him questioning someone and commenting things about their thinking that while they do not explicitly say you're an idiot... they do say, what the fuck are you thinking? I will concede that maybe 'unintelligent' was the wrong word to use in my description, but I was eating a chicken tender and typing one handed on my phone. I'm gonna skip to your arrogance thing because a lot of this ties into that so just .. bear with me for a second.
Arrogance. This is gonna be a big one. I'm gonna list some points and then cite the scenes (with timestamps and episodes) that sort of led to me forming this opinion. First, I think it should be acknowledged that arrogance and insecurity/self-doubt can often go hand in hand. In fact, arrogance is often used as a defense mechanism for those with low-self esteem who want to be accepted and given respect and believe they won't be if they aren't perfect.
There is a type of arrogance referred to as Belief Arrogance in some psychiatric journals online through various databases (such good reads always. Highly recommend). This is defined as follows: Belief arrogance comes before a person is truly proved as being right. They may even still believe they are right after they are proven wrong. It is often based either on excessive self - confidence or as a cover up for a lack of self-confidence.
Some general examples of arrogance that bring this to mind (we'll go episode by episode, shall we? and please note my internet is being slow so I'm using the scenes that immediately come to mind so that I can cite without losing my fucking mind. I can go way in depth later if you so wish. ):
Season 1, Episode 1:
We are introduced to Joe in what can be considered a state of arrogance for him. He is part of the metropolitan police social club for the high and mighty (its a thing, i researched it lmao) and as he makes his way to the commander, he is greeted by much older detectives and accompanied by mutterings (of a good kind). "It's joe! look its joe! hi joe!". Very Simba walking up pride rock of him tbh. He was groomed for this job. He is being pushed through the ranks (as my high school principal always said .. its not the grades you make, its the hands you shake) and the confidence and belief in himself that comes from that is part of it. This does not negate the fact that he practices things in front of the mirror etc, but those things also do not erase arrogance. He is bothered when he feels like he is being undermined (again, understandable) and he literally yells and asks if his team has heard of showers and tells them they smell. Thats judgmental, mate. And that comes from a place of arrogance.
Season 2, Episode 1.
This example begins in a diner where Joe is conversing with Ed after the bayonetting at the snooker hall at 25:47. It goes as follows:
Joe: Steven Dukes is part of a notorious crime family. He must have grown up idolizing the Krays and now he's using the legend to build his own empire.
Ed: Does he wear Italian suits, a monogrammed shirt?
Joe: Not when he was standing in a snooker hall, no.
Ed: Ah, but don't you see? If he were the copycat, he would. The copycat went to great trouble to recreate the exact details of Frank Mitchell's death. Lenny Cobb was taken from Dartmoor Prison, just like Mitchell, and his injuries were, tragically, just like Mitchell's. Anyone who cares enough about those details would at the very least wear the suit.
Joe: This is about power and fear, not fancy dress.
Ed: But it's not about a pretense or an act. It's about being a Kray. I don't think it can be Dukes.
Joe: Dukes has motive. He has opportunity, and he inspires enough fear to ensure silence. My instinct tells methat he's the one.
Same episode, 37:50.
Ed: It's not Dukes. It's not about power, or money or empire building. The motive is revenge. The victimes are being chosen from those that gave evidence against the Kray twins and they will be killed in the manner of their testimony.
Joe: So who do you think will be next?
Ed: Slasher Daneford. He testified about the death of Jack 'The Hat' Mcvitie, and he's like Mcvitie in many ways.I tried to warn him, but he's refused to run or seek protection. I am a real detective, in my heart, in my bones, and I do not need a warrant card to prove it!
Joe: Thanks for the tip. We really appreciate it
[as a side note here, please pay attention to the expression his face. It's one of indulgence more than it is an expression of genuine gratefulness)
Ed: Don't just humor me, Joe! You must talk to Slaher. I can't have his death on my conscience.
As another side note in this episode, he judges Mansell the moment he walks through that door and continues to do so until the show ends. He actually makes a face that cracks me the fuck up lmao.
I'm skipping seasons because - again - slow internet and I'm using hulu for now until I get my laptop back but lets go to season 4 shall we. I love season 4. But Lucas, he's under a lot of stress you might say. You might argue 'but season 4 makes the worst of every character come out' .. and you're right! it does! which means these traits exist in Joe all along, they are just brought closer to the surface thanks to the joy that is frustration (which is something that happens to all of us).
Season 4, episode 1.
Timestamp 7:31. His first introduction to Louise Iver. He gets so upset. Why? Because she is pricking at a sore spot, she is prodding at an open wound that is already a detriment to his pride. Conversation is as follows:
Louise: Are you in the book?
Joe: No, I'm not.
Louise: Oh, I understand. [Joe sort of gives her a look here like, you understand what exactly? He's already in defense mode] Did he leave you out to spare your feelings?
Joe: I beg your pardon?
Louise: Never bringing in a killer alive is a terrible legacy.
Joe: I'm not in the book because I'm a serving police officer.
Louise: Oh, well, your memoirs will be a depressing read, won't they?
Timestamp, 40:00. The conversation with Wingfield.
Wingfield: Well, I didn't think I'd walk away.
Joe: You had an alibi. Why were you spying on us?
Wingfield: You have been infiltrated by an agent.
Joe [scoffing]: I don't think we're that interesting.
Wingfield: Any soul is of interest. And you have been chosen.
Joe: By whom?
Wingfield: I first heard of this agent when I was in captivity. It is a provocateur whose purpose is to incite others to commit evil acts.
[Joe literally scoffs again]
Wingfield: Markov. Calvi. The Krays. The Ripper. An immortal entity was behind them all. Planting the seeds, watching the horror grow. The provocateur had Zukanov killed. It was a setup to silence me. Now that has failed and another way will be found.
Joe [scoffing. again]: you're mad.
Wingfield: I wish I were. I wish I was wrong. Good luck.
Alright, let's talk about this. First of all, I would like to mention the definition of a scoff. Scoffing means contemptuously ridiculing or mocking someone or something. This man scoffs SO FUCKING MUCH at people. I cannot believe that someone would argue to blatantly MAKE FUN of someone's belief or opinion is not in itself, a display of arrogance at some level. What would you call that then? I will point out other examples of scoffing that I remember in the other episodes, but if you want episode by episode examples for every single one ... I'd be happy to provide.
Season 4, episode 2
I do also think that during the autopsy review of Dorothy's body, Joe hyper-fixates on the knowledge that the killer has gangrene. How long before he dies? When Llewelyn answers "He could die at anytime." Joe responds with, not if i get there first. It has stopped being about saving future victims and has started to become a race to simply catch a killer alive, saving his own ego. Arrogance, in a form.
Timestamp 25:40, when going through the woman who drowned's belongings (I cannot remember her name, rip lady I apologize).
Joe: It doesn't look like she had many friends, just work colleagues. It's quite sad, really.
Hell-to the fucking - o ??? Pot calling kettle black. Also it makes me sad and emo because its like .. hes also passing judgment on himself whether or not he realizes it and i want to hug him and call him my precious but this write up isnt about that so .. moving on.
Also, lets jump back to the temper I mentioned that is evidence by the pizza throwing incident .. in this episode (timestamp 30:30) during the fight with Mansell and Kent, Joe doesn't just stop the fight .. he throws Mansell against a table. Pushes with extreme force? Idk what you want to call it. He did NOT have to act that way. It is a combination of temper and, as I pointed out earlier, the fact that he has judged Mansell and considered him lacking/unprofessional/unworthy since day one.
The scene where Joe and Miles share a drink at the end of the episode and are later joined by ed. Timestamp is 40:40
Joe: Septicemia. Once the infection took hold, there was nothing the doctors could do.
Miles: I'm sorry.
Joe: Another killer escapes justice.
Miles: I think you're being too hard on yourself. You saved Nick's life.
Joe: You know, if you'd told me five hundred years ago that I was cursed, I would have believed you.
Miles: Here. [pours another drink] Here's to bringing on in alive.
[skip ahead to Ed appearing at 42:40 after making a connection in Wingfield's notes down in the archive]
Miles: How can you hear a bottle open all the way down in the archive?
Joe [laughing]: Come in.
Ed: I'm so sorry to intrude, but I have a matter of some urgency to share with you.
Joe: Have a drink.
Ed: Oh...yes. After you hear this, we'll all need one. Um... As you know, Wingfield was trying to catch a provocateur.
Joe [amused]: The instigator of all evil in Whitechapel.
Ed: This is a visual record of all Wingfield's points of surveillance.
Miles: It's a madman's map.
Ed: Yes, so it would seem. This is us. Here.
Joe: Well we know he was watching us from the hotel across the road.
Ed: Did you know he was also watching John Washington's bakery? Fascinating, isn't it? Washington thought his life had been blighted by a witch. Wingfield was following an ancient evil that visited the bakery.
Miles: They were after the same person.
Ed: Wingfield seemed to think so. And he followed them to this building.
[Joe's expression after this line when the camera cuts to him is literally like are yall fucking kidding me right now lmao?]
Miles: Are you saying there's a demon in this station?
Joe: Right. That's enough for one night.
Miles: And you criticize me for not being open-minded.
Joe: I'm sure there's a rational explanation for all the connections, we just need to find it.
Miles: I hope we do
Again, his confidence in being RIGHT in his opinions and so easily dismissing those that he considers absolutely insane is illustrated so heavily in here. A pattern that repeats stronger and stronger until he signs his own demise in the final episode. Continuing on, however...
Season 4 episode 3
The fucking birthday scene. This is so hard to watch, jesus take the wheel from me. Granted, I fully believe they did not plan this little birthday get together well considering location and activity and obviously Joe is a little out of his depth and frustrated/annoyed by it. But this scene is saturated with arrogance.
At 00:58, we see Ed giving Joe a birthday present. Joe looks so excited at the prospect. He's smiling, he's there for it mate. Look at his fucking face when he opens it. I have seen my nephew be more gracious than that when he was given socks on his 6th birthday. Anyways, short recap:
Ed: Happy birthday, Joe. It's not much, but ... it's a hagstone. It's said to protect the wearer against witchcraft and evil charms. Thought it mgiht bring a smile to your face. Obviously not.
It is SO HARD for me to watch this because Joe is absolutely acting like a spoiled little bitch. He makes a face so obvious that Ed picks up on it and he apologizes and looks both embarrassed and crestfallen. It's awful. Again, that's arrogance. Sorry, anon.
Timestamp 5:38, in the museum when they are discussing the skinned face. He is rude as fuck.
Joe: Get it checked for prints. [walks off]
Llewelyn: Well someone's forgotten their pleases and thank yous.
Timestamp 7:24, Joe visits Ed in the archives looking for historical precedents to murders involving flaying. Ed gets a bit excited sharing a particular story and Joe brusquely interrupts him with a very irritated How does this help us? Ed, I just need the information, not the conjecture. Actual conversation below, because there are quite a few other rude interactions in this scene.
Joe: What've you got for me?
Ed: I was just looking at this. The Flaying of Marsyas by Titian. Marsyas was a satyr, half man, half goat. He was skinned alive for daring to challenge Apollo to a musical duel. It was on loan at the National Gallery a few years ago but Mother wasn't keen.
Joe: How does this help us?
Ed: Well, your body was found in an art gallery, was it not? The killer could be recreating scenes from all the Grand Masters.
Joe: Ed, I just need the information, not the conjecture.
Ed: Of course. Well, historically flaying was a means of punishment or torture. A number of Chinese emperors of the Ming Dynasty liked to cut the flesh from their enemies' faces. In fact, Lingchi, the so called death of a thousand cuts, wasn't abolished in China as a form of execution until 1905.
Joe: What did they do with the skin?
Ed: It depends. The ancient Assyrians would flay their enemies alive and then nail the skin to the city walls. A warning to others not to step out of line. Oh, look, the molds got in here. Now, this is ridiculous.
Joe: Have you got anything I can take away with me? Anything I can study?
Ed: We're talking ancient history here, Joe. I'm not going to find it in the Metropolitan Police Archive.
Joe: Well, I can't go back upstairs with paintings by Titian and stories from Ancient Assyria. That's not what I pay you for.
Timestamp 10:10, Joe makes the assumption that HE is better suited for interviewing what they believe is Sebastian Marlowe's assistance. He tells Miles he needs the interview to go well and doesnt want any belligerence, hinting that he believes Miles would only get in the way. This comes to bite him in the ass when he later finds out that Miles has connections in the art world and would have been able to find out much more than he did. That's a judgment. Again, arrogance.
During the actual interview scene with her, the following exchange happens and I laugh every time.
Joe: Some people wouldn't call it art.
Assistant: Some people only look skin deep.
This makes me laugh because of the skin deep pun but also because Joe is clearly meant to be included in the some people. She picks up on the arrogance too. Also he stares at her birthmark and that gets me everytime also. Not in a funny way but a .. bro are you serious way.
Season 4 episode 4
There's the pizza scene mentioned above, obviously. But before that, there is the scene where Miles and Joe are leaving the dentist office. The important bit begins at timestamp 13:00.
Joe: In a missing persons case, the first twenty four hours are the only twenty four hours.
Miles: What? You think I don't know that? ... You want me to call in Whacky Jackie?
Joe: Who?
Miles: Jackie Brierley. She's a last resort.
Joe: Who's Jackie Brierley?
Miles: She helped us out on a missing child case back in the nineties. She said she saw a vision of running water, led us down to the Lee Valley Resevoir and the divers found the body in ten minutes.
Joe: She's a medium?
Miles: Yeah. We used her once or twice back in the day. She's not always right, but when you've got no leads ... What are you looking at me like that for?
Joe: Well, I can't believe you'd be so gullible.
Miles: Well, I've learned to keep an open mind.
Joe: A medium??Miles: Well, she found the girl.
Joe: So? It was a lucky guess.
Miles: Well, we could do with a bit of luck right now. Do you want me to call her or not?
Joe: No!! We're detectives. We use police work. Anything else would just be weakness of character.
In case you're wanting to dismiss this whole thing .. let's re read it and remember that Miles states he and his team HAD USED HER a few times. He, Miles, Joe's colleague and one of the closest things to a friend that he's got, has ADMITTED using this woman .. and Joe ridicules him for it. This is arrogance, but it also ties into my 'unintelligent' comment in the tags. Telling someone theyre gullible is the same as saying they aren't intelligent enough to resist falling for something meant to dupe them. Worse than that though, is that Joe is offhandedly insulting the fuck out of Miles with the weakness of character comment, considering Miles has admitted (ten seconds ago, Joe!! come on!!) that he had done the thing Joe is so adamantly against. That's arrogance, buddy. Miles is actually offended. You can tell by his expression and the way that he mutters to himself. Honestly, I would be too.
The scene with Miles in the bathroom when Joe goes into detail about the death of this father (I'm having to bite my tongue because there are so many GOOD things I want to say about this scene and again I want to hug him) also alludes to arrogance in order to cover self-consciousness. Joe states that as a child, he was embarrassed by his mother's actions and started taking an extreme interest in details because he didn't want others to see how much their lives had fallen apart. This is pride. At ten years old, he had wounded pride.
Okay, this is a big one. It might seem like a stretch. Just bear with me. Timestamp, 43:43. It's the scene in the station chapel towards the end of the episode, involving the conversation between Miles and Joe.
Miles: I was just looking up that Vengeance is mine quote. If your enemy is hungry, feed him. If he is thristy, give him a drink. For in so doing, you will heap coals of fire upon his head. Do not be overcome by evil. But overcome evil with good.Joe: If only it was that easy. Do you believe in all of that?
Miles: What?
Joe: The ... Afterlife.
Miles: Well, I was brought up Catholic, I have to hedge my bets.
Joe: Is that why you consulted a psychic?
Miles: No, the family asked for her. What's all this about? We caught the guy, the case is closed.
Joe: No. we didn't catch him. He chose to die. He taunted me.
Alright so. Were do I begin with this one. First of all, the verse that Miles reads aloud would actually be a fantastic answer to most of Joe's issues during this season (and throughout the show), if only he would give it the time of day. But he doesn't. In fact, though he does listen while Miles read it aloud, he also makes his usual expressions and immediately dismisses it by asking Miles if he believes in such a thing. We already know he (Joe) doesn't. His pride has been pricked. I've already mentioned the illustrations given throughout other episodes, but it is growing more and more apparent. This verse is TELLING HIM he should do the opposite. Rather than being overcome by evil (aka, being driven to the more baser parts of his personality, the more negative traits) he should be approaching the situation with mercy and grace towards himself. Instead, he is angry. He is frustrated. He is upset by the fact that he feels (rightly so) taunted. Imagine you're 6'8. Weird, I know. But hang on. So you're 6'8 and you're in a cafe somewhere, waiting on a coffee. A person walks in and says 'wow, you're so short." You would go about your day (most would at least, I think) because you know they're wrong. They are not attacking an insecurity. Youre not arrogant, youre just confident in the fact that you're fucking 6'8 and that isnt short. However, when attacked or wronged in some way in regards to something that does bother us (something we are already insecure about perhaps), arrogance does come into play when we get offended. How dare they say that! How dare they think it! You're furious! Joe is reacting the same way. His ego is being attacked.
Season 4, Episodes 5 and 6.
I'm actually wrapping this up really quick because I could go on for fucking AGES about these two episodes and I probably will one day, but the last 3 hours of putting this together is starting to get to me and todays another not feeling so great today. Joe's arrogance comes home to roost in these episodes. He is so ashamed of meeting with Jackie, he double and triple checks that they are doing so in secret. He makes it VERY CLEAR during their conversation that he thinks shes a fucking hoax. He refuses to read the letter given to him through Miles that supposedly contains a message from his father. What would it have cost him to open the letter? It doesnt mean anything to open something. But to Joe it did. To Joe, opening that letter, would be like saying there might be some shred of truth to what Jackie says and what she is and his ARROGANCE does not allow for that. He was too arrogant in his belief of being correct to take ten seconds to do something that would have changed the whole plot of the show. Whitechapel is about sin coming home to roost. Arrogance/Pride in the case of Joe is a great example of that. If you're a true fan, I honestly believe you know this and understand the implications.
Don't put them all in the same van.
HE fucked himself over. His inability to be open minded because he was to arrogant to admit that there might be a slight, SLIGHT chance or at least a small miniscule worth in opening a letter and reading a note that would be absolutely harmless at its worst .. dug his own grave. And that's really what it comes down to.
#headcanon. it's not a disability. it's a gift.#whitechapel itv#hopefully the readmore works ajhdfjfjhf#anyways. this was probably supposed to be a combative ask and i didnt take it that way at all#so i'm sorry if it was my buddy.#i can gather from the punctuation and the fact that you said 'nah you dont understand him at all based on your tags' that it was#probably meant negatively??? idk though. I'm not really offended by differences of opinion.#If anything - I love constructive conflict because I think it helps both parties grow in their opinions.#You dont have to walk away from a disagreement suddenly on the same page .. but I do believe in respecting other opinions#when they are thought out and the other person is willing to rationally explain their thought patterns#so by all means - please feel free always to jump in for some discourse! I'm here for it.#If everyone thought the same thing the world would be so damn boring.#and you never know what I (or you. or even someone who stumbles across it) might learn#sorry for the fandom tag but idk who sent this and if they'd even check to see if i replied#so i'm making it easy#whoever you were - i love you for loving joe enough to send a stranger an ask to defend him#100% serious.#I'm so embarrassed to admit this but thanks to my illness I have no life whatsoever for the first time and#I literally watch this show for 7-8 hours a day.#And then when I hit the end of season 4... I restart.#Immediately.#It is ALWAYS on in the background and I can hear it even if I'm not actively watching it.#I swear to you that I do actually have references for every single thing I say on this blog. even when i just spout idiot stuff out
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DOG BLOOD （狗血）
YANDERE! PROTAGONIST x SADISTIC! LOVE INTEREST! READER
tw/cw: everyone’s gender is up to interpretation. dddne, yandere themes, violence, suggestive content
but what if you were never the villain, but a love interest.
MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN FROM ALL MY POSTS!! LEAVE OR I WILL BLOCK!!
CASSIEL was a bored, lonely person. Through countless of timelines and people they’ve been with, none have piqued their interest in the slightest.
Even you.
But as a love interest, it was your job to keep them well — interested. Engaged. Entertained by the thought of romancing you.
But they never did.
They always ended up completing the game without touching a single person. Not any of the romancable options nor even the concubines offered to them in their conquests. A solitary existence.
You could only smile as a façade to hide your frustrations, as in some timelines they saw it fit to kill you.
“You . . . “
Your lines were as followed,
‘You can use me however you’d like.’
You said it at least a hundred times now. Your diction, tone, gestures were always perfectly replicated. It was the one line you could say that didn’t result in a horrific torture and death.
But this time, you felt nothing. Fear left you long ago. What was the point of being careful when you knew every outcome of every action and decision?
“You’re bored are you not?”
Cassiel’s head swiveled so quickly you were almost worried it would come right off.
You did the same thing you always did. You climbed their lap. Your hand around atop shoulders. Your face next to their ear.
In many other lifetimes, it’d end with them shoving you off. Maybe even, breaking your legs before outright killing you.
And yet this time it was as different. Stiff.
Your pointer finger grazes across their jaw, to their lips, and then their nose bride as you studied their beautifully crafted features. The protagonist was the Gods’ favorite after all, you never truly had the opportunity to savor that perfectly sculpted face.
“Lie down, be good, and we can have some fun. Shall we, your highness?”
The night was long. The two of you were inexperienced, but you weren’t about to let go of such an opportunity — your stamina be damned.
Adrenaline carried you throughout the night. Their highness’s wet eyelashes and swollen lips were another point of motivation. As they came undone underneath you several times, it all ended when curiosity took hold of you once more and your hands reached their throat.
And you squeezed. Wrenched all the air out of their throat.
Finally, a familiar sight greets you as the world collapses. Because what would it be without its protagonist?
[ RESET COMPLETE : BEGINNING CONSCIOUSNESS UPLOAD ]
You awoke again, back to the same place and time. Your eyes flicked to your hands.
Your heart fluttered.
You reached climax after climax with the royal. The protagonist you sought after for what felt like hundreds and thousands of years.
But nothing felt better than the moment you ended their life instead. The power you felt. You were utterly drunk on it.
In any case, after that event, you slowly began realized how soft the protagonist truly was. The conqueror of the world melted like a puddle when you took the charge, and almost evaporated when you’d coddle or pamper them afterwards.
You also slowly began to realize how much more you needed to get that high once more. Simply killing them wasn’t enough. You wanted them to feel betrayed. You wanted them to scream in horror once you flayed them alive. You wanted them to cry out in fear when you’d chase them down and re-create those times when they’d torture you.
But then, you would catch a smile here and there. In moments where it wasn’t supposed to exist. Cassiel moaning during the times you’d cut open his arms in an attempt to study their body’s anatomy better wasn’t something the pleased you at all. It took away the pleasure of your hobby. The joy you’d receive when you had them to play within your hands. The ecstasy of being the one to bring about pain to your torturer’s favorite.
“Stop making sounds you’re distracting me.”
“My . . . hah . . . apologies. It just feels . . . amazing.”
You paused. Your movements frozen as your mind processed what they just said.
Tch. Turn-off.
©️ yoru.no.seiiki - yun | 2023
taglist: @the-dumber-scaramouche @justkouisenough @rxflen
#yns.cassiel#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere fic#yandere x you#yancore#tw yandere#yandere core#yandere blog#yandere concept#yandere imagine#sub yandere#yandere scenario#masochist yandere#gn reader#yandere protagonist
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Devil in the Details
"Oh. My. Motherfucking. God."
You turned at your friend Floris's whispered exclamation.
It took you but a second to figure out what she was so excited about.
Aemond Targaryen, the black sheep of the Targaryen dynasty, the reclusive billionaire who looked down at everyone vying for his attention, the man you'd been in lust with since you'd met him five years ago, had actually made an appearance at the glittering charity gala hosted by his mother.
"I need to get his skin care routine," Floris said, biting on her lower lip as she scrutinized Aemond from head to toe. "I'd love to climb that tree tonight."
Good luck with that, you thought to yourself.
You'd been in the same Uni class as his sister Helaena and met Aemond when you'd gone over to work on a joint project. He'd been quiet and almost shy, and you had been instantly smitten.
And had not been able to date anyone in the five years since because all you thought about was Aemond Targaryen.
Not that he gave you a second thought, as far as you knew.
"What the fuck is he wearing?" Floris continued, and, tired of pining after the man, you looked at her and snapped, "why don't you go find out?" before walking away to get your drink refilled.
* * * * *
"We are so very thankful for your family's contribution - the children will benefit greatly," Alicent smiled at you, leaning in to air-kiss you as you said your goodbyes.
You got your coat from the girl at the front, and were about to call for your car when you felt a hand grab your arm.
"Leaving already?"
Your heart began pounding as you recognized Aemond's voice, and taking a breath to steady yourself, you turned to face him.
By the Seven, he looked amazing. He'd shaved off his hair a few months ago when Aegon had done the same after having one too many drinks. Alicent had screamed at her oldest son and out of brotherly solidarity, Aemond had grabbed the electric shaver and started running it along his scalp right in front of his mother.
His eyes bore into yours, the prosthetic eye he had so perfect that you couldn't tell which eye was the real one. Every time you thought about it, you wanted to wallop his cousin, the little shit who had taken Aemond's eye during a childhood fight.
"I've seen enough people to last me a few months," you said, looking at what was, indeed, damn perfect skin, as Floris had mentioned. And was that eyeliner? Because his eyes had never been bluer than they were at that moment.
"Tell me about it," he said, still holding on to your arm, "I was going to grab a drink at the quiet bar next door, if you're game."
There was something vulnerable in his expression and you found yourself nodding and taking the arm he offered. "What in the world are these?" you asked.
He looked down at the latex gloves. "Mother's been berating me for not making an appearance at these things," he shrugged, "so here I am. Maybe she should have specified a dress code."
* * * * *
"You know, there's a name for what you're doing," you said, taking a sip of your drink.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Malicious compliance."
He smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that would be me." He looked back up at you, eyes sparkling, "if she'd wanted me to wear a tux, she should have said so."
"Would you have, though?" you prodded, "I have a feeling you would have figured some way to twist that dress code around. You were always the clever one."
"Not so clever if I never got you to go out with me."
You stared at him for a few seconds. "Aemond, you never asked."
"I'm asking now."
He placed a few bills on the table and placed his hand palm up on the table.
You narrowed your eyes at him, making him laugh, and then placed your hands on his, and let him lead you out the door.
* * * * *
"How is Helaena liking Naath?"
"She loves it there. She has to get her shot every six months but she doesn't care, as long as she can keep studying the butterflies."
"And Aegon?"
"He stopped drinking after he shaved off his head, said it didn't suit his perfectly shaped skull."
You laughed, remembering Aegon's rather oversized ego, and then stole a glance at Aemond. "What about you? How have you been?"
He shrugged, "the company is doing well, family's good," he looked at you, "and I'm on a wonderful date."
You raised your eyebrows, "oh it's a date, is it?"
You could have sworn he blushed, but he lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the back. "It very much is, but I do have a problem." He looked at you very seriously. "I need to lose these damn gloves."
* * * * *
It took about twenty minutes of careful tugging and maneuvering but finally, Aemond was free of the gloves and while you got two coffees to keep you going, he headed to the bathroom to wash his arms.
Back on the street, he grabbed your hand in his as he sipped at his coffee. "This is much better."
"So where on earth does one get this sort of getup to shock Alicent Hightower?"
He smiled. "My friend is a stylist and he hooked me up. His girlfriend is a makeup artist and she put all this stuff on my face and hair."
"You look amazing," you said sincerely, "your eyes look super blue."
"I could feel mom's blood pressure spiking as she noticed the eyeliner and highlighter," he laughed. "It was worth it."
"I bet she'll say extra prayers for you tonight."
Nodding, he took another sip of his coffee. "Not enough prayers in the world," he mused. You stopped to drink some of your own coffee and he pulled you closer. "And I really want to kiss you."
You looked up at him, your heart beating faster, and then he placed his coffee cup down, and took your face in his hands. He brushed his nose against yours, not rushing you, and then his lips touched yours. He kept the kiss light and gentle, his fingertips threading through your hair as you sighed against him.
He murmured your name as he wrapped an arm around you. You didn't want this to end, this magical night, and then he spoke again.
"Come home with me."
* * * * *
"You feel so damn good," Aemond whispered in the lift, his hands on your hips as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
The car stopped and the doors opened, and you stepped into his loft, his hands roaming over your ass as you kicked off your shoes and let him pull you up against him.
"I want you so fucking much," you said against his mouth. He led you to his bedroom and you sat down on the edge of the bed as he pulled his shirt off over his head. "Come here, Aemond," you smiled.
He walked up to you, slowly, and you reached up to undo the fastenings on his leather trousers, keeping your eyes on him. Your hand lightly went over where he was already hard as a rock, and he hissed.
You drew down the zipper ever so slowly, biting down on your lower lip.
"I am going to make you pay for this," he gritted out.
"For what?" you asked innocently, starting to tug down the waistband. When you finally freed him, your eyes darting between his cock and his eyes, you licked your lips and took him in your mouth.
"Fuck."
"Hmmmm," you moaned around him, relaxing your throat so you could take him deeper. You could hear Aemond's breathing stuttering as you slowly pulled your lips all the way to the very tip of him and then took him back down your throat, hollowing out your cheeks.
"Fuck," he repeated, "I, uh, I can't-"
You felt him suddenly pull you off him and push you back on the bed.
"This is going to end too quickly if you keep doing that, angel."
"Angel?"
"Look at you," he said, indicating your white shimmery gown. "An angel about to be debauched."
You let one strap of the dress fall off your shoulder. "What does that make you, then?"
He lunged for you, hands on the bed on either side of you, and the smile on his face made you shiver.
"Me? I'm already destined for hell, love."
He took your lips, not slowly or gently this time, but desperately, his mouth all consuming on yours as he demanded entrance with his tongue and you willingly gave it. He was tugging down your dress as he kissed you, long fingers deftly maneuvering the yards of fabric until he had bared your breasts and then he pulled back, looking down at you.
You pushed the rest of the dress down until it fell on the floor, then laid back down and extended your arms to him. "Come here, Aemond," you said for the second time that night.
He shoved down the trousers, kicked them aside and spread your legs open before he kissed you again. He was so warm, his skin ablaze against yours, and you pulled him down to you, unable to get enough of him.
He began to kiss your neck, long fingers teasing your nipple, and then his mouth was on your breast and you moaned, the sharp sting of pleasure making you arch against him. He reached down lower, between your thighs, and you gasped.
"Tell me what you like," he murmured against your lips.
"Oh," you breathed as he settled on a steady rhythm, drawing tiny circles on the knot of nerves, "you're doing fine," you managed.
"Fine is not what I'm aiming for," he said, and slipped two fingers inside you and you cried out, your hips beginning to rock against him. "I want you to come for me," he added, curling his fingertips inside you.
"Aemond," you whispered, one hand on his shoulder, the other grabbing at his hair. "I- I'm-" you pressed your face to his neck a moment before the orgasm barreled through you, your cry muffled against his skin.
You felt him kneeing your legs apart and then he was pushing inside you. As ready as you were for him, he was big, and you bit down on your lower lip, still recovering and still wanting more.
"You can take me," he murmured soothingly as he kissed your temple. "Next time you come, I want to feel it around my cock," he said, and you whimpered as he rocked his hips to fill you completely.
He pulled back slowly, eyes on you, making sure you were okay, and then snapped his hips. You let your head fall back, and felt his teeth on your jaw, raking gently. "So good," he whispered, "I've wanted you for so long," he said as he settled on long, slow strokes. "So fucking long."
"Aemond," you closed your eyes, the feeling of him moving inside you beginning to send you back into that delicious spiral.
He reached between you, fingertips finding you and you moaned. "I can feel you," he said, "you-"
You cried out as you came, and felt him grab your hips to steady himself as he reached his own orgasm.
* * * * *
As reserved and aloof as you had always thought him to be, he hadn't stopped kissing and caressing you in the aftermath of your lovemaking. The man was full of surprises.
"Stay with me," he murmured against your cheek. "Tonight."
"How can I go when you've got me completely caged in," you teased, looking down at the arms he had wrapped around you and the way his legs were tangled with yours.
"Damn, I was trying to be stealthy," he smirked back. "We'll get breakfast, maybe I'll let you lure me back to bed again."
You rolled your eyes at him. "Rewriting history, are we? I remember trying to leave and someone grabbing my arm."
His eyes became serious on yours. "If I could rewrite history, I would have grabbed you a lot sooner." He leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your lips. "But I mean to make up for it."
You smiled against him, and let him pull you closer, thinking you were only too happy to let him make it up to you for a long, long time.
#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction#aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd smut#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen x you
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A long Thanksgiving Day with grandpa
Fuuck! How long until the end of the damn day? I hate Thanksgiving, I always knew I was too good for this family, They all always laughed when I said I wanted a DNA test for Christmas because there was no way I could have the same type of blood running through my veins as those pigs that are eating as if the world was going to end tomorrow everyone laughed… except for grandfather it seemed that out of everyone in the family he was the only one who understood what I wanted to say.
When he came of age I ran out of the house I couldn't bear to be with them another day We lived in a small apartment in the poor part of the city I was an only child But even so I had to share a room with Grandpa John, a bald man of more than 100 kilos, his cheeks were swollen from all the extra fat, but he hid his double chin with that mustache and that almost white beard over the years, that old man lived like a parasite of our family since I was born, maybe if he moved his ass and got a job my parents would have bought me better clothes or the latest iPhone, the only time he would move his ass off the couch was at Christmas to be mall Santa.
My room The smell of my room was disgusting in a mixture of the old man's scent and my sweaty gym clothes, But what made him the worst roommate in the world was his pajamas his old yellow underpants that were once white On top of that he wouldn't let me sleep because of his grotesque snores that could only be heard in my room And my parents will be a happy couple, My mother was a housewife and used to cook the greasiest and most delicious meals in the whole neighborhood and my father was a boring accountant addict to the smell of the cigarette just like the grandfather.
I was the complete opposite of my family, I was much taller, much more handsome, and of course athletic. I would do anything to get out of my house and get away from my obese family, even joining a gym when I was 12 years old to spend 3 hours a day exercising Over time I began to notice results in my appearance Over the years I became a Fitness influencer, I got a couple of tattoos, bought a red sports car, and got the hell out of my house the first chance I got.
For some years I was living my life as far away from my family as possible, I stopped calling home even when my mother did not stop calling me for a single day, I only returned home for a month for these dates, the rest of the year I used to have hot tub parties with gorgeous supermodels, but now…I'm stuck here again, only this time my chains aren't my age…well sort of.
I was sick of this I was sick of pretending everything is normal But I had to get on with this if I wanted my body back, it hasn't even been 24 hours since I woke up this morning to my grandpa's obese old body next to my bed I thought I was dreaming when the first thing I saw when I looked down was a substantial misshapen hairy belly instead of a huge morning boner between my legs, everything in the distance was blurry, but I could clearly see my 2 huge tits full of fat.
Furthermore, I panicked and with my fat and old hands, I sat on the bed and looked around for an explanation of why I was now in my grandfather's body of 80 years and 160 kilos, with my calloused hands I caressed my hairy belly trying to calm down. Feeling like screaming, I looked around to see if this was my room. But before I had a heart attack trying to stand up, Grandpa John walked into the room in my body.
He put my glasses on and for the first time I saw that face from a more humble perspective, We were silent for a couple of minutes, and we both looked at each other from top to bottom, His look was intimidating, and his body was incredibly hot, years in the gym they were in that body, I built that body since I was a chubby teenager and now… I felt uncomfortable around it.
I used to have all of that, perfect curls, those huge, arrogantly flaunting biceps that I dyed in ink on a night out with my friends, he was just too perfect, handsome, and young... or maybe now my self-esteem was in the ground now that I was in the grandfather's body
He was the first to speak, and surprisingly he had completely dominated my way of speaking, moving, and even how to flirt, with his strong and melodious voice he explained to me what a horrible grandson and horrible son I am to the whole family so he decided to punish me, Now I'll have to live like a fucking old man until next year!
-Grand-... Jackson, Mama is calling you, it's time for dinner- I still had to get used to my new harsh voice and having to walk carrying Grandpa's huge belly.
-Tell him I'm coming... I hope there's something I can eat, don't worry Jackson I'm not going to ruin your body eating all that garbage that you should love now, you have something very good here, but surely you're hungry right? old man- He never stopped smiling while we talked, showing those white teeth that one of my sponsors had paid for.
He was right, I was hungry, the smell of Thanksgiving dinner had been driving me crazy since morning, and I'd had to content myself with a big packet of chips and a couple of cans of beer while watching football with my Father…maybe if I am part of this family, but I would have more than a month to find out.
Hey! Happy TG! if you liked this story and you want more, you can take a look at my Ko-Fi page to see my most recent stories, see my new stories and support me to continue creating this hot content.
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omg hiiii! i missed you! I honestly wish you would write a fic where jack and reader get caught kissing by either the avatar crew or the scream crew...or both tbh and then jack gets all flustered and awkward and yn is just like "yeah i did that"
I just thought it was a cute idea especially with your writing. No rush! I'm so glad your back and I hope you feel better now
lovebirds!
pairing ! - jack champion x reader
word count ! - 0.6k
a/n ! - hi babe!! sorry my hiatus was so long 😭 but i am feeling much better now since ive been distancing myself from some of the ppl that im in a somewhat toxic relationship with. but i hope you like this since i might be a little rusty lmao, this is also somewhat of a sequel to take one
after meeting on the set of avatar 2, you and jack were very close to one another and your relationship got even better when you both found out you had roles in scream 6
jack was playing one of the ghostfaces, ethan landry, and you were playing his love interest who knew all about his family's little secret
you guys grew close to the cast, but chose to keep your relationship private since if there was one thing you knew about jack, it was that he got VERY flustered when people started teasing him about you and would basically just give away the whole secret
that's why the avatar cast knew about your relationship and which is why you made jack keep your relationship a secret from the scream cast
and it worked out just fine, you guys acted like a goofy duo in public and a couple who seemed really in love in private
until you decided one day that jack looked WAYYYY too kissable in his halloween outfit
you two were sitting on the set of the house where the frat party was taking place, jack in his murder party costume and you in the lavender fairy outfit
there was a few issues with the set that they were fixing and jenna, jasmin, and devyn were going over lines which left you very bored
jack nudged you with a small grin
"you look so bored out of your mind right now"
you turn to him with a smirk and he knew damn well you had an idea that he wasn't going to agree with but would go along with any way since he loved you so much
"well i am…can we go back to your trailer?"
"y/n/n…"
jack gave you a knowing look but still allowed you to drag him to his trailer
he sat down and you quicky sat next to him, kissing him as he swatted you away but was also bringing you closer at the same time?
"y/n your makeup is gonna get ruined…" jack murmured as you pulled away for air
"jack it's ok! they can just redo it" you replied, going in for another kiss and jack gave in, pulling you on his lap
you kept kissing for what felt like hours and you two were in your own little world that you didn't even hear devyn and jenna giggling and approaching the trailer
suddenly the door slams open and you hear jenna gasp and devyn squeal in excitement
"fuck fuck fuck" jack mutters, getting you off of his lap before one of them could get the other cast members to come
he stood up, pulling you up with him just as mason and jasmin came
"so we caught the two lovebirds kissing" devyn says with a grin as jenna nods excitedly
jack shakes his head and gets flustered but you on the other hand? you couldn't be more fazed
"ok yeah we were kissing, we're dating so what's the problem?"
everyone looks at you in shock even jack, not expecting you to be so straight forward with your relationship
"oh um nothing! it's just we're all shocked" mason replied, scratching the back of his neck
"we'll leave you two love birds now, just don't give her a hickey!" jasmin says, walking out as mason, jenna, and devyn follow her
devyn slams the door shut and jack looks down at you, feeling flustered
"well that was um"
you giggle and pull him down for a kiss, which he gladly accepted to soothe him from the shock of whatever the fuck he just witnessed
taglist ! - @xyzstar, @gwenlore, @dizscreams, @kaesworldxx, @urmomcomsiimiamour, @nonniesworld, @chemtr4ilz, @abodyhasbeenfound, @phsychobanana
lmk if you want to be added/removed !
©crazystargirl || do NOT copy or repost without my permission
#ethan landry#ethan landry x reader#ethan landry x fem!reader#ethan landry x you#ethan landry fluff#ethan landry angst#jack champion#jack champion x reader#jack champion x you#jack champion fluff#jack champion x y/n#jack champion angst
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“when you said you were seeing someone i was kind of hoping a therapist” — or an alt title: roo sees things others can’t
theres been this uneasy feeling she feels on the back of her neck...
a/n fun fact i was possessed once as a kid. but anyway this came to me when i was reading the gamer episode of vr!!! so thank u noelle. but anyway let me explain this one: where im from the places here are kinda... "spooky" i guess and there are some people who can see otherworldly creatures and idk i just feel like bringing these in cause i thought it would be fun!
warnings; kinda creepy tbh i wrote this and imagined it a couple of times and scared myself (cause ik damn well it can happen to me 😭), this writing is kinda all over the place so uhh sorry
THE KANGAROO(KIE) VS. THE WORLD
alex had initially been unfazed by the girl beside him, having a hard battle against her drooping eyes. he definitely understood where it’s coming from. this meeting was so boring. plus, roo wasn’t a big fan of listening to words that came out of the mouth of men anyway so there’s no surprise there.
it was only then after several more head drops she seemed like she was more awake, her eyes quietly and cautiously scanned the room from every top corner to behind them.
he brushed it off as nothing, probably just gathering reality after her on and off nap.
after that it was smooth sailing and more... listening.
only, he sort of noticed how her eyes barely looked up from her lap but he fully knew that she was awake now. still, he thought, maybe she was just tired still so he didn’t bother bothering her.
when the excruciating life sentence had finally stopped, the entire room stood up and either made their way to each other or simply leave.
alex had a brief conversation with charles who sat on the right row behind him, he then went to speak to his friend that was just one second ago still sat silently beside him only to turn around to find an empty seat.
he then looked around the room to see if she had went to talk to someone only to find her lack of presence in the room.
weird. she always did like to mingle.
again, he shrugged it off, maybe she just went to take a nap elsewhere.
the next time they had a meeting in the same room, the alfa romeo driver had arrived with george russell by her side. they barely said anything and arrived in silence. well, that wasn’t true. the girl had arrived in silence, george was greeting everyone happily.
when they arrived, george occupied himself in a conversation with alex. when he looked to his right he found the spot empty where the woman once stood in. he then looked around to find her already sitting silently besides her teammate.
she had been fine this morning when she met up with george until they were called into the meeting that’s when her energy seemed to have shifted. george simply thought she just dreaded the meeting itself—as per usual, like any other meeting she didn’t like so it seemed pretty normal to the brit.
though, she was uncharacteristically quiet. like, she wasn’t exactly someone with a big dictionary on the daily but she was still as annoying as a twenty-something-year-old could be.
she had kept her head down during the entire duration of the meeting, only ‘listening’ to whatever there was to be said. every once in a while she could be seen looking up cautiously from her lap, though her eyes only seemed to be looking at repetitive spots.
after the meeting was finally over again, she was gone before anyone could reach her.
weird.
another day, another meeting everyone dreaded. seems like that’s all the agenda was the last couple of days.
but no one dreaded it more than the woman in metallic black.
she was currently walking along with zhou (who was now caught up with all the information). she was uncomfortable, she hoped that today she’s gone—that it was gone. she had been keeping her head down to avoid it but over the days she could feel her creeping in closer and closer to her.
roo was so close to entering the room until she felt the hair on her neck stood up in alert and she knew she couldn’t. she was so close to escaping today’s meeting but just her luck.
lando had seen her and she knew it was too late when he had beckoned her over.
she—like she has been the last few days—entered the room cautiously, not looking up to that spot for her own sake.
“hey, man.” the brit greeted, patting her back.
she tried to greet them all back in the same manner but her uneasiness were overpowering her social skills and she couldn’t find the power in herself to say anything coherent.
the rest of the men looked at each other in question giving the other only a shrug. they were about to ask when they were cut off by the meeting starting.
and, surprise surprise, roo had already disappeared again from their side.
she now sat on the far left just next to the opening isle where they could walk through.
the three british men didn’t waste time to occupy look at the other for confirmation and the empty seats beside her. usually that would’ve pulled a reaction from her, a comment along the lines of ‘everybody wants to get with roo’ but when she stayed quiet head down that really piqued their interest.
throughout the entire meeting she was still very quiet which wasn’t something out of the blue but something that was, is the heavy breathing coming out of her mouth. at first it was nothing but the more and more time passes it got heavier and louder. lando, who sat next to her had heard the entire buildup causing him to worry for his fellow driver. he nudged her with his arm to which she flinched at.
“hey, you alr—” before he could finish she was already jumping off her seat and mumbling a small ‘excuse me’ as she sped-walked in front of them, circling her way out of the row and exiting the room.
a moment later, her teammate excuses himself out of the room leaving the three british men to give each other a look.
after they were all dismissed, the three had made it their mission to find the alfa romeo driver(s). everyone knew how random roo’s (behavioral) pattern is, but even they knew that was weird and out of the blue.
but somehow, it was not really a big surprise when they saw her walking along the paddock with fernando, smiling as if nothing had happened.
when she saw them, her smile grew and she waved at them happily as they went and approached her.
“hey, how was the meeting?”
“fine. —are you alright?” lando didn’t bother to hover around the topic.
she shrugged, “yeah, just, things, y’know.”
george furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and quite frankly, taken aback, “what things?” he asks, his tone almost sound accusing.
she sighs, slumping her shoulder a bit, “it’s stupid.” she states.
“if it made you bolt out of the room like that, not really.”
she rolls her eyes, “i kinda… have been seeing a woman.”
they were so taken aback the three furrowed their brows in sync, only making her realize the mistake in her words.
she shook her head as if to refresh her thoughts, “let me rewind—i uh, i can… see spirits.”
still—hell, probably more—confused, their response to her words were tilting their heads like a puppy dog (though george and lando had a sort of shift into a more judgy look).
she clicks her tongue, “every time i look up in that room i see this woman with long hair—hair that covered her entire face down to her chest. and– the first time ‘round i thought that was it and that when i come back the next time she’d be gone. but… i guess it seemed like she got closer every time i come back. and today– today she went to the point where she was near my face and i guess… i guess i was finally feeling her presence getting too close instead of just seeing.”
when she finished talking, the three drivers in front of her stayed silent and she almost regret saying anything. she felt really stupid despite how real it was for her. she turned to whine to nando next to her when one of the three brits finally spoke up.
“that’s awesome!” exclaimed alex.
roo, still standing facing in fernando’s direction, only side-eyed him—judgy and confused, right on-brand.
“…i was terrified.” she somehow thought she needed to clarify.
“no, yeah, sorry you had to go through that, whatever—you can see ghosts!” alex re-states excitedly.
the older man out of the four of them couldn’t help but be amused by the entire conversation. he put both his hands on each of the girl’s shoulders and laughed lightly, shaking her a little in the process, “good luck, niña.”
“man, i don’t need luck. i need new friends.”
taglist; @treehouse-mouse @disneyprincemuke @yansbolobao @leilanixx @judespoision @vellicora @bborra sorry for this mess 😭😭
#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#formula one x reader#formula one#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1 x female reader#formula 1 x oc#fem!driver reader#female reader#female driver#driver!reader#tine’s roo vs the world
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I vomited this out in 30 min. Not good not bad just meh.
Ghost x m reader. (Shadow company)
Love You More
His eyes scanned the bigger man, it’s been so long since he’d seen Ghost. He used to work with shadow from time to time but Ghost wasn’t a solo man anymore as he joined 141. The memory of Ghost's face still stranded the hallway. The memory of his clothes, weighing on a hanger. Y/n remember that time as they were something but not together it weighed on his heart like a garden that never grew.
The way Y/n saw Ghost looked at soap hurt, why was he so jealous?
Eventually brought out of his thoughts as Y/n overheard Gaz and Soap spit out an insult about shadow company.” Nothing but we dogs they are. Not to be trusted might as well put them down” Y/n overheard one of them say. But not a word fell from Ghost's lips, it stung how he expected Ghost to pipe up and say they were not all bad. But those lines never fell from the man’s lips. Just a small chuckle.
Later that night Y/n found Ghost taking a smoke late at night. Taking the opportunity to light up his own cigarette. “ Simon… how have you been?” Y/n spoke with a small crack in their voice. “ Been good.” Ghost replied with a short gruff response. The memory of Simon stroking their hair in bed together and Simon's deep voice softly speaking that “ I’d never hurt you.” But why did that feel like a lie, what changed so much in their relationship. “ Do you hate me?” Y/n spoke as smoke fell from his lips. “ No more. Y/n. No more of this whatever we had.” Before Ghost could continue Y/n spoke up. “ I’m not Graves! So you and everyone need to stop treating me like a damn devil. I’m not Philip! And I didn’t call out those orders…” Y/n snapped clearly he’s been stuck in his head a lot recently. “ But you’re his damn dog Y/n! You're at his heels the moment he speaks.” Ghost growled. As he throughout his cigarette. “ Fine, throw away whatever you want. You're just what you said you were. You're dead from this world. “ Y/n spoke bitterly. “ I will always care for you more, even if you don’t believe me you know my loyalty is true.” Y/n's heart screamed for him to confess that he more than cared about the British man.
As days passed Y/n stayed awake hoping Ghost would come in his door. But it was never that way it seemed like it never would be like that again. Maybe he was just a dog meant to be put to sleep. Again it seemed whenever Y/n made progress of getting over Ghost he would run into him again.
Shadow Company was meant to lend a hand to 141. But just like last time things went south, how did it come to this? How did it come to this, how was Y/n sitting in an empty room with cracked walls holding his side as he felt warm liquid fall down his hand and drip onto the floor. He didn’t remember, he couldn’t remember.
Y/n's eyes felt hazy; he could barely see the figures that rushed through the door. The faint blur of a skull mask brought a small smile to his cracked lips. However he didn’t recognize the other blur next to him.
His dark brown eyes bored into Y/ns e/c eyes. “ You can tell me I’m to blame if you say you’ll stay for sure.” Y/n said as his words fell from his mouth without thinking. “I feel all the same. I will always love you more.” Y/n's voice broke as he held onto the sleeve of Ghost. “ You’ll be okay Y/n, stop speaking nonsense you’ve gone mad yeah?” Ghost spoke with a panic hidden in his voice. But it was too late and things went dark.
That garden they would have talked about would never happen. That garden would never grow, not now, not ever.
Soap put a hand and Ghost's shoulder. “ Ghost, mate it’s ok he’s just a shadow company member just a merc. Let him go.” The Scottish man spoke. “ He’s more than that Soap it’s complicated… Soap he loved me for me and I turned my back on him, I promised I’d never… I promised I’d never hurt him. I promised so much. It doesn’t matter who he bloody belongs to.” Ghost snapped. Soaps browse frowned. “ He was right he will alway love me more” Ghost said as his voice cracked.
New furniture cracked from no contact
And the garden, it never grew.
#cod x male reader#x male reader#ghost x male reader#cod x male!reader#simon riley x male reader#simon ghost riley#ghost call of duty#Spotify
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He felt sick. Why did you look at him like that? Why were you being so nice? Why weren't you scared of him like everyone else? It made his skin itch just enough; he needed it to stop.
Content: stalking, death threats, yandere
He remembered you well, the look you gave when you offered him the soda. How you said it was an extra by mistake, a kind gesture that just didn’t sit well with him. What was your game? Didn’t know who he was? Even if you didn’t, how could you not see he was bad news, how disgusting he looked. A bitter feeling entered his chest as Shigaraki watched you leave, off to do God knows what, just a stupid little civilian who didn’t know any better. You made him sick.
It didn’t take him long to find your social media, only a few days of trying to fish for information. The area the two of you met in was near a university, you looked about his age, so a student fit and damn was he correct. Even there you presented as this kind individual who could do no wrong. Helping with the needy and deprived like some saint, an obsessive thought edging its way into his mind. What would happen if someone made you snap? A grin crossed his dry lips as the bright screen created a halo around his thin figure, but he was far from angelic, and he was damned to prove you weren’t as well.
“Hey who is this loser posting hate comments in your posts?” A friend had asked after you received a few hate comments, while cyberbullying and trolling wasn’t a new topic, it was odd that your small blog would be hit. Shrugging your shoulders, eyes skimmed the words from the anonymous user: “fraud”, “die in a hole”, “you think this makes you good?”; it almost seemed this user was taking everything personal. Though you couldn’t figure out just what you did to them specifically.
“It’s probably just someone mad and taking it out on random blogs, no? We never interacted before so we can’t possibly know each other. Look, we don't even follow the same accounts.” That was a good point, your friend mumbled in agreement. Perhaps it really just was some spam account, they only told you to be careful in case it got more extreme.
“Just be sure to take screenshots if they threaten you.”
And you did, the comments not stopping only growing by the hour. It got to the point you had to block the account, something you usually didn’t do but felt pressured due to the volume of spam comments and your friend saying they deserved it. A part of you was tempted to just reach out and ask what their problem was, an idea that was dropped when mentioned in your social group. Brows furrowed as the others called you too nice, that people don’t think like you, that some are just fucked up.
It seemed to be going well, after the block the hate comments stopped, and things started to go back into the boring norm of college classes and hanging out in your free time. A notification on your phone distracted you from the recent discussion with your study group. Blood leaving your being as you read the message sent to you, a new account, but the same words.
“Did you really think blocking me would help? I knew it, you’re just like the rest of the trash in this world. One day you’re going to wake up and everything around you is going to be dead, that goody-two-shoes attitude won’t be able to help you either. You’re all going to die and I’m going to do it.”
All attention was back on you when your phone dropped to the floor, your face pale from the feeling of anxiety growing inside you. Saying a quick “excuse me”, they watched you leave to the bathroom in a fit of paranoia. The mirror staring back at you showed a reflection that was never crossed before; widened eyes and mouth agape as you caught your breath. Mind raced with thoughts as you moved to check the stalls behind you, a breath of relief seeing that you were alone.
After the lovely encounter with your new pen pal, your friends convinced you to go to the police in hopes of finding the creep. Though it was shown they couldn’t pinpoint a good enough address, something about a VPN, your mind distracted by other things than computer tech. Looking out the window, every person became a possible threat. Was it the guy in the hoodie getting into a cab? Maybe the woman who was screaming at her phone while ordering a coffee. Your trust in humanity slowly dwindles, a hand on your shoulder breaking those negative thoughts as your friends give a few reassuring smiles. You weren’t fighting this by yourself, you had support.
Taking the police’s advice on blocking the account and switching your social to private, you had a bit more hope that maybe this would end. The small group headed back to your apartment as your friends discussed how crazy the person was. Your mind once more lost in thought on trying to figure out just what you did. The person said you were a goody-two-shoes, maybe they just meant your social media likes and posts, though something in your gut said it was more than just that. It was like they took your existence personally, as if you had truly offended them. A part of you wanted to at least try and apologize for whatever the fuck you did, but the other part knew it would anger the anon more. For now, you decided to push it aside, you did what you could.
Again, things seemed to be calming down, while it was frustrating to be on private, you knew you had to wait it out until things died down. A few weeks, maybe a month or two? God, you just wanted this to be over with, surely the person must have moved on by now, right? Someone couldn’t be that obsessed with freaking you out. So, after a month and a half you opened up your social to the public again. A few happy comments from some mutuals on seeing you back, glad to hear you were doing well. It felt good, almost therapeutic to have that control back.
Another week and still no hate comments from random accounts, maybe they really did give up? You could be so hopeful. Checking your phone for a notification at the store entrance, you moved to place it back in your pocket before being hit by an oncoming person’s shoulder. A quick apology was sent their way as you fumbled with your phone from almost dropping it. Not receiving a reply, you figured the person was just in a rush. The dark hoodie blending in with a crowd of bystanders. Hearing your phone beep caused your eyes to leave the crowd and until the new notification. A simple sentence message from a new account: watch it.
“So, the creep really does know you? We need to go back to the police!” After the encounter, you booked it to your friend’s place, not feeling safe going shopping alone. Shaking your head, you knew it would be pointless. You didn’t get a good look at the person; from what you could see they looked male but that was just a hunch. The police would just shrug it off like they did before, not enough evidence did nothing to help them possibly hunt down a culprit.
“They’ll just blow it off again, tell me to put my blog on private again. It was torture not getting to talk to my friends outside of our group, I don’t want to do it again.”
“Yeah, but this creep saw you! They literally shoulder bumped you!
“But I didn’t see them.”
The two of you fell quiet, a huff from them knowing you were right despite how annoying and stressful the situation was. “So, the guy can just keep stalking you and the police won’t do shit, ridiculous.”
It was, but it was also legal. An agreement came after this that you wouldn’t be left alone if it could be worked out. More eyes meant more chances of seeing who the guy was, which made sense. Part of you felt bad that your friends made sure to be around before and after your classes and even walking you home. They would reassure you it was fine, that they rather do this than hang up missing posters.
Every now and then a new message would surface from a new account, statements about what you were wearing, even pictures taken of yourself and your friends. Screenshots saved before blocking the next account. It was almost starting to feel normal, as if on cue you knew he would send you a new notification on the dot. And one of those days you finally felt bold, what could he do anyway, you weren’t alone so he couldn’t exactly hurt you, besides you almost wanted him to do something in public to put an end to this and call the police.
moth.eater sent: You should try the mountain dew, maybe it would give some spice to your lame life.
netizen.55 sent: Why are you doing this? What did I even do to you?
moth.eater sent: I just want to see you tick.
That was it, all he wanted was to piss you off? He was doing a shitty job at that, if anything he was just scaring you into a corner. A phrase you remembered from your psych class came back to your mind, anger was a secondary emotion usually from rejection or fear. This guy was trying to scare you to the point of anger, the thought alone didn’t settle well with you. That rush of adrenaline hitting you once more before you could rationalize your response.
netizen.55 sent: I’m not scared of you.
That seemed to do it, it was the first time he blocked you. A feeling of pride filled your lungs, it’s been a while since you felt this satisfied. You won this weird argument; the block proved it enough. He should leave you alone now.
It itched; his skin never stopped burning despite how much he scratched. Red eyes stared through the screen; past the words you so bluntly wrote. You weren’t scared of him? Maybe not right now, but you would be. Every single person in this stupid world would be, sensei said so after all. The chair rolled back behind Shigaraki as he grabbed his old hoodie.
Final exams were nearing, but now that your number one hater had been leaving you alone it seemed less daunting. Your friends were even able to do their own things again which helped the guilt die down, no more being some protected being. Picking up the last textbook from the library, it was a straight direction back to your apartment. The time showed just past 7:15pm meaning a few hours of studying before crashing. Sounded like a good Thursday to you, especially with no notifications! A need to skip home almost overcame you, though the look of bystanders kept you in check.
With the apartment door shut and books tossed on the desk, it was time to get to work. Cracking your balcony door just a bit to let a breeze in, your eyes moved to observe the text. It was a relatively quiet night, not yet the weekend in which other college students would be howling below after a few drinks. Sometimes a police siren would go by, nothing too dangerous from the sounds of it, besides a few heroes were patrolling the area. Getting up to take a break, the clock now showing 8:43pm, it didn’t hit you how long you had been reading for. A hand moving to massage your face and wake up. One more hour you told yourself as you walked towards the kitchen for a drink.
Weird, did you leave the kitchen sink on? Brows furrowed as you tried to remember each step you made when you got home but couldn’t really focus due to being in a slight daze. Maybe you washed a dish and forgot to turn the faucet off. Shrugging it off, you turned the handle and moved to the fridge. Cold pizza and a few beers stared back at you, a mental note to get more groceries this weekend was made as you went back to the sink. Maybe past you knew what they were on about with the sink being on.
Cup in your hand, you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes widening from what was staring back at you. The hallway that faced the sink was empty, a window at the very back that usually helped you see what was going on in the dark apartment was now blocked by the figure. Red eyes stared back at your own, each step you took to move back was followed by another from the person.
“You said you weren’t scared of me; you look like everyone else who sees me.” The voice sounded scratched, like he hadn’t drunk anything in years, as if he was the embodiment of a desert. If it didn’t hit before, it hit now on who it was. Quick to run to the bathroom door, the closest one that would get you away from the stalker, you let out a strangled grunt when you were shoved against it instead. Face now pressed into the wood as the palm of his hand kept you in place. “I knew it, once that little facade breaks, you’re just as shitty as everyone else.”
“Let go!”
Not caring about the panic in your voice, you tried to turn around or at least get him to move, a “tsk” was heard as the hooded man showed you the cup you were once holding. Confusion turned into fear as the cup began to turn into dust just by his touch alone, a silent warning that you would be next if you kept it up. Still processing everything that was going on, the only question that could come to mind was asked, your nervous system in full overdrive with logic out the window. “Why?”
“I told you; I just want to see what’s under that mask. You should really think twice on who you offer free drinks to.”
Darkness was the final reply you got, the world shutting down around you. If you survived this, you would keep the extra soda for yourself.
#flameresistant#shigaraki tomura#shigaraki imagine#shigaraki bnha#shigaraki my hero academia#shigaraki x y/n#yandere shigaraki#poor reader just had an extra soda
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how things worked out
Bucky Barnes x Reader
a/n: this is a prequel to a mini series I will be writing called Invisible String.
summary: looking back at your past relationship with steve rogers and how it led to finding the love of your life - life is funny, isn't it?
The post office was packed, no surprise there. People carrying packages that range from hefty to manageable in their arms. The air was stuffy but that was to be expected inside a government facility. The slow shuffling of the line would have been a nightmare for an impatient person, but you were fine just waiting in line. You needed to get the small package out as soon as possible and if that meant waiting eons, then that was that.
The package in your arm wasn’t the usual boring brown; you had opted for one of the festive boxes that the post office offered. It was blue with colored polka dots with a printed faux light blue ribbon around it. It was cute and the contents inside of it was even more adorable – three pairs of onesies in various colors, a small blue beanie and the cherry on top, a toddler sized newspaper boy cap. Oh, it was precious when you saw it at the baby boutique and knew Steve would die when he laid is eyes upon it.
Steve Rogers.
Damn that man for being so wonderful.
The thought of him made you smile, when for a long time, it crushed you. The mere thought of his existence in the world, knowing he was off being great without you at his side, paralyzed you. When all the years you spent with him didn’t matter in the end, at least that’s how you felt. Now, ten years older and so much wiser, thinking of Steve made you realize how great life was. How grateful you were to have had the time with him, even though the relationship ended badly. It was all over the tabloids of your mind; the memories and tears, the fighting and the loving…
“Come dance with me.”
“Everyone will see,” you laughed, fully aware of the crowd of people. The two of you were at a farmer’s market and a band was playing near the food stands. Lights were hung over the trees, illuminating the night with its softness. Steve, so boyish in the face, just smiled and held out his hand. He didn’t care and if he didn’t care, why should you? So, you took his hand and shyly allowed him to bring you to the dance floor. No one else was dancing, but he pulled you into his body as if in a bedroom; one hand around your waist, while the other held your hand against his chest. Your head rested against his shoulder; hand slipped up his back as the music swirled in the air. In that moment, the people staring felt insignificant. You felt exceptional – the star of the show, with Steve at your side, kissing you on the forehead and both of you wishing the song would never end.
It did though.
“You can’t be serious, Steve…”
His eyes lifted from the ground. “We both know this isn’t working anymore. Bucky’s driving down to help me move out, I want you to have the apartment.”
Hand on heart, you feigned a smile. “Oh, my hero. Always a gentleman.”
“Don’t be like that, come on…. we…” his words drifted, as you two did. It had been six months of really trying to get back to that place of love but falling short at every attempt. “…I can’t live like this anymore, I’m sorry.”
The line moved a person forward and you moved along. Staring down at the package once more, you laughed at the thought of sending your ex a baby shower gift. Who would have thought? After all the years of hating Steve, you grew to appreciate him. Growing older had made you learn some civility and you were able to understand that the two of you were never a happy ending match. The same could be said for him, he was compassionate enough to understand how you felt. He understood that the pair of you were just too young, hadn’t experienced life. That breaking up had been the best thing to do, and you thanked him for his graciousness. That same graciousness allowed him to understand and approve of what would conspire years later between you and his…
“This line is insane.”
The familiar voice, warm and low, brightened the room as you gazed over to man who appeared next to you. Bucky stood there in a thin black dress shirt and dark jeans; he handed over a takeaway coffee cup and leaned in for a kiss. He kissed you twice and took the package out of your hand, so you could take a sip. The coffee was delicious, and you thanked him, nodding to the line ahead.
“We’re going to be here for a while.”
“You sure we need to send this to Steve?”
Bucky was teasing, but you insisted that it be sent today. “We’re already missing the baby shower next week; we need to get this out today.”
“Not our fault they decided to have the baby shower the same week we leave for Europe.”
You smacked his arm with a quiet laugh, and he beamed, wanting to kiss you a dozen more times but the line moved. He settled for staring lovingly at your face as you took another drink of coffee, and he felt his body warm. His eyes flickered down to the package in his arms, and he couldn’t help but wonder how everything ended up this way – not that he was complaining. The breakup between his best friend and you were not amicable, he could never forget how hurt and angry you looked when he showed up at the apartment. It looked like you hadn’t eaten in weeks, eyes red from crying – he wanted to get out of the situation, but he loved Steve like a brother. He also liked you, thought Steve had made a great choice when he brought you around as his girlfriend. Bucky was placing bets that his friend would propose, especially after you two moved into the apartment.
Bucky was sure of it all.
Then he found himself moving Steve’s belongings into a rental truck and driving him back to New York. After that, it had been almost eight years since he last seen you. Until a trip to visit friends in Los Angeles changed his whole world. He never, in his damn life, would have expected you to show up to his friend’s apartment.
Walking in with a friend, wearing professional attire; pleated black pants, half tucked in white blouse. High heels that you quickly took off, leaving them at the door – it was clear you were familiar with the apartment. Hair swept in a low bun, strands framing your face. He watched from the couch, standing up as you moved to the kitchen not even noticing him.
Sam, whose apartment it was, had called for you from the kitchen and that’s why you hadn’t noticed everyone who was over. You grinned at the handsome man when he offered up a beer from his fridge. The two of you had met a few years back when you first moved to LA for a job; he had been a co-worker but eventually left the company. Your friendship continued and now, you were a constant at his apartment.
“I have to introduce to my buddy from New York, picked him up from the airport today.”
Sipping from the beer, your shoulders relaxed after a long day at the office. “James, right?”
“I go by Bucky, actually.”
The familiar voice shook the apartment and when you turned, you hadn’t expected to see Bucky standing in front of you. He stood there sheepishly, not knowing what your reaction would be, but when you placed the beer down and laughed, he relaxed. The two of you approached each other and hugged, a little awkward, but it was nice. Sam, confused, asked if you knew Bucky and you laughed, pulling from the man. You stared up at him and his eyes softened in a way you had never noticed before.
“Yeah, I know him…”
“I hope they like the clothes….”
Bucky guaranteed they would, and you relaxed. He smiled – he did that a lot when you were around. Although, it took some time for him to reconcile with his feelings for you and the fact that you were his best friend’s ex-girlfriend. He had hated the feelings he had, the instant attraction and want that surged through him the moment you walked into Sam’s apartment. Hated that he could feel himself drifting towards you that night at the apartment or how you came around nearly every day he was in town for those two weeks. The first few times, it was group outings; Sam, the others, Bucky, and you. Showing him around the city and then when the others were busy with work, you offered to take him around.
Bookshops, lunches, people watching.
It had been the best two weeks of his life and he knew he was in trouble.
Yet, somehow, it all worked out.
Bucky said your name as the line moved up, he took your free hand and walked forward. You looked at him and he could only grin. “I love you.”
How strange life was; time moving forward – that was all that was certain. Squeezing Bucky’s hand, you smiled back at him. Fascinating, how things worked out. Bucky holding your hand, keeping your heart safe – knowing if it hadn’t been for Steve, the two of you would have never found each other.
“I love you too.”
....
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Synopis: In which Chifuyu reunites with the one he shattered countless school years ago, seeking redemption, but perhaps it's just too late to apologize."
Pairing: Chifuyu Matsuno + Fem!Reader.
Genders: Angst, Drama and Tragedy, Farce.
Content Warnings: mentions of tryte of suicide, bullying and autodepressed.
Chapter One: little liar
He woke up in anguish, feeling something poke his arm like a pin. When he lifted his chin and pulled the book away from his face, he had the (un)pleasure of meeting the familiar, iconic figure. He clucked his tongue in protest. That girl had already become a pain in his ass, not to mention the fact that she didn't bother to bother him so often, it seemed like she had no idea who she was messing with.
And that made him too angry.
Was she a phony or was she just playing around?
"You again…" he hissed, annoyed.
He turned his face sideways, resting it on the school desk.
"The rep asked me to wake you up before I left," she explained, looking pleased, linking her arms to hold the box she was holding in front of her hips, "or you could get a warning."
"You've already woken me up, so get going," she hid her face under the book once more.
"We need to leave first, I'll deliver the key to the teachers' lounge," he warned.
Chifuyu took a deep breath, then got up from his chair.
"Why you don't leave me alone just one time? You are fucking boring, damn!"
He asked acidly.
"Oh, sorry," she replied genuinely, not noticing the blond's tone of voice, "I didn't think you'd feel this way, I could ask the teachers for another 10 minutes before we close the room, what do you think?"
"Fuck…" he woke up to the taste of sour memories.
This time she wasn't there to wake him up. And that left him alone with his own thoughts. He had the whole classroom to himself, and that scared him. Soon he would be swallowed up by the immensity that only accumulated in his mind.
Outside, the racing team was already putting things away, and he could see it when he stared at the window with a twinge of curiosity. But he wasn't there to keep an eye on other people's lives.
Matsuno finally got up from his chair, his body feeling heavier than usual - containing what he called 'anxiety' - and left, out of the room.
He felt he urgently needed some fresh air, blaming himself like this would only hurt him even more. After all, it was all right, he tried to apologize. If she didn't accept it, it was because it was meant to be. There was no point in blaming himself for what happened in the past. At least he could tell his inner self that he had tried and that it was enough, but he couldn't even convince himself when his altruism was severely drowned out by his wave of destructive thoughts.
Everyone makes mistakes, don't they? He thought.
Are you joking? Serious? Do you really believe that the past can be overcome with just a few words of fool afirmations? And his mind fights back.
He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, trying to wipe away the cold sweat that insisted on dripping. Try as he might, he still couldn't touch his own soul with the shallow words he spoke to himself.
He sighed loudly, trying to calm his heartbeat.
But he remembered [Name]'s broken arm as he passed in front of the infirmary, and immediately her image materialized completely in his consciousness.
He wondered if she was all right.
He shrugged, turning into the corridor. He bumped into someone as he was passing, and that made him completely disconnect from his own mind and return to the real world. What was worse, the corridor ended at the staircase, but luckily only the papers flew down the stairs, scattering completely on the cold floor to the touch.
Matsuno, who was still standing, bent down to see who he had knocked to the floor.
"Sorry, I just…" he was lost for words when he saw the girl's face.
It was as if he was reliving the worst moments of his life, live. Making the same stupid mistakes, however absent-mindedly, on automatic, they were still mistakes.
[Name] couldn't help but show her surprise, and even tensed up a little at the impact.
"I'm sorry…!" Chifuyu hurried to gather up the papers on the floor.
Without reacting, [Name] just watched as the blond walked down the stairs, quickly and dexterously putting everything together. Until he stopped in the middle of the steps, staring intently at a particular piece of paper. Too much attention for the girl's taste. And the next thing she knew, it was her medical report in the boy's hands.
She got up from the floor with the strength of a single arm, ran to the stairs and snatched the document out of his hands. He was unsettled. Somehow, Chifuyu thought he saw the look on her face become harsh, disappointed.
"Don't go around reading other people's stuff! "
"Oh, sorry… I only read the title, I swear!" he stammered.
It wasn't a lie, she read the document out of pure reflex. She hadn't imagined that among the school papers would be something so intimate and personal.
She ignored it, giving in.
"Thank you for your help…" She nodded, taking a deep breath, taking the papers from the blonde's hands without a hint of aggression this time "don't feel obliged to help me, I can look after myself, thank you. "
He silently watched her pick up the last few sheets from the floor as patiently as possible, then turned his back on her and - ironically - headed for the school infirmary.
Without much to do, he continued down the stairs. He was still puzzled and even a little worried about her arm. Or perhaps he was thinking of a way to redeem himself and see if the weight he was carrying would lessen. But he liked to imagine that he was far from it, that kind of intention would make him look like a wronged self-interest, and he hated looking like a victimizer.
He rummaged through the shoe cabinets, looking for the name of the stupidest human being on the face of the earth. Oh, and lo and behold, it was him!
As he put on his shoes, he allowed himself to relax and get away from his problems for a while, taking in the magnificent view of the landscape ahead.
The concrete that stretched to the school gates was the only thing separating the two sides from the low, gray grass, as the humidity took shape in the air and turned to frost. The sky, on the other hand, took on a much colder and drier hue, as if the whole atmosphere had entered into a soft consensus of choosing a melancholy color palette to finish fucking up Chifuyu's week.
He seriously thought that the universe might have taken his empathy and put it in the middle of that place where the sun doesn't shine. Because it wasn't possible! It was almost like having the distinct experience of living through a totally melodramatic and depressing story.
Now, where would the blessed viewers be who take pleasure in entertaining themselves with other people's misfortune? He thought. Rancorous. Deep down he just wanted someone to blame.
And that was discouraging. So, congratulations to the universe, for finishing destroying what was left of perseverance and self-esteem inside that empty shell called "Chifuyu".
Without further ado, he left the school.
Perhaps it would be good to talk to Takemichi. It wasn't as if he was going to put another plan into action, but he felt he needed to talk to someone or his head would explode like a squeezed lemon. And, frankly, Matsuno didn't want his brain to turn into lemonade.
No one would want to drink the citrus juice of a rotten lemon.
"You didn't show me your medical report," the older woman commented, as she quickly went through each sheet with attention, while the younger girl propped her body up on the stretcher, looking lost.
"I told you I'm fine," she lied, controlling the agitation of her restless eyes, with no fixed direction in which to look, "there's no need to worry. It was just a little mistake, I won't be like this for much longer."
"How many weeks have you had that cast on? "
"One month…"
"And those bruises? "
He pointed to the calloused fingers on the girl's hand, which she quickly tried to hide behind her back.
"I've just been practicing a lot."
She swallowed dryly.
"You're still playing? Even with that broken arm? "You can't do that! It's stupid and it'll hinder your recovery! "
"I haven't been taking part in the practical classes," she explained fearfully.
turning to face the nurse.
"I took part in the test, but I only watched," she explained fearfully, while the girl in the white coat just listened attentively, her arms crossed on the table, "and I've only been taking theory classes. So it's okay, I haven't broken any of the doctor's rules! "
"I'll trust you, [Name]" he soothed, seeing how elated the girl had become with just that little accusation "but I don't want to see you practicing, you know that's for your own good."
"I do… I do."
#toman x reader#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo manji gang#chifuyu x y/n#chifuyu matsuno x reader#chifuyu x reader#chifuyu matsuno
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That Damn Scarf
summary:
But Martyn is also definitely the guy he’s spent the most time around. And because of this, he would have thought he’d find the answer to the strange man he first came across floating in the sky (which is actually a lie, he’d been watching him putter around for a little while before that, but he didn't actually speak to him until he was several thousand feet in the air and approaching certain death by suffocation). But he still doesn't have his answer: why the scarf?
(ao3 link)
(12,489 words)
Scott has met, and spoken to, Martyn several times. He likes to think they're on rather good terms at the moment, with him poking his head, or his arm, or any other limb, really, in to poke at Martyn in a way of saying hello. Martyn then, often, pulls him all the way through the portals, dragging him (quite literally) into a conversation, or pulling him in to help with whatever task he’s doing that day. Most of which are very boring and are not things that Scott would normally consider doing, however, when he’s with Martyn he cannot help but smile and go along with it, enjoying the moments they spend together.
So, Scott likes to think they're friends- and rather good ones at that! He’s met several other people on his wanderings around the world, popping in and out of places, checking on the new faces he spies around. A few of them are interesting, catching his interest for a few minutes or hours, leading to him watching them from a distance, either until he got bored, approached them, or he noticed them.
But Martyn is also definitely the guy he’s spent the most time around. And because of this, he would have thought he’d find the answer to the strange man he first came across floating in the sky (which is actually a lie, he’d been watching him putter around for a little while before that, but he didn't actually speak to him until he was several thousand feet in the air and approaching certain death by suffocation). But he still doesn't have his answer: why the scarf?
Scott knows what a scarf is, obviously, but what he doesn't get is the purpose of the garment. Everyone pulls out a scarf, maybe some mittens and a hat too, when it gets a little bit chillier and frost begins to nip at any exposed skin and the winds turn sharper, more likely to cut at your face if you venture out into it with insufficient protection. It’s a normal response to bundle up and add a few extra layers, perhaps spruce things up a bit with how artfully you drape your scarf around your neck and over your shoulders.
Scott’s fallen victim to several nice scarves over the years, though most of those had been thin pieces of fabric, silken and floaty things designed to look pretty rather than keep the chill away. Not that he was particularly bothered by the cold, preferring to let it bite at his skin and find that he’s actually impermeable to their teeth of ice and snow. He hails from places far colder than what a little snow can achieve, it’ll take more than the measly winds to get him to cover up more.
So, Martyn’s scarf. Scott’s not actually sure why he’s so fixated on it, only that he’d noticed it once, taking a moment too long to fixate on the knitted garment; and just like that, it had snaked its way into his mind, capturing him in its threads and pulling his attention towards it when he has a free moment- every waking moment of his, not occupied by other things, has been consumed by the blue and slightly-darker-blue wool of Martyn’s scarf.
It is a very nice scarf. Obviously handmade, but made by someone that clearly knows what they're doing, possibly a master of their craft. Or maybe Martyn just bought it from some random person, and it was made in bulk with several thousand others that look exactly the same. But it also just looks handmade, and Martyn treats it carefully, as though worried it might get harmed by something. Scott has watched him tuck a loose thread back in carefully, neatly folding it back amongst the blues.
The only thing, and the thing that he’s focusing on, is that he’s never seen Martyn without the scarf.
He wears it seemingly constantly, always in the same way, with it a few scant inches from being tugged up to cover his lips completely- not that Scott spends long periods of time looking at Martyn’s lips, his scarf is just really close to his lips, and it’s hard to look at his scarf without also looking at his lips, and…maybe he does look at his lips. But only in quick, friendly glances that mean nothing more than watching Martyn speak and the way he shapes his vowels as he talks.
And he still doesn't know why Martyn even wears it! He doesn't get cold, something that Scott had been able to establish pretty early on, asking first why he wears all of the layers, then finding out just how cold Martyn was the time he clamped a bare hand down on the back of his neck. It had sent several shivers down his spine and forced him to squirm away from the ice blocks Martyn had pressed against his skin. Ice blocks that turned out to be his hands, which also turned out to be his normal (and healthy) temperature.
So, he doesn't need the scarf. Definitely not for keeping warm reasons, because Martyn actually explained to him how higher temperatures are bad for his health. Though only in the extremes, like deserts or the Nether. And he also doesn't enjoy hanging out in completely frozen environments, both for the lack of life there, and because the cold can still bite at him, just not as fiercely.
And yet he wears it! Scott’s has never, ever seen him without it- even that one time when it was really late at night, the moon halfway towards its descent, and he’d been stranded in the middle of nowhere and the first waypoint he’d managed to connect to was Martyn’s. And it would have been rude and cruel and not at all friend-like of him to kick a dear friend, like Scott, out in the middle of the night (closer to early morning, but semantics) when it was so dark and cold and dangerous.
And Martyn had been in his pyjamas, very obviously just woken up with quite spectacular bed-hair that Scott had to exert all of his willpower not to comment on (he wasn't going to risk being kicked out just because Martyn’s hair made him look like a parrot with how it stuck up at the back). And still wearing his scarf. Neatly tucked around his neck and trailing over his shoulder, a perfect compliment to the pyjamas he was wearing.
His ongoing theory, until recently, was that the scarf was simply a part of him. Scott had never met a chillager before he came across Martyn, and so he wasn't one to judge, nor was he one to question something. He much preferred to figure things out on his own, mainly because the satisfaction of eliminating all incorrect assumptions and settling on the most plausible (and usually correct) answer was something basically unbeatable.
He’d been able to eliminate that theory rather quickly, though he still went through several testing stages to be certain of his initial conclusion (he would much rather spend time determining that he was wrong than skip over it and find out that he was right initially).
He’d tugged at the scarf experimentally, twisting the fibres to see if it gained any reaction from Martyn. He’d done it before, definitely, but he had a concussion that time from one of the “Colins” that Martyn insisted on keeping in his cave-house, and had been a little too blurry around the edges to look for a reaction to the action. But on his second, and then third and fourth and fifth, attempt, when he still garnered no reaction from the man, he had to give up on the theory, crossing it off his quickly shortening list. The lack of response meant it obviously wasn't sewn into his nervous system, and Scott had seen him adjust it several times before, even if it was only a tiny bit, either tightening or loosening the material.
But he’d continued to tug and pull at the scarf, gently at first, then growing with force once he’d determined it wouldn't hurt Martyn if he did so- he may be carrying out tests to determine the truth behind the scarf, but he wasn't going to willingly hurt one of his friends.
And Martyn had only protested slightly (actually a lot, especially when Scott yanked at the scarf), but not enough to dissuade Scott from forming perhaps his worst habit in the entirety of his life.
His teachers would be so disappointed.
===
The sun was just warm enough to be uncomfortable, the sun bearing down with some force on the bare skin of his arms. He eyes Martyn from the corner of his eye, watching as he ambles along easily, hood still pulled up around his ears and looking entirely unbothered by the heat that seems determined to slowly boil his insides. He feels like he’s being slowly eased off of a simmer and onto a boil.
It leaves him feeling too hot in his own skin.
He trips, too focused on side-eyeing Martyn and questioning how the man hasn't melted into a little puddle yet. He pops back into place a few feet ahead, sparks drifting around him as he continues walking, backwards now, so he can squint at Martyn.
Martyn looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “Did you need something?” His face isn't even a little pink, not at all betraying that he might be feeling a little on the toasty side. It’s also beginning to piss him off a little. He looks far too cosy, at too much of a comfortable temperature with his stupid scarf tucked neatly around his neck, brushing against the bottom of his chin.
He hums, spinning around so he’s walking forwards again and falling back into place beside Martyn. “Just wondering if your brain is melting into a puddle.” He makes a small, considering noise in the back of his throat, turning his head to continue squinting at Martyn. Martyn is watching him. “You look like your brain is melting outta your ears.”
Martyn stares at him, jolting to a halt for a second before his brain seems to reboot (maybe it’s not quite melted yet. Just…defrosting) and he starts walking again, jogging for a moment to catch up with Scott.
“What does that even mean?” He asks, sounding genuinely confused. His face scrunches up, eyebrows furrowing and forming a small crinkle between his eyebrows. Scott can't quite bring himself to look away, though he covers up this new and embarrassing discovery by grinning wide.
“Means you look like an idiot.”
Martyn goes a little pink in the face at that - though, Scott notes, unfortunately it doesn't look like the pinkness of his face is due to the heat. It looks more like- he teleports a few feet to the left, crossing his arms and frowning at Martyn.
“That’s not very nice of you.” He complains. He stops walking so he can plant his hands on his hips and frown at Martyn disapprovingly. “We use our words, not our fists to communicate.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Martyn shakes his head. “I wasn't gonna hit you hard.” He pauses, then smiles at Scott, sidling a little closer, “Just a little tap.”
Scott reels back as Martyn flicks him on the nose, hands shooting up to cover his face, glaring at Martyn once he’s managed to blink the tears back from his eyes enough to actually bring Martyn’s face back into focus.
Martyn laughs at him, bending almost double at the waist as he laughs. It echoes around them, sending a few rabbits shooting off through the grasses, disappearing quickly into the browning grass. He frowns after them, watching the bobbing of their cotton-tails disappear. He’s got a recipe for rabbit meat somewhere, tucked away in one of the recipe books lining his bookshelves. He’s hardly had an opportunity to make any rabbit-based dishes.
The slowing of Martyn’s wheezing (sounding more like he’s choking and less like he’s laughing) brings him out of his thoughts, and he remembers to glare at him, lowering his hands from his face to properly achieve the full effect.
“Did your mother teach you no manners?” He cries, once he’s managed to gather himself sufficiently enough to be annoyed. “Or did you just grow up in a barn?” If he ever dared to flick someone on the nose (on the nose) back home, he’d have gotten a slap on the wrist and sent to his room for a week. His teachers would have also made sure to slot in some extra etiquette classes, just to rub salt in the wound a little further.
“My mother was a lovely woman,” Martyn huffs back at him. “She taught me plenty of manners, but she also told me not to waste them on rude people.”
“I'm not rude!” Martyn snorts a laugh at that. “I am not!” He has to jog to catch up with Martyn, following behind him as he pushes through the tall grass, carving a path for Scott to easily follow behind.
The grass brushes over the bare skin at his wrists, causing him to shiver and tuck his arms a little closer. He loves the plants of this realm far too much to be disgusted by many of them, but tall grasses are something that makes him want to claw his skin off when it brushes over him, skittering across his flesh like the similarly unwelcome bugs he’s come across recently. Simply the thought of the spiders is enough to send a shiver down his spine, crawling uncomfortably over his skin.
“You're one of the rudest people I've met.” Martyn says, turning his head over his shoulder to look at him. His scarf slips a little lower, exposing a pale flash of skin at his neck. It’s almost enough to make him swallow a look away, though the heat can be blamed on the sun, still trying to cook him from the inside out. Like his insides are soup and his organs the meat of it. He grimaces at his own analogy and looks away.
Looking away means he makes direct eye contact with the creeper lurking just to the side of them, fixing him under its beady stare. He stares at it for a moment, not even registering that his feet have stopped moving and Martyn has continued on in front of him, unaware of the creature waiting to put a dent in this horrible, itchy field.
It hisses, swelling slightly in warning. It’s all the warning he’ll get, and he grabs it with both hands and holds on, teleporting to Martyn and grabbing the closest available thing, dragging him forward and through another one of his portals, both of them tumbling through several feet away, tumbling over each other in the grass as Martyn yells something into his ear.
The grass brushes past every bit of exposed skin, and he feels several of his joints protest the movement, twisting oddly and promising him pain later if he doesn't use heat and pressure. He ignores it, ignores the scratching of the grass as it tickles him.
The explosion rocks through the air a moment later, causing him to wince and duck his head, far closer to Martyn’s face than he’s…ever been. Ever. Martyn’s staring up at him, eyes wide and hood halfway fallen off of his head, revealing his ridiculously fluffy deer ears. His scarf is still tucked neatly around his neck, though, not a speck of dust caught in its fibres.
“What,” Martyn wheezes out, “the hell.”
“There was a creeper,” he manages, still a little disoriented from the sudden, jarring teleportations- he hasn't gotten dizzy like this since his first few teleports. Certainly not after he’d graduated his first year. “Uh. Thought it’d ruin the day a bit if one of us got blown up.”
“You think?” Martyn’s breathing still sounds a little wheezy. His voice slightly strained as he speaks. “Might do a bit more than ruin the day.” Scott shifts slightly, knees digging uncomfortably into the weirdly soft ground…
He shifts backwards onto his haunches a little further, drawing back as he realises he’s hunched over Martyn, knees digging into his chest, faces far too close to be friendly. The sun is unbearably hot on his back, flushing his face with the heat and recent exertion.
His ankle twinges painfully as Martyn sits up, dislodging him from where he had been crouching. It brings them almost face to face again, because Scott’s still sitting on his legs, just below the knee, grass still itching at his arms as they shift about.
The smell of gunpowder lingers in the air, hanging heavy about their heads, even as the small particles of smoke begin to float back down.
Martyn’s hand wraps around his, slowly prying his fingers away from something. Scott looks down, finding the end of Marytn’s scarf clutched in his grasp, fingers digging into the material tight enough that his knuckles are white.
“Next time you decide to save my life,” Martyn says, a small note of humour lingering in his voice, “try not to yank me around by my neck, yeah?”
“I- yeah.” He shifts back a little further, pulling his hands back to himself once he’s managed to release Martyn’s scarf. “Course.”
===
Martyn almost walks off a cliff the next week.
He’d been speaking, saying something that Scott can't even remember anymore, after the adrenaline-fueled and anxiety-inducing five seconds that resulted from Martyn stepping off a cliff. It’s no wonder there’s so many stories about death in this realm, if people so easily fling themselves to their doom on the regular. Or if small accidents like this spell the end for most people.
Martyn’s foot slips, something giving way beneath his heel. Scott gets a brief moment of seeing Martyn’s face twist - morphing to something like horror - as their eyes meet, before Scott is lunging forward, reaching for any part of Martyn.
One hand curls around Martyn’s shoulder, the contact enough for him to snag onto Martyn with his powers, a thread coiling tightly around him as he releases him once more, staggering back from the cliff edge, not even giving himself a moment before he’s yanking on that thread, fingers twisting tight in it and pulling.
It gives way with a snap, and Scott becomes weightless. The ground below him rushes up, a mix of greys and darker greys, a few dripstone reaching up, eager to impale him. He twists, reaching for a spot on the clifftop.
He stumbles, feet coming into contact with the ground, jarring his knees hard enough to make him gasp, knees buckling as they decide they don't want to hold his weight up anymore. He winces as his knees hit the ground, lungs feeling too empty as he gasps, attempting to breathe properly again after…that.
“God, Scott,” Martyn sounds equally out of breath as he does. “I- thanks, thought I was a goner there.”
“You're lucky I was around,” he bites back, straightening up so he can see Martyn. One of his knees twinges painfully, as he rocks back to rest on his heels, one hand still planted firmly on the ground for balance. “Or you’d be a smear on the rock right now.”
“Alright, no need to rub it in.” Martyn grimaces. His hood has fallen back, exposing his windswept hair and flushed cheeks. His scarf trails loosely around his neck, no longer tucked snugly against his neck. Scott gets the odd impulse to tuck it back into place for him.
He clenches his hands into fists before he can make a move to act on that thought, snagging several blades of grass in one hand, almost ripping them free before he relaxes again, releasing them carefully and checking that he didn't damage them. He might hate their taller cousins, but the short and soft green grass is something that he’s found himself growing rather fond of.
“I need to put you on a leash,” he mutters, pushing himself to his feet. When he looks back up, Martyn’s cheeks look a little rosy. Possibly a little wind-bitten, but he looks fine otherwise. “If you keep wandering off, I’ll put you in one of those child leashes.” He threatens.
“You wouldn't,” Martyn denies. He looks confident in his denial, as well, which Scott supposes is fair; they've only known each other for a little while, and thus he cannot expect Martyn to understand how willing he is to commit to things, especially if it means he can stop getting an adrenaline rush when he decides to go a nice, leisurely stroll with one of his friends.
“I would,” he steps closer, grinning up at Martyn. They're close enough that he can almost feel Martyn’s breath on his cheeks. Close enough that he can study the odd, square shape of Martyn’s pupils (something he’s been meaning to ask about for the past while but has never managed to). “But,” he hums, glancing down, “I suppose this will have to do for now.”
He winds the end of Martyn’s scarf around his hand, pulling on the end a little, just to watch it tighten around Martyn’s throat. It’s closer to how he normally wears it, even if Martyn immediately grabs the scarf, tugging it away from his throat.
“Absolutely not.” Martyn loosens it a little further. Scott tugs at it again, watching how Martyn’s hands curl into his beloved scarf a little tighter, holding onto it.
“Why not?” He asks, tilting his head to the side as he continues to look up at Martyn.
“Because I'm not a child.” One of Martyn’s hands has come up to scrape at his hand, trying to peel his fingers back from where they're curled into his scarf. His gloves mean that Scott can't feel the bite of his nails, and so his attempts are rendered useless.
He seems to realise this, after several seconds of silence between the two of them as he fruitlessly attempts to free himself.
“Would a dog be better?”
“What?” Martyn stops his attempts, hand pausing where it hovers over his own. He can feel the cold of his hands seeping through the fabric of his gloves. His own fingers tingle in sympathy, and he almost winces at the thought of his hands being that cold.
“If I compared you to a dog rather than a child,” he grins. He already knows that the comparison is not better. He’d had a lovely conversation with Gem - a swarm, he didn't even know such a thing could exist - about dogs and how cute they are. She’d seemed quite enthusiastic about them, even if, to Scott, having a dog seemed rather inconvenient; you had to take it for walks and pay it so much attention. It was hardly self-sufficient, and they always seemed far too cheerful about everything. And a dog also seemed like it would create lots of messes.
So, not something someone wants to be compared to.
“No!” Martyn protests, redoubling his attempts to pry Scott away from his scarf. “No, that is not better.” He pauses, looking up at Scott, before he begins slowly pulling his hand upwards-
“Don't bite me!” He cries, yanking his hand back, releasing Martyn’s scarf. “What the hell, Martyn? Why?”
“You weren't letting go!” Martyn yells back, eyes wide and ears pinned backwards, looking almost startled. “I didn't know what else to do!”
“And biting me seemed like a good idea?”
“Yes!” Martyn clutches at his scarf, holding tight onto the fabric where Scott had held it, brushing a thumb over the material. “My teeth aren't sharp like yours, you’d be fine.”
“Human bites are some of the most dangerous bites in the entire universe,” he rattles off. “They're more dangerous than animals, due to the bacteria that live inside human’s mouths. As such, if a human bite breaks the skin, it can become infected.”
Martyn blinks at him, still holding his scarf. “And you just know this?”
“I only met humans recently,” he replies. “I wanted to be aware of the dangers. Especially if one tried to bite me.”
“You weren't letting go!” Martyn repeats, holding his scarf closer to his chest, clutching at it like it’s some precious treasure rather than a knitted item. Maybe it is more valuable to him than any treasure.
“Fine,” he sniffs, turning on his heel. “Come on.”
Martyn doesn't follow him, and he turns after a few steps to look at Martyn. Martyn’s regarding him with suspicion. “What?”
“Where are we going?”
“To my house, duh,” he raises an eyebrow. “Where did you think we were going?”
“Why are we going to your house?” Martyn asks, but he does take a step after Scott, and then another. Satisfied that he’s following him, he turns and continues walking.
“Because I have an actual kitchen. And because I have actual food, and I don't have creepers infesting my living room.”
“Leave the Coliny alone.” Martyn frowns at him as he falls into step beside him, matching him step for step. Scott smiles as he notices this, glancing down at their feet then back up at Martyn’s face.
He grins, and Martyn takes notice, pulling away from him with a suspicious look. “What?” He asks, glancing around them, as though worried another cliff is going to appear out of nowhere and he’s going to walk off of it. Maybe Scott would let him this time, just to remind him to look where he’s putting his feet.
“Look at you,” he sidles up beside Martyn, bumping their shoulders together. “You listened when I called you to heel, just like a good dog.”
He’s well enough accustomed to Martyn’s reactions by now, meaning he can duck and teleport away when Martyn swings an arm at his head, reappearing a few feet in front.
“Compare me to a dog again and I’ll bite you.”
“How violent.” He grins. “Guess we still need to work on a little bit of training for you.”
Martyn’s face is absolutely worth it. Absolutely. Even if he’s forced to, very politely, ask Martyn for some ice so he can reduce the swelling of his face. Martyn also gives it to him, which means that he’s already forgiven.
Martyn’s scarf is tucked neatly around his neck once more, but Scott’s fingers itch to tug at it again, just to see how Martyn would react. He holds off on that urge, for now.
===
“Woah,” he reaches a hand out to yank at Martyn’s scarf, pulling him back a step. “Watch your feet there. And your head.”
“I thought I told you to stop that.” Martyn slaps his hand anyway, but he does duck his head, watching his feet as he navigates the shaky-looking bridge. Scott chooses not to risk it, eyeing the half-rotten boards and teleporting to the other side, landing on the rock there silently.
Martyn continues to inch along the walkway, watching his feet and with his head ducked to avoid tangling his antlers in the chains above him. He takes his sweet time too, leaving Scott peering down the abandoned tunnels of the mineshaft in boredom, scanning around for any skeletons lurking around corners, waiting to stick an arrow in him.
The sound of Martyn’s hooves against the wood is loud, echoing around them and down into the darkness below the unsteady bridge. Scott glances back at it again, watching the way Martyn wobbles for a moment before stabilising again. He looks unsteady on his feet, placing them carefully as he makes his way across the yawning chasm.
In theory, he could have offered a helping hand in the form of a portal. But Martyn had slapped his hand, and there’s still a light pink mark on the back of his hand. It doesn't sting - it had only stung in the moment when Martyn had actually hit him - but he’s content to give Martyn his penance through this.
The wood creaks dangerously beneath Martyn, and Martyn apparently decides that he’s had enough of walking cautiously across the gap, because he launches himself forward, pushing off of the board, causing it to splinter, and landing on the other side with a clatter.
Scott barely avoids being crushed, dipping out of the way and slipping through a portal. A few sparks land on the ground around his feet, illuminating the area for a few moments before fading away.
“You could have killed me,” he says. Martyn gives him an unimpressed look, brushing his coat off as he peers back into the gap. The gap that is now no longer bridged by a dubiously stable plank. The darkness reaches upwards when Scott joins Martyn in peering over the edge, squinting as he tries to see into it.
A clattering sound reaches them, several seconds after the plank initially fell.
“But I forgive you,” he adds, glancing over at Martyn. “It’d be a shame if I had to go scrape your remnants off the cave floor. And so far down too!” He rocks forward, positioning himself more precariously on the edge, toes slipping just over the lip of the rock.
Martyn grabs at the back of his shirt, yanking him backwards and attempting to choke him. He coughs, ripping Martyn’s hands away from him once he’s certain he’s not going to send both of them to certain doom.
“It’d be a shame if I had to scrape your remains off the cave floor, too.” Martyn says, pulling his hands back towards himself. “It’d be far too inconvenient, and then you’d just be stuck down there for eternity.”
“I’d haunt you.” He retorts. “I’d haunt you so hard you’d be sick of me.” He pokes Martyn in the chest, just to emphasise his point.
“I'm already sick of you,” Martyn says, but there’s a small smile teasing at the edges of his mouth as he leans a little closer, reducing the distance between them.
“Oh really?” He leans back, finger still pushed into Martyn’s chest, keeping him at a distance. If Martyn really wanted to lean further forward, he could, very easily- Scott’s finger isn’t going to be enough to stop him. “If you're so sick of me, why didn't you let me plummet to my death?”
“Because I'm not rude?” Martyn responds, sounding almost confused. “Do you…kill people that annoy you?” He sounds a little more concerned than confused there, eyes searching Scott’s face.
“Only if they really annoy me,” he grins back up at Martyn, watching the way his eyes widen a little before he forces his face back into a more neutral expression. “Like, it’s definitely not a first resort. Or a second resort. Probably around a fourth or fifth solution to whatever problem. And even then I don’t really like doing it.”
“That’s weird.” Martyn tells him.
“Your sky is blue,” he responds. “That’s weird.”
“What other colour would it be?” Martyn asks. They're still stood in the abandoned mineshaft, feet away from the almost endless drop into the abyss. “Red?”
“Don't be stupid,” he scoffs. He’s not sure what Martyn wanted from here- there was some point to their visit here, but he can't remember it anymore. Martyn had only told him what it was once before asking for company. Scott would have offered company even if it wasn't asked for. Mainly because if Martyn gets shot by a skeleton, he wants to be there to witness it. “Purple is a far more normal colour. Or even just black.”
“The sky is dark at night,” Martyn says. His eyes flash a little in the darkness of the mineshaft, and, why didn't they bring torches? Surely having a torch would make this whole thing a lot easier- coal. That’s what they're here for. Martyn needed some more coal, and there was a mineshaft he hadn't explored yet. “And it turns all sorts of colours at sunset.”
“The sun is even weirder.” He concludes. “Don't even talk to me about the sun.”
“The sun is the most normal thing there could be!” Martyn cries, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You're telling me wherever you came from doesn't have a sun?”
“No.” Martyn’s eyes are unusually bright for how dark this corridor of the mineshaft is, their blue bright amongst the darkness. As blue as the stupid sky that everyone in this realm seems to be obsessed with. “There are numerous celestial bodies, but each of them are much too far away to have the same impact on us that the sun has on you. If the sun disappeared - permanently, that is - did you know you’d die? That would simply be it, the end of all life unless you could adapt to the colder temperatures and overall lack of food.”
“What a cheery thought.”
“Not really.” He shrugs. “Did you want coal or not? I'm fine with continuing to stand here and bicker, but I'm also pretty sure you disturbed a spider’s nest earlier when you broke that plank.”
“I- what?” Martyn had been beginning to step away from him, but he whips his head back around to stare at him with the mention of spiders.
“Spiders.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Can't you hear them?”
“No I can't hear them,” Martyn hisses out. “Why didn't you say anything earlier?”
“I thought you could hear them. And I thought you wanted to continue arguing more than you wanted to remain not poisoned.”
“Why would I want to get poisoned?” Martyn sounds almost distressed, like he’s rapidly reaching the end of his tether and is desperately trying to hold onto the last thread of his sanity. People from this realm often sound like this, though he’s not sure what the cause of it is.
“You drink alcohol, don't you?” Martyn narrows his eyes at him, but nods anyway. “See!” He gestures. “It’s a form of poison- or toxin, whatever, and your liver filters it, right? Most creatures wouldn't even drink alcohol if it poses such a risk to them, and yet you do so anyway?”
Martyn appears to mentally flail for a moment, before sighing and replying. “It’s…they’re not the same thing.”
“Could've fooled me.” Scott shrugs. He then reaches out and grabs Martyn’s scarf, yanking him downwards as a spider launches itself where Martyn’s head had been moments before. It sails right over his head instead, landing on the ground with an irritated chitter, circling around to try and bite one of them again.
He crushes it beneath his heel, driving his foot downwards until it stops making that awful screeching noise. One of its legs still twitches, just slightly, and he grimaces at the sight, pulling Martyn past the spider corpse.
“You're welcome,” he provides, when Martyn doesn't seem inclined to thank him.
Martyn scoffs, yanking his scarf back out of Scott’s hands without even a muttered thanks. “You could just tell me rather than pulling me around by the scarf.” He strokes a careful hand over the scarf, smoothing it against his chest.
“But you follow so easily,” Scott spins on his heel to face Martyn as he walks, watching the corridor behind him for any pursuing spiders. He doubts they'll chase after in revenge for their fallen brethren, but some of the creatures he’s encountered are also far more vengeful than he’d first considered. “And it’s far easier than letting you get bitten. Wouldn't it have been sad if you died of spider poison in a dingy little mineshaft?”
Martyn doesn't give him a verbal answer, but his withering look is enough of one anyway.
===
He pokes at the pot on the stove, watching as the lentils continue to bubble. He stirs them once more before covering the pan again, leaning to the side of the stove to read the recipe from the book. It had seemed like a rather easy recipe, but then he’d had to go hunting for several ingredients- a few of which he didn't have in his garden yet, so the seemingly simple meal actually turned into a short trip to find a mango.
He flicks over the page, turning to the covered bowl nearby and peeking at the mixture inside. It looks like the recipe says it should, as well as the few additional tips the villager had helpfully given to him when he was noting the recipe down in the first place. He pulls the ball of dough from the bowl it was resting in, admiring its increased size as he sets it onto the counter.
There’s a small groan from behind him and he turns his head to the side to peer at Martyn, watching how his guest slumps a little further into his sofa, turned to the side and leaning against the armrest rather than sitting on it properly.
His hooves are pressed up against the other armrest of his admittedly small sofa, leaving him looking scrunched up and uncomfortable. His notebook is open in his lap, several scribbled and crossed out lines glaring at him from the pages.
He doesn't say anything, turning back to the meal he’s making. He learned, a few weeks ago, that when Martyn gets like this it’s best to just leave him to it. Asking him anything will either cause him to sulk, or to go on a rant about the problem he’s facing, then solving it halfway through said rant and leaving the conversation unfinished to write…whatever it is in his notebook.
The lentils are still happily bubbling away when he checks on them again, leaving him free to divide the dough up into several, smaller balls. They get covered in flour rather quickly, from simply coming into contact with his incredibly flour-covered counter. He tries not to wince and think of the clean-up he’ll need to do once he’s finished.
He stretches the first ball of dough out, setting it into the pan before diverting his attention to the first experiment, leaning back and away from the steam that billows out once he removes the lid. He dips a spoon into it, blowing on the food before tasting it, humming a little at the flavour.
When he glances back at Martyn, he’s managed to contort himself so he’s leaning backwards over the arm of the sofa, hooves now planted firmly in the middle of his sofa and head almost brushing the floor. His scarf dangles in front of his face, blocking at least half of his notebook from view. But he seems unbothered by the position.
He dips the spoon into experiment number one again before stepping towards Martyn.
“Up,” he tugs at Martyn’s scarf, yanking him upwards none too gently. It forces him to rise from where his head is nearly brushing the floor, which is surely uncomfortable from all the blood rushing to his head, right? Martyn grumbles, and Scott yanks at his scarf again, a little harsher than before and probably in a way that’s beginning to cut off his air supply. He keeps half an eye on the spoon, watching to make sure it doesn't drip onto the floor.
Martyn grumbles, but sits up without any further complaint. He tries Scott’s new experiment too, not even pausing to ask what it is, simply taking the offered spoon. Scott doesn't get the opportunity to tell him that it’s hot, but Martyn seems relatively unbothered by the temperature of something fresh off the stove
He hums and offers the spoon back to Scott. “Nice. Got a little bit of a kick to it, what’d you make?”
“Uhh,” Scott spins on his heel, rocking forward on his feet to squint at the cookbook propped against his half-open window. He hears the springs in his sofa creak as Martyn flops back down onto his sofa, no doubt contorting himself into another wildly uncomfortable position. “A de-ahl?”
“A what?” His sofa creaks and he turns back to face Martyn again.
“A de-ahl?” He tips his head to the side. Martyn mirrors him, only upside down, his hair fluttering about his face as he looks up at Scott. He also looks like he’s got a headache (probably from sitting upside down for the past hour) with how his face is scrunched up. “It’s a soup thing with lentils in it.”
“Oh, yeah,” Martyn nods, then thwacks his head against the sofa and grimaces. “A dhal. You're saying it wrong.” Scott hears some kind of bone crack as Martyn adjusts himself, sitting a little more upright than before, but not yet actually sitting up. He seems to prefer sitting on the arms of his sofa than the actual sofa part of it. He would think this is just a difference between realms, but he’s had other guests capable of sitting on his sofa properly, so maybe it’s just a Martyn thing? Or maybe it’s because Martyn is here more often than he’s not and thus more comfortable, so perhaps it’s simply a familiarity thing?
“Dhal,” he repeats back to Martyn, then shrugs. “I got the recipe from a nearby village when I was perusing their markets and crop fields, ahm,” he pauses, eyes flicking back to Martyn. “I mean, looking at their crop fields. Admiring them.”
“You were stealing from their crop fields?” Martyn asks, sounding surprised, and Scott is ready with a no on the tip of his tongue, only to be interrupted by Martyn continuing. “Nevermind, I can totally see you doing that.”
Scott pauses, unsure of whether he should be offended by that or not, stopping with his mouth just slightly open as the words form. He settles on giving him an affronted look that will hopefully communicate how offended he is by the implication that he steals from villagers. The effect is ruined by the notebook blocking his sightline to Martyn’s face.
“You know Villager?” Martyn asks after a second of silence, lowering his book to look up at Scott.
“Yep,” he steps back to check on the dhal again, stirring it and checking on the lentils to see if they're soft enough yet. “Vocational course.” He turns back just in time to watch Martyn mouth vocational course to himself with some measure of disbelief, before plastering a grin on his face when he sees Scott watching him. “They said it would be nice with…nan bread?”
“Naan,” Martyn corrects. “With a h sound.”
“Thanks.”
Martyn hums in response, followed soon after by the sound of writing, of a pen scratching against the paper of a page. It’s an element of background noise that Scott had never chosen to pick up on before- there had been hardly any point when his day was filled with the sounds of people writing, scratching against surfaces to imprint their thoughts in whatever way best suited them.
And the ideas were all the same. Each fragment of information was taken from the same sections of the same libraries, each book read from cover to cover by every single person occupying those spaces. Each idea was the same, formed by the same hands and guided in the same direction. It was boring.
What would be the point of writing, when it was something that had been written a thousand times over? What would be the point in verbalising your thoughts on a topic if you were only commended for specific points, if those same points were reiterated over and over again, month after month, year after year. Only the higher-ups were able to make new discoveries, able to poke into topics that haven't been so thoroughly investigated- studied so carefully that every stone had been overturned several times already.
He finds himself paying attention to Martyn, though. He finds himself listening when he hums to himself, muttering words and beginnings of sentences beneath his breath as he writes. He scratches words out with the same energy, too, with an almost frenzied pace as his brain ticks and whirrs and finds better ways to phrase things. Better ways to communicate his newest idea.
He lays the food out on the table, leaning over Martyn at first, not quite catching his attention yet. His book page is open to a sketch of something that looks like a poster. The lines are messy and not joined together (a drawing that would not get any commendations from Scott’s teachers), resulting in an almost chicken-scratch look, but neater. It’s not a style of drawing he’s seen before, and not one he gets to study for much longer as Martyn notices him watching and slams his notebook shut, rolling over to face him.
“That’s not for your eyes yet,” Martyn says, grinning. “Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.”
“I don't like surprises.” He says, turning back to the table, and the still steaming food, when he’s certain Martyn’s not going to just dive straight back into his brainstorming.
“You’ll like this one,” Martyn hops up to follow behind him, “promise.”
He’s grinning, wide, and in a way that makes Scott think that he is definitely not going to enjoy whatever surprise this is that Martyn has prepared for him. His grin looks like the “cheshire cat” that Martyn has compared him to several times in the past. He certainly looks too pleased with himself, and it fills Scott with a sudden feeling of dread.
“For some reason, I'm doubting the genuinity of your words.” He’ll have to revisit that village at some point and thank them for sharing their recipe with him. Touching his hands to the side of the bowl warms his fingers, chasing away the small chill that had been lingering since that morning.
“I'm hurt,” Martyn presses a hand to his chest and Scott rolls his eyes at the dramatism of it all. “You've wounded me, I don't know how I will ever recover from this.”
He snorts at the high pitch of Martyn’s voice, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again (he’ll probably end up giving himself a headache by accident) and looks down at his dhal, stirring his spoon idly. “What, want me to kiss it better?”
Martyn goes silent very quickly- even the sound of his breathing stops, and it’s enough to make Scott suspicious of what he’s doing now. He glances upwards, watching as Martyn very quickly begins coughing, cheeks flushed red as he angles his head away from the table.
He’s still holding a spoon in one hand, and Scott watches (with barely restrained amusement) as Martyn struggles to handle the spice in his food. He wasn't sure if Martyn had ever had spicy food before, but his knowledge of what a dhal was filled him with a little more confidence. Apparently, that confidence was unwarranted, as Martyn is struggling to get his coughing fit under control.
“Did you inhale some of the spice?” He asks. He goes for sympathetic but probably comes across a little more mocking. Martyn glares at him from one watering eye, face still a little pink.
He coughs once more, a pathetic little cough that probably did nothing to actually help. “Something like that,” he manages after a moment. He doesn't hesitate in picking his spoon up again, turning back to his bowl with a narrowed glare down at the dhal, as though it’s personally offended him.
He doesn't seem to struggle as much for the rest of the meal, though the pink of his cheeks doesn't fade completely and he won't make eye contact with Scott.
Personally, he doesn't think the dhal is that spicy. Probably because he barely added anything, leaving it as mild as he could without ruining the flavour.
===
“Why did I agree to do this?” Martyn groans next to him. Scott ignores him as best as he can, even when Martyn goes so far as to drape himself over Scott’s back, attempting to crush him into the ground. He pays no mind to the guests that are now staring at them. He thinks he hears Sausage make a choked-off little giggle sound.
He breathes in through his nose, and out slowly through his mouth, reminding himself that Martyn is his friend, and that he values his companionship, even if he can be insufferable on occasion. He must not do a very good job of looking calm and collected, because Sausage makes another weird, laughing sound behind him.
He shoves his shoulder into Martyn’s chest, jabbing him between the ribs as best as he can from the odd angle Martyn has reduced them to.
Martyn whines, rolling off of him and onto his own feet. Which are still perfectly capable of supporting him, he’s just a pain.
Scott ignores him as he finishes collecting the vegetables from this section of his garden, tucking them neatly into his wicker basket. It’s the result of a project he picked up a week or so ago, trying his hand at something new, just to see if he could weave something. The basket is a little uneven in places, but, personally, Scott thinks that it’s a rather good first attempt. And it fulfils its purpose of holding his vegetables.
“C’mon,” he grabs hold of Martyn, fingers winding around the end of his scarf. “You're helping me wash these.”
Martyn whines for a moment longer, before giving in and allowing himself to be dragged back into the house. The stares of their guests - why did he agree to host their picnic here? Who even came up with the idea? - are hot on his back, but he does his best to ignore them, striding into his kitchen with purpose.
He dumps the vegetables out onto the side, not even flinching at the dirt that follows them out. He releases Martyn, blipping to the other side of the kitchen to grab the knives he needs, before reappearing beside Martyn again.
“Knife,” he holds it out.
“I can see that.”
“Just take it.”
He washes the vegetables, because Martyn doesn't understand why the vegetables need to be washed- still doesn't, even after the lecture Scott gave him on health and the potential for harmful bacteria living on the vegetables. He admitted to eating carrots with dirt still on them, too. He didn't even see a problem with it, so Scott labelled him as a lost cause and moved on.
He’s also far better at cutting vegetables than Scott is, somehow still nimble enough even with his glove-clad hands. Scott can barely manage to cut vegetables neatly without gloves on, struggling with the dexterity it requires and balancing that with not cutting a finger off by mistake.
There’s a sound of something exploding outside.
He closes his eyes and prays that it didn't go anywhere near his farms, before flinging the window open and leaning out, hands braced on the edge of the sink to yell at either Sausage or Jimmy. It was one of them that much is certain, but he isn't sure which one of them it was yet.
Sausage is watching him with wide, guilty eyes. He’s holding onto Jimmy’s arms, keeping them high above his head and away from wherever it is that he stores his bombs. Maybe he should have reiterated his rules a little more harshly.
Smoke is wafting off of them both, but the crater is relatively small and has only singed the edge of one of his paths. He sighs, dropping his head down and praying to any god that is willing to listen to give him patience.
“If I come outside,” he speaks just loud enough for his voice to carry, but doesn't bother yelling. They're listening either way, Jimmy’s sunglasses slipping partway down his face to reveal his equally guilty-looking eyes. “And there is still a crater in my front garden, I am not going to be pleased with you.”
“Yeah!” Martyn joins in, grinning at him as he shoves his way to stand beside him in the window, pressing him up against the window frame. It digs uncomfortably into his spine. “Get that crater outta our garden!”
“It is not our garden,” he hisses, shoving at Martyn. Martyn shoves him back, pushing him into the window frame hard enough for him to wince. “It’s mine.”
“I'm here often enough for it to be mine.”
“No, you're not.”
“Nuh-uh, I'm here more often than I am at home. The Coliny pines for me when I'm away.”
“That’s your fucking problem,” he shoves Martyn back again, pushing him into the window frame. See how he likes it. “And it’s still my garden. You don't own any part of it.”
“I planted some stuff.” Martyn argues, pushing himself closer. Scott’s arms are beginning to ache from holding himself up and over the sink for this long, made worse by Martyn shoving at him.
“What did you plant?” He never let Martyn plant anything. Martyn doesn't even know where he keeps the seeds for his current crops.
“Nothing.”
“No, you just said-”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Yes you did! You just said you planted something. So help me god, what did you plant?”
“Nothing!”
(Sausage loosens his grip on Jimmy, far more entertained by whatever’s happening in front of him right now. He didn't think it would get any better than watching Scott lead Martyn around by his scarf- and for Martyn to let him. Jimmy doesn't seem to notice that his grip is loosened, as his hands don't return to his bomb storage compartment, instead choosing to continue staring at the fighting pair in the window.
Scott’s grabbed onto Martyn’s scarf again, yanking him, somehow, closer than they were before. They were practically pressed nose to nose before this, but now they're practically kissing. Or, they would be if Martyn didn't just grab a handful of Scott’s hair and yank at it.
“Um,” someone else pipes up from behind Sausage, he doesn't know who it is and doesn't turn around to find out, far too entertained by the people arguing while squished together in a window. “Do you think they still know we’re here?”
“I don't think they care.” Someone else responds.
Oh, this is far better than what Sausage thought would happen at this picnic. He agreed because he thought he might get to see them kill each other- but this is far more interesting (and baffling) than fighting each other to the death. He’s not actually sure what this is.
Someone makes a despairing sound, like their soul is being sucked out of their body, when Martyn headbutts Scott.
They disappear a moment later, in a cloud of orange and cyan sparks. Sausage is disappointed in the lack of entertainment, having to content himself with listening to the sounds of fighting that occasionally drift outside.)
(No-one comments when they re-emerge, clothes rumpled in a way that would imply something else if not for the bruise blooming on Scott’s forehead and the way they glare at each other.)
===
Scott’s not actually entirely sure on how he managed to end up like this; leaning over a stove as he watches the pot bubble away ominously. Perhaps not one of his better ideas to experiment in the kitchen while there’s a sick person in the house. But he also doesn't know what else he’s meant to give a sick person.
The recipe is for some kind of soup. He’s not entirely sure of the actual name of the soup, just that there’s chicken in it, and it’s filling his kitchen with a warm and inviting smell. Definitely one of his better first attempts, but the lack of complexity in the recipe itself may be what he needs to thank rather than his improving cooking skills- they've improved, definitely, but not enough to perfect a harder recipe on his first try.
He stirs it, sighing as the steam continues to drift upwards. The recipe was easy enough, at least, and he had all the ingredients he could need for it. And the villager had said it was perfect for when someone was sick. He’s not sure what makes something good for a sick person, but he’s not going to question the villager’s wisdom.
Something thumps above him, echoing around the entire house with how loud it is. It is then very suspiciously quiet, far quieter than it had been a few moments before. Almost as if someone is consciously choosing not to make as much noise, focusing on being as quiet as possible-
Something clatters down the stairs, but this time it’s followed by the sound of someone groaning softly.
He turns, setting the spoon over the bubbling pan as he plants his hands on his hips.
His guest looks up at him from the floor, some parts of him still encased in ice and immobile. At least he’s still aware enough of…his general everything to respond like that to falling down the stairs, rather than allowing himself to break a bone.
Martyn continues to grin up at him, from his position flat on his back at the bottom of his stairs. His rug is slightly disturbed, folded over at the corner. He doesn't seem bothered about the uncomfortable floor beneath his back, seemingly content with his position.
“Didn't I tell you to stay put?” He asks. He’s not actually sure why he asks, because the previous times he had bothered to question whatever it is that Martyn was attempting to do had only given him incomprehensible answers and left him more confused than he had been previously.
Martyn’s forehead crinkles as he puts visible effort into thinking, face flushed pink as his eyes trail along the ceiling, away from Scott’s face.
He uses the momentary distraction to stride across the kitchen, after checking the pot isn't at risk of boiling over, and hauls him to his feet again. He brushes him down, watching and dying a little inside as the chunks of ice fall onto his rug, already beginning to melt.
He steers Martyn over to one of the seats by the kitchen counter, sitting him and ignoring whatever protest Martyn is attempting.
He’d shown up late last night, several hours after the time they had agreed upon for dinner in the first place. Scott had eaten alone after half an hour went by and Martyn still hadn't shown up, preferring to eat his food while it’s still at least a little warm rather than stone-cold.
And then, lo and behold, three hours later, Martyn had shown up on his doorstep shivering and soaked through. It hadn't even been raining! They’d had a small heatwave that Scott had suffered through, Martyn seemingly content in his thick overcoat despite the blistering temperatures.
He was sick, rather obviously. Though it wasn't anything life threatening, and definitely not something that Martyn couldn't take care of on his own. But when Scott had attempted to kick him back out of his house, after determining he wasn't about to keel over (he wasn't heartless), Martyn had whinged and complained, clinging to Scott until he simply gave in and let him back into his house.
And he was still here today. No less sick and seemingly more miserable than before. He might even be a little bit more sick today, if the pink flush across his face is anything to go by.
“How do you even get a cold,” he complains, once he’s determined that Martyn isn't going to try and brain himself on the counter. “Your whole thing is being cold.”
“It’s not my thing,” Martyn says. His voice comes out odd, all congested and slightly wet. It takes all of Scott’s willpower for him not to wince at the sound of it. He pushes a glass of water across the counter a moment later, only warning Martyn not to drink it too fast- he is not cleaning up vomit today. Or ever. He’d prefer never having to clean up vomit.
“Then what is your thing,” he asks.
“Being cool,” Martyn grins at him, as though that isn't his worst attempt at a joke in a while. Scott stares at him for a moment later, waiting for the actual punchline and waiting for Martyn to come up with something better than that.
He doesn't, just continues staring at Scott silently.
“God,” he turns back to the pot, turning the heat down to let it simmer. “You're sicker than I thought. That joke was shit.”
“Was not.”
“Uh, yeah it was.”
“I’ve been thinking of that one for the past half hour,” Martyn protests. “Didn't you find it funny?”
“Not at all.”
“You're horrible to me.” Martyn sniffs, or maybe he’s just trying to breathe through his nose, Scott’s not sure. “And while I'm sick.”
“I'm horrible to you no matter what,” he’s not really. He could be much more nasty, could pick the right spot to poke and prod at until everything is sensitive. Martyn probably knows this too, because he did it to him once, once and never again because it left him feeling sick to his stomach for several days afterwards. “I'm not going to suddenly start being nice because you're feeling a little under the weather.”
“I'm not just under the weather, I'm dying.”
“Shame,” he hums. “And here I was, about to waste this soup on a dying man. Perhaps I shouldn't bother, if you're going to be dead soon.”
Martyn makes a noise that’s halfway between a groan and the sound of a wounded cat, followed quickly by the sound of his head hitting the counter. Scott panics for a moment, and yanks him back upwards, perhaps not as gentle as he normally is. Martyn whines a little at that too, eyes a little glazed over and unfocused.
He presses a hand against Martyn’s forehead, pulling his hand back almost immediately afterwards, wincing in sympathy at the heat radiating from him. Maybe he was more than a little worse than yesterday.
He turns back around, leaving Martyn to sprawl himself over his countertop, ignoring the small voice in the back of his brain that’s reminding him of how he’s going to have to disinfect it later and remove all the infectious germs from his cooking area.
He has to rummage through three separate cupboards before he manages to find what he’s looking for, emerging with a triumphant noise that has Martyn perking up, trying to get a closer look at what he’s holding.
“Here,” he holds the tablets out, offering two (he thinks it’s two? He can't quite remember the correct doses for humanoids, but it’s something like two? It could be three, but he’s sticking with two to be safe).
Martyn stares at the tablets in his palm, before slowly raising his eyes to him. The pupils are a little larger than they should be, and he still has that hazy look to his eye that suggests he’s not entirely there.
“Are you a drug dealer?” Is the last thing that Scott expects to hear from him, though.
“Sorry?”
Martyn’s eyes flick between his face and his hand, and the tablets in it, a few times. “Are you giving me drugs.”
He sighs, resisting the urge to brain himself on the counter as Martyn continues to stare at him. Trust that to be the first thing he thinks of in this situation.
“Yes,” he grits out. “But ones of the medical kind. The safe ones.”
“There are no safe drugs.” Martyn crosses his arms, leaning away from him. He seems to forget he’s on a stool as he leans too far backwards and has to lunge forward and grab the counter before he topples off of it entirely. “My mother taught me that, and my mother was a very smart woman.” He blinks. “Are you saying she’s wrong?”
“No, I'm-” he cuts himself off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. It doesn't help as much as he hoped it would. “Just take the tablets, please.”
“My mother also said not to take drugs from strangers.”
“I'm not a stranger!” He shoves the aspirin tablets towards Martyn, “You are in my house because you dragged yourself here looking like a drowned rat, and so I'm trying to make you better.”
Martyn picks one of the tablets up, but doesn't swallow it. Whatever, a win is a win, and he’s pretty sure this is a step closer to the end goal. Whether than end goal is him strangling Martyn or Martyn getting better is still up in the air.
He turns to the soup, and when he turns back around again Martyn is still holding the tablets, looking at them like they're going to bite him.
“They're safe,” he says, trying not to sigh too hard. Sighing this often is probably bad for him. “I should know, I made them myself.”
“You made these?” Martyn’s eyes widen a little, gaining a little more clarity back as he looks at the tablets again. “How?”
“I'm not explaining it to you when you're sick,” he says. “It took me three years to learn how to do it like that, you're not gonna get it.” He winces a little at his dismissive tone, ready to turn around and add something on the end that’ll lessen the sting of his words.
“That’s really smart.” Martyn says, cutting off whatever train of thought he was having beforehand. “You're, like, really smart, you know that right?”
“I- huh, thanks.” He does know he’s smart, or at least above average. He’d done well in his classes, and his teachers had been pleased with his progress. Pleased enough to sanction his exploration of another realm, at least. “You're pretty smart too.”
“You think I'm pretty?”
Scott is glad he’s facing the stove at that point, and that he has the excuse of something cooking right in front of him for how warm his face suddenly feels. He needs to stop talking. Martyn is latching onto all the wrong parts of a conversation right now, and really, he should probably be sleeping.
“Didn't say that,” he steps around the counter, grabbing Martyn’s scarf (which he hadn't managed to get off of him. Martyn bit him for trying) and yanking. Martyn follows easily, feet tripping over each other as Scott leads him away from the kitchen.
It’s a task, getting him up the stairs without him falling back down, but he seems happy to follow when the alternative is getting his airway slowly cut off by his favourite garment.
“Sleep,” he has to hold Martyn’s shoulder down so he doesn't try and roll out of the bed. “You are sick and you are going to be so embarrassed when you feel better and remember this.”
“Why would I be embarrassed?”
“Because I'm going to remind you,” he pushes a little more of his weight down onto Martyn’s shoulder, just to emphasise it, and remind him that he is staying here. “You get up again and I'm videoing you for everyone else to see.”
Martyn grumbles at him, but flops over onto his side anyway, closing his eyes.
He’ll be back up thirty minutes later, threat forgotten, but the moment of peace is all Scott needs to finish the soup. And collect himself so he can stop thinking about the way Martyn had looked at him when he said pretty.
===
“You're insufferable, you know that right?” He tries to tip his head back, but Martyn keeps a firm hand on the back of his neck, forcing him to continue facing forward.
“I strive to be!” Martyn chirps in response. He’s not at all gentle in the way he’s braiding Scott’s hair, tugging at it just a little bit too hard for it to be comfortable.
Scott sits there and lets it happen, sinking into the feeling of someone playing with his hair, tipping his head back the slightest amount that Martyn is allowing. He relaxes moment by moment, listening to whatever song Martyn is humming under his breath.
It’s not a song he’s heard before. So much of the music of this realm is entirely different from anything he’s ever heard before, varying so much in the different sounds used despite using the same few notes that he knows. Every piece of music he’s ever been forced to learn had sounded the exact same, with perhaps a slight difference in pitch.
Every piece of music here has him feeling a different variation of emotions, sometimes an entire collection of them. It’s confusing, but in an almost good way. Everything in this realm seems confusing, far too much and far too little at the same time, so different from everything he knows and everything he expected.
He finds himself liking it more than he expected.
He winces as Martyn tugs at his hair again, waving away the murmured apology Martyn gives him in return. He’s not sure what possessed Martyn to do this, but he’d had the idea halfway through their dinner, voicing it moments later. Maybe most surprising of all was how easily Scott agreed, in exchange for Martyn drying the dishes and putting them away.
(He does that anyway, finding comfort in helping out when Scott won't let him in his kitchen. He’s been brought up with truly impeccable manners - whoever his mother is, Scott wouldn't mind meeting her - and cannot stand to take something from someone without giving anything in return. Scott doesn't quite understand the sentiment, seeing himself as offering the meal freely in exchange for company, but he’s also not going to protest help in washing up.)
“And…done!” Martyn leans back, Scott can feel the way his weight shifts behind him. He raises a hand to carefully feel along his hair, fingers drifting over the braid winding its way around the side of his head. He didn't think his hair was long enough for this, but Martyn somehow made it work.
“Thank you,” he twists around to direct his smile at Martyn. Martyn smiles back at him, a little softer around the edges than usual. Though maybe that’s just the effect of his hood being down for once and his scarf a little looser around his neck.
“It really suits you,” Martyn says, tipping his head to the side. One of his ears flicks, the furry ends catching the light and holding it between the fine hairs there. He still hasn't explained that part, though he’d made it clear that it was a separate entity from the cold that laces his bones. Scott hadn't understood his explanation- mainly because there hadn't been an explanation in the first place, but he hadn't dug deeper in search of one. The people of this realm are fascinating, but they're also insanely private with their personal affairs, preferring to hold things close to their hearts when those feelings cannot be accessed.
Scott finds that his own feelings have migrated closer to his chest in mimicry. His emotions are a tangled ball of thorns that he’s not looking forward to unwinding when he has to return. To unpick the knots that have snared themselves within that tangled ball of feelings and experiences is bound to tear them apart in places, leave them misshapen and incomplete.
Leaving them a tangled snarl of confusing emotions is preferable to him. It’s something for him to hold onto, to remind him of this experience once he’s left. Because he will have to leave, eventually, the days ticking by and counting down on an invisible clock.
“Thank you,” Martyn continues to watch him, even after his thanks. He feels himself growing a little warm beneath the attention - something else he hadn't experienced before now. Something he hadn't ever expected to experience.
He’s not sure what possesses him- maybe it’s something entirely out of his control taking over his body for a moment to push him forwards, to shove him from one door to another, forcing him through it before he can deliberate any longer. Or maybe it’s his mind taking a backseat for a moment, allowing his heart to push him forward.
His hand closes around the end of Martyn’s scarf, the fabric worn in all the right places beneath his fingers, in all the familiar places. He’s not sure how many times he’s held this scarf in his hand, exactly like this before. Far too many to count, probably not enough to mean anything.
He yanks, before his brain can kickstart and send him sprawling away, backpedalling in the hopes of saving whatever fragmented friendship they come out of this with.
He’s never kissed anyone before.
It’s nothing like what he expected, but somehow everything at the same time. Fireworks don't go off in the background, there’s no dizzying rush of adrenaline flooding his veins. Nothing like the few romance novels had described it as, nothing so extreme as losing control over yourself and sinking into the sensation of it.
He’s entirely aware, can feel the warmth of another person’s body beneath his hands, can feel the brush of skin against his lips, the slightest amount of pressure, before he’s pulling back again.
He shoves himself off of Martyn hurriedly, and would have had a rather undignified meeting with the ground if arms hadn't circled around him, dragging him back towards that warmth, that orbit that seems to drag him further and further in, no matter what he does in an attempt to distance himself.
He learned about black holes, on a whim as it was on none of the courses or optional modules that he signed up for. It just didn't cross over into his branch, didn't overlap with any of the courses he took. It wasn't anything he ever learned in a class, but it was something he studied anyway- some interest that had seized him and left him in what some may describe as a frenzy as he studied everything about the stars he could get his hands on.
Black holes drag anything and everything in, indiscriminate in what enters their orbit and is consumed. This slow dragging back towards Martyn, no matter how many times he tries to put a safe distance between them, reminders of his limited time here doing very little against the gravitational force Martyn seems to have swathed himself in.
But it is not the crushing force of some immeasurable celestial being. It is not how he imagined being dragged into a black hole would feel like. It’s more like the soft tugging of a hand, caught on the edge of clothing, or linked around a finger, urging him to return towards them.
Such a force should be easy to overcome, should be easy to break away from. And yet, Scott finds himself sinking back into the feeling every single time, coaxed back by the oddness that everyone he now surrounds himself with seems to possess.
“Where d’you think you're going?” Is Martyn’s only question, but it’s enough to drag Scott back into his orbit once more. Maybe enough to keep him there, this time.
#juno.writes#new life smp#new life smp fic#scott smajor#martyn inthelittlewood#trafficshipping#majorwood#nlsmp#nlsmp martyn#nlsmp scott
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What do you think are Sukuna and Yuuji’s greatest personality strengths and weaknesses? Why? What do you love about their dynamic?
oh I love questions like that!!
for sukuna, I wanted to say his intelligence and creativity but to be honest I think it's his curiosity and inquisitiveness. Intelligence and creativity are like muscles. you develop them the more you observe, learn, practice and experience and one of sukuna's defining traits is that he's incredibly observant. his curiosity in a way contradicts his "I don't give a fuck about anything" attitude but then we have witnessed time and time again how he finds other sorcerous intriguing or in sukuna's words "fascinating". he even admits later to kashimo that he finds people tasty interesting
sukuna's curiosity allows him to learn new things and lets him acquire more knowledge (hence why he's so adaptable and strategic in combat), probably as a way to keep himself entertained, after all he's also a super bored individual. However, one would think that for someone with such strong sense of curiosity and inquisitiveness that naturally leads him into exploring and learning, he would be much more prone to growing and evolving as a person... well not in sukuna's case nuh uh. cause this guys biggest problem obstacle is him himself.
sukuna claims he doesn't need anyone and thinking his way of living is perfectly fine and yet he showed doubts when that one "annoying brat" who he can't seem to ged rid off (by literally and metaphorically cutting them off) the way he did everyone else, made him reflect on himself for the first time in millennium. sukuna is a great and cunning observant... of everyone but himself. I think his greatest personality weakness is his absolute lack of self awareness, which is kinda funny considering that he's also a character with the most overwhelming sense of self. it’s like he knows damn well who is and doesn’t need external validation but then because he never self reflects he can’t really grow and evolve as a person… and if it wasn't for sukuna and yuuji's forced coexistence, sukuna would have most likely still kept going about his life the way he always did without trying to understand his own thoughts, feelings, values, beliefs, and actions. the reason he never questioned his own way of being is cause others are just a way for him to pass time rather than an opportunity to reflect upon himself and learn something about his own inner workings…
and then we have yuuji who I would say is on the same spectrum just on the opposite end. yuuji doesn't really reflect on himself or question the world he lives in but that wasn't always the case. in the first ten chapter we actually get to witness his internal monologue about death and his place in all of this but after his first encounter with a certain death, everything changes. yuuji stopped reflecting on himself and instead started repressing his emotions. someone actually made a great meta about this, he actively avoids thinking about the whole situation, which brings me to my point. I think yuuji's greatest personality weakness is actually his impulsiveness. he tends to make decisions without thinking about the consequences first. yuuji, like most of teenagers tbh, doesn't want to think too hard about the world he lives in so long as he has something to do but I believe this might also be related to the perception he has of himself as "the dumb one". “Im an idiot so there’s no point in me thinking about these things right?” you can even see that sort of attitude when megumi admits why he saved yuuji that day
you’re so smart fushiguro. thinking about all sorts of stuff, unlike me.
oh yuuji.. yuuji.. :/. but in some ways yuuji's impulsiveness can also work in his favour. his "do it now, think later" attitude doesn't allow him much room to overthink, so once he commits to a task he doesn't back down until he achieve his goal. that's why, I believe his greatest strength are his determination and strong will, something even sukuna couldn't break.
sukuna and yuuji’s strength and weakness go hand in hand and complement one another. sukuna's habitual curiosity reflects yuuji's obliviousness to the world around him, whilst yuuji's determination (but also just sheer existence) caused sukuna to have doubts about his way of living. they're complete polar opposite and yet in some ways they're more alike than they think. neither of them is a big fan of self reflection. they're both stubborn af. physical pain is just an after thought to them, they'll keep going even if they loose half of their limbs. "violence is the solution". they're both freaks who don't mind eating human flesh and one of them actually enjoys it. and lastly, they're both just really miserable. sukuna's selfishness only made him hollow inside and yuuji's selflessness only brought him more suffering and pain. they also think that the solution to their problems is to kill the other one (which is kinda funny now that I think about it lol tho in yuuji's case this is kinda true.. but also not really) and yet they’ve been essential to each other’s growth. they’re both really fucked up individuals who hate each other’s guts and make each other’s lives a living hell but at the same time they also know and understand the other one’s soul like no one else… what’s not to love?
sukuna and yuuji’s dynamic is actually the reason why I fell in love w jjk in the first place. their interactions are always fun and entertaining and they always leave with an even bigger brainrot but at this point I think it’s safe to say that these two consumed my mind and heart and maybe even soul completely. I just can’t get enough of them.
#just look at my blog I’m such a loser for these two it’s almost embarrassing#ryomen sukuna#itadori yuuji#asks#apologies for any mistakes I’m dislexic af
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Nacho and Lalo both showing interest in the same girl and trying to woo her so they can share her?
notes: render is female, pre-throuple, Lalo is Lalo and Nacho tries to keep up with him.
words: 930
It was a strange night in an even stranger club. Lalo didn't seem to be in sync with how his dealers were having fun, let alone the chicanos working for Tuco. But since Tuco wasn't there anymore, it was Lalo's turn to take charge. That included attending those out-of-place gatherings where everyone drank and looked for any girl to hook up with quickly and smoke something together. Lalo was probably too old for those things, but there was no excuse for Nacho. He was so uninterested in attending that he just stayed in a corner, talking and drinking with Lalo about business. It was the only thing they talked about, as if they truly had no interest in wasting their time on trivial matters.
Lalo kept watching the people around him while Nacho was more interested in staring at the liquid in his beer, moving the bottle back and forth as he listened to reggaeton playing in the background.
"Eh, cabrón. Mira a esa vieja"(Hey, man. Look at that lady)
Lalo's voice snapped Nacho out of his trance, with a pat on his shoulder and a nod with his lips, Lalo pointed at you.
You were near the speakers, trying to ignore the guy who wouldn't stop hitting on you despite your persistent refusals.
"Está bien chula la cabrona..."(She's quite hot, damn...)
Lalo mentioned with a smile on his face, quickly glancing at Nacho and realizing that he seemed interested too.
"Es bonita" (She's pretty)
Nacho was somewhat reserved. He had seen you before and exchanged a few words with you in the past, but nothing too serious.
"¿Bonita? No mames, es un pinche mujerón" (Pretty? Damn, she's a fucking bombshell)
Both of them kept looking at you for a few minutes until you decided to move from that spot and walk towards the bar, resting your arms on the counter and turning your back to them. Lalo chuckled, and Nacho looked away when he realized he was being too obvious. However, Lalo wasn't exactly the most subtle guy in the world, so he soon got up from where he was and walked over to the bar to stand next to you. He wasted no time ordering a tequila on the rocks and offering you a drink.
"You look a bit bored, darling" Lalo mentioned as he leaned on the bar and observed you closely.
"More than bored, somewhat disappointed" you said as you took a sip of your drink.
"Disappointed?" he asked with a more interested tone. "And why is that, princess?"
"I thought the men here would be more interesting, but all they do is brag about their money and their guns."
Lalo noticed how you briefly glanced at the revolver he had on the edge of his jeans and made a comment with an obvious hint. Perhaps he thought you were already shutting him down to prevent him from trying to flirt with you.
"You should have gone somewhere else, sweetheart. What were you expecting living in a place like this?" he teased, and you saw something in his eyes that sparkled in the darkness of the club.
"Not you, definitely" you replied playfully. Lalo noticed your wit and smiled. "Aren't you a bit too old to be in clubs like this?"
"Don't let the gray hair deceive you, darling." Instead of getting offended, Lalo became even more interested in you. Not many girls mentioned his age and avoided his flirting. "Don't you like mature men?"
"It depends..."
"Depends on what?"
"Depends on whether he can buy me another whisky or not."
Your words made him burst into laughter due to your straightforward way of speaking. If Lalo was literally interested in you before, now he had your undivided attention.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the club, Nacho watched as Lalo made moves on you and seemed to be succeeding. Something inside him bothered him. He didn't precisely know what it was, but he felt uncomfortable seeing how easily Lalo managed to get close to you when Nacho had previously struggled to approach you with intentions of flirting. Nacho took one last sip of his beer, got up from where he was, walked towards the two of you, and positioned himself next to you to order another beer.
"Nachito" Lalo caught Ignacio's attention, also making you look at him. "Don't you want to join the conversation? Here, our lovely... What's your name, sweetheart?"
After telling him your name, Lalo smiled and continued. "Here, our little princess thinks Mexican men are boring. What do you think about that?"
"No, no. I didn't say they were boring" you laughed as you shook your head.
Nacho furrowed his brow and smiled at you, leaning a bit closer to get a better look at you.
"We're boring?" Nacho's voice had a playful tone.
"I didn't say you were boring... Your friend here is just misinterpreting my words" you excused yourself while pointing at Lalo, who simply raised his hands and feigned innocence.
"So... the princess thinks we only show off money and guns, huh?" Lalo added as he took a sip of the new beer he had ordered.
"Well, only idiots boast about those things" Nacho added, looking at you, and you looked back at him. You revealed a certain chemistry between the two of you.
"I think you need to meet real men, darling..."
Lalo exchanged a knowing glance with Nacho, and he understood what he meant. They both moved a bit closer to you, and you felt Lalo's warm hand resting on the lower part of your back.
#better call saul x reader#breaking bad x reader#bcs x reader#nacho varga#nacho varga x reader#nacho bcs#ignacio varga#one short#request#lalo salamanca x reader#lalo salamanca#lalo salamanca imagine
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🌸 Byakuya & Shunsui w/Son!Reader | Bankai before Shikai HCs 🌸
❗Small spoilers for the mention of Azashiro in the novel.❗
Requested by: @lufenianwol
Note: Requests aren't open, but will be at a later date.
It struck him as peculiar for his son to gain his bankai before ever achieving his shikai, yet he knew it wasn't impossible. After all, he knew that Azashiro achieved his bankai without ever gaining a shikai. Still, he found it rather strange at first, but he couldn't deny how unique it made his child out to be. Everyone gushed over the fact that you achieved your bankai first, and as much as you might have enjoyed the attention, you knew this would only make training and fighting a bit tougher for you.
It was more tedious than anything to have to fight without a shikai. Your bankai was always your last resort, however, Byakuya knew this and often had you train alongside him to further your capabilities. He knew better than anyone that a shinigami shouldn't depend solely on their bankai, and so he devoted his free time to helping you to at least try and gain your shikai. It wasn't easy, but these things never were, and your father wasn't the same man he used to be.
Byakuya was a lot more understanding of your situation than you thought, but he also didn't see you as any less for not having a shikai. He also didn't work you to the bone during training. He took things at your pace, and would oftentimes include Renji in the training sessions.
Now, some would call your father a bit overprotective for this, but he grew worried ever since a mission to the World of the Living ended up with you badly injured. He felt awful when you told him it was because you tried to not rely on your bankai as much, to which Byakuya told you to forget he ever said such a thing. That if you need to use it, use it without hesitation. Your life and well-being mattered more to him than restraining yourself like that.
Other shinigami have resorted to nicknaming you "the second Azashiro", but you don't care. Byakuya does, though, and such a silly thing is immediately put to a stop.
If you ever do gain your shikai, your father will sport a smile so proud that it would definitely be the talk of the barracks. However, if you never obtain a shikai, that's okay, too. Byakuya won't ever see you as weak or anything different. He could never think of such a thing with his son. If you still wish to continue training to not rely on your bankai, he'll happily do so.
His son achieved his bankai before his shikai? He's surprised. Very, very surprised, but no sweat. He knows the same thing occurred with Azashiro, especially since that man never achieved a shikai in the end. That just makes you special in his eyes. Now, Shunsui obviously knows the little complications that come with not having a shikai, as well as what can happen when a shinigami relies too much on their bankai. He'd pull a Byakuya and try to train you. Emphasis on try.
It's not that it's difficult, but he can see how bored you get training each and every day with him. As much as he knows it'll make you stronger, he can't bear to see you unhappy like this. So, instead of training you to unlock your shikai, he'll just focus on improving your basic swordsmanship skills as well as your bankai. Shikai be damned at that point.
You're the talk of the Soul Society, though. People are even comparing you to the still imprisoned Azashiro, and you don't care. Neither does your dad with his little carefree personality. Sure, you don't have a shikai like that man, but that doesn't mean you're going to be like him.
Shunsui does get a little concerned when you're on certain missions, though, but you always come back with little to no injuries. For anyone who ever doubted you and your strength, because it certainly was never your father, you prove yourself each and every time. It puts a proud smile on your old man's face. To the point where he always has to brag about you. Nanao never hears the end of it.
He knows you don't need a shikai. Honestly, not with how strong you are now. Though if you ever do get one? He'd be THE proudest dad. Might even bust out a good bottle of sake for such an occasion. Though if you never get your shikai? That's fine, too. Shunsui knows these things take time. That or your Zanpakutō is quite the stubborn one.
Either way, he won't ever see you any different than him or the other shinigami. He also won't take any slander to your name on that, either, and will always bring up the fact that it's the same as shinigami not achieving their bankai. Your old man will always have your back on this.
#bleach#bleach headcanons#bleach byakuya#byakuya kuchiki#byakuya kuchiki headcanons#byakuya headcanons#bleach shunsui#shunsui kyoraku#shunsui kyoraku headcanons#shunsui headcanons#bleach x y/n#bleach x you#bleach x reader#bleach x male reader#male reader#son reader#kiwicopia writes
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🏎️💨 THE FORMULA 1 TAG GAME! 🏎️💨:
i don't know who else to tag honestly but thank youuu @wisteria-wisteria for tagging me 😉
1. Who or what got you into F1?
i've been wanting to tell this story to someone cuz i think it's so dumb
so well, my dad and my cousins are HUGE f1 fans they always talk about it on the family gc. it was the mexico 2023 gp (we're mexican btw and just like every single men in mexico they love checo) and we all know what happened to checo in that race so they were fuming and honestly i was enjoying it and all the memes on twt
anyway i never really cared about the sport, to me it was just men going vroom vroom in circles for an hour but then the brazil gp came
we were in my grandparents house, i was in the living room and they were watching the race obviously, it was just about to start and then something magical happened that changed my whole life... charles leclerc crashes on the formation lap and i thought omg who's this dumbass 🙄 but then i heard his voice with that sadness you only hear in eastern european gay porn saying "why the fuck am i so unlucky?", i was like damn he's so me, my dad was asking me to traduce what he was saying, i had no context of everything that happened on the season but i could just think damn is this not the first time that it has happened to him? poor bro
then i saw him get lost in the motherfucking woods and i was crying laughing at this point wondering who the hell is this guy?
i made a mental note to search his name on twt later, anyway the race went on and i was actually getting invested in it, i remember my cousins had to leave but they were all i want to see checo pass hamilton bla bla bla and i had no idea who hamilton was but i wanted to see it too it was so exciting. when i got back home i went into a charles leclerc rabbit hole in twt and tumblr and tiktok, then i learned more about all the other drivers and as someone who was lacking content of my man finn wolfhard i was getting bored and seeing this guys being a chaotic mess and getting content of them every weekend i was like fuck it they're my new blorbos especially charles❤️
and now here i am :) the end.
2. Who was the very first F1 driver you supported? Do you support them now? Have your opinions on them differed or stayed the same since then?
i am a charles leclerc girlie and i will always be he's my sunshine i will fight anyone who dares to say something bad about him, i just love him so much he's so determinated and passionate i am so sure he will achieve his dream but he's also very kind, charming, funny. his history is also so amazing to me, his mental strenght is unbelievable and has motivated me to keep going no matter what, he's very dear to me, i admire him so much and i don't think it will ever change because he amazes me more and more everytime.
3. Who’s your current favourite F1 driver?
charlieeee obvi but i've also been very obsessed with max lately they are fighting for p1 in my favorite drivers championship every single day hahahah
maxie poo i love you babygirl 😘
ok but now seriously MAX VERSTAPPEN YOU ARE A FUCKING LEGEND AND DESERVE ALL THE HAPPINESS IN THE WORLD he means a lot to me now too
i love lando and oscar also i hope they achieve amazing things with mclaren they have so much talent and potential i know they will be great
and ofc mi gente latino 🇲🇽✊ checo pérez you are my dad and i support you no matter what also he's so unintentionally funny as max said i'll just call him lovely 😌
4. Is there a driver pairing or pairings you support? What made you attracted to that pairing in the first place?
LESTAPPEN MY GOD when i tell you that i think about them every day i'm not joking at all
my roman empire as the tiktok kids would say
i just love them for the same reasons everyone else does they have been racing against each other for most of their lives and of course they've had their rough patches but they respect each other and love racing together, they push the limits and will do everything to win but they always keep that mutual respect and admiration
i got into them with the inchident video it's just hilarious max being all mad like no it's so unfair 🙄 and charlie being like just an inchident 😘 I CAN'T THEY'RE SO ICONIC LIVE LAUGH LOVE LESTAPPEN we love emotional support rivals
also shoutout carlando, maxiel, charlos, chestappen, landoscar they are so funny love seeing them do stupid shit but also have each others back
5. Do your parents, siblings or relatives have a favourite team and/or favourite driver(s)?
my dad will die for red bull especially for checo, i don't really know my cousins favorite drivers but they like ferrari and one of them has a charles leclerc cap and a valtteri bottas one so i think them
i'm kind of a closeted f1 fan lmao because most of my life i've been like it's so boring just them going in circles but now i'm obsessed but also if i say i like it now they would be like you just like it because the drivers are good looking
and i mean YEAH but fuck just let me enjoy it and it's also my first season i'm still learning give me a break bruh
6. Do you have any favourite races? Are there any that stand out to you the most?
like i said this is my first season and i started pretty late but they first race i ever watched from start to finish was ✨las vegas 2023✨ and as a charles fan i will never forget that last lap where i was mourning p2 already and all like well let's hope for the best on the next race😔 when all of a sudden i see this mf overtaking checo, it was 1am and when i tell you i JUMPED from the couch and started screaming and jumping around, genuinely i will never forget it
7. Do you have a favourite circuit? Can be from the past or from the current calendar.
i don't really know about each circuit that much but i like monaco
8. Have you ever been to an F1 race in real life? Feel free to tell us your experience going to one if you like.
naaahh they're expensive af maybeee one day i'll go to the gp in mexico city but in a very distant future
9. Have you ever met an F1 driver in real life?
i see checo's face in every corner in my city does that count?
10. Do you have a favourite F1 car? If so, what is it?
i like the mercedes' cars just for the mere reason that they look cool to me and since i don't know all the technical stuff i think i could give you a pepper answer once i learn more
11. Do you have a favourite one win wonder?
not really ✌️
12. Do you have any favourite quotes from the F1 world? This can either be inspirational or hilarious.
when max said "i always thought that if i would make it to F1, charles will also make it"
what can i say i love my babygirls
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An unexpected beginning
Lmao sorry about the half-assed title, this is my first fic and I'm pretty nervous about it
Not to mention I wrote this in 10 minutes out of impulsivity so don't expect any quality writing really
Warnings: none (extremely sappy ending and possibly out of character sae)
pure fluff ♡
| slow burn | romance | engagement |
"Sae!"
"What now?"
"I told you it's fine, I don't need a bigger one, the one you got me is just fine!"
Your boyfriend, now future fiancé, was being a pain in the ass. It's difficult to discern what's going through his mind, and god damn how helpful it would be to know sometimes. Itoshi Sae is a mystery to everyone, no one can fathom the emotions behind those bored eyes, apart from you. Let's say to you he's more of a puzzle, you've put a part of it together, the outer parts, but you're struggling tremendously on the inside. To think you were just a waitress at a coffee shop he'd always go to extremely early before practice so he could avoid any unwanted paparazzi encounter, always wearing a black cap and a pair of sunglasses. In the beginning he never quite stood out to you, I mean he was just a simple guy in a simple outfit, the same old sweatpants and sweater, there was nothing quite particular about him. Perhaps that was before you had gotten a clear glimpse of the sea of emeralds hidden under those shades.
You remember it clearly, it was as if a fever hit you. They were dull, yes there was certainly no denying that, but they were deep and alluring. You had been bewitched! Or maybe unknowingly it was the other way round. Sae is so used to being recognised wherever he treads, taunted by the paparazzi, tormented by fans, oh and don't get him started on the constant buzz of his phone. It was nice, almost refreshing, being treated like a normal person.
Whenever he passed by he always hoped it was you who served him, you treated him like another client, unlike your colleagues who would constantly fawn over him, hearing mumbles and squeals such as "omg the sae itoshi", "i can't believe he's right in front of me!"
Perhaps it was because you too were a foreigner, another thing which brought you both closer, you didn't watch football apart from the occasional international match but overall the sport isn't very popular in your country, hence you didn't know who he was. Overtime you figured it out, a football prodigy, "Japan's national treasure", though it didn't mean much to you, you were a simple waitress working a part time job whilst studying at a University in Madrid.
You two were foreigners still adapting to a new lifestyle, a new culture, a new language.
Initially there would be a mere exchange of words, moreso you trying to awkwardly start a conversation: "How was your coffee?", "Would you like to try our new freshly baked pastries?" But Sae hated small talk, yet he seemed to find the energy to not glare at you every time you spoke.
He's known for his lean and muscular body, slowly earning the title of sex symbol, his flawless facial alignments, those enchanting eyes, however he was also known for his "do not waste my time" attitude, but somehow it made him appear even sexier to the public, certainly not to the poor interviewers who had to suffer in silence.
One time he was rushing away from the paparazzi, you were just opening the café as he rushed in almost making you fall. 'How rude' you thought, 'not even an apology?'
But those thoughts quickly vanished into thin air when you were met with pleading eyes. He wanted to get away from all the reporters, the people, the world. He was almost panicking. He could usually deal with everyone by brushing them off with that nonchalant stare of his, but today was different. He had enough. Thankfully you were the only one there at the time so you decided to hide him in the backroom, where you brought him a glass of water to calm down. Five minutes later, with all the paparazzi gone, he came out of his hiding spot and with a half-assed 'thank you' he made his way out. Gosh you were furious, nonetheless a crimson red flushed your cheeks. A note with his number and a little thank you written below.
And that's how it all started, to think you would be already picking your engagement ring after 3 years of dealing with this man. He proposed to you during a midnight walk along the seaside, Sae has always found comfort in the sea and that's why there was no better place to propose, but there was one problem: the ring. Even though the ring he got you was one he knew you'd like, he thought it was unworthy of you because it was so small, he wanted everything to be perfect and he wanted to make sure you were happy with the ring. It was nothing too extravagant or big, it was simple but embellished just right
"Seriously Sae, love it. Stop being so stubborn! It's perfect for me, gosh. Why are you worrying so much about this?"
Sae groaned, he was definitely being too worrisome about this and he was well aware of it.
"Y/n, I don't want to make any mistakes-"
"Sae, sweety, I love you and I love this ring. Now can we go home and get some rest? The shop's about to close".
"Yeah sure, but don't go complaining or flip out on me if you suddenly don't like it".
You laugh to yourself, hopefully you're going to be stuck with this drama queen for the rest of your life.
#sae itoshi#itoshi sae#sae itoshi x reader#itoshi sae x reader#bllk#bllk x reader#cringey romance#sae x reader#slow burn
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