#and like it’s only three places and one is out in bumfuck nowhere so it shouldn’t be busy
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#alright so they narrowed down our snow totals#instead of 3 to 12 we’re in 4 to 8#which like bummer I wanted a foot#but also I was afraid I was gonna wake up and it was gonna be like 1 to 3#when they show the snow total map we’re like right near where the stark contrast line is still#so I don’t think they’re entirely sure#but also I ran out last night cause like#I need to do at least a little something besides work/being at home because otherwise my depression/anxiety kinda worsen#so went out to go to the bookstore and get takeout#and literally the second I got home I kinda forgot that I also needed to run errands ^^;#and it was past 8:30 and I was tired#so everyone wish me luck running out before the bad weather hits Dx#the lighter outer bands are supposed to start soon but they’re saying we’re not getting anything measurable until 1pm#and like it’s only three places and one is out in bumfuck nowhere so it shouldn’t be busy#the other two might be tho so imma do them first#yall remember that vine with the guy who’s like ‘I gotta get the milk anD BREAD THEY SAID SNOW’#that me rn :P#hELP
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Tether Me - Chapter 1
Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader
Summary:
“Jesus!” You shrieked and jumped with all the elegance of a newborn fawn, spinning on your heel to find a head of blindingly white hair and pearly canines equally as eye-burning greeting you through a wide grin. Though you couldn’t see the man's eyes behind those curiously round shades of his, you could picture how his cheeks crinkled his hidden hues at the corners.
If any of the Greek or Roman gods were real, he’d outshine every one of them without breaking a sweat.
“Not quite,” the unfairly gorgeous stranger replied with a snicker from where he leaned against the fence, “but I’m flattered.”
CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here)
AN: no particular additional warnings for this chapter. I'll add new warnings for any chapters that might require them (for example, nsfw)
Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2
WC: 15.3k
Seeing your new…home in the unforgiving glare of daytime made you realize that the realtor spent more time photoshopping the box of danger to make it appear appealing than actually selling it. Gave it to the first poor buyer that bit the bait and dashed off.
Said poor buyer was you. Apparently.
A rickety bamboo fence, chipped and scratched by god knows what, wrapped loosely around your property, the pathetic poles clinging to life by threads about as strong as spider silk. Quite the sad barrier. Honestly, you had no idea how it managed to remain upright this long at all.
The description on the site you found it on was very, very vague with anything regarding the building. Even with your prodding, the most you generally got was “well, nobody died in it, and it’s still standing.”
Good enough for you, clearly, considering you slapped the Sold! sign on the damn listing yourself maybe 30 minutes and a glass of wine (or three) after finding the soggy, depressing shack.
Granny was right. This thing was a damn mess. It should have been condemned ages ago.
You couldn’t decide if it was bigger or smaller than you expected. Somewhat disproportionate was the best way you could put it. The terrain surrounding it was much more expansive than the photos showed, the boundaries only sort of marked out by the aforementioned sad barrier. It was considerably isolated, which you weren’t really complaining about, but you noted way too late that taking care of all that overgrown grass was going to be a nightmare on your back. Arms, too. Every part of your body, honestly.
The building itself had certainly seen better days, such as the day it was built, and perhaps the day after, if you were being generous. The agent was very shifty about exact details, but in his defense, this place was basically in the Bumfuck Middle of Nowhere, Japan, in likely one of the smallest countryside villages there was in the whole country.
You were also substantially intoxicated and ready to put down your life savings on anything.
Thankfully, you didn’t have to go that far, but you truly underestimated the scope of this ‘project’. The entire plot needed a fresh splash of paint at minimum. Ideally, you needed to shear the lawn of all those super pretty weeds that you were very tempted to just leave as is because they were so pretty, mhm, would be an absolute shame to get rid of them.
You’d need to clear out the stone path leading from the fence gate to your front door that you quite literally stumbled over last night. Or just toss the stones altogether, because fuck those things and whoever put them there.
The outer walls needed a good scrubbing, and another, and one more for good measure. Quite a few shingles on the roof showed signs of being ready to split your skull open with only a wayward breeze needed to push them off the edge. The hinges creaked horribly on every part of the building, enough so that you were certain the entire village would’ve been awoken by you tripping over yourself to get into the house had you not been a decent 10 or so minute walk from the closest cottage.
And all of this was just what was outside.
That fence, ugly little shit that it was, was either going to become your worst nightmare, or a begrudging friend.
You noted with mild interest that your house resembled western abodes more than Japanese ones.
Maybe if you kept the place rundown, people wouldn’t think to stop by your place unannounced. Ah, what a delight that would be. If you were lucky, nobody knew the property had been sold yet. If you were extra lucky, you could get your shopping done (plus whatever other errands you couldn’t do from home) by keeping your head down, and none would be the wiser to your existence.
Aside from Granny, of course. Kinda hard to hide from that woman now that she’d given you food off her own back. You needed to do something in return, but you set that on the back burner for now.
The interior required basically everything to be fixed up, that was non-negotiable. You refused to sleep on crusty wood floors and old tatami that had long since been glued to the surface beneath with gods know what. At the very least, you needed to somehow clean the floor. Preferably, mend the walls, plug any holes, get the pipes functioning if they weren’t already, and a whole other fuckin’ list of soul crushing deeds that needed completion.
Furniture, while questionably not a necessity for survival, was definitely a need for you. If only so you had something to sleep on other than the basically flat, nylon bag laid out in the corner of the room you gracelessly snored within.
But how?
You planted your hands on your hips and exhaled through your nose. “I wonder if Amazon ships to this place…”
A pipe dream, certainly; but, gods, would it make your life so much easier.
You could try to build your own furniture, but you trusted running with scissors more than you trusted your own potential handiwork. Which meant repairing the house itself on your own was likely a very bad idea.
“Ah, fuck,” you hissed as you realized the other shit you’d need to do aside from creating an actual proper space to live. “I’ll have to learn how to sew and garden and fucking carpent and everything…”
You groaned as you pictured every task that awaited you, and subsequently buried your face in your hands. Maybe you should have just torn the whole fucking thing down, bought a plastic shed from the nearest city, dragged it over, set it up, and called it home sweet home. You didn’t need that much space anyway, right?
“No, can’t regret this now, too late to regret this, you chose this,” your voice was muffled and grit out through clenched teeth. “Made your bed, now sleep in it, idiot.”
“Yeah, kinda dumb choice, if you ask me.”
An unexpected voice originated from behind you, startling the living daylights out of you and shooting your heart straight out of your body.
“Jesus!” You shrieked and jumped with all the elegance of a newborn fawn, spinning on your heel to find a head of blindingly white hair and pearly canines equally as eye-burning greeting you via a wide grin. Though you couldn’t see the man's eyes behind those curiously round shades of his, you could picture how his cheeks crinkled his hidden hues at the corners.
If any of the Greek or Roman gods were real, he’d outshine every one of them without breaking a sweat.
The warming late-spring wind grazed through the fluffy locks of his hair like the delicate touch of a lover’s hands, weaving through the fine strands and carrying his scent to you.
Mixed with the heat of the approaching humid season, you caught faint hints of sweetness, with an underlying minty tone and something you couldn't name. He was too far away for you to pinpoint the exact fragrance, but you had no intention of just skipping right over and shoving your nose against the junction of his neck to get a better whiff.
Or maybe his chest? The way he was slouching made it difficult to gauge his height, but you had a feeling he was a great deal taller than you, and the stout slope you stood on would do you virtually no favors.
The shiver that went up your spine at the thought was promptly ignored.
“Not quite,” the unfairly gorgeous stranger replied with a snicker from where he leaned against the fence, arms slotted between the bamboo sticks. How it held him up without crumbling into dust was a miracle in itself. “But I’m flattered.”
Your pulse pounded in your ears as you placed your hand against your chest, trying to will the wretched thing to calm down. Handling adrenaline was not your forte, much less from a scare like this. With your eyes narrowed, and only partially because of the accursed brilliance that was coming summer, you glared at the man. He was far too relaxed and cocky for your liking, still sporting that goofy grin that had you feeling things you didn’t want to address now.
Or ever.
“Who are you?” You queried.
“I should be asking you that, pretty girl.”
Your nose wrinkled incredulously. “Pretty girl?”
He chose to overlook your objection, instead nodding towards your house. “Never thought I’d get to witness this shithole get bought by anyone, let alone someone like you. Thought it’d get torn down sooner than have a hundred yen tossed towards it.”
Your eyes rolled. Hard. He wasn’t wrong, it was a shithole, but now it was your shithole. The less reminders about its miserable state of existence you had, the better. “Gee, thanks.”
“No problem.”
Completely against your will, you snorted. He was going to be a wonderful source of entertainment, or he was going to be a thorn in your side, just like the sickly sticks under his arms. The jury was still out on it.
You stared at one another for a few seconds that dragged on too long before you raised a brow. “Weeeell…?” You drew out the word.
His head cocked to the side. “Well?”
“Your name. You never told me who you are.” You knew it was polite to introduce yourself first, but fuck that, he scared the hell out of you. The responsibility was on him.
“Oh, right,” he straightened up, then bent forward with one hand to his chest and the other outstretched sideways in an extravagant bow. “Gojo Satoru, the very one and only. What about you, sweetheart?”
Pet names aside, there was a debate in your mind, an argument between whether you should give the admittedly attractive stranger your real name, or create one on the spot. You had done the latter in your later months of running all over your home country like a chicken without a head under the stupid belief that it'd further separate you from the anxieties clinging to your shins.
You were paranoid. That was easy enough to decipher.
Your conscience had spawned this nerve wracking idea that those you ghosted – from scorned lovers who scarcely got further than kissing you, to the jobs and employers you abandoned suddenly – were after you.
It left you constantly scanning your 6 from over your shoulder with the fear that they’d come chasing you down, eager to dig their claws into your paper-kite flesh and permanently force you down. You could visualize them tearing through your wings, winding layers of rope around your throat and knotting the dangling strings so tightly that not even the sharpest blade could break through the binds, much less let you breathe. So, you frequently lied about your identity as much as you could.
You inhaled slowly through your teeth, not enough to whistle, but enough to ground you. You were on the complete other side of the world, far away from those who would care to snarl and bare their fangs at your heels as they ran faster than you could – if there were any who desired to at all. You were somewhere new, somewhere unfamiliar, a place where nobody knew you, or could possibly know you by any means.
You told not a soul about where you’d gone. You never did. Like ash in the wind, you disappeared faster than anyone could blink, any memory of smoldering embers long forgotten.
Maybe…maybe you were safe to at least slip forth some truth about yourself.
Like most things you did nowadays, you told him your real name on a whim, and hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass.
He hummed as he repeated it to you, as if testing it on his tongue, dipping in for a small taste. Then, that stunning grin returned, and your heart fluttered behind your ribs.
You stubbornly stamped your heel down onto it. You didn’t know why it decided to start acting up, but you were not going to entertain it.
“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he cooed. “What brought you here of all places? So rich you’re bored? Fell for a scam? One of those girly things?”
You scoffed.
“Or maybe you’re running from something.”
The blood in your veins froze over in an instant, your body going rigid as you stared at him. He…he couldn’t have known, right? The way he stated it, rather than asked – like he knew – had you struggling to swallow, to so much as twitch your fingers. There was no way. You– you were nobody, a blank slate, an outsider–
His head cocked to the side playfully, and the spell he had cast on you withered away as quickly as it came.
Finally able to breathe again, you vented out the air you unknowingly held and turned your face slightly away, hoping he didn’t catch your slip-up. “One of those girly things,” you settled, to which he nodded eagerly, as if you just confirmed the existence of a theory of his that ‘girly things’ were real.
Not that he was wholly wrong, technically, as you did have ‘one of those girly things’ urges from time to time. The desire to cut or dye your hair, pick up a new name, rearrange your room, or hop on a plane to the furthest fucking location you could imagine.
“Why’d you choose this…thing then?” Gojo jerked his chin towards the shabby hut.
“It was cheap,” you answered simply.
He bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “Where are you staying?”
Your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked at him, your brow knitting. “...Here?”
“...Here.”
“Here.”
There was a brief pause, then he burst into laughter, his arms hugging his stomach. “Oh, god,” he wheezed. Personally, you couldn’t find what was so funny about the situation. “You serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
His finger slipped under the right lens of his glasses, presumably to wipe a tear away as he worked on calming himself down. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Fire flared in your veins as opposed to ice this time. “Hey!”
“I mean, seriously, who in their right mind would stay inside that thing?”
Your lip curled over your teeth in a snarl. “Oi–”
He bulldozed right along, completely ignoring you. “There’s gotta be, like, ghosts in there. Or a shit ton of spiders. Lots of spiders, actually.”
That got your attention. A shudder shot up your back and you squealed in fright, shaking off your hands to rid yourself of the phantom feeling of creepy crawlies on your skin. “Spiders?”
The milky-headed male nodded staidly. “Tons. And, y’know, the other obvious health hazards. I bet there’s asbestos in those walls.”
You opened your mouth to argue that your house had only been abandoned for 20 years, and that asbestos had been cut out of usage some 40 odd years ago, until you remembered that 1) asbestos didn’t immediately go out of use when the dangers were revealed, and 2) you house was abandoned 20 years ago, not built 20 years ago. Who knows how old it actually was?
Given its appearance…
He must’ve seen the panic on your face, because he gave you a piercing smile, an expression you very swiftly understood was one of scheming. “You should come stay with me.”
The world halted around you for the seconds it took your mind to process what he said. “...Hah?”
“I said, you should come stay with me,” Satoru shrugged nonchalantly. “I have spare guest rooms.”
“I– you– stay with– what?”
The grimace he gave your house could only be described as ‘execrating’. “I mean, come on, you’re not really thinking of staying there, are you? You’ll be sending yourself to an early grave like that, you’re too cute to die so soon. Just come stay at my place.”
Was he a murderer?
Your brain finally caught up with a click and you scowled. “Oh, yeah, that’s super safe,” you responded sardonically. “New girl in a new town full of total strangers with who-knows-what motives, lemme just go stay with the first guy that invites me to his home.”
“Come onnnn, you can trust me,” he whined, pouting.
“I literally just met you.”
The ease with which he gave up gave you whiplash, having expected him to keep pushing. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “Hey, did you know that your backdoor doesn’t have a lock?”
You paled.
Definitely something a murderer would say.
Your head whipped to gawp at your dwelling with wide eyes, a full on war raging through your head now.
On one hand, yes, he was a complete and total stranger. A hot one, but still an unknown entity who could just be buttering you up. Maybe the reason the house had been abandoned for so long was because anytime a new owner came in, they got snatched up by the handsome boy who invited them just like he invited you, never to be seen again.
He could have been lying about the lock – though it honestly didn’t matter, someone could probably just break through a wall if they pushed hard enough on it.
On the other hand, if he was telling the truth (how did he know that? Why?), he was the only person you knew even a little in this itty bitty isolated village (Granny doesn’t count). Anyone could go through that door at night and there you would be, wrapped up in your shitty, thin sleeping bag, prime kidnapping material. You basically did all the hard work by tying your own limbs right up yourself, easiest catch of the century.
At the very least, you knew Gojo’s name and face. Granted, the first item there was debatable, but he didn’t seem like the type to lie about his name – boast about it, more like. You’d be already acquainted with your would-be assailant, so it’d be nice to know the face of your kidnapper-slash-torturer-slash-killer, if only so you could punch a picture of it over and over in your afterlife, wherever death may take you.
You shifted your gaze to him and crossed an apprehensive arm over your chest, propping your elbow up on it while you pinched your chin in consideration.
There he was, the sly rat, wearing that dumb (cute) (no) grin of his as always, patiently awaiting your answer as if he already knew it. Nothing about him seemed inherently dangerous on the surface, but don’t they say serial killers are charming and charismatic people? He was a bit energetic for a murderer, though.
You weighed your options carefully. You could spend another horrid night in your house with the knowledge that there were likely insects everywhere, and possibly even asbestos in the walls, and who knows what else. You’d have to brush your teeth by using your water tumbler again, and…oh, fuck, you hadn’t even thought about the bathroom yet. How were you going to shower? Wash your face? Do your business?
Then there was your poor excuse of a bed, more plastic than anything even remotely comfy. Same with the pillow, you might as well have been sleeping on the bare ass floor. Your neck ached at the thought. Then there was your food issue, your clothes, your devices…
You sighed.
“What’s the catch?” You questioned reluctantly.
He merely raised his hands in a shrug. “No catch.”
That was way too easy, but the prospect of an actual bed and a tidy (hopefully) homestead was too good to pass up, serial killer owner be damned.
Future you was just getting more and more tasks thrown at her, such as your new objective being to find an inn to live in while you figured out your home issues. And getting a job to afford said inn. But that was for way later, when you weren’t losing your goddamned mind.
“...Fine,” you surrendered. Like a pussy. Weak.
“Yippee!” Satoru cheered, somehow smiling wider. “Good girl, knew ya had a brain somewhere up there.”
Your stomach flip-flopped at the simultaneous praise and insult, confusing your head with emotions (and hormones) that you did not want to unpack. Cheeks reddening rapidly, you hissed at him through a tight jaw, shooing away the kindling something that pooled in your tummy. “You–”
“C’mon,” he interrupted you before you could even start, already turning to leave as he waved his hand over his shoulder, “I’ll show ya the way. Ain’t far from here.”
Flustered, you stuttered indignantly, watching him walk away. You shook your head in defeat and jogged to catch up to him, needing to speed walk to match his ridiculously long strides. “Oi, slow down! You’re too damn tall!”
“You’re just short,” he argued, his hands interlocking as they rested against the back of his head. “Pipsqueak.”
You gasped in offense as if you weren’t at tiddy-sucking height. “I am not a pipsqueak!”
“You totally are,” he purred, treating you like you were some sort of adorable pet. “I bet I could pick you up and throw you if I wanted.”
An unwitting laugh bubbled out of you, and for some reason, you decided to play this frivolous game of his. “I’d like to see you try.”
You immediately regretted it as he reached out for you with a shit-eating expression of absolute delight, making you yelp and race off ahead of him, screeching as he chased right after you.
“Wait, no, don’t!” Your voice rang clear, fright mixed with childlike thrill spreading to your limbs as you scurried down the open road. “I was kidding!”
“Get back here!”
The wind blew past your ears, tangled into your hair, followed the curves of your body as you darted about alongside it. You let it guide you, toy with the fabric of your shirt, cup your face with cool hands. You breathed deeply, and you flew, untethered and free and so overwhelmed.
Somewhere above, beyond the boundless and endless cerulean, a star flickered.
You screamed when you felt his hands pinch your waist, catching Satoru’s devilish gleam as he passed you, and suddenly, you were the one chasing him. He cackled as you tried to catch up to him, taunting you all the way.
Curse his long legs.
You wondered how he managed to keep talking so cleanly and easily while you were struggling to maintain your breath and gait.
All those years of metaphorical running, sadly, did not translate into actual, physical running. Air stung your throat, and you only faintly recognized that you were running after him through the village, more focused on keeping that head of ivory tresses in sight.
Yet, somehow, contrary to how concentrated you were on that task, he managed to slip from your view when he turned a sharp corner and seemingly passed through an invisible barrier of some kind. He had to, because when you turned that same corner just seconds later, he was nowhere to be found.
Slowing your sprint into a trot, then stopping altogether, you bowed over and planted one hand on your knee while the other clutched your side.
“Oh, god,” you groaned, your body aching in several places, both internal and external. “I almost regret skipping gym in school.”
Peeking up through your hair to check around, every part of the street you were on seemed innocuous, normal, without any obvious hiding spots Satoru might have jumped into.
The vertically dominant fucker.
Cautiously, you marched forward, breathing heavily as you took slow steps. The game of cat and mouse had turned into hide-and-seek, and the sucker chose not to warn you. Granted, you would have done the exact same thing, but it was within your right to bitch about it, you were at several disadvantages.
The first alley was clear of anything, even objects. Nothing more than a small gap between two buildings, you doubted he would’ve managed to squeeze in there given how giant he was. Plus, where would he have gone even if he did wiggle into it?
The next alley was the same story. There was more space, but very little within said space, only a couple crates that were too small to hide him. Again, giant.
Everything, you belatedly realized, was completely uncharted territory to you. You should have listened to Granny and explored the village first. But, if you had, maybe you wouldn’t have a real bed to sleep in tonight. Presumably. You were putting too much faith into Gojo being genuine about the bed – and not being a serial killer – otherwise you were sleeping outside.
“Bastard.” The pain in your hip subsided and you righted yourself, inspecting every direction for any indication of white hair. It would be significantly difficult to hide that feature in an area like this, where pretty much everything had a neutral-dark colored theme, and most people had black or brunette hair.
You wondered why he was towheaded. A question for another day.
He was a magician, or trickster, you ruled, rather than acknowledging the fact that he knew this town far better than you did and likely would for a while to come.
Grumbles passed through your lips as you stood akimbo, squinting at everything skeptically. “Where the hell–”
“Boo!”
You swear your soul ascended. You could picture the trail it left behind as it rose into the heavens, pulling with it a choked croak of terror from you. The sound could hardly be considered a shout, you resembled a frog more than you did a goat in the screaming department.
Demented cackling erupted behind you as you leapt forward and clutched your chest, swinging around to glower at the boy in utter disbelief. Twice now he had done this. Twice! Beside yourself, you rushed over towards him and smacked his arm repeatedly, which only fueled his laughter. “Dick!”
“Fuck!” Satoru heaved, reaching his whistle register. “Priceless! Oh, my god, you should have seen your face.”
“I’m gonna kill you!” The threat was far less menacing than you wanted when your own voice was as squeaky as his.
By the time he calmed down, you were both panting – you out of chagrin (and for the sake of your poor heart), and him to get precious oxygen back to his smooth brain.
“I’m serious about that, by the way,” you pouted at him. “I’m gonna kill you for scaring me. Again.”
He beamed at you and reached to pat your head, but was intercepted by your hand, only to dodge around it and manage to get a few head pats in anyway. “Sure you will, sweets.”
You growled and stomped a few steps away, stopped, then whirled back around when you remembered you had no idea where you were going. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and scrutinized you with that stupid, supercilious visage.
“Go on,” he encouraged eagerly. “Ask.”
The inside of your cheek was going to be sore from how much you were chewing it. You were at an impasse; let him win, or try to find his place on your own. With no idea what it looked like. Or what direction to even go.
You imagined you’d have better luck wearing a blindfold if you tried the latter option. Either way, he was going to win, you could acknowledge that. Conceding and requesting his continued guidance meant handing over his victory on a silver platter, or he’d get some decent entertainment out of watching you try to figure out where the hell he lived.
Gods, you were regretting moving here already.
“Show me how to get to your house,” you mumbled.
The tall freak fake-cooed at you. “Aww, come on, you can do better than that.”
If glouting could kill, you would be slow-roasting him over a grill. In the meekest voice you could manage, you muttered, “please.”
“Hmmm?” He canted closer towards you. “Didn’t quite catch that.”
You could feel your sanity draining like sand in an hourglass. Just to get it over with, you spoke properly. “Please show me how to get to your house.”
The jubilant grin he gave you had you reconsidering that blindfold idea you had. “Better! Good girl, come along, now.”
Oh, your insides could just melt.
No, you argued with yourself as you trailed behind him, reluctantly obedient. You are not getting horny over that, you sad sack of potatoes. You’re just pent up. A pretty boy calls you a good girl and you’re a sobbing mess under your pants.
Pathetic.
He whistled a sharp tune as he lazily led you, weaving around the architecture in such a way that you knew you never would have found the damn place on your own – or find your way back, for that matter. He was doing this on purpose to get you confused just to fuck with you, you knew it.
You were placing a lot of stock in him not being a murderer.
“Keep up, shortie,” he waved his fingers over his shoulder. “We’re almost there.”
Taking a (albeit mild) hike up a road traveling up the mountainside was not something you expected nor planned for. Now you were lamenting skipping gym. Not that participating more in exercise over a decade ago would help you currently, but at least you’d be able to believe you were stronger than this.
Satoru watched you with no small amount of amusement as you finally caught up to his still figure, lips curved. “Man, you suck at this.”
“I didn’t exactly study hiking in school,” you grumbled, closing your eyes and breathing deep.
“I’d hardly call a walk ‘hiking’,” he commented, and you wimpishly smacked his arm. “We gotta work on your stamina.”
You could hear the smirk and underlying innuendo without needing to see his stupid, handsome face.
“In your dreams, pretty boy,” you muttered.
“How do you know what I dream about?”
Your eyes popped open to glare at the man as he fluttered his lashes and pressed his fingers to his chest. “You’re a menace,” you scowled, ignoring his faux ‘innocence’ in favor of looking ahead.
And getting the wind utterly knocked out of you.
This grandiose mansion was where he lived?
Balking, you stared up at his house from beneath the arch of the moon gate in front of it, taking in the sheer magnitude and extravagance of it, even from just the outside. A variety of leafy trees, well trimmed bushes, and aromatic flowers decorated it in precise symmetry, each individual blade of grass nipped to preeminence.
There was a garden off to the left, freshly tended to and beautiful with a pond in the center. You couldn’t see what was in it, but you wouldn’t be surprised if koi fish were there as well.
A partially shaded gazebo stood on the other side, right next to a gentle creek that trickled leisurely. A stone table sat in the center, and you could imagine drinking tea in the early morning there, when the sun would hit it at the right angle to warm you up.
The aesthetic was prizewinning; a wonderful, skillful mix between traditional and modern, all incorporated into a house you thought could only exist in one of those style magazines.
How long had it been here? How had it been built so extravagantly? How much did it cost?
All these painfully curious questions, yet, the first thing you thought to say when you opened your mouth…
“You said it was nearby,” you pouted. “This is the other side of town.”
“Eh?” He glanced down at you. “Doesn’t seem that far to me.”
Your index finger flicked the outside of his thigh. “That’s because you’re a walking tree.”
Gojo slapped his thigh in the same spot, beaming at you. “These are good for a lot of things.”
“I’m sure,” the unamused deadpan you gave him had him snickering.
That shit-eating grin was back and he waggled his brows. “I could show you.”
“Pass,” you rolled your eyes, addressing his house instead. “Why is your house so far away from the village? Up the whole ass mountain and everything.”
He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Dunno. It was built here a long time ago. Obviously upgraded over the years, duh, but if I had to guess, it’s because of the hot spring. The rest of the village just built lower down the path for convenience, or they were intimidated by the Gojo name.”
“Hot spring?” You furrowed your brow.
Nonchalant as always, he nodded. “Yeah, there’s a natural hot spring in the backyard.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say you have a hot spring in your backyard?”
Being the rich boy that he was, he cocked his head to the side and spared you an inquisitive peek, as if to say ‘you don’t have one?’ “Yeah? You wanna see?”
“Uh, yes?” You gawked shamelessly.
Satoru grinned and beckoned for you to follow, and you skipped right along behind him, barely managing to remind yourself to hurriedly take off your shoes at the door. You had to force yourself to be careful and line them up neatly. You also used this chance to eye the obviously rich-people footwear. You wouldn’t hesitate to bet that one pair alone was worth more than one of your kidneys.
All worries of him being a potential monster dashed out the window as you let him lead you through the winding halls to a shoji door near the back of his house – you had to guess, you were not paying attention at all. You were too focused on the expensive decor and feeling way out of place.
The scenery that greeted you as soon as the door slid open had you stopping dead in your tracks in shere awe.
He hadn’t been lying, there really was a hot spring in his backyard. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care about his smug expression, mindlessly allowing him to gently push you forward with a hand to the small of your back.
“Close your mouth, you’ll start drooling,” he teased.
Your jaw clicked shut and you shot him a half-hearted glare before your attention returned to the pool of steaming water ahead of you.
The entire area was gorgeous, honestly. Round stone circles created a path along gravel from the engawa to the basin, which was surrounded mostly by rocks with plants growing between cracks and around the base here and there. Massive pines encompassed the entire area, giving you the sensation of safety and protection.
A trail on the side led somewhere else, winding between mounds of perfectly maintained green terra, though that was of insignificant interest to you at the moment.
An instruction was murmured against the shell of your ear, and you wordlessly and thoughtlessly obeyed. “Look up.”
“...Oh.”
High above, between the gaps in the trees, you had a prime view of the sky, spanning across the ring the forest created, deep and wondrous and so…clear. The brightest blue you had ever seen. If the moon got caught just right, exactly in the middle, you believed magic would happen.
The towering pines kept the area shaded and pleasantly cool, and you were swept away by the urge to sink into the hot spring and let everything else fade away.
When you lowered your chin to look at him, you found he was already gazing at you, his grin softened to a small upturn of his lips at the corners. He was just so…divine. Moonflower hair framed his face, cottony and fluffy, and though you couldn’t see his eyes clearly through the indigo tint of his shades, you could feel them. They were piercing, capable of seeing right through your skin and witnessing your heart beating as it stuttered and struggled to regain its footing.
The way he studied you felt so familiar.
An intense watch, pinned directly on you, making the hairs on your nape stand.
You yearned to see his hues without the barrier his dark, round glasses provided, and you wondered if they could rival those of the sky, or the gods’.
“Whatcha think?” He asked silkenly as he leaned forward and tilted his head to be closer to you.
“It’s beautiful,” you murmured in response without really thinking, the words flowing out of you without your conscious action. “It’s like a dream.”
You weren’t sure if you meant the eden you were brought to, or the heavenly being beside you. Either way, he smiled radiantly at you and nudged your shoulder lightly with his own.
“Wanna touch it?”
Your lashes fluttered as you tried to come back to yourself and not let your mind wander to places you could not reach. “The hot spring?”
“Mhmm.”
It took a considerable amount of effort to tear your eyes off of him and set them back on the cirque of water hidden beneath mist. Like a siren’s song, you slipped on the outdoor slippers nearby and stepped off the engawa, pacing along the stone path. It was smoother, flush with the terrain, unlike the haphazardous placements of the ones you had at your own home.
The pool was milky, tinted with a rich, capri shade, reminding you instantly of a lagoon, or a salt flat mirroring the zion above that went on as far as the eye could see. A miniscule waterfall trickled placidly from the highest outcropping, following the narrow and shallow path it had carved for itself over countless years.
You resisted the urge to cup it in your hands and drink it like sacred nectar.
At the edge, you knelt down and skimmed the tips of your fingers across the water’s surface. Goosebumps broke out across your arm and you shuddered inadvertently. Heat spread over your palm as steam coiled around you, surrounding you partially in a cocoon of warmth. The temperature bordered on the line between too hot and not enough finely, urging you to crawl beneath the water’s cusp and embrace the cradle of coziness.
“Good, isn’t it?” Gojo startled you as he spoke from where he knelt down next to you. He seemed to be proficient at scaring the shit out of you. This close, you could detect his attar clearly, and the last part of his unique fragrance finally fell into place.
Lemon.
He smelled like sweet lemons and mint.
“Yeah–” you squeaked, and cleared your throat to try again. “Yeah, it’s really nice. Like…perfect, actually.”
He snickered and dipped his hand into the diaphanous liquid, bringing it back up to splash it onto your arm. With a cry of mock offense, you splashed him right back, cracking up as you managed to get a decent scoop into his mouth.
You didn’t know what it was about him. Rightfully, you’d only been aware of each other for less than two hours, but it felt like you’d known him your whole life. The banter flowed easily, the games you hadn’t played since you were so young that you could only vaguely remember, the way he spoke to you, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
No heavy feelings sat on your chest, creaking the brittle bars of your ribcage, filling you with an innate sense of dread and desire to flee and never stop for a second. Nothing of the sort crossed your mind. No rock weighed in the pit of your stomach, no widow’s voice murmured in your ear.
It was just you and him, in a bubble of time where nothing and everything mattered all at once. Every breath you took was meaningless, yet held the weight of the world. Every twitch of his fingers could rest even the weariest souls, or rend the sky apart should he ever care to.
But he didn’t, and neither did you.
This pocket-sized domain of serenity you found yourself in brought forth dormant feelings of ease and comfort.
They didn’t feel like a mask painted on to cover the blooming, spreading bruises under your skin and behind your solar plexus. They didn’t feel like a temporary setup to sate your mind until the panic overwhelmed you all over again.
Rather, they composed a nest of the finest blankets you’d ever touched, let alone slept within. You wanted to crawl in and close your eyes and hibernate, sleep as life passed you by. You wanted to live in this moment forever.
The shoulder of his shirt grew damp where he rubbed his curled lips against it. “Kitty’s got claws, huh?”
“Fangs, too,” your nose scrunched up as you gave him a sly, Cheshire cat smile. “I’ll let you kill me if you let me use your hot spring first.”
“Deal.”
You snorted. “Not even gonna dispute it, huh?”
“I’m assuming the ‘kill’ part is optional here.”
“I won’t push my luck then,” you accepted as you stood up, shaking any excess moisture off your hand. Upon remembering Granny, you pulled out your phone from your purse, tsking at the 47% charge level in the top right corner, then glanced at the time. Midday.
Satoru peeped over your shoulder after he rose up. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”
“Time,” you replied, shooing him away to stop him from being nosy. Not that you really had anything worth hiding.
Most of the pictures on your phone were photos you’d taken of the outside world during your trips, random things that meant something at the time you snapped the pic, but meant absolutely zip now, or blurry images of animals that refused to stay still for you.
“Granny wanted me to explore the town to get more familiar with it, then stop by for lunch,” your phone locked with a click as you stuffed it back in your bag and continued your explanation.
He whistled. “Adopted by Granny, and on your first day, too? That’s impressive, means you’re special.”
“Eh?” Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Why? She seems like she’d be a nice person to everyone.”
He chuckled as you both headed back into his house. “Granny’s a prickly lady. Don’t get me wrong, she cares about everyone in the village,” he reassured you as he let you step in first and slid the door shut behind him, “but mostly in a ‘I-will-throw-my-shoe-at-you’ kind of way.”
“Huh,” that didn’t sound too far off from Granny, given what you knew, but you had also only met her that morning. “She gave me free food and told me she’ll have a list of handymen when I go back today.”
“Wow. She won’t even let me steal a candy bar from her store, and I’ve known her my whole life. Must mean you’re really special.”
“There’s a difference between buying and stealing, Gojo,” pausing in your steps, you frowned as contemplation came over you. “...Do you think she thinks I’m incompetent?”
“Probably.”
“Gojo!” You hissed at his lackadaisical response.
His hands raised in surrender. “Kidding, kidding! I think it just means she likes you. C’mon, I’ll show you around town.”
Following his actions, you tugged your shoes on while you thought aloud. “I didn’t even do anything. Walked around her store like an idiot and nearly ran into her.”
You stepped out of the house behind him, waiting for his response. You had expected him to laugh and indeed confirm that you were an idiot (which would be twice that day, if you were keeping proper track), or come up with another quip to taunt you with, but he was quiet, pondering something.
“You have this…aura about you,” he eventually responded. “You’re different.”
“In what way?” You approached the topic carefully, wondering if that was a good or bad thing.
His shoulders lifted and dropped. “Dunno, I’m not good with words. You’re just different. You’re easy to like.”
The incline down from his house back to the village was easier than going up it, a slow slope that followed a mild curve. The road was smooth, free of cars. Those you had seen were parked along the streets below, and not often used from what you could tell. The walk gave you time to consider his words.
You’d heard them before, but nobody ever clarified how you differed from others. He said you were likable, so you chose to believe he meant it in a good way. You’d try to pry more information out of him at some point to sate your cautious curiosity.
“How long have you been here?” You asked instead to change the topic, then winced, remembering that he mentioned his family had been here for a long time.
“Eh,” he tilted his hand side to side a few times. “Maybe 15 or so years, including my baby years.”
Oh. Turns out you were…wrong?
“You weren’t born here?”
“No, I was,” he corrected. Ah, so you were. “I just spent a few school years in Tokyo before returning not too long ago.” Sort of.
“Oh, I see,” mindlessly, you took his hand when he offered it to help you step over a gap at the bottom of the hill. His palm radiated warmth, one you missed when he pulled away and continued leading you along. “Why’d you come back?”
“Missed home.” Your gaze met his when he shot you a glance from over his shoulder. “What about you, sweets? Where'd ya come from?” Upon your answer, he nodded. “Came a long way to get here, huh?”
It’s probably best if I don’t tell him why I came here. Not yet. Not ever. “You could say that,” you responded, stopping when he did. You were grateful that he didn’t push the topic.
He pointed towards something, and you angled forward to see around his body, listening carefully as he explained what was where as he guided you through the winding streets.
“Doctor lives there,” you raised a brow at the full body shudder he experienced. “She can get scary when she’s mad. Otherwise, chill person.”
“Noted.”
While you were curious about the doctor of this village, you had no intention of meeting her by ending up in her clinic after doing something moronic, like tripping on those stupid stones outside your front door. Or walking in purely to introduce yourself. That’d be weird.
As he pointed out various family homes, stores, and miscellaneous locations, he listed off names you definitely weren't going to remember anytime soon. You found it endearing that he knew everyone and shared some tidbits of gossip with you – “Auntie Furiko lives there and she totally has a grudge against Mirio-san for stealing her man.” – and he even imparted some knowledge about a few historical places and things in the village, such as the bridge over the river having been built some 400-odd years ago.
“It was originally built as a passage that only allowed humans through,” he explained. “Back then, cursed spirits were a common thing, so the founders here created a path that had a sort of invisible wall that cursed spirits and objects couldn't get through. Like a curtain.”
“Huh,” you responded plainly as you examined the bridge. “Couldn't the spirits just go through the river?”
His candytuft hair fluffed as he shook his head. “The veil goes around the entire village, the bridge was just there for convenience's sake,” he cocked his head towards you. “But those are just legends and stories. There's plenty of tales about jujutsu sorcerers that could see the cursed spirits and eradicate them. Some people still believe cursed spirits and sorcerers are a thing, and blame disasters, like earthquakes and tsunamis, on them.”
You raised a curious expression. “Do you believe in that?”
Satoru shrugged. “To me, it’s like believing in ghosts or demons. Even if they are real, there's no way they'd beat me,” of course, he said that last bit with full-bodied, unadulterated confidence. “I'm the best.”
A fond snort escaped you. An egomaniac as a new friend(?), that seemed exactly like the kind of trouble you'd get yourself into.
Your eyes shifted over to peer at the Wayo Kenchiko edifice situated higher up, reminding you of the wonder you felt when you first saw it.
You turned fully towards it and tugged on Gojo’s shirt to draw his attention to it as well, your interest taking precedence as you regarded it. “Hey, what’s that?”
“Hm?” He followed your line of sight. “The temple?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s technically a shrine,” he clarified. “It was built when the settlers first got here, dedicated to the wolves of the mountains.”
You squinted at him. “Wolves?”
He nodded eagerly. You never would have guessed him to be somewhat of a history buff. “Yep. Wolves are like…guardian dogs. They’re long gone now, but way back then, it's said they hunted alongside the settlers. Wolves are seen as messengers for mountain gods, so people would pray to them for safety, good hunts, and good harvests.”
You nodded as you followed along. “So you guys primarily farm here, then?”
“More or less. Though we do get a lot of imported stuff from the neighboring city, like the things in Granny’s store. We do mostly exports there. It’s where a lot of the people in this village work.”
“Really?” You frowned slightly. “Isn’t that city, like…an hour or so from here?”
He acceded and tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, why?”
“Just seems like a far way to go for work.”
Gojo shrugged as he started walking again, leading you further into town. “Keeps our village alive and well. We gotta keep up with the times, ya know?”
“Suppose so,” you acquiesced. “What do you guys farm here?”
“Ehh, rice and soya, I think,” the teasing twist of his lips had you preemptively rolling your eyes. “Surprised you didn’t know that, girlie; moving to a new place you know nothing about seems risky.”
“I didn’t exactly spend my time digging into the dirt of every single person here, y’know.”
He snickered. “I have dirt on everyone. You want some gossip?”
You huffed. “I’d rather meet someone first before you air their dirty laundry to me. I wanna have an unbiased palate.”
“Oh, so you want to meet the people in this lil’ valley of ours?”
“No,” you replied automatically, then pressed your lips tightly together at your minor flub. “I meant– it’s not– I’m just not–”
His boisterous laughter cut you off, simultaneously making your eye twitch and relief flood you.
“Relax, pretty girl,” he patted your head and you scowled. “I’m just teasin’ ya.”
“I’m seriously going to kill you.”
“Cute,” he crooned, and you groaned.
By the time you two walked up to your kind-of-not-really-grandmother’s shop, you were starting to become familiar with this particular section of road. From here, you knew how to get ‘home’, something you were dreading a touch. You weren’t looking forward to seeing the catastrophe that awaited you.
“And this is where I leave you for now,” he stopped with you in front of the store.
You frowned minutely, an uncomfortable pang of disappointment settling in your chest. “You’re not coming in?”
“Nah,” Gojo shook his head. “Got stuff I need to do. I’ll have someone pick you up from your house later, once you get your stuff. Gimme your phone for a sec.”
Your brows knitted together as you pulled out your phone and unlocked it for him. His fingers grazed yours as you passed the device, causing you to shiver at the temperature difference. They were so warm – or maybe your hands were cold. The touch lingered on your skin, your mind clinging to the tiny wisp of sensation.
The screen of your phone coming back into your line of sight brought you back from mildly zoning out. Almost uncertain, you took it back from him and peered at the screen to see what he did.
You snorted.
He set up his own contact in your address book, making it extra flashy and everything, too. ✨❤️Satoru❤️✨ graced your sight, and you couldn’t help but feel like that wasn’t the first time he had done this, the flamboyant clown.
“There,” he grinned. “Text me when you’ve got your stuff from your place.”
Stuffing the device back into your purse, your moue returned. “You want me to bring my shit to your house?”
His brow raised in response. “Uh, yeah? Were you just gonna leave it in that drab hut?”
“Well, I just thought I’d get a room at an inn or something tomorrow, so I don’t have to bother you.”
The usually bright expression on Satoru’s face fell somewhat, his voice taking a earnest tone when he said your name. The back of your neck tingled at the chime of your name passing through his lips. “You’re not a bother. Seriously, I have more space than I know what to do with. You can stay at my place as long as you need, I insist.”
His change in demeanor threw you for a loop. There was something lying under the surface of his countenance, hidden under layers of a façade wrapped too tightly around his inner being for you to ever hope to see what was beneath. The switch from goofy to sincere struck you as odd, and while you could have jumped back on the ‘he’s a psycho’ train of thought, his insistence didn’t resemble that of a hunter panicking about losing his prey.
Rather, it stemmed from a genuine offer made out of concern for your wellbeing. Sure, he could have been hiding some intentions (he definitely was), but he did show you the path to his house, convoluted as it was, at least some of its interior, and even the hot spring carved behind it. When you mentioned Granny, he seemed amused, rather than worried, and showed you around these confusing and interesting backwoods.
Thinking about the whole mess you had gotten yourself into, what with buying a house in a province you knew nothing about, and your limited funds, an uneasy heaviness sat in your gut. If he was suggesting an option of solace and shelter while you figured your shit out, you had very few reasons to decline.
A bit too readily, perhaps, you set aside any preconceived notions you had about him being suspicious and nodded. “Alright. Thank you, Gojo.”
“Just Satoru is fine,” that smug visage returned, all earlier signs of sobriety fading as quickly as they came. He turned back towards the way you came from, waving over his shoulder lazily. “See ya later, sweets.”
You spied on him for a while, until he disappeared around a bend, and sighed. Considering everything that happened so far, you surmised you were in way over your head.
The doorbell to Granny’s store pinged a sweet tune as you stepped in, finding the familiar scene nearly untouched from before. The air inside was pleasantly cool compared to outside, encouraging you to relax.
“Granny?” You called out as you stepped further in, glancing down the first aisle. “Are you here?”
“Ah!” The woman you were searching for called out from a separate room, appearing through a door you hadn’t noticed at the back of the store before, carrying a bento box. “Perfect timing, I finished that list for you.”
She beckoned you towards her as she rounded the counter, setting the bento box down on top of it and digging around for something under the tabletop before straightening and holding out a sheet of paper for you to take. Your fingers closed around the yellow notebook sheet and you peered down at the writing.
You silently thanked her for having a neat hand, as you were a tad rusty on your hiragana.
A row of names spanned down the paper, along with numbers next to each one. She had also included their specific occupations, making your life that much easier.
“Those are some folks in this village that can help you out. Unfortunately, most of them work in the city, so I fear you might not be able to fix up your house so soon,” Granny noted solemnly as began untying the beautifully designed furoshiki wrapped around, presumably, your food. “Let me call up a friend to find you a place to stay for the time being.”
“Oh, n-no, it’s fine, Granny!” You raised your hands in front of you. “I actually found somewhere to stay.”
She raised a brow at you. “With whom?”
The nervous laugh you let out was meek and not very reassuring. “I, uh…ran into Gojo Satoru, and he offered to house me. I was gonna find an inn, but…’
A perturbed expression morphed her stern features. “Really? Little Satoru offered to house you?”
Little was a gnarly stretch on her part, considering Satoru easily dwarfed both of you. “Is that bad?”
Granny sighed and shook her head as she finished undoing the cloth. “Not necessarily. He’s a troublemaker, that one, but…well, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him invite someone who isn’t one of his close friends to stay with him before.”
“Huh,” Your lips curled downwards. Were you actually so unique that he treated you differently than others? “He’s a bit…” You fumbled with your words, trying to find the right description. “Dramatic, for lack of a better word, but he showed me around and said he’ll have someone pick me up later.”
Her movements had slowed as she kept her eyes on you while popping open the box, studying you. She grabbed the pair of chopsticks in the lid and held the food towards you, which you took without fuss and with a quick ‘thank you’. The length of silence was beginning to unsettle you, so you tried to cover it by taking a bite of the katsu she prepared for you.
And maybe groaning tacitly because, fuck, was it good. Astounding, otherworldly, you would bet easy money that no 5-star restaurant could compare to Granny’s cooking.
Eventually, she spoke again, albeit puzzling you. “It’s no wonder you caught their attention. You are a beautiful, bright young woman.”
Your chopsticks hovered mid-bite. “‘Their’?”
“Mhmm,” the older lady nodded and tsked fondly as she grabbed a hand towel and wiped down a portion of the already spotless surface under her hands. “There’s two of them.”
A pin could drop in the room and it’d be deafening with the silence created by your shock. “There’s two Gojo’s?”
Her amusement turned into full blown laughter. “No, but there might as well be.” she corrected herself. “Those two are stick at the hip–”
The jingle of the bell over the door and the call of someone cut her off. You turned to watch as an attractive woman with mid-length brunette hair stepped into the room, carrying a box in her arms. Were all the people in this town contemptuously stunning? “Granny, I got the–” she stopped promptly upon seeing you. “You’re new.”
You nodded and your pseudo-grandmother introduced you.
“I see,” the brown-haired girl said with a nod. “Well, nice to meet you. I’m Ieiri Shoko, your local doctor and mortician. Just call me Shoko.”
So, this was the doc– wait, what?
Your eyes widened. “...Mortician?”
“Correct,” Shoko grunted as she dropped the hefty box on the floor with a grunt. “Which means you shouldn’t do something stupid or piss me off unless you want to end up in my morgue.”
Now you had two reasons to fear her, counting Satoru’s warning. “Duly noted.”
Your gaze followed her as she reposed against the nearby wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “When’d you get in?”
“Last night.”
“Helluva place to settle,” she commented. “What brought you here of all options?”
Settle.
I’m not so sure about that.
You chewed another piece of katsu and swallowed before answering. “Population. I’m not a very big people-person.”
A smile lifted her lips and she exhaled through her nose. “You and me both, girl. If you wanna be as far away from mass civilization as possible, this is the best place to be. Second only to going nomad and living in a forest alone like a witch.”
She sighed wistfully, and you had the sneaking suspicion that part of her yearned for that kind of lifestyle. “Looks like you’ve thought about it before.”
“I have, but this town is full of idiots that need me, or they would have died a long time ago.”
“Shoko, be nice,” Granny scolded half-heartedly, though you could spot the amusement in her eyes.
“What? I’m not wrong,” Shoko averred as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
Just as she went to open it, Granny swatted her hands and gave her a scathing glare. “Not inside, Shoko. Really, go outside, at least.”
The doctor/mortician grumbled as she stuffed the box back where it came from, giving Granny a weak stink eye. “Anyways, welcome to this miniature province of ours, girl.”
“Thanks.”
“Mm,” she acknowledged, then began a lecture. “Avoid the west trail that goes past the village boundary and up the mountain. Nothing bad there, just has this weird smell to it. Probably haunted by some shit,” Shoko informed you. “Also muddy half the year. Grandma Ai can and will talk your ear off if you stop for more than a second. Good luck getting away from her if she ever catches you.”
You munched slowly as you listened to her advice intently. In any of the cities you stopped by, there weren’t really any communities – not like this, anyway – so you were fascinated by the dynamics these people displayed.
Yes, you were wary, sure, but learning about the town’s intricately interwoven families and neighbors didn’t mean you were getting close to anyone. If anything, it meant you could avoid attachments.
…Right?
Yes. Right.
“–Wednesday is trash collection day, but you might have to bring your trash closer into town if you’re too far out. Oh, and don’t go to the park on Thursday nights–”
You blinked yourself back into full awareness. Your safe haven the park was off limits now? “Wait, why?”
She humbled you with a deadpan that had you straightening your back, imploring you to obey. “Aoi and her boyfriend like to fuck there on Thursday nights.”
“Tch,” Granny clicked her tongue, glaring at Shoko. “Don’t be so crass. We have a guest.”
“Ah, don’t worry,” you waved off her concern. “I don’t mind. I appreciate the forewarning. Besides,” your lips curled into a playful smirk aimed towards Shoko, “I like when people are straightforward.”
She returned the grin with a sly one of her own. “You and I are gonna get along well.”
Similarly to Satoru, speaking to Shoko was easy. It felt like you were reconnecting with old friends – friends you knew when you were unfledged and barely remember anything about, but the link was there.
She nodded as your conversation concluded and pushed herself off the wall, evidently needing to return to where she came from. “Well, if you need me, you know where to– ah, wait, you don’t.”
Shoko patted down her body, presumably in search of her phone or a notepad, but you reassured her hastily. “No, it’s fine! I do, Gojo showed me around earlier.”
Her head whipped up so quickly, you worried she might have snapped it when you heard it crack. “Oh, god, you already met that idiot?”
The short laugh you let out was undignified. “Yep. He’s very noticeable.”
“You can say that again,” she grumbled. “Please don’t tell me he did something dumb and embarrassed himself, or weirded you out. Don’t pay attention to him, he’s just like that.”
“Well, he said I could stay at his place since the house I got is in…less than favorable condition.”
She stilled on the spot, her brows slowly coming together in a visage of utter confusion. “...What? He said you could stay with him?”
“Is he a murderer?” You questioned, only half joking. “I knew it.”
“No, no, he’s not, he’s just…” She turned her gaze to Granny. “Did you know about this?”
“I’m as surprised as you are,” Granny responded.
Your tummy shifted uneasily. “Is…that a bad thing?” You knew Granny said it wasn’t earlier, but you had to ask again.
“No, not really…” Shoko was not easing your nerves whatsoever. “Just unusual.”
“How come?”
She pulled her lips to the side in consideration. “Gojo Satoru is someone who…likes to hide things.”
“Oh, so he is a murderer.”
She demurred at your conclusion. “Last I checked, no. Regardless, he can be kind of a dick sometimes, so don’t take any of his more outlandish shit to heart, yeah?”
You bobbed your head loosely, your mind already off creating heinous conspiracy theories about your benefactor. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Mm, it’s no problem,” she approached you and held out her hand. “Gimme your phone, I’ll give you my number. You can text me if he tries to pull some shit with you.”
Getting a strong sense of déjà vu, you handed her your phone and watched as she punched in her number, then called her phone to get your number as well. Yours was back in your hands in record time, contact set to just her name.
“There. I gotta head off for now, it was nice to meet you, girl,” Shoko waved to you and Granny as she disappeared through the door.
Soft huffing from behind you had you peek at the woman. “What?”
“It’s nothing,” Granny appeased. “Just seems you’ve had an eventful first day here, no?”
“No kidding,” you mumbled, pouting when you saw that you had finished your food. She took the empty box from you, pleased by it being practically licked spotless. “Thank you, it was really delicious.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed your meal,” she nodded. She must have put a lot of effort into it.
A thought occurred to you then. “Granny, do you know where I could possibly get a job?”
She raised a brow at you. “You want to work?”
“Well, yeah,” you scratched your cheek. “I’d try to find a job online, or the city, but I don’t really know what kind of work I can get with the first option, and I don’t have a car or anything for the second one.”
Her fingers cupped her chin in consideration. “How about you work here?”
“In your store?”
“Yes,” Wait, that easily? “I could always use more hands here. I’m getting up there in age, and my hands ache often. You’d be helping me a lot.”
“Are you sure…?” You gave her a concerned mien, subconsciously flicking your eyes down to her hands. “I don’t wanna take from you more than I already have.”
Granny merely brushed away your worries. “Nonsense. I could use the company, too.”
Okay, now you were starting to get suspicious. Things were lining up too well.
Well, you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, but considered keeping your guard up.
“Alright,” you agreed, if somewhat hesitant. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Granny’s expression was heartwarming. “Wonderful! How about you take a week or so to settle in, then you can come start when you’re ready?”
“Well, I can start sooner. If you need the help anyway.”
“How about a few days?”
Stubborn old lady, you loved her already. “Fine, a few days,” you conceded, soughing. “Thanks again for the food, Granny. And for the job. I should probably get my stuff from my place and bring it to Gojo’s. You’ll be okay?”
“Don’t worry about me, dear,” she shooed you away with her fingers. “Go on, now. I’ll see you soon.”
The warm air raised goosebumps up your arms as it swept over you upon leaving. It smelled distinctly sweet, a natural fragrance you quickly became fond of, enjoying it wholly during your walk back home. It had been shorter this time, the transition from defined road to coarse, packed dirt closer to town than you remembered it being.
What you were not fond of was your house, however. Your spite towards those stepping stones leading to the door growing worse as you avoided tripping over them again. The stench upon opening the front door also blew you back, making your entire face scrunch up.
“Why did I do this to myself,” you grumbled as you cynically walked in. Daylight made your perception so much worse. Every flaw was practically highlighted in bright, blaring white.
You mulled over convincing Satoru to just let you live with him and forget this damn thing ever existed to begin with.
Discovering your luggage where you left it, you cringed. It just kept getting worse. The floor was sticky everywhere. With what? Who knows. Did you want to know? Abso-fucking-lutely not. It took you less than a fraction of a second to decide to abandon your sleeping bag where it was.
Like hell were you going to peel it off the tacky wood, let alone use it again. Not like you needed to if you had somewhere to stay anyway, right?
Since when did you become such a wastrel?
Ugh.
With a shake of your head, you rescued your suitcase and luggage bag, letting them feel the same fresh air you could. It was the little things in life that made you so grateful for this pristine oxygen. And the bigger things in life that made you extra grateful, like Gojo Satoru and his stupidly large house.
Bless him for giving you the opportunity to sleep in an actual bed, rather than suffering in the outdoors. Him being a sneaky skunk notwithstanding.
Welp, here goes nothing. You tapped his contact, then the bubble under it. You were just going to assume he knew who was texting him.
This is the start of your conversation with ✨❤️Satoru❤️✨.
You, 16:24
Yo
Got my stuff
Alright, now you just wai–
✨❤️Satoru❤️✨, 16:24
(＾▽＾)
give it 10
The fuck.
Emoticon aside, the instant reply caught you off guard. Didn’t he say he had things to do? The day was just full of wonders, huh?
Ten minutes went by fast when you pulled up some random bad fanfiction to scroll through mindlessly. Your attention was drawn away from the half-written mess when a black sedan rolled up in front of your property, and you whistled low.
Why the hell was a rich boy like Satoru living in the sticks and not in some penthouse in the middle of Tokyo?
A spindly figure climbed out and bowed at you politely, hands clasped together in front of him. His voice was wispy, light and reserved. “Pleasure to meet you, miss. My name is Ijichi Kiyotaka, Gojo-san requested I bring you to his residence.”
Ah, he seemed so nervous. Poor guy.
You nodded, choosing not to comment on it. You were intimate with the feeling and didn’t like others pointing it out, you figured he wouldn’t, either. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m sorry for the trouble.”
He shook his head as he popped the trunk and helped you tuck away your luggage. “It’s no trouble at all. Though, admittedly, it is nice to not have to drive far out this time.”
“Oh?” You questioned as he opened the back door for you and oh, my, were those leather seats? The car was lavish both inside and out, and probably cost more than you and your shoddy lil’ shack combined. You waited until he got into the driver’s seat, taking the extra few seconds to admire the car that you definitely should not have been in as it was clearly too high class for you, before continuing. “Do you usually have to drive to the city?”
“Yes,” Ijichi confirmed, starting up the car with a smooth purr that you barely heard. Leave it to the wealthy to find the best of the best in any category, uncaring of prices. “I’m normally just a chauffeur for the Gojo household.”
You bobbed your head in understanding, peering out of the tinted window to watch everything move by. The traditional architecture was beautiful, something you admired. It made your house stick out a bit like a sore thumb, considering the more western design; you pondered why it was built like that.
The twisting road leading up the mountainside began and ended all too soon, the whole trip lasting less than 5 minutes total, your destination completed with Ijichi parking outside of the mansion.
Ever the gentleman (though, he might have been resolute in helping you with your belongings directly due to fear of some kind of punishment looming over his head), he took your things and led you into the house. “This way, please. I’ve already set up your room for you.”
“Oh, thank you,” you murmured, taking this chance to gawk at everything more properly. Frankly, it smelled rich inside, you didn’t want to think about how expensive even just the vase on the coffee table was.
The sliding of a door signaled your journey’s end. Ijichi bowed and ushered you inside first, though you kind of wished he went in before you, because you were positively floored and most definitely seemed like an idiot with your jaw hanging open. What the fuck? Satoru said this was a spare room? You were expecting maybe, oh, I don’t know, normal guest room things?
Not the epitome of a deluxe hotel for fuck’s sake. The room was at least twice the size of the one you slept in yesterday, the bed was glamorous (queen size, too, Christ), the bedding laid so nicely that you debated sleeping on the ground a second time, just to avoid messing it up. Especially because the fluffy rug at the foot of the frame was so downy, you wanted to drown in it.
There’s no way this was real. Someone had to have been playing a joke on you. You spun to watch Ijichi as he carefully set your suitcase and bag against the wall by the door, waiting for him to rip the proverbial, and likely not fluffy, rug from under your feet.
Instead, he bowed once more, eyes closed. “Should you need anything, you may call for me. The restroom and bathroom are on the right when you exit. Please, feel free to bathe, if you wish. Make yourself at home. Gojo-san is out right now, but will be back by evening.”
You barely stuttered out a semi-coherent thank-you as he left, sliding the door shut behind him and leaving you in this splendor.
Surely this was a joke. You dreaded the inevitable turn, expected the door to open to a cackling Gojo Satoru as he wheezed his lungs out and pulled some ‘I can’t believe you fell for it!’ bullshit.
But it didn’t happen.
For however long you stood there, staring holes through the closed entrance, nobody came to reveal this was all an elaborate joke, with you playing the unsuspecting and dumb victim. You laggardly let out the breath you had been holding and poked around the room with cautious hope. It really was spectacular, but you truly wondered how long Gojo would let you stay here.
By the gods, you were tired of thinking, though, and a shower would be heavenly. You could worry about everything after you were scrubbed dirt-free.
…Assuming you wouldn’t get jumped in the shower instead of the bedroom.
“You’re being paranoid,” you scolded yourself under your breath as you opened your suitcase to grab a change of clothes. But, really, could anyone blame you? You were sure someone else would have felt the exact same way you did.
Unless they were a professional freeloader or something.
Your soap and tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner were so sad compared to everything else around you. You should have checked if Granny’s store had any bath products.
The bathroom was just as luxurious and fully stocked as everything else in this damn estate. Dark, rich wood encompassed the room; a sink was to your left with a sparkling mirror above it, an open shower to your right towards the back, and the chef-d’œuvre of it all: the sunken bathtub at the end. A frosted glass window was situated behind it, shades partially lowered to allow natural light in through the bottom.
Fuck, you were so out of your depth.
But were you going to deny enjoying such riches at least once in your life? Hell no.
You turned to set your stuff down on the counter space by the sink, glancing towards the row of very expensive bottles of different types of cleansers lined up against the wall, and the note in front of them.
Grasping it, you saw it had your name on it, written by hand. You flipped it over to see the short message left behind.
These are yours, use them as you please
~Satoru ♥
Ohoho, fancy products you could only ever scowl at forlornly at the store whenever you saw them, fantasizing about using them, though ultimately being shunned by the price tag? Fuck feeling apprehensive, you were damn well going to use those and indulge in feeling and smelling like a queen.
You’d never stripped faster in your life. You barely had half a mind to fold your clothes somewhat neatly and set them on the counter, rather than scattering them all across the floor as you stumbled out of your socks and hopped to the shower on one foot.
Even the millions of knobs and stall-less design couldn’t deter your avidity, each one subjected to random twisting until you figured it out.
As soon as the bottles were on the recessed shelf under the showerhead, you loped under the hot water and groaned, planting your forehead against the cool wall whilst it poured down your back. You practically turned into putty, all your sore and tense muscles unwinding noticeably. The shower pointed out exactly how sleeping on the floor in your own house jacked up every part of your body, because ow.
You honestly believed you could stand there forever, reluctant to leave, but that bathtub was calling to you.
So you grabbed the body wash first and flipped it over to read the label.
Oatmeal and almonds. Mmmh sweet fuck, you could dissolve into a puddle. It smelled heavenly, and you were giddy out of your skin knowing you were about to smell like that, too. It felt so silky-smooth on your palm, the perfume automatically coating you as you rubbed it in and savored the sensation. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to go back to normal, poor-person soap without lamenting the loss of this.
You can’t miss what you don’t know, and boy were you going to miss this if you had to leave it behind. Satoru did say it was yours to use and keep, though, didn’t he? Maybe you could yoink them when your place was all fixed up and you had to leave.
Suds coated your body in a thick layer of iridescent, white bubbles, flowing down the planes and curves of your figure with the water, rinsing every bit of your body to superb asepsis. Your hair had never known such extravagance when your fingers glided right through your locks, leaving them soft and addicting to touch. You understood now how Satoru’s was that fluffy.
You wanted to touch his hair, too.
Shaking your head to shoo away any very wholesome thoughts, you squeezed the excess water from your hair and turned off the shower, shivering at the sudden chill now that the perpetually toasty mist wasn’t surrounding you anymore.
Careful to avoid slipping, you tip-toed over to the tub and knelt down beside it, reaching for the handles. Hot water burst forth from the tap, rushing to fill the basin, and you noted how deep it was, contemplating if your knees would peek out from the surface if you sat with them bent. You had to be extra vigilant to prevent falling asleep in it and drowning.
You could drown after you got to take a dip in the hot spring in the backyard. Of course, you’d prefer not having to drown at all, but if you had to choose, you’d opt for the hot spring.
Daydreams of swimming in it played behind your eyes as you sank into the tub with a delighted sigh. What tranquility, lucking out like this. You didn’t know what god to thank, if any, but you’d happily grovel on your hands and knees to show your immense gratitude. Just getting a chance to live (well, bathe) in splendor for a single day was enough to fulfill some innate, deep desire you had inside.
Now that you had a moment away from the hectic day, you let yourself recount everything that happened, and question how the hell you got here.
Not 24 hours ago, you had arrived, a poor fool that nearly kicked the bucket on your own front porch, and since then, you were sort of adopted by a grandmother that fed you instead of throwing her shoe at you, met an eccentric, wealthy man who took after a deity ripped straight from mythos, and landed yourself not only a place to stay, but a place with said deity.
“What the hell…” You mumbled to yourself as you lowered yourself until only your eyes remained above the water, blowing bubbles.
How did you get here?
Was this some sort of punishment? Give you a taste of the blest, then wrench it away from you? Karmic cruel and unusual castigation?
You grumbled underwater and lifted your head back up to breathe. Of course, you couldn’t help being paranoid, all of this was way too good to be true. Like some sort of game show–
Oh, god–
You sat up pin-straight and covered your chest, scanning the bathroom ceiling and walls for any hidden cameras. You scoured every surface, squinting extra hard to spot potential blinking lights or unusually-reflective circles.
Nada.
You went boneless, lounging against the back of the tub as you exhaled heavily.
You had probably been in the bath too long. Your fingers were starting to get pruny, and your brain all jumbled up with anxiety and skepticism.
Sluggishly, you pulled yourself out and dried off while the tub drained, pulling on your clean clothes with a relieved hum. You couldn’t remember the last time you treated yourself like this, if ever.
You heard someone speaking from beyond the hallway, so after dropping off your old clothes in your room, you ventured out through the living room, where you found none other than your savior, chatting away with someone on the phone. He turned to you and instantly lit up.
“Ha-hey!” Satoru grinned and waved you over after quickly ending his call, laughing through his greeting. “You got here safe?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, moving to sit beside him at the kitchen island. “Ijichi-san is good at his job.”
The towheaded boy snickered. “Good, or else I would have flicked his forehead.”
“So, you’re the reason he looks so anxious all the time,” you scolded him, then apologized. “Sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to drag you out of your conversation.”
“Bah,” he brushed it off. “No big deal, wasn’t anything important. So, settling in okay? Seems you already got familiar with the soaps ‘n’ stuff I got you, yeah?”
You nodded eagerly, lifting your arm to sniff at your wrist. “They smell so good, where did you get them?”
He planted his chin on his palm. “Nowhere you can afford.”
Your eyes narrowed into a sharp, unamused glare. “Wow, thanks.”
His cheeks crinkled his hues, and you realized he was still wearing his shades indoors. The glare of the sun no longer turned them into mirrors, allowing you to partially see through them, but the deep ocean hue of the lenses prevented you from deciphering the exact color of his irises.
What an abnormal choice of glasses. You knew people wore circular shades – they made them for a reason – but all the people you’d seen wearing them could never pull off the style.
Satoru was different, though. They suited him flawlessly; refined and dignified, yet boyish at the same time, just like the bearer.
“Let me know when you run out,” he said. “I’ll get you more.”
You jolted in surprise. “Oh! No, no, it’s fine! I’d feel bad using them all up, I don’t want to imagine the price tag…”
He pouted at you. “Why? You saw the note I left you, didn’t you? They’re yours, I got them specifically so you could use them.”
You worried your bottom lip. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t do anything I’m not sure of.”
Well, that’s all you needed to concede. “Alright. Thank you, I like them a lot.”
His moue instantly turned into a brilliant, cheek-aching smile. “I’m glad! Had me worried I picked the wrong stuff.”
His giddiness was contagious, making you giggle. “No! Not at all, I’m just– I’ve never seen the brand before.” It being a Japanese brand notwithstanding.
“Well, duh,” he rolled his eyes as he hopped off his stool and sauntered over to the fridge. “They don’t sell this kind of stuff in normal stores.”
“Where’d you get them from, then?”
“Made Ijichi fetch ‘em.”
You sighed heavily. “Poor guy. You work him to the bone, don’t you?”
He humphed as he withdrew something from the fridge – bento boxes, you recognized. He placed one down in front of you, and took his spot at the island back. “He’s fine. Gets paid well. It’s not like I make him go to the city for every little whim I have.”
You huffed as you pulled off the lid to your box, your mouth instantly salivating at the food within. You barely had the conscious thought left to clap your hands and murmur ‘itadakimasu’, as well as mentally slap yourself when you recalled that you had forgotten to do the same with Granny.
You were able to restrain the moan of delight this time, unlike in front of the old lady, but damn was it hard to.
“Fuck…”
Gojo cackled beside you. “It’s good, I know.”
“Who made this?” You questioned, hand covering your mouth as you chewed. Ijichi must have been a good chef, too.
The man gave you a cocky smirk. “I did.”
…Hah?
You regarded him flatly, disbelieving. “Funny.”
“I’m serious!” He glowered. “Is it so hard to believe I can cook?”
“A little,” you confessed around a bite of sausage. “Rich boys don’t usually know how to cook.”
His gaze pierced directly through you, brooding as he stuffed his mouth. “I’m never gonna cook for you again, just for that.”
Oh, so he was gonna do that?
Hm, might as well play along.
You set down your chopsticks and turned to face him, slapping your hands together as you lowered your head to beseech his mercy. “Please, O’ Honored One, Gojo Satoru-sama! Forgive this witch her foolish words!”
He lifted his chin, judging you through his round shades with the pretense of a king adjudicating his subject’s worth. A few seconds passed before he nodded in approval. “Better. You’re forgiven.”
“Yay,” you laughed, immediately going back to eating. “It is really good though, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he responded, virtually inhaling his serving – not that you were any better.
“Where’d you learn how to cook?”
He swallowed and paused, speaking a fraction softer. “My mom taught me.”
Maybe a touchy subject. You noted it as something to not approach, instead choosing to compliment them both. “She taught you well.”
The boxes were empty in the blink of an eye, and you were both saying ‘gochisousama’ with a satisfying puff.
He grabbed the chopsticks and both boxes, placing them in the sink and filling them with water. “So you did research Japan a bit, eh? Knowing our customs.”
“I believe it comes with the territory of learning the language, yes,” you hopped off the stool, reclining against the counter. You winced minutely when your spine popped.
“How long have you been speaking Japanese?”
“Ehh,” you tilted your hand diagonally a few times. “I learned it a while back. I was studying abroad at the time. Didn’t really know it’d come in handy now, though.”
He dried off his hands with the hand towel nearby and cocked his head to the side. “Oh? You weren’t planning to move here?”
“Not…really,” you shrugged and rubbed the back of your neck. You had to tip-toe this line of conversation carefully.
He grinned, leaning forward to meet your gaze head-on as if he had just hit some sort of jackpot. “So you are running from something after all.” Fuck. “Well? What is it? Mafia?” No. “Loan sharks?” No. “Robbed somethin’ big?” No. “Exes?”
…Sort of.
“Let’s go with exes.”
“You’re quite the mysterious woman,” he chuckled low, voice taking on an evil little rasp. “Makes me wanna open you up.”
You batted your eyes, your brain lagging as your cheeks heated up because what the fuck, real men weren’t supposed to be this hot, and you were not supposed to be this asthenic in the knees just because he had a handsome face and an absurdly attractive voice that decided to say the most deviant shit.
“And you’re a terrible, terrible man, Gojo Satoru,” you admonished to cover your nonplussed emotions.
“Mhm, mhm,” he nodded in complete agreement. “I’m a terrible, terrible man that decided to take you in out of the goodness of my heart.”
You sighed. “You’re going to use that against me, aren’t you.”
“Absolutely, I’m never letting you live this down.”
You stuck your tongue out at him, earning yourself a smirk hidden poorly behind an offended scoff. An oddly domestic sentiment perched in your center, just beneath your breastbone. A decent meal and the slow end to an intense day had you yawning behind the back of your hand.
He yawned after you, the action infectious, and moped like a kid that wasn’t ready to go to bed.
The emotional weight of everything was coming down on you, and you craved for nothing more than to pass the fuck out under those incredibly plush and cozy looking blankets.
“Think that’s our cue,” you grumbled and rubbed the corner of your eye with your knuckle. “Or mine, anyway. I’m ready to conk out and sleep for, like, a century.”
He chuckled lazily, the noise husky and low. It wasn’t particularly late, no, but you felt like you’d been struck with a bus filled with mental and physical tax collected over a great deal of time. He waved you off, turning to strut down the hall opposite of the one you came through, and left you with a still cheery farewell.
Finally.
You well-nigh sprinted back to your room to nab your toiletries and sped through your simple nightly routine, impatient and antsy to dive into that queen-sized mattress. It’s not that you disliked Gojo’s company, quite the opposite, actually, but you were tired.
Usually, you tried to put off sleep until your body gave out in the early hours before morning, uncaring for the dreams that inevitably spawned, no matter how little or how much sleep you got.
But now?
Those sheets were hailing you.
You couldn’t brush your teeth quick enough. Your face was practically still damp with your moisturizer as you dived under the duvet and keened. You’d never known such opulence in your life.
Your legs kicked with glee as you snuggled in, squeaking and curling on your side and clutching the fabric of the blanket tightly in your hands to ensure it went nowhere while you pranced around in dreamland. Heaven. Pure and simple. Heaven with the fragrance of new pin laundry and your body wash, that held your head on the coziest lap, that hugged your form and incontinently coaxed you under the waves of hypnotic slumbering.
Comfort surrounded you. The mattress underneath you was the ideal level of firmness, the blankets were warm without being overbearingly hot, and being in such a neat environment swiftly lulled you into a far easier and more satisfying sleep than you’ve had in a long time.
banner by cafekitsune ♥
#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#satoru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#geto x reader#suguru x reader#geto suguru x reader#suguru geto x reader#satosugu x reader#chimera writes
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I had the weirdest fucking (ship?) dream about Daphne and Edge, and I'm not exxagerating:
Hello to the 9 other people in this fandom!
I had trouble sleeping last night, but I eventually managed to fall asleep, and I HAVE to tell you about the dream I had. I can't stop thinking about it omg.
_______________________
So, it starts out with Edge and Daphne, post-Cursa I assume, who were attempting to locate a bizarre plant that Daphne had been trying to observe earlier. Edge, not wanting to be here to begin with (she was pretty much dragged along because Daphne likes to share her fixations. A lot.), was not exactly being a pleasant companion, finding this whole exercise to not be worth the arduous trek it took to go out to some decrepit, stenchy swampland that may or may not be parasite-infested. Daphne was beginning to get irritated at Edge's hostile, snarky attitude at her throughout the entire journey there, But she was the only one of the three she had managed to even drag along with her in the first place, so Daphne begrudgingly put up with the shit talking, focusing mostly on the goal; finding whatever the hell that odd flower bulb she had spotted had sprouted from.
The first anomaly occured when, out of the blue, Edge saw a quick flash of greenish-brown as Daphne's left leg was almost entirely pulled into the ground, sending her tumbling downwards and shrieking as Edge instinctively grabbed for her arm, barely keeping her from faceplanting in the mud in the process. Grateful for that at least, Daphne felt whatever had grabbed her so abruptly snake away from her flesh just as fast as it had seized her. Grumbling at yet another problem to deal with on this unwanted trip, Edge helped a shaky Daphne to her feet......she seemed like she hadn't sprained or bruised anything. However, she DID have a rather notable prick on her upper thigh, almost like she'd been bitten or thorned by the tendril, her greenish, saplike bodily fluids tickling down her leg like a leak in a honey jar.
"You know, Daph, just NOT going here would've saved both of us all this trouble."
"Oh SHUT UP, Edge! Maybe this venture of ours wouldn't be so unpleasant if you could just SHUT YOUR MOUTH for a while! You have no idea what this research means to me!"
"You? Researching? Pffffft."
"........Hmmmph, you just don't understand me at all, do you?"
"Oh, go FUCK yourself."
But they were already in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, so there was really no point in just turning around now unless they wanted their ONLY fruit from this labor to be a notably harsh exchange of grumbling insults and sore legs.
And then, in the middle of a clearing, when Daphne had just sat down for a quick rest, Edge stepped onto a rather stiff and bouncy patch of mud. Before anyone had any time to react, the flower she was now standing above launched itself upwards and out of it's mucky hideout, thich, spotted brown petals entrapping the warrior rabbid within a stenchy, natural prison as it once again settled down, standing upright and unmoving other than the obvious struggling coming from within. Daphne jumped into action, shrieking as her vines instinctively tried to wrap around the flower, only for it to sink further into the mud to escape being entwined. Without thinking, she kept trying to snag it something something the meaning of insanity, with the result only being, eventually, only the very tip of the flower bulb being exposed above the swampland. Stopping, Daphne gasped as she realized she was fucking this up massivley; any further disturbance would cause the only slight opening in the flower to be engulfed in thick mud.....meaning her friend and teammate would have no more air to breathe. Shaking and still panicking, Daphne sat back down, trying desperately to think of anything, ANYTHING, to get them out of this situation.
Meanwhile, Edge could hardly see within the dark confines of the flower. The air inside reeked of musk, staleness, and dank swamp moisture. She felt around her hip for the smaller, but still lethally sharp defense dagger that she had brought for this occasion......... but before she could get a solid grip on it's hilt, the disc she stood upon let out a thick cloud of pale yellow pollen into the chamber, filling their lungs with the substance. They coughed and hacked and covered their mouth.....but, involuntarily, their body began to relax, muscles slacking and their mind beginning to feel rather foggy.......it was relaxing, whatever this substance was.........she felt so.....tingly all over..........so weird.........
It had been nearly ten minutes before Daphne saw any sort of hope for this situation. With a jolt and a notable wriggling, the flower ever so slightly poked further upwards, the struggle from within obviously having died down as well. Despite worrying about the lack of inside movement, Daphne felt carefully optimistic as she cautiously bent down to approach the accursed plant.....she noticed some roots nearby as well, spiky and thin and rather flexible looking, and they wriggled slightly as she kneeled by the exposed bulb. Something seemed familiar about them.....but what? No, that didn't matter at the moment. She needed to focus on fixing this disaster.
And then there was movement! Only slight, but Daphne could see the plant shaking ever so slightly, it's opening at the top widening an inch……the plant gurgled and the ground shifted slightly, but none of this mattered to Daphne as she dove forward, hand reaching downwards into the dank natural chamber below.
“H-hey, Edge! Edge!!!!! Edge, do you hear me? Are you in there??????........”
“......Hrrrpm?.......”
…….Something was wrong. The tired voice coming from inside was off. But it also sounded so familiar……..What had happened to Edge?! What was this floral beast doing to her?
“M-m-my hand! Urgh, I’m trying my hardest here! Grab on, please!”
There was an awful, dreadful stillness in the air for what felt like forever, her friend seemingly not responding to her pleading.
…….Her head felt fuzzy. Everything felt like she was swimming in a thick ooze, her movements as slow as her thoughts at the moment. Had she even been awake for the past few minutes? She couldn’t remember, she giggled slightly in her daze, now fully relaxed and slumped against the soft, silky walls that kept her here. Someone was talking……she was sure of it, but what was even happening right now?.......Trapped, she was trapped, right? She wasn’t supposed to be here…..but here felt so cozy……b-but her friend……was that her friend up there? Oh, she felt so numb and tingly all over. Light. There was light up there. Sun. She needed to get up to where the sunlight was. Hand. Her friend was waiting……..
Daphne almost wanted to jump for absolute joy when she felt her hand grabbed, but managed to pause and keep cool; the grip Edge had on her was wobbly enough as it was……..had her hand always felt this soft? Everything felt smaller, daintier………
Shaking less at least, Daphne heaved backwards, soon seeing an entire arm emerge from the ground, it’s grip tighter and stronger now……..wait, Edge’s arm wasn’t that thin, right? She was muscly and stocky and stuff. Not bedrock-level jacked, obviously, but she had never been a twig like……like Daphne was……….
And then she saw the sopping wet, blue hair poke out.
She almost let go right then and there, horrified as she glanced at her own drooping bangs. Blue. They were the shame goddamn shade of blue. But she was out here! Edge was trapped, this was Edge she was supposed to save! Her terror only heightened as soon, this rabbid’s entire head was poking from the mud. HER HEAD. SHE WAS SEEING HER OWN GODDAMN HEAD AND SHOULDERS RIGHT THERE WHAT THE HELL WAS HAPPENING WHAT. THe only thing that kept her somewhat sure this…..rabbid was actually Edge was the sopping wet black sleeves of their leather jacket, the exact same jacket they’d been wearing this entire outing. Her eyes were covered by the all-too-familiar blue bangs adorning her face, b ut Daphne could tell ‘Edge’ was under some sort of odd influence, her face slack, her unseen gaze seeming empty and unfocused as she was soon halfway out of the plant’s entrapment. For the love of Rosalina, why did the weirdest shit always have to happen to them? She could hardly stop staring at the exact duplicate that had been Edge just half an hour ago, but she might as well help her out of this damn flower……..
Edge wasn’t sure what was happening to her. She shivered as the open air hit her skin, the chill she received at least slightly refocusing her drifting mind. She stared up at Daphne, who looked like she had just seen a zombie rising from the dingy swamplands.Had she worried her that much?.........Shit, she probably did. Shit, shit, shit, she was still in fucking danger here!
Daphne yelped as Edge let go of her arm, fearing the absolute worst before they then planted their hand, clutched, into the stiff muck below, holding firm with a renewed sense of vigor. Edge only barely seemed to notice the sharp decrease of grip strength she now possessed, it seemed, adrenaline more than compensating for it at the moment. Daphne’s hands were still shaking, slightly held out in the case her teammate slipped or let go, but it seemed like she had almost fully snapped out of her daze at this point. Panting and gasping for fresh air, Edge wriggled her torso, and soon enough, her left and right leg, out and free. Daphne couldn’t help but cringe at the sight of the two, wriggling plant tendrils poking from Edge’s behind…….just how deep of a copy HAD she turned into? If it hadn’t been for the vastly different attire, nobody would’ve been able to tell the difference between the two rabbids slumped against the ground.
The next few minutes felt like they were dragged out for a long, long time, with neither party speaking or moving as Edge fully settled onto the ground, covered in sticky, runny sap and copious amounts of dampened pollen that stuck to her skin like wet sand.
“.......Edge?.......” Daphne waves her sleeved arm hesitantly in front of this odd new doppleganger, “Earth to Edge, hey! Can you hear me alright?”
Edge grunted, seemingly unaware of her new physical appearance as she sat fully upright, rubbing her face with groggy exhaustion.”Yeah. uhm, yeah, I’m fine, I think so……w-what the Hell happened anyways?.......”
It was one of the trippiest experiences Daphne had ever had, hearing Edge’s ‘new’ voice. She sort of sounded like her? But it was still off. Her accent, her mannerisms of speaking, her tone all seemed to remain the same, just slapped onto Daphne’s voice……..Oh fuck, how was she even going to BEGIN to explain this to them?
“Edge, errrrrrr, you don’t notice anything……different about you, do ya?”
“.........No, but I sure as heeeeeeeeee-” Her response cut off as their gaze drifted to their buckled legs……..well, it seemed like Daphne would have to start explaining fast.
Edge felt her heart skip several beats as her eyes met soft, silky fur, tinted a very slight tint of purplish pink notable. Her legs, these weren’t her legs at all! Their breathing quickened as they pulled back their hand- her paws! The fur on them faded to a squishy, bizarrely plantlike sk- plantlike?! Wait, plant? Plant-rabbid? Daphne! The tugged at their hair, trying desperately to peek at it’s color. Her hair was blue and so much shorter than it was before. Blue hair. Plantlike fingertips, new fur…….
“WHAT THE FUCK?!!?!?!?!?”
With a jump in the air, Edge yelped at the sight of her slim, muscleless torso, her baggy clothing drooping down her notably curvy hips, matching her…….somewhat enhanced bust pressing against her soaked shirt.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!-” She raced over to one of the many murky puddles that peppered the nearby ground, screaming at her reflection as Daphne raced to keep her from somehow reentering the plant she had just been saved from. “WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCKING FUCK!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!” She was howling and thrashing in panic at this point, her arms grasping and clutching at everything on her alien body in denial, in desperation, in awful realization.
“E-edge!” Daphne gasped and begged, semicertain it’s pal was going to drop dead from shock at this point, “Please, listen, I’m not happy with this either but we need to-”
“What the HELL did you do to me, Daphne?!”
Daphne almost squeaked in surprise as her own hands…..well, her OTHER her’s hands……wrapped around her throat, Edge’s plantlike membranes she now possessed for eyes bright and glowing with panicked anger and bewilderment as she wrangled Daphne against a nearby tree.
Daphne’s vines reacted at lightning speed, whacking and striking at her adversary with determined force…..and, in just a moment, both bunnies were sent tumbling and sputtering on the ground, both their tendril tail pairs entangled, wrangling at each other in a frenzied attempt to defend one’s host from the other.
“A-ah! Wait, stop! Daphne, what the hell are the brakes on these things? Command, switch, anything?!”
“That’s not how they work, you fuckin idiot-” Daphne spat, now more pissed off than concerned at this point, “And- urgh, ow- may I remind you that this was all your fault?.......” She frowned as Edge’s gaze sank to the floor, muttering.
“L-L-Listen, I’m sorry, okay, please! Just get us out of this, yowch!!”
Daphne couldn’t help but snort with a smug sense of schadenfreude as one of the vines landed a good solid pinch on Edge’s ass, enough to certainly tear a hole in her shorts but thankfully far from a full-force bite.
But still, she didn’t exactly want to be in this situation either, to be frank.
“Alright….come on….h-hey, it’s fine, please just stop now………” She muttered softly, slowly crawling in the opposite direction. It still took a decent couple of minutes for the tussle to finally calm itself down (The fact that Edge seemed to possess far less control over her vines certainly didn’t help this situation), but finally the vines had gone relatively quiet (for wriggling self-sentient plant tendrils, that is).
……But now there was still a whole other bucket of problems to deal with right now.
“.......Sooooooooooo………..You’re still Edge up there, right?” Daphne scooted next to her unexpected clone, placing a hand on her forehead and tapping with surging curiosity. Shock aside, this had to be one of the most unique scenarios she had ever encountered with any sort of wildlife encounter, it fascinated her!
Edge winced with surprise, quickly pushing Daphne’s hand off with her own, paws lightly brushing against one another as they did so. “Oh I sure as hell am.” She rolled her eyes and sighed, “Dear Cursa, it’d be a nightmare for the both of us if I wasn’t. Ugh, this body feels so weird.” She flexed her foot experimentally, looking frustrated when her ill-fitted boot slid right off into the mud.
______________________
…..Listen, I WANT to continue describing this dream, but, yeah, I’ll admit it. It got NSFW. I seriously don’t want people mistaking me for some kind of weird shipper ok qwq this dream was just fucking wild and I don’t know what kind of damn cheese I ate to come up with it. Please don't like instantly drop me please..........
#dream description ig#cloning#twinning transformation#rabbids#sparks of hope#mario + rabbids#mario rabbids sparks of hope#rabbid daphne#rabbid edge#mario rabbids
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Three Dates
Frank Castle x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Gun Mention, PTSD. Content: First Dates, Fluff, Pets, Restaurants, Hanging Out, Romance, Making Out, Annoying neighbors.
Word Count: 2,119 Summary: You go out on three separate dates with Frank after that night at the shelter.
A/N: This is Part 3 of the Shelter From The Storm Series (on AO3)
Tumblr Links: Part 1: Even If It Kills Him - Part 2: No Rest For The Wicked
The concept of falling in love is a strange one for Frank. It reeks of familiarity and kicks him in the gut every time he finds himself thinking of you. It’s guilt, deeply carved somewhere inside, reminding him that everyone around him dies. The thought of you being hurt because of him keeps him up at night. Ideally, he would like to be able hop into his truck and drive somewhere far far away to keep you safe from the terror that follows The Punisher. He’s tried that a few times already and every time his compass has failed, in a way, and led him back to you– to his shelter. That’s what he’s made out of you. You feel like home to him, something he’s missed enormously. Especially after that kiss. It made it way too hard to keep fighting that instinct and do the right thing, that would be staying away.
Unexpectedly, he chooses what he considers the wrong choice, that being– seeking that after a friend mentioned once. It terrifies him more than staying away if he’s being honest. Part of him believes he’s tainting Maria’s memory, like he’s failing her somehow, but after many meetings and talks with Curt, he would know that’s not the case at all. Maria would want him to have anything other than violence in his life, she’d want him to move on, to fall in love, and to make peace with himself.
She wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your days like a hermit in some bumfuck town in bumfucking nowhere.– Curt’s words after Frank suggested for the fifth time he should bolt.
He takes it slow though, sloth-like-slow, even when it’s zeroing into a year since he met you, and well aware he's loved you ever since, otherwise he wouldn't have gone through all this inner turmoil. He's not looking for a quick affair, no... He wants you, all of you.
Approaching this relationship as if he was disarming a bomb; he carefully chooses when and how to ask you out, finding himself repeating in his head over and over every word so he doesn't mess up.
He would pat himself on the back if it didn’t look ridiculous doing so, because when he finally arms himself with valor to cut the first wire, it goes as smoothly as he rehearsed. It’s only a week after you kissed him that he decides to go for a coffee date, something simple and casual, just to break the ice. And you, obviously, took him up on that offer. He was still nervous no matter what, and chugged more coffee than he should, hearing you talk mostly about your pets, Rocco, your boxer, who he’s met a few times already when you’ve brought him to the shelter, and your two cats Lexi and Piper. He doesn’t mind though, he prefers to be the listener.
That gave him an idea for a second date, it’s something just as casual. Once upon a time he’d gone way over the top and would have tried to impress you by choosing a fancy place way more expensive than he can afford. Right now, he knows your soft spot and he’s sticking to that.
A pet date as a second sounds pretty good to him, so his pit bull, Harley, could meet your dog. It feels like a necessary step. If you're planning for this to become something for the long haul, they need to get along. Now, Rocco is the most amicable dog in the world, never had a problem mingling with other animals. Harley, on the other hand, wasn't as friendly when she first got to the shelter, pretty much like Frank, but after a paramount of caring and training, you’re ecstatic to see how she’s succeeded under Frank's wing. It takes them no more than a few minutes, after cautiously being introduced, to play with the other and run around without problems.
You went to the dog park in his neighborhood, and while you watched your dogs run with that endless energy they both seem to have, he used that as an opportunity to find your hand and lace fingers with you as you strolled behind your babies from a distance. It took you so much by surprise that you were the one speechless that time. The pace of your heart skyrocketed like crazy and you could see yourself falling madly in love with this man as he lifted your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. You were pretty much there already, you didn’t need much more than that to realize this is the guy you wanted to be with.
On the third time you got together, you were forced to face your first setback, nothing incredibly difficult to get past it. The bomb didn’t went off luckily, but you could see the misunderstanding made him more embarrassed than anything else.
You were set for dinner and a movie and as you walked up to the restaurant, his self-awareness, the crowded street, and a man following not so closely behind you, led him to believe that it was someone after him. You could see his cogs turning fast in his skull as he grabbed your arm with one hand, and reached with the other to the piece in his belt. He managed to have you hidden in the restaurant of his choosing, while he waited for the supposedly stalker in an alley nearby. At the end, it was someone who was just going in the same direction as you. Granted, the guy in particular looked as sketchy as hell, but Frank should know better by now that you can't judge someone based on looks only. Bad guys usually don't look the part, it's those they don’t you gotta watch out for. You know that from experience and so has he. He'd told you about his friend Billy over the phone one night he couldn't sleep, you've seen him on the news as well and going back to that former statement, Russo didn't look like he had broken a plate in his life. Well, turns out he broke more than a few hearts, including Frank's.
Dinner was a little awkward at first. The thing that unsettled you more was finding out that he was carrying a gun when being with you like he was preparing for the worst. It must be exhausting for him to carry that burden every second of every single day. You wished you could ease him up somehow and you voiced that, carefully, because it was palpable there’s still a few things that are triggering for him and there’s nothing you can do to change that, Frank is always going to be Frank, and while you appreciate him for wanting to keep you safe, it’s not going to work if every time there’s a potential thread he’s going to pull out a gun. So, he made a compromise for the time being, and had you keep his gun in your purse instead. It’s not a good solution but it's the best you could come up with at that moment.
“I'm sorry I freaked you out,” his fingers were laced together, and you could see he was still anxious by the way his eyes kept darting out the window, as his pointer finger tapped repeatedly on his knuckles,“we don't have to stay.”
“You wanna leave?” you pulled your stare from the menu you were scanning.
“No, I just don't want you to be stuck with me.”
“Frank… I–” you frowned, unsure of what to say next, and reached with your hand across the table to grab his forearm. Your grip putting an end to that twitch of his finger as he locked eyes with you. “I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to, trust me. You are the one stuck with me whether you like it or not. It's gonna take more than that to freak me out.”
“That so?" you watched his lips shyly turning into a resemblance of a smile behind his beard.
You shrugged playfully before picking together a pizza to both of your tastes.
He was in charge of choosing a restaurant, and dinner was a success no matter what happened earlier. Then, you were the one to pick a movie, and you chose Knives Out beforehand, having your tickets ready on your phone. Frank relaxed more into that second part of the date, enough that you found yourself observing him instead of the film. He was utterly invested in it, and you were more into seeing his reaction than anything that happened on the screen.
Honestly, all you wanted to do is make out with him like a teenager. It was embarrassing, yes, but you’ve held long enough and a few kisses here and there weren’t enough anymore.
It wasn’t enough for him either cause now, at the end of the night, when he takes you home, he has your back pressed against the door of your apartment before you can fish for the keys in your bag. His palms frame your hips, fingers sneaking in under your sweater, sinking softly in your skin every other second, weakening your knees by the undoing of his tongue granting you a new kind of kiss; firm and eager, tasting your mouth as if it was his new favorite dessert.
To keep yourself from buckling down, you lock arms around his neck and get lost in the tenderness of lips, fitting perfectly with yours.
He's overly interested in exploring every corner of your mouth. Hopefully he's just as enthusiastic about getting to know the rest of you further.
Unfortunately, your sweet make out session gets interrupted by a sound coming from behind your neighbor's door, Mrs. Anderson, who likes to spy from her peephole to keep tabs on what happens in the hallway, especially when it comes to your comings and goings. To say she doesn't like you very much is an understatement. She despises every time you bring friends, or worst of all– she's always complaining about your dog, and has tried many times to convince your landlord and the neighbors association that it isn't safe to have that kind of breed, in particular, living in the building. Her request has been shut down over and over but she keeps finding new ways to annoy you out of spite.
You sigh and part from his lips, hearing her door opening to the hallway. You smooth your hands on Frank's shirt, hoping really hard she's just taking the trash out. Sadly you're not so lucky.
“Everything alright here?” the middle aged woman says.
“Yes, Mrs. Anderson, everything's peachy.” You utter, cocooned by Frank's tallness, as he moves his lips to your forehead.
“I was just checking. Is that a new boyfriend of yours?”
You feel his mouth drawing a smile against your skin.
“It's actually… none of your business. Go back to the bachelor or whatever you're watching. ”
“Well, whoever he is, I hope it lasts more than all the others.”
Frank frowns at you, completely shocked at your not-so-passive-aggressive but totally hostile exchange with your neighbor.
“By the way, that damn dog has been barking all afternoon after one of your friends came around looking for you.”
She slams the door shut after that, but you know she's still watching and listening from the other side, and you flip her off hoping that she'd see it.
“What the hell was that?” Frank snorts.
“A pain in the butt.”
Letting out a long sigh, you shove your hand in your purse to grab your keys, and turn around to open the door.
“I didn't know you had enemies.”
“Just the one,” you shift in your boots, spinning to look at him again under the open threshold.
“I guess… I should get going,” his hand extends to cup your jaw.
“I'm sorry she ruined the moment,” you lean on his touch.
“Me too, sweetheart.”
“You could stay, you know?”
“You want me to?”
“I really want you to, Frank,” you say honestly, trying not to sound so desperate to spend more time with him.
You hear your dog behind you, coming to greet you at the door but he seems more excited to have found Frank there than you as he perks up, circling around him, smelling his boots.
“Hey, boy.”
“See? He wants you to come in too,” a smile illuminates your face, as one of your palms brushes his beard, and you step closer to purr over his lips, “please?”
“Yeah, alright. Can't really say no to that face, can't I?”
“You could try,” you press your curved lips to his mouth.
#frank castle x reader#frank castle#the punisher#the punisher fanfiction#frank castle fanfiction#reader insert#fluff#darlingwrites#jon bernthal
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You Matter To Me
Coda to 15x19
Wc: 2k, Tags: fluff, pie, happy ending, first kiss
Also on ao3
It’s been three weeks since they won, but Dean still isn’t happy.
He’s been driving around the country, searching for something he knows he won’t find. The thing he wants that he knows he can’t have. He lost his chance.
Eventually, he ends up at a diner.
Lulu’s Pies, it says in softly glowing neon cursive above the building.
The bell above the door chimes as Dean pushes it open and steps inside. It’s pleasantly warm compared to the cold night outside, but Dean still feels cold. At least on the inside.
He heads to the bar and sits down on one of the stools.
With a cursory and habitual glance around the diner, he realizes he’s the only one here. At least the only customer.
That makes sense, he supposes. It’s barely 3 AM and the diner is plopped in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. The only other signs of life in the area are the long winding road outside and the shitty old gas station a few miles back.
To be honest, Dean doesn’t quite know why he came here. Maybe he needed a break from the drive.
He wanted to get some pie - the place was literally named for its pies - but that was mainly out of habit rather than actual desire. It’s been hard to want any of the things he used to enjoy, not since…
He cuts off that train of thought with a scowl to himself.
The waitress, a sweet looking woman with long, wavy, dark blonde hair and deep blue eyes approaches Dean from the other side of the bar. “What can I get for you, sugar?” she asks with a warm voice, rich with a soft southern accent. It reminds him, inexplicably, of his mother.
“I-“ Dean stops. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly.
The waitress, Jenna, according to her name tag, smiles sympathetically. “That’s alright,” she says sweetly. “It can be hard to know what you want, especially when you lose someone dear to you.”
Dean frowns. “How did you-” He begins.
Jenna smiles sadly at Dean. “There are some things a mother just knows, and heartbreak is one of them.” Her eyes are understanding, and painfully blue - too close to Castiel’s eyes for comfort. Dean looks away. “You look like you could use a slice of pie,” she says, handing him a paper dessert menu, specifically made for this week. “They’re all made from scratch, and made from the heart. Take all the time you need, honey. I’ll be back with a cup of coffee for you, it’s on the house.”
Jenna’s words soothe something raw and stinging inside Dean, and he offers her a small smile as she heads back into the kitchen.
He looks over the menu with a tired sigh. Not too long ago, Dean would’ve killed to eat here. All the pies sound awesome, and something about the waitress makes it very clear she puts effort into her pies.
Still, his heart isn’t really in it.
When Jenna comes back with a mug of coffee and a smile, Dean nods thankfully, but shakes his head when she asks if he’s ready to order. “I just- I need more time,” he says.
He isn’t just talking about the food. Not anymore.
Jenna nods. “Just give me a call when you’re ready, hun,” and then she’s gone.
Dean isn’t really sure how long he sits there, staring blankly at the dessert menu, coffee warming up one of his hands, his soul feeling achingly empty.
He's snapped out of his stupor by the sound of the bell above the door chiming to indicate someone else entering.
Dean’s eyes are glued to the menu still, reading the blurb under Heartbreak Pie. It's a black bottomed cherry pie, and the picture stops him.
He hears footsteps walk over, but he ignores them. They come closer until the stranger sits down on the stool to the right of Dean.
Dean feels irritation flash through him briefly, the diner is completely empty, and Dean’s positive he’s radiating “leave me alone” vibes, but for some reason the stranger decides to sit next to him anyway.
The irritation is gone as fast as it appeared however, Dean just doesn’t have the energy. Not anymore.
A couple days after they’d won, after Jack had left and Sam had reunited with a newly brought back Eileen, Dean had broken down in the bunker.
He’d lost it a little, had cried and cried and cried for days. Begging and pleading and praying. But Cas hadn’t come back.
Not long after, the sadness had turned to anger. Anger at Cas, for making the deal in the first place. For loving Dean so much it killed him. For telling him and then leaving before Dean could say it back. Anger at Jack, for dying and causing the deal, for becoming God and not bringing Cas back, for leaving Dean just like Cas had, just like Sam.
But mostly, Dean had been angry with himself. For not saying it back when Cas told him, for just standing there, for being the reason Cas died, for being too stubborn and too scared to say anything sooner, back when he’d had the chance. He was angry at himself for not being everything that Cas apparently thought he was.
Those few days were fueled entirely by anger in Dean’s opinion. He knew, deep down, that the anger was caused by love, but he didn’t want to think about that. Because if Cas was right, if he was right about Dean then there really wasn’t any good reason why Dean had never said anything.
Those few days were fueled entirely by anger. He knew, deep down, that the anger was caused by love, but he didn’t want to think about that. Because if Cas was right, if he was right about Dean then there really wasn’t any good reason why Dean had never said anything.
Nowadays though, Dean just felt numb. He drives around in Baby with the hopes of bringing something back into his life, but nothing helps.
He almost missed it, he was so lost in thought, and he barely caught the tail end of Jenna asking the stranger what she could “-get for you, dear?”
“I’ll have a slice of cherry pie,” came the low and gravelly voice, and Dean’s heart stopped, “and a slice of apple pie for my friend here,” Castiel finished.
Dean could barely hear Jenna’s acknowledgement and departure over the sudden ringing in his ears and the unavoidable bloom of hope in his chest.
He wants to look over, he does. He wants to see for himself if it really is Cas. Or if he's finally going crazy. But he can't move. He's frozen in his spot.
And then Cas’ hand comes to rest on Dean’s shoulder, right where his handprint had been, both as a scar that was no longer there, and as a bloody stain on a jacket Dean kept in the trunk of the impala for safekeeping. That movement, that touch, it was undeniably Castiel, and it forced Dean into action.
He turns his head, and looks his best friend in the eyes for the first time in what feels like forever.
And it's Castiel. Undoubtedly. He has the same messy hair, the same stubble, the same beautiful blue eyes, same dirty trench coat, the same stubbornly crooked blue tie.
“Cas?” Dean croaks, voice wobbling, painfully close to cracking.
Castiel smiles softly and the sight of it brings endless relief to Dean. And when Cas responds with, “Yes. Hello, Dean.” The relief doubles until it floods over Dean so completely his hands begin to shake.
“Cas,” he starts, voice trembling almost as much as his hands. “I- you- how-?”
“Oh look, our pie,” Cas says, cutting Dean off as their slices of pie are placed down in front of them.
“Cas, listen-” Dean begins quietly.
“Dean,” Cas interrupts. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk, I promise. Just eat your pie.”
And maybe, some other time, Dean would’ve been worried, would’ve been suspicious over Cas’ clear redirection. But he isn't. Because Castiel’s eyes are earnest and honest.
And Dean suddenly understands. Cas doesn't want to talk about it yet. He doesn't know how Dean is going to respond. He wants to have this first, just a quiet, peaceful moment.
So Dean nods, and begins to eat his pie.
It is really good pie, especially a regular apple pie, and it's probably the best apple pie he’d had in years. Mentally, Dean decides to give Jenna a large tip.
He’s halfway through eating his pie when he can’t do it anymore. Not with the way he could feel Cas watching him contentedly, fondly.
“Cas, listen, I-”
“It’s alright, Dean,” Cas says, cutting him off again, but Dean can’t be mad at it. He just needs to keep going.
“No,” he says sternly, looking stubbornly down at his half-eaten slice of pie. “No, it’s not Cas. It’s not alright, and I need to say this.”
He looks back up at Cas and waits for his response. When Cas nods in understanding, Dean takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes to steady himself briefly before opening them back up and looking Cas in the eyes. “Cas, I love you,” Dean says quietly. “You gotta know I love you too.”
Cas’ eyes widen slightly before his expression softens to something so fond it would probably make Dean uncomfortable had it been coming from anyone else. “I know,” he says with a smile that’s almost a grin.
“You kno-?” Then Dean gets it. “Oh you little shit,” he laughs. “You did not know, you don’t get to Han Solo me, you asshat,” Dean says with a wide grin.
Cas chuckles and the sound warms Dean up from the inside out. “My apologies, Dean. It seemed fitting and I figured you’d appreciate it.” Cas ducks his head slightly, avoiding eye contact, though he’s still smiling.
“Hey,” Dean says, and he reaches out and grabs Cas’ hand. “There’s no need to apologize, man.” Dean’s grinning too, and, distantly, he figures he should probably make an effort to stop calling Cas “man” and “buddy”, considering the fact that he’s in love with the stupid angel.
Cas’ smile widens and he looks back up, meeting Dean’s gaze as he turns his hand over and laces their fingers together almost hesitantly.
The flood of warmth the action brings Dean, as well as the hesitation in Cas’ eyes, brings Dean to squeeze their hands automatically, reassuringly.
All the hesitance in Cas’ expression melts away, and he practically beams at Dean. “You should finish your pie, Dean,” he suggests softly.
“So should you,” Dean points out.
Cas chuckles again and shakes his head. “It only tastes like molecules to me. I’ll get a to-go box for it and you can finish it for me later,” he says, and the ‘later’ in that sentence fills Dean with joy.
They aren’t over. There’s going to be a “later” for the two of them.
He grins at Cas and squeezes his hand before turning back to his delicious pie.
It’s after he finishes it that he gets an idea, and he grins. “Hey Cas, you wanna taste it? It’s pretty good.”
Castiel frowns and does his confused little head tilt that Dean has always secretly found unbearably cute. He realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have to keep that a secret anymore, and the thought makes him smile.
“Dean, I don’t understand,” Cas says slowly, “there isn’t any pie le-” and then the look on Dean’s face must sink in, because he cuts off with a slowly growing and a little shy smile. “...yes,” he says finally. “I would like a taste.”
“Good,” Dean says, and then he reaches over with both hands, wrapping one around Cas’ arm and cupping the back of his neck with the other as he pulls his angel into a kiss.
Castiel melts into it, and Dean feels a little like he’s glowing from the inside out, he’s so happy.
When they pull away, Dean is still grinning. “Well?” he says. “Did you like the taste?”
Cas is wearing a matching grin. “Hmmm,” he says with mock thoughtfulness. “I’m not sure, I think we should do it again, so I can have another taste.”
God, Dean is in love.
They meet again in the middle for another kiss.
Dean’s face almost hurts from smiling so much after such a long time of not smiling at all. And he knows, as they hold each other close in the pie diner, that they have the rest of their lives to spend together.
And Dean is happy.
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#coda#spn fanfic#destiel fanfic#destiel ficlet#destiel coda#spn 15.19#spn 15x19#spn spoilers#supernatural fanfic#deancas#deancas fic#destiel fic#destiel#my writing#catch me being a musical theater nerd#and adding Jenna from waitress to the story
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Flowers in the Concrete
mayans mc au. three first meetings. biker eddie/odd job worker buck. rated m for a brief instance of physical assault (not between buck and eddie). 3.4 k. mostly fluff with a smidge of angst.
Two guys, each on the run from his own past, wash up in unlikely Santo Padre, aka bumfuck nowhere. This is the story of three chance meetings that might just be the breath of fresh air they've both been missing, a connection found without actually looking for it.
read on ao3.
Was my heart beatin' in my chest? And was I even alive before the day we met?
Evan Buckley had left home on a quest to get as far away from there and everything he was leaving behind as possible. How his series of odd jobs had brought him to the small town of Santo Padre, also known as bumfuck nowhere, however, was a mystery even to him.
It was not as if Buck had expected any sort of glorious wild west experience from working as what the newspaper ad had labeled a "hardy vineyard worker.” Apart from a handful of coffee shops, three of which were more like corner stores that offered outside seating, for daytime leisure and a couple of sketchy dive bars for a night out, this town really was a case of dust and crickets. Young people mostly seemed to flee the place as fast as they could and if they didn't manage that, they resigned to a life without any real prospects just as quickly.
Of course that was just the general drift and like everywhere, Santo Padre was home to its very own kinds of life, to people worth meeting, and places that were unlike anywhere else Buck had been before. He had found his favorite corner store where he spent his afternoons off drinking Tommy's strong filter coffee, black and with lots of sugar, whiling away long hours in the Californian sun. Sometimes Marj, who tended the nicest bar around most nights, joined him and sometimes she brought a couple of friends.
Today, however, Buck was sitting accompanied only by his coffee cup and an unnervingly colorful tabloid newspaper. He half-heartedly told himself that he was reading stuff like this on occasion to keep up with the outside world at least at some level, but the truth was that he enjoyed the senseless drama from time to time.
He was deep into a frighteningly detailed article on Chryssi Teigen's journey through pregnancy and motherhood when the roar of tuned motorcycle engines made him look up and across the street.
There they were, the representatives of another one of the scarce career options available in Santo Padre: the local branch of the Sons of Anarchy motorcycle club. Every now and then, these guys (Buck had the impression that only guys were allowed to ride with the crew) would pull up dramatically in front of an establishment and two or three would enter it looking like they meant business while the rest would wait out front on their rides just asserting presence or whatever their task out there was.
In any case, Buck rarely had the opportunity to study them as closely yet inconspicuously as today. There were just four of them, and two had already vanished into the butcher shop across the street. Of the other two, one was typing away at his phone furiously, oblivious to the outside world, which left the fourth guy to pass the time just lounging on his bike, scanning the street occasionally but mostly just looking at nothing in particular. He was wearing dark sunglasses though, so Buck couldn't be sure if he had his eyes closed when he was just doing nothing.
Actually, he was trying to determine just that when the biker suddenly seemed to sense that someone was watching him. Buck was so intent on the man's frankly very handsome face that he failed to look away before the other's searching gaze met his own. In a futile attempt to salvage the situation, Buck hid his face behind his newspaper. Only to realize that presenting the current Us Weekly cover to the guy who had caught him staring was pretty much the opposite of preserving his dignity. Exasperated with himself, Buck sighed and slowly lowered the newspaper again. He just caught the other man turning away from him. Buck thought he was smirking, but actually not in an unpleasant way. A little self-assured, maybe, but the man didn't look annoyed or even particularly judgemental.
He had turned to greet his biker friends as they emerged from the butcher shop. Without much fuss, all four of them got ready to ride off. Sunglasses guy, as Buck had baptized him, didn't make any more motion toward Buck, so Buck felt safe as he observed the gang's exit. Only for sunglasses guy, who rode at the end of the formation, to turn and look straight at Buck as the group passed the corner shop. Buck might have felt more annoyed about this next faux-pas if that man in his black leather jacket and black shirt and black jeans and his damn sunglasses, with his pretty face and wind-ruffled-yet-soft brown hair hadn't looked like a vision straight from a cheesy hollywood movie.
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There was really only the one grocery store in Santo Padre so that's where Eddie Diaz went to get his groceries. Today, as he turned the last corner toward the checkout aisle, Eddie found his way blocked by someone who he first registered as "tall". Next he took note of sun-kissed skin partially covered by a light green shirt that could have been either pastel or sun-bleached and then the face… A familiar face, currently expressing a mix of confusion, concentration, and something that resembled defeat. The tall guy was standing in front of the magazine stand and appeared to be studying the contents of the kids section with the utmost commitment. The setup was too good for Eddie to miss out on.
"No Us Weekly for you today?"
"I'm sorry, what…"
Following the tall guy's face journey as it went from startled to confused to surprised was worth the cheap shot at starting a conversation, Eddie found.
"Oh… Right. I'm just, so I'm actually supposed to pick up a magazine for my employer’s… uh… daughter. So that's why…"
Tall guy finished his sentence by vaguely gesturing toward the variety of kids' magazines. For some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, Eddie didn’t feel like letting the other man off the hook just yet, so he decided to push his luck just a little further.
"Yeah. I'm afraid I'm no help here. Maybe if we were talking gossip magazines…"
"About that… I didn't mean to stare the other day. Sorry.”
Eddie wondered how a grown man could possibly make the boyish apologetic smile that tall guy gave him seem as genuine as it did. And yet, watching that little duck of his head, shoulders drawing in just slightly, Eddie suspected that this one right here was usually pretty good at getting on people’s good sides, even when the offense was a little more serious than being caught staring. Not that eddie would let any of these whimsical observations show in his reply, though:
"I get it. There really isn’t much to look at around here most of the time."
There was a short pause in which both of them seemed to ponder the meaning of this statement. The store’s freezers hummed and some Tejano country tunes filled the air-conditioned space. Eddie moved to raise the half-filled shopping basket in his right hand.
“Anyway. I should probably leave you to your sacred duty. I'm sure I'll see you around…”
Eddie made the last sentence sound like a question.
“Oh, Buck. I mean, it’s Evan Buckley, but people just call me Buck, usually.”
“Alright then, Buck. I'm Eddie. I'll see you around, Buck.”
“Yeah, see you around, Eddie.”
It took Buck a moment to realize he had to move for Eddie to be able to walk past him, so they parted with another somewhat awkward smile on each of their faces. It wasn’t the bad kind of awkward though, Eddie thought as he awaited his turn at the cash register. Having turned his attention back to the magazine stand, Buck stood with his back toward Eddie, giving Eddie the opportunity to be the one watching from a distance this time around. And he had to admit that he didn’t mind this new angle of otherwise deadbeat Santo Padre at all.
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In retrospect, Buck recognized that it might not have been the most sensible decision to walk home from a bar several miles when he had definitely had more than his share of whiskey shots. On the other hand, walking was a good way to clear your head before going to bed, and being a tall able-bodied white guy, Buck usually had the privilege of not having to worry too much about what might happen to him out on the streets at night. Well, life has no guarantees, and today appeared to be Evan Buckley's unlucky night.
He sensed somebody following him, even in his drunken state, for several minutes, before he turned around for the first time. Two dark figures were walking behind him. They were still at a distance that could have also been pure happenstance. Apart from himself and the two others, nothing was moving along the moderately well-illuminated street that led from downtown toward a more residential area. Feeling suddenly exposed and defenseless, Buck picked up his pace. He was still walking, but briskly now, definitely not strolling along any more.
This acceleration turned out to be more of a symbolic action, however, and the next time Buck turned around, his face met with a fist right colliding hard with his left cheekbone. The impact sent his already destabilized body spiraling around and down. Buck managed to catch himself on two hands, coughing blood onto the gray pavement. Before he could form a clear thought, his head was ripped upward by his hair. He couldn’t clearly make out the face he was looking at underneath the guy’s dark hood. Buck felt another person’s boots pressing down on his calves and another fist in his hair on the back of his head. Everything felt sort of surreal as his dizzy mind tried desperately to become as alert as the situation demanded it. Bad guy nr. 1, in front of him, spoke:
“Wallet. Watch. Anything valuable you have on you.”
“W…”
The robbers didn’t seem to be in any way inclined to take Buck’s intoxication and resulting dimmed wits into consideration, Buck learned as an unrelenting kick to the stomach had him double down again.
“Ok, blondie…”
The tone of voice suddenly shifted from aggressive and demandin to aggressive and bewildered:
“…what the hell?”
Buck felt at least one hand let go of his hair as another commotion started, this time not involving him.
“Hey!”
The shout came from behind him.
Then the weight on his lower legs was lifted and Buck slowly raised himself to see the two guys that had assaulted him locked in an altercation with another man. One wearing black pants and something leather. The single guy clearly had the upper hand, however that was possible. Finally, Buck’s presumed savior had pushed the two assailants back enough to show them something on his jacket and to say a couple of words that sent them off positively running down the street.
Next, Buck found himself face to face with…
“Eddie?”
“You okay, Buck?”
Eddie, sunglasses Eddie, grocery store Eddie, was kneeling right in front of Buck. Unlike the robber’s face, the streetlights painted Eddie's face in stark contrasts. It appeared to be screwed up with worry as he scanned Buck in his admittedly not very fortunate position.
“Eddie, what…?”
“Are you feeling ok? Can you stand up?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Buck said the words as tentatively as he pushed himself onto his feet. He was swaying slightly and his arms wrapped themselves around his bruised abdomen seemingly of their own accord. Eddie stood up right next to him, and steadied him by gripping both his arms, firmly but not too tightly. Buck made his best attempt at a reassuring smile:
“Some of it is also the alcohol. I've gotten pretty hammered tonight.”
Eddie's concerned expression softened somewhat at that statement, and keeping eye contact, he smiled back at Buck.
“Yeah well, you’ve still been beaten up by a couple of idiots, so let’s make sure they didn’t leave any permanent marks, ok? Give me your address and I'll take you home, if that’s ok with you. Or do you need a hospital?”
Apparently trying to answer his own question, Eddie traced Buck's bruised left cheek carefully with his fingertips. Buck had to suck in a couple of breaths but all in all nothing seemed to be seriously damaged.
"I think I'm ok. Also feels like I still got all my teeth."
"Good, Good. How about your ribs? Your stomach? Are you breathing all right?"
Buck took a few deep breaths and lifted his shirt to feel along the big red spot on his left side where the robber's boot had connected with his torso.
"I mean, it hurts like hell, but it doesn't feel like anything's broken. Should be ok to wait until tomorrow to see if I need a doctor."
"Alright, Buck. Home it is then?"
"Yeah. that sounds good."
"It's just down this street. About a mile or so."
"Can you try to sit on the bike?"
Eddie looked away from Buck to indicate the huge black motorcycle parked at the side of the street. Buck thought that he must have been really preoccupied to not have heard the engine approaching but then again being violently assaulted while being boozed-up might do that to a guy. He nodded.
“I’ll try.”
"Great. I'm gonna sit down in front first, you'll have to climb on behind me. Take care to keep those long legs off the ground. And let me know if it hurts too much, then we'll walk."
"Ok, Eddie."
Buck tried for his own sake as much as Eddie's not to sound as if he was secretly planning to lie down on the concrete and suffer in silence as the adrenaline rush from the robbery finally died down and he became painfully aware that his bruises were just about to really start showing their true colors. Not to mention the drunkenness.
Still, Eddie appeared to realize that he had set Buck a task that was pretty challenging in his current condition. From his seat on the bike, he gave Buck an encouraging smile:
"Just a few minutes and you can lie down and let the painkillers do their job."
Buck brazed himself before swinging his right leg over the black leather seat behind Eddie. Careful to make the most of the limited space between Eddie and the rear wheel, he dropped down and found that the seat was surprisingly comfortable. It took a bit more coordination to position his feet on the footpegs.
"You good?"
"I think so, yeah."
"Ok, Buck. You'll have to hold onto me. Other than that, just try to relax and keep your feet and butt where they belong. We're not going fast and we're not going far, but remember to tell me if you don't feel alright. Sound good?"
"Yup."
As he put his hands gingerly on both Eddie's sides, Buck, for the first time since he had left the bar, was actually kind of glad for the last of the alcohol still circulating his system. Even though this was by far the most normal thing to happen in the last half hour or so, it still was a pretty awkward position, Buck found. Both he and Eddie were relatively big guys, and Buck at least was entirely lost on how to best position himself on a motorcycle. Eddie didn't seem fazed, though. Intentionally or not, his apparent calm helped center Buck in the moment, and to trust that he would be in the safety of his own home in just a bit.
As promised, Eddie rode along carefully until Buck told him that they were there. When Buck had stepped off the bike, they looked at each other in silence for a moment as they both tried to figure out what would be an appropriate good-bye after this particular meeting. Finally, Eddie said:
"Would you mind if I gave you my number? So can you tell me if you're still feeling ok tomorrow?"
Buck took his phone out of his jacket pocket, glad to see that it hadn't been implicated in the night's events. He held it out for Eddie to take.
"Go ahead."
As he watched the other man type, Buck realized that had no clue how to thank someone who had just saved his bacon from god knows what danger. Accepting the fact that he wouldn't come up with anything remotely worthy given how his head, hell, his whole body was feeling right now, Buck decided to keep it simple and true. When Eddie had finished saving his contact info and passed the phone back to him, Buck said:
"Thank you, Eddie. I really don't know what else to say, so thank you."
Eddie smiled up at him from the bike, another of those patient and sweet smiles that changed everything about his tough-guy appearance.
"Of course, Buck. Just be sure to check in on yourself before you go to sleep. I'll hear from you tomorrow, ok?"
"Definitely. Good night, Eddie."
Buck watched as Eddie started the engine, kicked off, and started riding down the street. Only then did he turn around and enter his house. Despite his bone-deep fatigue, he gave himself a moment to slide down with his back against the front door and let the turmoil inside him ravage the very last of his energy. When his body was finally all out of adrenaline, Be willed himself to walk to his medicine cabinet and down a couple of painkillers. He made sure to check his breathing and pain levels before he stumbled onto his bed. Buck was asleep before he even hit the mattress.
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Last night, Eddie had waited until he could check that Buck's front door had safely closed behind him before really beginning his ride home. He was glad for the cool night air clearing his mind and the headwind's white noise. Despite how relaxed he had appeared while Buck was around, the whole situation hadn't passed Eddie by without leaving a trace.
Since Buck had been down when Eddie had arrived, it had been a two-on-one fight after all. Or rather, it could have been. There had been no way to know for sure whether showing those guys his patch and threatening them with its implications would make them back off or become even more aggressive. Eddie thanked god for at least mid-sized mercies as he replayed the events in his head before sleep finally caught up with him.
The next morning, Eddie kept checking his phone even though he knew Buck probably should take all the sleep he could get. Finally, at about 11, there was the ping indicating a new message:
“hi eddie, it's buck. just wanted to let you know that apart from some big bruises, everything seems intact. i really can't thank you enough for stepping in like that. let me know if there's ever anything i can do for you! you have my number now :). other than that, i'm sure i'll see you around, hopefully under much different circumstances next time. take care! buck."
Eddie let out the breath he'd been holding since opening the message. It was then that he realized that he was actually smiling at his phone. Like a damn teenager texting their crush.
In his defense, this was the first real contact he had made outside the MC since he had arrived in Santo Padre. And Buck was right about seeing each other around. As hard as it was in an obscure small town like this to stumble upon real connection, its limited size also meant that you would meet people time and time again. For some mysterious reason, Eddie felt that he would get along pretty well with the guy he only knew from a couple of looks across the street, one awkward run-in, and saving him from robbers at 2:30 at night.
Buck, with his heartfelt and infectious smile, had washed up at the same unlikely place Eddie had. So, for the first time since he had joined the local chapter to try and escape his Texas past, the joyful rush of anticipation bubbled up in him. When he stepped out into the hot SoCal sun, Eddie felt his heart beat in his chest as he thought of future meetings and blue eyes.
note: title from love is a wild thing by kacey musgraves. introductory quote from i can't remember me (before you) by brothers osborne. more music in my buddie playlist as linked in bio.
#i didn't think i'd write fic again (so soon) much less an au but i guess this is what happens in my head when i'm stuck at a train station#in bumfuck nowhere for two hours. and the fact that i can't watch mayans season 4 right now. and my regrettably real passion for country#music. but mainly it's just a sunny setting for these two while 5b makes them suffer <3 anywhom#buck x eddie#911 fic#buck x eddie fic#mayans mc au (there are no firefighters here)#this used to be buddie meet santo padre in my drafts before i settled on a title and i think that's what describes it pretty well#911 on fox
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Chapter 1 - And I Ask Myself, How Did I Get Here?
It seems like forever ago, now, that we were just getting our start. We were nobodies from Flagler Beach, hungry for opportunity and we took anything we could get, gigwise. We actually almost had to call it quits, before we got the gig offer that changed it all- part of us began to feel there wasn't much of a place for a punk band in that spot we were in.
I can still remember my brother getting the call that changed everything- we were in the middle of our nightly practice and he broke off to answer his phone, looking sullen for the beginning of it but his look turning upon hearing the offer of a lifetime. Nez O'Malley, our guitarist, shot me a confused look that urged me to go see what was going on.
After a minute, Ace broke into a huge grin and went back to us- our bassist Screwball was almost bouncing off the walls with how curious over the call he was.
"What was it about?" He prodded, still bouncing in place as he got more eager to hear the news "come on, Ace, tell us!"
My little brother only smiled and shook his head at us, crossing his arms over his chest "calm down, Screwball, I'll get to it- i just feel like you three should be sitting when I tell it."
Screwball quickly drops into sitting cross-legged on the floor, Nez parks herself on an amp and I just shake my head, watching Ace expectantly "come on, Ace, spill it!"
Ace just smiles and leads into the news "well, I just got off the phone with the owners of the venue we played at yesterday,"
We all nod, watching him and his body language, wishing he'd spill the beans and get it over with- were we banned? Did they want us to pay for any damages the audience caused?
"They want us back!" He clapped his hands together, rings clicking as he did "not as the opening act, but as the headliners!"
I could feel my heart drop to the floor in shock, and when I looked at my bandmates I could tell they were going through the same emotions- Headliners? Us? From Bumfuck Nowhere, Florida?
Regardless of doubts, the news made Nez and Screwball jump up from their seats with loud, happy whoops and hollers while pulling me and Ace into a big group hug
I grin and hum happily, hugging the three of them tight as we let the great news sink in and celebrate, breaking off after a minute or two to ask about further details.
"The gig is in a week, same time and place as yesterday!" He smiles "so we can just finish up practice and be good for tomorrow, alright?"
Nez nods, gently nudging me and Screwball back to our places before picking up her guitar and putting it back on "one last run-through and I think we should go out and celebrate,"
Screwball, still hyper from the news, was giddily bouncing in place "there's a good bar Just down the way, we can go to celebrate there!"
"If I could drink," chimed Ace, an eyebrow raised playfully "I'm only seventeen, remember?"
"Bah, no fun" the blond playfully retorts, strumming a few notes on his bass "if you're so goody goody, why don't you pick a thing for us to do to celebrate tonight?"
Ace only rolls his eyes while smiling "we'll figure it out later, get back to practicing!"
The rest of that night went by in a flash, we practiced our hearts out until we couldn't anymore- then, for the next week until our gig, we did everything we could to prepare for the night that'd change the course of our careers forever.
~~~
Hi! Sam here hjfbfkd just wondering if anyone would like to be part of a taglist for this or any other thing i may post? PM me if you're interested :)
#metalocalypse#mtl#jupiter's ghost#metalocalypse oc#ace kennedy#nathan explosion#nez o'malley#pickles the drummer#sage kennedy#screwball#heat above#fanfic#writers of tumblr#toki wartooth#william murderface#skwisgaar skwigelf
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Laughing at Clouds - Commission One-Shot
This was a commission one-shot for the lovely @toocurly4me who requested a monster match based upon some information given. The request was set to modern day, and with a little info about what our MC is into, I was more than happy to write out a little something for them! I had fun writing this. It was nice to be in our own time for once, and I love seeing our monsters out and about with the rest of us!
Want your own commission? I have a few slots left open. Check out my post HERE for details, or DM me directly. You can also BuyMeACoffe while you peruse my other ramblings on my MasterList
All the best and enjoy!
It was a rainy day on campus, with the cold biting chill of the morning lingering in each droplet that beat against the navy fabric of her school sweatshirt. The forecast hadn’t said anything about rain today. The storm felt like it had come out of nowhere. Hell, it was nearly the middle of winter! If the weather was going to do anything unpredictable, it should be snowing! Then she wouldn’t be caught so horribly unprepared; it would have been easier to brush off soft powder instead of soaking up the ice cold water into every inch of fabric on her body and plastering it to her small form. Until she was completely miserable, and pretty certain her dark skin would have a distinctive blue tint to it from her sweater’s dye bleeding into it.
But there had been nothing for it. Attempting to wait out the worst of the storm in the back of the science building where she had snuck in to view the new zoology exhibit had led to the downpour only getting heavier. And she had that end of term paper due the day after tomorrow. There was no way she could waste another minute lingering beneath those flickering lights. It was only a ten minute walk. How drenched could she possibly get in ten minutes?
The answer was “very”. “Soaked to the bone” also seemed a much more concrete and visceral description to her now than it ever had before in her life. And the young woman wasn’t even sure if she was even still headed in the right direction anymore. Three years on campus had imprinted the memory of the sidewalks of the commons into her mind's eye, but the rain was driving down sideways now, and she had bowed her head and pulled her hood as low as she could over her thick braids to keep it from smacking her in the face.
So she had a lovely view of her grey and black striped boots right when she hit something far more solid than the sheets of rain.
Her center of gravity forcibly shifted, a soft squeak escaping from between her lips before she could even process the fact that her feet were trying to continue forward even as her upper body fell backwards.
Just before she completely lost her balance, she felt something strong and firm catch hold of her flailing arm. Stubbornly denying the will of gravity.
“Hey, woah! Watch out!” Came the cry, the smoky sounding voice muffled by the pounding rain.
But it seemed to no avail. She was going down, and now whoever was the owner of the voice would be coming with her. The young woman toppled backwards, catching the majority of the impact on her bottom before toppling the rest of the way to her back. The icy cold puddles on the sidewalk splashed up about her in a stumpy wave almost comically. Or at least, it would have been comical, had another form not fallen pretty much directly on top of her as well.
Her lips sputtered for air momentarily, stuck somewhere between the weight of the stranger’s body forcing the air from her lungs and the pouring rain making her feel as though she were halfway underwater. She flailed her arms about, gasping in surprise as she tried to get her bearings.
Her progress was impeded by the person currently flailing about themselves as they tried to find solid ground. The full realization of her predicament had her face flushing dark, and she managed to sink her palms into the puddles on either side of her and start to prop herself up. Feeling the water thoroughly soak into the seat and back of her worn jeans as she did.
Her would-be rescuer slash the instigator of all her woes managed to get to their feet first, and she found a hand extended into her line of sight. Dark brown eyes darted up, blinking through the rivers of rain streaming down her face that seemed to pool at the ends of her long lashes. The first thing that cleared the mists beyond the tip of her nose was a set of sharp, sparkling white teeth bared in a sheepish smirk above her. The young woman reached up in a daze, and found her forearm caught in his offered hand. She could barely make him out through the thick turrets, but as he leaned back to help tug her to her feet, she was very aware of the fact that he was not human. Not that she could really tell much else amid the pouring rain. The man was about her height, perhaps shy an inch or two, and that was about the extent of her analysis at the moment. That, and those glitteringly sharp teeth he shot her once more. She couldn’t help but stare a little in surprise even as she got her feet back under her.
It certainly was not entirely out of the scope of possibility. Her university was one of the most diverse in the area. But still, having come from the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and coupled with the fact that she tended to avoid the more crowded aspects of college life in favor of quieter, more solitary activities, the young woman was always a little surprised at first to run into any of the non-human students of the campus. In this case, she was being quite literal about the “running into” part.
“Sorry!” He exclaimed as loudly as he dared, having to raise his voice to be heard over the din of the rain. “I wasn’t looking where I was going!”
Under any other circumstances, she would have laughed as she fished for her soaked hood. “Me neither, I’m sorry too!” She replied quickly, eager to be on her way and out of the downpour. She cast an eye about, and realized she must have turned right at the fork instead of left. She was going completely the wrong direction, which would mean even longer out in the icy grip of the storm. She shivered at the thought.
He seemed to be looking about as well, and reached for what appeared to be an umbrella that had been lost to the side of the path in the scuffle. As he scooped it into hand and turned it right side up, she gave a shriek of surprise which matched his own yelp as a fresh bucket of water fell on both of them.
“Aw, fuck!” He shouted, jumping a little. “Damnit! Fuck, I’m so sorry!”
Now freshly soaked and feeling like a drowned cat, she looked at him. Her arms wrapped around her shivering body, her thick hair plastered to her face and neck. He moved to hold the umbrella high over the both of them, again returning her bewildered stare with another sheepish look. He managed to reduce the rain’s assault on the tops of their heads at least, save for a few errant drips, but increasing its pounding crescendo tenfold in their ears as it pounded against the top of the umbrella instead.
“Look, my place is just there,” He told her, pointing to one of the scraggily buildings repurposed for dorms a few yards down the road, “Come on, it’s fucking cold out here. We’ll catch our deaths.”
She glanced over at the building, still shivering, and opened her mouth to reply. Quite before she could, she found his arm scooped in hers. Steering her the few yards to the creaky iron gate and up to the door. She was far too surprised to object.
Once on the covered porch, he released her arm, then shook the excess water from his umbrella and turned to look back over the drenched campus behind them.
“Gods above, what a dreadful day.” He grumbled before turning to face her properly. “I’m sorry I knocked you over…. And then dumped water on you…” He cocked his head to the side, smirking grin returning to his face, “And then proceeded to kidnap you. Let me make it up to you, yeah?”
The woman blinked at him stupidly a few times, finally able to take him in from head to toe without the rain impeding her line of sight.
He was slender built, with an athletic form currently generously framed by the way his drenched clothes stuck to him like spandex. Water dripped from the tip of a long slender nose, and his eyebrows arched in the center of an over pronounced brow as he looked at her. It was impossible to tell what color his hair was normally, as it was several shades darker now with water dripping from the spikey tips that were currently flattened to the top of his head. She ventured to guess it was probably a copper brown, and he seemed to have the sides shaved stylishly short while the top was wild and long. Long enough to possibly braid down the back of his slightly oversized head she imagined, should he so choose. He also boasted a pair of large ears, nearly as wide as her palm where they connected to the side of his skull, but then tapering into a broad but slightly rounded point a few inches beyond. The tips were loose, and shifted with his features as he talked. As expressive as his wry lips, which curled back into that sheepish smirk as she watched. She would also venture to guess that he was a deep, mottled green, though in the dim light of the morning it was hard to tell the exact shade, and she imagined he might be a fair bit paler from the cold.
The goblin cocked his head back to the side under her inspection, perhaps used to such staring, and offered out his hand “I’m Jaco, by the way.”
“Uh... “ She realized her mouth was dropped open a bit, and quickly endeavored to close it. Reaching out to carefully take his hand in hers. But as she met his bright yellow eyes… the knowledge of her own name suddenly fled her. “Oh.. I’m… Um…”
His brow raised quizzically. “... Ah, Are you alrig-”
“Rachelle!” She blurted quickly, then cleared her throat embarrassedly. “... I’m Rachelle…”
That sheepish grin returned, and his eyes glinted mischievously. “... Perhaps you hit your head when we fell?” He offered, almost as if he could read the loud hum that seemed to be currently filling her cranium. Though it certainly wasn’t from falling. Well… not the fall he meant at least...
She did laugh now, releasing his hand bashfully and pushing the loose strands of her sopping hair out of her face. “Something like that…”
“Sorry again about all that... “ He shuffled his feet, clearing his own throat and sneaking a peak up at her. “Can I make it up to you? Perhaps some tea or coffee? Or maybe hot chocolate, if you’ve got a sweet tooth?”
Rachelle gave a hefty sigh, shaking her head. “I really shouldn’t, I’ve got a term paper due that I haven’t even started-”
“Well, you won’t be able to start until you get dry, right?” He interrupted. “Why not dry off and warm up over some cocoa with some company?”
Her face blazed hot again, and she sheepishly rubbed at the back of her neck. “I’d just get wet again.” She pointed out with a small smile.
“I’ll escort you back, if you want.” He offered. “Or you can take my umbrella; I’ll enchant it this time so you won’t get a drop on you.” Her eyes lit up at the word ‘enchant’, and the goblin eagerly latched on. “I’m here studying enchantments.” He explained. “Working on my thesis actually, in thermopartical magicks and their effect on…” He dropped off, looking a little embarrassed at the sudden gush of enthusiasm for an obviously favored topic “... Ah, I don’t want to bore you with the science-”
“No, it’s not boring at all!” She returned quickly, almost bouncing on her toes in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to learn more about magic, but humans aren’t allowed to study the Application field, only research and historical.”
His sharp toothed grin grew to reach almost to his ears. “I am certainly not above showing off with a few magic tricks for a beautiful woman.” He teased, and his ears flopped as he cocked his head to one side. “Especially if it makes her eyes sparkle like that when I do.”
She nearly toppled over as her head spun at his words. A shy laugh petered from her lips, and she shuffled her feet. But she couldn’t completely hide the embarrassed smile that slipped across her lips. Jaco waited a moment, then bowed his shoulders, trying to catch her eye.
“... Can I tempt you again with the hot cocoa, Rachelle?”
She grinned again, looking up at him coyly. “... I could probably be convinced.”
He returned the smile, and reached for the handle of his door, bowing melodramatically at the waist as he opened it for her. She couldn’t help another laugh, and moved to step around him. As she did, her foot slipped on the old wooden boards of the porch, having spent the last few minutes becoming horribly slick with the water dripping in streams off their clothes. She gave another squeal, and felt herself sliding backwards for the second time that day. This time, Jaco reacted quicker, and his arm snaked out, catching her and lending his strength as she gathered her feet beneath her once more.
However, the motion brought him perilously close to her, and both of their eyes widened slightly at their sudden proximity. A hesitant silence filled the air, punctuated only by the drumming rhythm of the rain around them. Her breath caught and fluttered about in her throat, her heart skipped sporadically in her chest. He smelled of rain right now, but there was also the distinct hint of something spicy beneath it… cinnamon maybe? The realization that he was close enough to distinguish that made the balls of her cheeks grow hot despite the chilly morning air.
She couldn’t help her eyes darting down to his thin lips. Which curled into a smile as she did. Rachelle quickly corrected her gaze, meeting his yellow eyes with dark pools of velvet brown.
“Don’t let me stray down that train of thought,” He warned her lightly, his voice teasing and soft, “I’m trying to be a gentleman. Cocoa and an enchanted umbrella seem more than sufficient for a good first impression, no?”
She straightened a little more, and realized his three fingered hand had lingered in the small of her back. “Oh?” She managed after a shallow little wisp of a breath. “And I suppose a gentleman wouldn’t kiss a woman they’ve just met?”
She meant it to sound teasing and light, but his sharp yellow eyes danced at the sound of her voice. She caught him sneaking a peak at her full lips and they tingled under his scrutiny. She chased a nervous breath down her throat with a quiet swallow.
“I suppose they might. But the problem is,” He purred, leaning a little closer, “If I kissed you now, I don’t know if I’d be able to stop...”
#monster lover#monster fluff#monster x human#goblin lover#goblin boyfriend#modern monster#terato#exophilia#soft stuff#one shot#citrus#monster romance
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The Foxes go out on a vacation for Neil’s graduation party and they want it to be a surprise
Nicky and Allison are the only ones who know where they’re going
Even Andrew and Dan don’t know
So when they pick everyone up and just tell Neil to trust them, he’s like well, okay, fuck it
So yeah, Andrew’s driving with instructions to just follow Allison’s car and they end up driving for a pretty long time
Neil falls asleep, as do a lot of the occupants in the car apart from Andrew and Nicky
But then Neil wakes up and sees where they’re going
As soon as he catches sight of sand and hears the roar of an ocean, he’s bombarded with memories
The strange absence of breathing beside him
A rock-hard abdomen
Blood covering vinyl
Flames destroying the one person he could trust
Bones in a backpack
A disturbed patch of sand where his mother lays
Andrew stops the car right then and there as he hears Neil’s wheezing breaths and remembers what he told him, a truth he had exchanged
Nicky is panicking and it ends up waking Kevin and Aaron
“What’s wrong with him? Is he okay? What’s happening?” Nicky is freaking out
“Shut up.” Andrew resumes driving and as soon as Allison’s car stops, he wrenches open the door and gets Neil out of the car
“Neil.” No response. His eyes are glazed and he’s flinching at every contact and sound
“Your name is Neil Josten. You are twenty-three years old. You are starting striker and captain of the Palmetto State Foxes. You are number ten. You are no longer on the run.”
“‘Drew. An—Andrew.” Neil’s still not quite in the present, but he’s coming back.
Allison and the rest of the upperclassmen have noticed Neil’s situation and are rushing over, Aaron of all people tells them to stay back and give him his space
Andrew makes sure to keep pressure on the spot on Neil’s neck. Without looking back at Allison, he asks where they’re staying
She points at a house that’s only a few yards away
Andrew, without much fanfare, carries Neil there and at random, picks a room
He blocks any and all sight of the beach and faces Neil again
He’s pale and sweating and shaking, but he’s here
“Neil.”
“‘Drew?”
“Can you be here?”
“I’m fi—“ an glare from Andrew “Yes, I just... wasn’t expecting it and was caught off guard. The others, are—“
“They’re fine.”
“Okay. Should we—“
“No, you need to calm down first.” By that, he meant that he needed to make sure he wasn’t going to murder Nicky and Allison
A nod, he heard the unspoken words between them
A couple of hours later, Neil’s stomach was protesting the long drive and they ended up finally getting out of the room
Immediately, they were bombarded by a guilty-looking Nicky, and various looks of panic and concern
“Neil...” Nicky seemed on the verge of tears.
“I’m fine.” Neil ignored Andrew’s look
“What was that?” Allison never had much tact, did she?
“I’ll explain later. After we eat.” Everyone murmured agreements and they went out in search of a restaurant
When they walked across the beach, Neil’s fingers dug into Andrew’s arm as he tried to control his breathing
Thankfully, the restaurant had no view of the beach. They ended up having some seafood and had a pretty good time.
They get back to the beach and Neil just stops walking and sits down, no warning
Matt almost walks over him and only some backliner footwork prevents it
No one knows what to do and Andrew just sits down next to Neil and everyone else just shrugs and they end up sitting in a circle on the sand
The sun is setting and the sky is beautiful, but Neil is staring at his hands, eyes blank
He unprompted says “My mom died on a beach.”
Any quiet conversations that had been going on stop in their tracks. Neil never talks about his past and it’s an even rarer occasion when he talks about the woman who fucked him up his mother
“My father’s men caught up to us and she got hurt. She told me she was fine and yelled at me to just drive, ‘don’t look back, don’t you dare panic, just drive’.
I complied, of course I did. But after a few hours, I heard mom stop breathing. I remember being so, so scared. I drove the car off the road and onto a beach.
When I went to check her pulse, there was nothing there to greet me. Her skin was already cold and I checked her wound. She had lied to me. She wasn’t fine and she didn’t tell me, dammit!
I tried to get her out of the car, but... the sound of her dried blood ripping off the seat, the feel of her cold skin against mine... I couldn’t.
So I took every drop of gasoline I could find, gathered my belongings in my duffle bag, and lit the car on fire. I was lucky no one saw it, I don’t know why I was being so reckless, but then again, I was a seventeen year old who had just lit the car with his mother’s dead body in it on fire.
So I sat there, watching the flames. When the fire stopped and the car had cooled, I took her bones out of the seat. I put them in a backpack and walked a little while over. I buried her bones and without letting myself feel anything, I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran until I came across a motel.
I knew it was where one of the stashes with money and supplies were so I went, cleaned myself up, and collected all I could. I spent the night and hitchhiked until I got to bumfuck nowhere. I took on my twenty-third identity. I became Neil Josten, changed my appearance, and signed up for striker on Millport High’s Exy team.
Then, one day, a man with tattoos, Kevin Day, and a midget blond with a racquet smacked into me. Literally. You guys know the rest of the story.”
When Neil looked up, he was afraid of what he would see.
Nicky was crying
Allison was just struck speechless, grief clear on her face
Dan... Dan was interesting, she appeared angry
“Dan, are you okay?”
“You...” she trailed off and looked up, muttering something that sounded like “Fuck you, Mary Hatford”
Neil decided to ignore that
Matt was clenching his fists and crying, an arm around Dan
Aaron was staring at Neil with a weird sort of... understanding (??) in his eyes
Kevin had an expression on his face that Neil wasn’t sure he wanted to decipher
Renee had her blank mask on, a bit of Natalie was slipping through. But after a few seconds, she went back to Renee and just gave Neil’s hand a squeeze
Andrew. Andrew was staring directly at him, unflinching and solid, as he always was. His anchor, his home. He nodded at Neil, probably seeing everything and more written on his face.
Silence was thick and heavy and ruled with a heavy mist so thick, the air was eaten up. Then, one sharp laugh cut through it. Everyone, bewildered, turned to look at Allison.
“Of course Neil has to have an issue with the one place we chose for a celebratory vacation.”
“One man can only have so many problems,” Andrew agreed.
The tension broke, and even Nicky, soft Nicky started to breathe easier.
Dan looked at Neil as the laughter faded. “You can always come to us about things.”
He smiled at her and nodded. “I know.”
The rest of the trip actually went well, the others went to the beach while Andrew and Neil stayed in. They didn’t mind.
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Pink Martinis
The night is only just beginning and the boys are trying to enjoy themselves before the evening rush when they are rudely interrupted by a man neither of them knows.
--------------------------------------------
This is the first in what I hope to be many lore posts featuring characters from both The Velvet Fang and Neo Necropolis. Apologies if this is too long for some of you and I hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Language, drug mentions, alcohol, brief violence, etc.
---------------------------------------------
- Part one -
It’s all about the thrill.
Neon lights, the smell of sweat and spilled alcohol, bodies grinding together to the sound of loud music, drugs passing between hands, and men being led to back rooms. All of these things are thrilling in their own way, but none of it comes close to the rush you get from spilling a little blood. Your blood, their blood, it’s all part of the game and the game is violence; pure and simple violence.
Azizi used to live a life of violence. That is, until he came here to the middle of bumfuck nowhere in the Wasteland. He- no, they had no choice. It was run or be killed and there’s no doubt in his mind that Chaka would have delighted in choking the life out of him.
The thought of it, those strong hands around his throat, both disgusts and entices him.
It’s almost like you have a deathwish.
“Hey Zi!”
Azizi turns his head to the source of the sweet and familiar voice, a smile playing about his lips as he moves over from where he’s leaned back against the bar. As per usual Gogo is dressed all in neon and animal print, the colors and patterns clashing in such a way that it both draws your eyes in and repels you for fear of going blind.
“Hey babe,” he replies languidly, “You look good.”
At that Gogo gives a twirl, his thick wavy hair bouncing around his shoulders.
“Not as good as you,” he shoots back with a girlish giggle, “But like, thanks!”
Smiling, Azizi turns his attention onto the bartender, his face illuminated in the pinks, purples, and blues of the neon lights dancing all around them.
“Two pink martinis, Cyr” he drawls, elbows propped up on the bar as he leans over it seductively.
Cyril is a frightening man to behold. Equal parts handsome and haunting with bright pink eyes all over his body. Or, well, one can assume so anyway. Of the many eyes that cover him only the ones on his face, neck, and tail are visible; the rest are hidden beneath his smart clothing.
“Sure thing,” he replies, voice lightly accented from the Starfall Isles, “Just don’t snort anything off the bar while my back is turned. I just cleaned the damn thing.”
Azizi throws his head back and laughs, the gold bangles on his arms clinking together lightly as he stands up straight.
“No promises, eyes,” he purrs softly, “Me and self control aren’t friends. And besides, you clean ‘the damn thing’ every two seconds.”
Cyril rolls his eyes, all of them.
“Addict,” he replies not unkindly.
“Neat freak,” Azizi says without malice.
They’re both right about the other. Azizi is an addict and Cyril is an obsessive cleaner. In the end habits are habits, it’s just that some come with worse consequences than others.
“Mm, pink martini,” Gogo coos, mind occupied by other things, “I wonder how they like, make it pink in the first place.”
Azizi quirks a brow, a look of amusement crossing over his face.
“World’s greatest mystery,” he replies fondly, “So, how many tricks are banging on your door tonight?”
Pausing, Gogo counts on his fingers with his tongue between his teeth.
“Three too many,” he answers finally, “But like, it’s cool. At least with the regulars who book in advance you know what to expect.”
Another pause.
One, two, three, four seconds pass.
“Although there was that one time that a regular asked me to-”
“Two pink martinis,” Cyril interrupts, sliding the pretty pink concoctions in front of the boys.
“Thanks Cyr,” Azizi grins, “And hey, for the record I was a good boy and kept my snow off of your bar. Do I win a prize?”
Cyril snorts at that, waving a dismissive hand in his direction as if to shoo him away like a pesky cat.
“How about my gratitude?” he replies breezily.
“Ew, gross,” Azizi murmurs, “That’s a shitty prize.”
With an impish smile he tilts his drink just enough to splash the bar with the liquid inside.
“Oops,” he says, tone sharp and teasing, “My bad.”
Cyril, who is busying his hands cleaning a glass that’s already spotless, frowns. He’s used to this sort of thing by now; used to how Azizi likes to push people's buttons; used to how the man enjoys getting into fights and starting shit. But Cyril never takes the bait and Azizi doesn’t expect him to anyway- he’s just being a little shit.
“Asshole,” Cyril chuckles, mopping the alcohol off the bar until it shines like a diamond again.
Azizi shrugs, popping the cherry from his drink into his mouth.
“And yet you still love me,” he sighs wistfully, “Some might even say you’re a glutton for punishment.”
Before any of them can continue their conversation, a man approaches the bar with a look on his face that promises trouble. He’s of average height with a slim build and dressed in a suit that screams this is the nicest thing in my closet. The only truly unusual thing about him is his eyes, cyan blue. It’s unusual because most of the clientele in The Velvet Fang are from around the area, their eyes various shades of threatening reds.
“You two,” the strange man says, so close now that Azizi can smell the sweat beneath the cologne he’s used to try and cover it up.
“I’m sorry but do I know you?” Azizi asks, nose wrinkling in disgust as he takes a step back just to get a breath of air that doesn’t make him gag.
Gogo’s mismatched eyes grow wide and he follows suit, taking a step backwards and bumping into one of the barstools, sending it clattering to the floor. Neither one of them recognize this man, but it would seem he recognizes them.
“Yes- Uh, I mean no,” he stutters out, the wild look in his eyes on full display in the light of the neon sign that hangs above the bar, “You’re Chaka’s boys, aren’t you? I’d recognize the two of you anywhere and-”
He pauses, the expression on his face shifting from slightly wild to confused in the blink of an eye.
“Say,” he continues, brow furrowing, “What the hell are you two doing all the way out here, huh?”
Anger seeps into every one of Azizi’s pores. Perhaps he should be frightened, shaken up from being recognized by someone from the home he was forced to flee, but all he can manage is anger.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snaps, gold canine catching the light as his lips peel back into a snarl. “You think you can just waltz up to us and start asking questions?”
The man’s lips part again but before he can say a word Azizi holds up a hand to stop him, eyes hard.
“Fuck. Off,” he snarls, the threat of violence clear in his voice, “It’s none of your fucking business why we’re here. Get lost, asshole.”
Gogo lets out a whimper, hands flying up to cover his mouth. Violence is not something he likes or handles well. The sight of blood is enough to make his stomach feel queasy, the sound of bones breaking so horrific it makes him want to pass out, so all he can hope is that it doesn’t come to that.
Annoyed, Azizi turns away to go back to his drink but is stopped by a hand lashing out to grab him by the wrist, forcing him to spin around again. Whoever this man is, he’s clearly on something and he’s got a lot of nerve.
“Don’t speak to me like that,” the stranger growls, his grip tightening until he knows that there will be bruises left behind in the shape of fingers, “You think someone like you can say that shit to someone like-”
Crack.
Without hesitation Azizi drives his right fist so hard into the man’s face that the bones breaking in his nose can be heard over the music. To the shock and horror of the people around them the man falls to the floor in a heap. Gogo’s eyes immediately go to where his best friend is holding his injured hand, tail lashing anxiously behind him as he lurches forward to his side. It’s a miracle he doesn’t faint, but it’s different when it’s Azizi who’s the one that’s hurt.
“Oh my god! Azizi!” he cries, gently taking Azizi’s hand in his own and turning around to examine the damage, “Are you like, okay? Holy shit!”
Looking down at his right hand Azizi can see where the knuckles are already beginning to swell and bruise. The bad news is that it hurts, the good news is his hand doesn’t appear to be broken.
Good for him and for the tricks; such is the nature of his work.
“I’m fine, babe,” he replies to Gogo, eyeing the man on the ground like he might have to go in for round two, “Just some bruises, that’s all.”
Thinking quickly, Cyril grabs ice from behind the bar and rushes over to help the pair. If that asshole wants to try something else- and, frankly, he’s high enough that he might- then he’ll be there to put all six feet of himself between them.
Finally the injured man does stand, wobbling back and forth uneasily on his feet before locking rage filled eyes with Azizi.
“You’re gonna fucking regret that,” he grunts, “Just wait until Chaka hears what you whores have been up to. Just you fucking wait-”
“Out!” Cyril barks, “Out before I call in the big guns and have you hauled out of here by your hair!”
Grateful, Gogo mouths a thank you to Cyril before going back to fretting over his Azizi. He’s no medic but the bruising looks severe to him, so he holds the ice against the wounds in a desperate attempt to stop it from getting worse. Really he should be used to this, used to the threat of violence and the fear. How many fights has he seen Azizi gets into, heart pounding in his ears as he watches in abject horror, powerless to help or to stop it?
The answer is far too many times.
“As if Chaka would give you the time of day,” Azizi sneers, “Do your worst.”
But the truth is he is worried, if only just a little bit. If word gets back to Chaka that he’s here then-
You belong to me, Zi. Do you know what that means? It means you’re never going anywhere I don’t want you to go. You try that shit and watch what happens. It’s not just your ass on the line, is it?
Still the threat of violence, a little blood spilled... it’s thrilling, right? He feels alive, like waking up after a long nap.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, “Fuck.”
To be continued...
#flight rising lore#flight rising#flightrising#lore: the velvet fang#sorry if i missed something in the warnings!#still trying to get back into the groove of writing and posting lore on here
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This recommendation list focuses on a popular pairing in Check Please! They bicker, they argue, they fight, they smo-- well, no smooching in canon but that’s what fanfiction is for! Nursey and Dex often embody the ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ trope, sparking constant speculation and hundreds of fanfiction.
I’ve compiled some of what I consider excellent fanfics that feature this couple although it does not contain all of my recommendations. They are in no particular order. I plan on creating more recommendation lists down the line, especially for other pairings in this fandom. You can find other fic recs tagged in my blog.
As a reminder, please make sure to check the tags and any warnings before reading. Take care of yourself!
got those wayfarers on by somehowunbroken
Canon Divergence // ~8k // PG-13
It's all Bitty's fault. Indirectly. That's his story, and Chowder's sticking to it.
[In which Chowder does his best to matchmake from the other side of the continent over summer break, and is immensely pleased with the results.]
Petals and Thorns by rhysiana
Musician / Florist AU // Series // ~17k // PG-13
Goddammit, Will thought as he dodged around a few strategically tall people and turned down a side street. How had he managed to leave the apartment without a hat? He peeked back around the corner. His fans were less than a block behind him, and he really couldn’t deal with them today. Frantically, he studied the shops around him, hoping for somewhere to hide.
Coffee shop? Too easy.
Ah! Nursery Rhymes: Poetic Floral Arrangements. Perfect. No one would ever look for him in there.
can’t change what the seasons bring by growlery
Canon Divergence // ~1.7k // PG-13
They get back after winter break, and Dex has done something to his hair, and he was hot before, but now he’s, like, hot and he doesn’t look like a grumpy old man.“New year, new me,” Dex says dryly, and Nursey might be having kind of a crisis about it.
want to be (yours) anyway by shellybelle
Canon Divergence // ~39k // PG-13
Dex learns Nursey’s secret halfway through practice on a cold morning in October.
“What the hell,” someone says, interrupting the Dex's shooting drill. “Is that a baby?”
(Or: Nursey has a secret, Dex has a crush, and things get complicated before they get romantic--which isn't to say they don't get romantic at all.)
Paint Me Like One of Your French Canadians by Denois
Canon Divergence // ~6k // R
Lardo hooked Dex up with an extra part time job to help make ends meet back in his frog year. Modeling for the art classes was pretty easy money, and the team never had to know. Until Nursey took an art elective and needed a private model to complete his project and pass the class. Nursey's sure that he can keep it professional and friendly....as long as Dex never sees the completed paintings.
up to 104% perfect by winchysteria
The Good Place AU // ~34k // NC-17
Will Poindexter and Derek Nurse finally know what happens after you die. You wake up in Hot God's office, you move into a really nice house, and-- you realize that you hate the person who's supposed to be your soulmate? Join a smug poet, a frigid computer nerd, and the rest of the Scooby gang as they ask questions like: what makes two people right for each other? what does it mean to be happy? does heaven get software glitches? and most importantly, why does this computer have a Southern accent?
Welcome! Everything is fine.
The World Only Spins Forward by Liminal_Space_LLC
Soulmates AU // ~63k // PG
Dex and Nursey have been at odds for as long as they’ve been friends, but when Dex’s heartbreaking new soulmark has him turning to Nursey for advice, they will discover they have more in common than they ever realized. Together, they will help each other heal their heartache and become closer than they’ve ever been before. As their friendship grows, neither of them is prepared for newer, sweeter feelings to emerge.
However, Nursey has his secrets, and nothing scares him like the possibility of having his heart broken again. That doesn’t stop him from wanting, though, and as their feelings become stronger, both Nursey and Dex find it ever harder to hide them. Meanwhile, the stakes are becoming higher as the team comes closer and closer to the Frozen Four. Can Nursey and Dex overcome their fears to realize the love they feel, or will their anxieties destroy everything they’ve worked for?
starting to get to me by playingforkeeps
Buzzfeed Unsolved AU // ~12k // PG-13
“You’ve been dragging us to bumfuck nowhere with that mating call for three years when you hear there’s a sighting. But we’ve never considered: what happens if Bigfoot answers it? That’s the goal, isn’t it? You’ve been after that good, good Bigfoot dick this whole time!”
Dex sputters. “I don’t want to fuck Bigfoot! Jesus, Nurse!” He glances at the others, disbelieving. “Back me up here, guys.”
Silence. Lardo says, “You do own a Bigfoot mating call, dude.”
All Hail the Underdogs by xiaq
Boarding School AU // ~76k // PG-13
Lucifer was an angel once.
That’s what Nursey thinks, the first time he sees William Poindexter.
Because the boy is beautiful even though he shouldn’t be. Even though he’s doubtless the kind of person who would punch you in the face if you said the words “you” and “beautiful” to him in the same sentence.
His skin is choked with freckles. It’s potentially more freckle than skin. Not just his face, where his nose and cheekbones are so hyper-pigmented they look tanned, but his collarbones and forearms and knuckles. The close-shaved dark ginger stubble of his hair should make his ears look too big or his mouth too wide but instead it accentuates the long curve of his throat, the cup of velvet skin between the tendons in the back of his neck.
“You’re the new defenseman?” Nursey asks. “William Poindexter?”
And the boy turns around and considers him with what might be contempt but what might just be the way his face looks and says, “Yeah?” like its a challenge.
And Nursey thinks:
Oh no.
In So Many Words by alocalband
Canon Divergence // ~17K // R
Derek writes a short story. That's his first mistake. His second is getting it published.
bless this mess and call it a home by pepperfield
Magical AU // ~27k // PG-13
The thing is, being able to talk to houses doesn't actually preclude them from conspiring to ruin your life. Dex finds this out a little too late. First comes the Dib Flip, then Nursey's bed, and the water heater...the Haus definitely has it in for him. In which Dex has house magic, Haus has Haus magic, and at least one of them is in love with Nursey.
#mine by rispacooper
Urban Fantasy AU // ~17k // R
Treasure, Will thought with an angry little snort. Nursey called almost everyone on the team treasure. He called Ford treasure. He’d even called Coach Hall treasure once. He did not call Will that. That was probably Will’s fault. Knowing that didn’t make Will feel any better about it.
love you as the plant that never blooms by sugarybowl & wishingonalightningbolt
Canon Divergence // ~27k // NC-17
Dex doesn’t roll his eyes, but only because he’s overwhelmed with the thought that he really does have feelings for Nursey. Gooey feelings. Romantic ones. They see each other every day; they’ve been close, there’s been touching, and maybe—maybe it’s not quite as platonic as Dex assumed it was. From watching Ransom and Holster, anyone could get the idea that that’s just what friends do. But… It feels different.
“I like him,” he says, soft, contemplative. “I like when he’s around and it’s frustrating to watch him go. It’s horrible to think he might be upset at me, or that he thinks I lied to him. It’s killing me.”
Dex doesn't know what it is to want. With Nursey, he learns.
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Grown to Love Secrecy - Chapter Two (Petekey)
Can be read here.
Summary: Mikey Way hates Oscar Wilde but Pete Wentz convinces him to read The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Chapter Two: Walking on Fire
--
Pete spent a lot of summers in cramped vans, and hotel rooms with sweaty dudes and expensive musical instruments and this summer is no different. The slight homoerotic tension between Pete and almost every dude he’s ever met is strong, not that Pete or any of his friends minded.
They all kiss sometimes and most of the time the press pays not mind as it’s not that big of a deal and other times tabloids have him and his friend kissing on the front cover everywhere with the F-slur painted across in bright red telling the world, “Hey, look! Pete Wentz kisses dudes!”
The tabloids have a lot to say and quite frankly, he doesn’t care anymore. All press is good press, right?
Pete spits into the sink of the Walmart bathroom that other bands from Warped have occupied that morning. Today was Patrick’s day on the bus bathroom.
He rinsed his mouth and stepped aside, letting Andy take the sink for his own routine. He walks over to the wall where Joe is and leans against it. The eggshell-colored wall was cooled against his hot skin after being out in the Dallas heat.
“Hey, man.” Joe greeted Pete to which he responded with a nod, “so any plans for after our set?” Pete thought for a moment, remembering that he did in fact have plans with Mikey tonight. Not that anybody in the band needed to know that.
“No, not that I know of. You?” Pete asked while fiddling with the drawstrings of his clandestine pajama pants. Joe shrugged before responding, “Just regular life on the Warped, you know?”
Pete nods and they exchange some more small talk and soon enough, Andy joins them, and they’re ready to take on Warped.
As they exit the Walmart, they pass families whose kids stare in adoration and parents stare in disgust. It’s not that uncommon for people to recognize them. Fall Out Boy was getting big fast and it did stress them out as they felt the pressures from their record label to push out a new album as soon as possible to keep the momentum going. Warped is their salvation for that summer. No record label, you’re constantly busy doing the thing you love and sometimes you’re in bumfuck nowhere and nobody knows who you are, those are the best kind of places.
After walking out into the parking lot, the trio realize that they’ll need to find some place to eat before their set that morning. They have three hours to kill before practice and without a car and Patrick still on the bus, it is their civic duty to fuel up now and get Patrick something he’ll like, like oatmeal or something.
And later that morning when Pete met a fan who was uncontrollably crying and threw up on his shoes, he could tell that it was going to be a painfully long day.
And he was right. After their set, they met with some fans and he had some run ins with some reporter asking about Jeanae or whatever her name was. He chooses to forget those years in his life. He ignores her texts, fake pregnancy positives and whatever sexual favor she asks of him that day. It’s been pissing him off that entire day and he wanted to let off steam. The only positive that came from that day was Patrick buying him some new underwear for a late birthday gift and his new fuckbuddy, Mikey Way. He promised to meet with him tonight and Mikey told him that the bus was empty. Pete feels that he’ll finally cop a feel tonight.
Laughter and The Smiths fills the My Chemical Romance bus however the guys were nowhere to be found except for a pair of boys at the back of the bus on the floor, “Rusty? Really?” Mikey asked and Pete just responded with grin and nodded enthusiastically.
Mikey shook his head, “Nuh-uh, I don’t believe it one bit. You don’t even look like a Rusty!” Mikey accused.
“Dude trust me! I would have been Rusty Wentz!” Pete cringed a bit at the thought but turned into a fit of laughter after seeing Mikey clutch his stomach and roll over on his side, hand covering his mouth trying to contain his laughter.
After a few minutes, the laughter finally died down. Mikey removing his glasses to wipe his eyes and Pete coughed as he tried to catch his breath before something caught his eye.
“What’s that, Mikeyway?” Pete asked. He points at an object to show to Mikey where it is.
Mikey turns to see where Pete was point at, “Oh, that’s some book that Gerard has been trying to get me to read but never did.” He answers as he gets up and gets it from his bunk. He sits on his bed and goes through the pages, “I have beef with Oscar Wilde.”
Pete chortles at Mikey’s last statement as he sits on the bed next to him, “Yeah? I love him. He’s one of my favorite writers.”
Mikey looks up at older man, furrowing his brows and slowly handing him the book, “Really? Never thought you were the type.”
“To what? Read?” Pete joked.
Mikey was quick to defend himself, “No! I never thought you were into this type of literature. It’s darker and like a horror, I guess? I think that’s why Gerard likes it so much.” He moves closer to Pete, hesitant to lay his head on his shoulder but swallows his doubts and gently place his cheek against his right shoulder.
Pete smiled, eyes moving from the book and on Mikey now, “Do you mind if I read this to you? Maybe I can learn you a thing or two.” His grin was wider now, and Mikey couldn’t help but smile back at him. He loves this. He loves that it’s them. Them alone. And with him.
“Sure. Maybe you can teach me how to love Oscar Wilde at the end of this?” Mikey asks. Pete only laughs, “I can’t teach you to that. It’s up to you if you want to love him. You chose to hate him so why not choose to love him?” Pete asked, his eyes back on the book.
“Well, we can’t choose who we love now, can we?” Mikey asked. It was more of a question for himself rather than Pete. He’s had this struggle within himself for a long time. The first boy he’s ever kissed was his best friend in 8th grade and they haven’t talked since. He’s been quiet about their whole fight and why he came back home with a black eye (and broken heart).
Pete stilled at Mikey’s question then resumed to his reading. He turns to the preface, “Do you wanna start here?” Pete asks Mikey in a whisper. He nods and Pete continues, “The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art's aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.”
Mikey raises his head from Pete’s shoulder, raising his eyebrows, “Hm, wow. That’s kind of deep?” He readjusts himself, “Do you mind if I put my head on your lap?”
Pete smirks, “I mean… What do you plan on doing down there?”
Mikey didn’t get it immediately but lightly smacks Pete on the arm when he does, “Dude! No! I’m not that type of guy.” He exclaimed, his cheeks and nose turning pink. Pete laughs in response, rubbing his arm.
“I don’t believe that, Mikeyway. I’ve heard the rumors about you.” Pete shook his head and set the book down, placing a hand on Mikey’s thigh.
Mikey froze up a bit. What rumors? Why is his hand there? Why is he feeling so lightheaded? The warm knot in his stomach is forming slowly but surely. That can’t be good, right?
“Uhm, wh-what rumors?” Mikey asked. He’s genuinely confused, being behind Gerard’s shadow for most of his life he didn’t know that people cared enough about him to start rumors about him.
“Oh, you know.” he grinned at Mikey, moving closer to him. He put his other hand on Mikey’s other thigh, moving them both up slowly. Mikey’s breath hitched and Pete took this as a ‘yes’.
Mikey shook his head. He didn’t know.
“The ones about how you’re always willing to fuck after a show and your tight jeans no underwear combo,” Pete stops when his face was inches away from Mikey and whispers, “I just wanna know if it’s true.”
He leans in closer, capturing Mikey’s lips into his own. Mikey let out a small gasp in shock before Pete does so. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Yes, Pete and he kissed before but not like this. He couldn’t.
He moved his head away from Pete and pushed him off.
Pete was confused, Mikey never did that before. He looked at him and tried to read his face, but it was confusing him.
“Uh, did I do something wrong?”
Mikey’s heart was pounding so hard and fast, he didn’t really know what to say. He wanted to kiss Pete but he’s so confused. What rumors? Who’s saying those things? Nothing could leave his mouth. It was all different thoughts racing through his brain that day.
He shakes his head and brings Pete’s mouth back to his again.
#petekey#petemikey#pete x mikey#pete wentz#peter lewis kingston wentz iii#mikey way#michael james way#summer of like#warped tour#warped tour 2005#warped 05#summer of love#fanfic#the picture of dorian gray#oscar wilde#gerard way#frank iero#ray toro#joe trohman#andy hurley#patrick stump#my chemical romance#my chem#my chemical mikey#mcr#fob#fall out boy#mlm#love#grown to love secrecy
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#capitolriots #current events #gun violence #long text #gore cw text
(I don't know what other filter tag to put on this, sorry)
I'm so...morbidly fascinated/horrified/haunted by the video of the Babbitt shooting.
It's a picture-perfect demonstration of shoot-to-kill; her ass is dead by the time she hits the floor. Center mass and down.
I've seen various sources assuming the shooter was a capitol officer, but I don't know about that without more explicit confirmation. He's plainclothes and carrying a concealed weapon; that's a smaller gun than the ones the uniformed officers have.
His behavior is totally different from uniformed officers as well, who were almost certainly given specific orders not to draw weapons or were purposely not armed. It's still possible, though, that he's merely from a different unit of capitol police. I don't know anything about their structure.
And making the decision to shoot Babbitt is...I don't know how to put it. Not a bad idea, but not one any cop would relish. Again, (actually competent) firearm training: there were people behind her, there were cops behind her. It wasn't a clean shot, environment-wise.
In photos like the ones inside the chamber before it was breached, you can see the plainclothes officers no longer obeying trigger discipline. Which is...big. Some hick trooper from Bumfuck, Nowhere skipping trigger discipline in on-the-job photos--that's one thing. These guys were on the defensive. When you have people you're protecting in the same room, you do not put your finger on the trigger until you're ready for casualties. Accidents happen too easily to risk a misfire around a high-value protection target.
There were a lot of people ready to kill that day. We were a knife's edge away from a bloodbath.
And I think the only reason it didn't happen is that they knew that if they started shooting, they would lose.
Mobs are volatile. Explosive. You cannot fuck around with them. There is no playing. The slightest shove can be amplified into a lethal crush.
If you've got a standard Glock 22 and, let's say, one mag in your pocket, you've got 30 shots. 44, if you're a paranoid bastard with large-capacity mags.
There were a lot more than 44 rioters.
In the close quarters of a building, the human wave of force will outweigh anything short of an entrenched machine gun. You've got poor lines of sight and thin walls; every single shot risks going through a wall and killing some poor bastard sheltering in place. And you're not just worrying about your own bullets--if you escalate a situation to bullets flying, you have to worry about their shots going wide as well.
If there had been more shooting than that of Babbitt--a relatively tight, controlled situation that didn't immediately ripple out to the rest of the mob--the mob would have started shooting in response. And that, there wouldn't have been any going back from.
Babbitt was medevaced by an eight-man FBI extraction team whose sole goal was to get her medical attention. This is a little unusual; standard procedure, established after Columbine, is to secure the area and then render medical aid. There's no point in getting EMTs out there and having them get shot.
If I had to guess, I'd think that the immediate area (the stairwell) was able to be secured, and they felt it would be much more valuable, as far as controlling the mob and limiting violence, to get her bloody corpse out of their view and be seen visibly rendering aid--deescalating the mob. They called the FBI extraction team there for her ahead of congressmen. It was an important task.
It's been clearly established that there was no higher leadership or organization present. The majority of these decisions were likely snap, gut choices, falling back on emergency training and previously-issued orders. There were a lot of regular pavement-pounders suddenly trying to respond to a siege with tape and chewing gum.
I don't really have a...point here. Analyzing is just straight up how I process/cope with stuff, I guess.
And it's just absolutely...incredible to me that we can watch a woman die from five different angles today. I cut my teeth on rotten.com; I saw file photos once of the crime scene of a mugging, the bottom half of the cab driver's head. There was an unbelievable amount of hair (that particular detail has been one of the things that makes horror movie gore colorfully unrealistic to me, absurdly), and it's stuck with me for almost twenty years.
You could find that stuff, but it was taboo. Material stolen or sold from or lost by the police. You had to leave the reputable sites to dig it up.
And now I can just...see a video of a woman getting shot from five different angles on Twitter, with so much detail I can make conclusions about the shooter. It's all...right there. Has three thousand retweets.
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I. NEED. TO. LEARN. MORE. ABOUT. FERRO's. UNIVERSE. Like are you kidding me? Fuego and Leo pulled a coup and killed every non-vermillion??! that's, wow, that's rich!! What's the heck is wrong with /THAT/ timeline? What about Asta's story there? the elves? the devils? Fuego really killed everyone? including NOZEL? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!
OH MY GOD ANON YOU’VE MADE MY ENTIRE DAY
HONESTLY this AU is underdeveloped because of the way it came to fruition in the first place, so nothing would make me happier but to make it a collaborative fandom project but here’s everything I’ve got on it
Under a Read More because it might get lengthy
First, a disclaimer: This AU was born out of a dream. I had a dream about a plucky teenager participating in a Magic Knight’s exam that was designed more like The Hunger Games, and when I woke up, I said to myself, I gotta get in on that. So that’s why some of the details of this AU are a little fucky. Dream logic.
Now, the inciting event for this AU is twofold: First, Acier lives. SECOND, her sister, Kirsch and Mimosa’s mother, dies giving birth to Mimosa.
Sister’s death completely breaks down any bond between the Vermillions and the Silvas. It’s just. Messy. A lot of finger pointing, a lot of people not handling things well. Because while the Silvas were taught from a young age to bottle up their feelings, Vermillions tend to use their feelings as a weapon. And relations go south fast.
Acier has still been training Meoroleona. Nozel and Fuegoleon have still been rivals. But when this happens, everyone is forced to pick a side. Acier and Meoroleona don’t end their relationship on bad terms, but they do end it. Nozel and Fuegoleon’s relationship swiftly turns hostile. In hindsight, nobody is happy about the way things went down, but at this point there’s a No Man’s Land to civility that nobody is willing to cross, and nobody will cross it.
The Vermillions have the roughest time with this, but unlike the way the Silvas handled Noelle, nobody actually blames Mimosa for her mother’s death. They turn their grief into what they see as righteous fury and determine to turn this into a “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” situation. This takes different forms over the years, but what basically happens is that everyone internalizes these feelings so deeply that while they all grow stronger, they also sort of grow apart.
Fuegoleon and Meoroleona have a blowout that completely shakes House Vermillion, and when Meoroleona leaves, she vows to never come back. No one believes that she would actually stay away, what with how close Fuego and Meoro were as kids, but when she leaves, she leaves. They see her once a year TOPS, and it’s never for a happy reason.
Fuegoleon, who has let his anger completely isolate him from the rest of his family, throws himself into being the Crimson Lion King, and while he’s incredibly successful, he loses parts of himself along the way. His ambitions override his caring nature and his inclination to share his strengths with others, and he becomes cold and determined, with a methodical outlook on relationships.
Leopold doesn’t become so callous-- he wasn’t old enough to remember his aunt’s death, he just had to grow up in the aftermath of it --but he follows in his brother’s footsteps, and while he’s not as mean about the way he does it, he’s not afraid to make some harsh decisions if it means being the best.
Kirsch and Mimosa decide that the best way to deal with this is to keep their heads down. Kirsch is fiercely protective of his little sister, because even though nobody is blaming Mimosa, he can’t shake the feeling that she may still have a target on her back. This makes Mimosa jumpy and clingy, never really developing the confidence to be her own person. While she can’t really nail down a particular reason for it, she’s scared of Fuegoleon and doesn’t trust Leopold. She can’t help but wonder how her cousins in House Silva are doing, but knows that all hell would break loose if she actually sought them out, so she feels constantly stuck between a rock and a hard place; the living embodiment of a schism between the royal houses.
The Silvas, on the other hand, go the other direction. Acier is still here, and she’s not letting her family rip itself apart like it did in canon. She remains the captain of the Silver Eagles and well-respected. Her kids have an even easier ride to the top with her still there to pave the way. She misses Meoroleona terribly. She knows that none of this was fair to any of them, and losing her sister AND her star pupil is a lot to work through. She keeps thinking that eventually she’ll get a letter or a surprise visit from the Undefeated Lioness, but she never does.
Nozel is genuinely heartbroken to have lost his rival and best friend, and, consequently, be left in the dust when he can’t keep up with Fuegoleon’s ambition, but he’s still got his mother and three little siblings, so they become his whole life. Without Fuegoleon’s rivalry to spur him on, he becomes good but not great, and is content to coast. He’s a mama’s boy, and as long as his mother is satisfied, he’d rather read and organize missions than go on them. On the bright side, he doesn’t deal with 90% of the stress he deals with in the canon universe. He’s actually pretty happy most of the time.
Nebra ends up being the classic middle sibling. Her magic is nothing special, but she’s a Silva, so she can go with the flow and still come out looking a little better than everyone else. While Nozel would rather spend time with books and Solid and Noelle would rather spend time with each other, she’s a drifter; she can hang with any of her siblings, or her mother, but she’s no one’s first pick. It doesn’t really bother her all that much unless she feels genuinely left out, and Mom never forgets about her, so it’s all good.
Solid and Noelle are thick as thieves, and the Silver Eagles’ superstars. They bring out the worst of each other and have a great time doing it. They’re a dynamic duo on the battle field and harbor unfathomable chaotic energy off of it. Getting sucked into their gravitational pull is dangerous, so Nebra, Nozel, and Acier tread lightly, lest they get dragged into, or end up the victim of their shenanigans. Of all combinations of Silva duos, they are by far the closest. Totally ride or die. That doesn’t mean that they don’t drive each other absolutely batshit crazy, and have some HUGE blowouts that waterlog half the castle, but that’s what siblings do. The nice thing about having each other is that neither of them end up in their siblings’ or mother’s shadows. The not nice thing about that is that they’re just. Little shits. Imagine Noelle acting the way she does in the beginning of the series, but being sincere about it. Imagine Solid acting the way he does, except he’s never checking to see if he’s got his siblings’ approval. Now imagine them patting each other on the back for acting like that. Yikes.
Then Ferro comes along. He’s the result of Solid knocking up his unnamed noble girlfriend when he’s 16-17. Acier is PISSED. All the other Silvas are scandalized. Solid is in big trouble. Acier suspends him from the Silver Eagles while she does damage control. What she eventually ends up doing is paying the girl off, and when the baby is born, she takes him into House Silva to raise him in secret. Nobody outside House Silva ever knows about him. He is House Silva’s best kept secret. This is an important detail.
The coup comes together. Fuegoleon has been working on this plan for a long time. Years. Leopold is on board, because Leopold would follow him off a cliff. But he’s also scared shitless. This is a much bigger deal than stepping on a few comrades to rise through the ranks. He slips a little. Kirsch catches wind of the plan. He gets in Leo’s and Fuego’s ear to remind them, hey, we’re Vermillions, too. So we’re cool, right?
Yeah, they’re cool. All they have to do is help their cousins kill everyone whose last name isn’t Vermillion. Kirsch thinks this is a pretty good deal to save him and his sister. Mimosa will later have her doubts, but we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.
Meoroleona was invited, but never shows up.
We’re about at the beginning of the show when the coup begins. I don’t have a good reason that it goes off as smoothly as it does. But everyone in Houses Kira and Silva dies, except Acier and Ferro. Ferro, now two, manages to watch his entire family get bodied without getting a scratch on him, because no one anticipated him being there. Acier is only able to defend herself and him before sneaking away.
Acier and Ferro flee to the Forbidden Realm, to a little town in bumfuck nowhere, to hide. They are never discovered by the Vermillions.
Fuegoleon becomes the Clover King. As far as they can tell, the coup is 100% successful. But the thing about fire is that it’s super useful for making people really dead, but when people are dying in heaps and being burned to ash it’s kind of hard to count how many bodies you’ve got. They don’t realize that they’re one short. With no one to stand in their way, Fuegoleon crowns himself Clover King. He disbands the Silver Eagles, and within the next few years, will crown himself Wizard King. It actually becomes pretty easy after Julius nerfs himself, whoops.
Unfortunately, Fuegoleon is starting to unravel. He gained a LOT of enemies doing all this heinous shit, and he is not a beloved king. Leopold is now the head of the Crimson Lion Kings, and he’s reporting back a lot of hostility among the captains. Not that they didn’t expect that, but there’s no way to practice sleeping with one eye open. That’s not to mention that the people are scared and confused, and that doesn’t make for a peaceful kingdom.
Over the course of years, he puts greater and greater restrictions on magic. It starts as permits to use spells in public places and soon grows into a near-total ban on grimoires for anyone outside the magic knights. With absolute power, he can kick people out of the magic knights AND take their grimoires. These rules both ease and exacerbate his growing paranoia. Everyone is pissed, but effectively stripped of their power, there isn’t much they can do about it.
Meanwhile, Acier is raising her grandson as a peasant, but never forgets that they’re royals. She teaches Ferro all of their family history, even though they have to keep it a secret. That gets kind of tricky since Ferro has royal-level magic in the middle of a town of peasants, but, you know, who’s gonna call him on it?
When Ferro is ten, he get recruited by a mysterious hooded figure to train his magic in secret. 90% of his magic training happens in a location he is taken to by a spatial mage. He, along with about a dozen other kids, are trained by a small band of mages who claim to be the resistance. Their goal is simple: Train the next generation of mages to take out the king and restore order to the kingdom. Ferro thinks this is pretty cool, and the honor isn’t lost on him, but he’s mostly glad that he can learn to control his magic in a way that makes his grandmother proud.
By the time Ferro is 15, grimoire ceremonies have been almost completely outlawed, so it’s a big deal when the resistance throws their trainees a grimoire ceremony. Once they’ve received their grimoires, they begin the next leg of their journey: become magic knights.
The Magic Knights Entrance Exam has changed a LOT in the last 15 years. This exam is deadly. In many instances, the point is to kill or be killed. Magic knights are being trained as a military force first and foremost, and their most important feature must be that they take orders unblinkingly. This does not fly with Ferro. While he’s extremely qualified for the position in every other way, he’s too nice to let people die, let alone kill them. He fails the exam. However, some of the other kids he’s trained with make it in.
So he needs a new plan. Spurned on by his grandmother and his teachers through the resistance, he decides to travel the Clover Kingdom. In the midst of his travels, Acier dies. At 20 years old, he is now the last Silva.
This fact makes Ferro pretty fatalistic, and at this point he decides the only rational thing to do is to force an audience with King Fuegoleon. Surely this won’t end in disaster. Definitely won’t be his untimely end by flames.
--
So there are a lot of holes in this AU, because it sprang up around this one character I had a wild dream about. A few mores notes:
Noelle joined the Silver Eagles, if that wasn’t obvious
The Vermillion coup takes place 1-2 years after the start of the show, and I have no explanation for how those events could fit into this timeline. They would definitely look a LOT different, that’s for sure
My notes on this end where they do because at the point where Ferro breaks into the royal castle to force this audience with the king, he actually gets thrown out of this universe and into another. So I guess for all intents and purposes, the Silva line ends for good in this universe
I know exactly where Meoroleona is and what she’s doing
I don’t know where exactly Kirsch and Mimosa are and what they’re doing when they disappear
So that’s all I’ve got! This isn’t a super duper happy AU, and definitely not flattering for everyone, but I was forced to flesh it out because I was told, very emphatically, “Evil Vermillions sexy.” I don’t disagree.
#black clover#nozel silva#noelle silva#nebra silva#solid silva#acier silva#fueogleon vermillion#meoroleona vermillion#leopold vermillion#kirsch vermillion#mimosa vermillion#ferro silva#spinda tea#my art#silver eagles#crimson lions#crimson lion kings#I need a name for this AU#gate babies#ferroverse
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#tacky i want to hear your dig site anecdote ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE @cinnamonroyalty
In fact you’re going to receive way more than you bargained for because I keep remembering funny shit from that excavation where a dead person’s tooth fell in my hand.
It’s a summer from 10 years ago, back when I only hated the sunlight but it wasn’t trying to kill me yet. Yours truly and one of her best friends are trying to get our degrees and we sign up for an easy class: give up two weeks of your summer vacation to go to the dig site where of the uni’s professors is a director and get credit with top marks attached to it. Not many people do it, but we like archaeology and are desperate to finish our degrees ASAP because:
It’s our fourth year and we're extremely burnt out. We need out.
Government only gives money to poor people if they’re overachievers and long story short, I need to take that class or risk never finishing the degree.
First order of business is getting there, and public transportation isn’t an option. We don’t have cars and can’t drive, so we ask my parents to give us a ride to the village where the dig site is and drop us off.
The afternoon before the trip, a classmate that I haven’t seen in a year because he’d been spirited away to France by the Erasmus program calls, and says he saw my name and friend’s on the list of guinea pigs students for the class, and asks how we’re going to make the trip. Turns out he just returned to our country the night before and doesn’t have any means to get to Bumfuck, Nowhere, so we become the means. I am okay with this because we actually met in another excavation a year prior and he’s great.
During the trip, he tells us that this dig site has a bad reputation in archaeologist circles because supposedly it’s been investigated to hell and back for 30 years. It’s exhausted, but the director keeps milking it to get research funding.
The dig site in question has a history of human presence from pre-Roman times to sometime in the Middle Ages. The Medieval section is the one you can see in the pic of the post I linked above. The Iberian part is directly below that image and is just a field with no visible structures.
There’s only a handful of us plus the director when we get to the village, and she shows us the way to the dig site and gives us leaflets and a little introduction, telling us that under the remains of the church we see there’s an Iberian temple.
I need you to know that, at least at that point in time (it’s been ten years, but I don’t think this has changed), no one has ever been able to locate an Iberian temple. Ever. We don’t know how they looked like, if they were even constructions or just natural sites. Nothing.
Great Guy knows this because he has worked in Iberian dig sites several times and ancient history is his jam. Great Guy is also right behind the director as he hears her declaration, and he looks up from his leaflet to look at friend and I straight in the eyes, and lifts one single, dramatic eyebrow with incredulity. I am in awe of how much a lone arch of hair can convey.
The waves of skepticism radiating from him must’ve been so strong that they hit the director square in the back and she turns around at the speed of light to reassure him in particular that it is true that there’s a temple there, and the three of us are very spooked for the remainder of our stay because how the fuck did she do that.
Not satisfied with that, the director also says that Hannibal Barca was there on his way to cross the Pyrenees, so any inkling of respect we might had had towards her is gone with the wind.
Fast forward a few days and we choose to work on the Iberian silos instead of the Medieval area because silos are where the interesting stuff pops up. This proves to be a mistake for the most part. There’s only sun, very dry clay-like dirt, vicious insects, and very soon we learn that not only the staff, but also this place is indeed a joke for a variety of reasons that would warrant a different post. We’re bored and miserable and Great Guy starts to recount the many practical jokes you can play on newbies at a dig site, such as the infamous trick of taking a bristle from a broom, dropping it near your victim, and telling them when they find it that that’s a hair from one of Hannibal’s elephants and this is a huge discovery.
We laugh, but we can’t do that. The director’s underling is our supervisor and of all the human senses he sadly skipped class the day God distributed humor. No whacky hijinks under his watchful eye. UNLESS...
There is another classic. Great Guy steps to the side with a basket full of dirt and water and starts molding something out of it.
It is immediately clear that we’re looking at an impressively sized dick, so we all laugh because we’re all twenty and about to die of sunstroke.
And here’s the plan: we’re going to let it dry and, on the last day of the excavation, place it inside one of the silos and cover it with a loose coat of dirt so the next person that works on it finds it.
We get invested in the joke. We aren’t even going to see the results, but we don’t care. Just imagining the reaction of the staff if they find it is enough. We check every day, several times a day, that the dick is still there and hardening to fulfill its final purpose and no this wasn’t supposed to be a double entendre it’s just what clay does in the sun.
Still, we want to leave our signature, and we don’t want it to be mistaken for an actual artifact. It's an absurdly long shot, but the people working there are so weird that we don’t want to risk it. In another stroke of hilarity, we decide to make our own Rosetta Stone and to leave no doubt as to what its future discoverer will be looking at, we make two inscriptions on the dick: one in Latin, and another in Greek.
The first says “PHALLVS” - pretty self-explanatory
The second says “πολλων“ - which is an actual Greek word, but it’s also the phonetic transcription of the Spanish word “pollón,” which means “big cock.”
We never knew if they found it, but it’s nice to believe.
#forgive me for the typos but it's late and I'm not double checking this#when tacky was getting her degree
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Multiples of 6 for the OC asks!
AYYYYYYYYYY THANK YOU
i think for this one i’ll answer each question with three ocs for comparison >:V
(under the cut because, predictably, It Got Long)
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6. Do they smoke or do they hate smoking.
(origfic, unnamed superhero verse)
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Neil: won’t touch cigarettes, but has been known to smoke a bowl every now and then when his anxiety gets the best of him. he doesn’t like doing it--he’s internalized some pretty negative shit about how it means he’s a trashy, weak-willed loser who can’t handle reality--but since meeting nads and then beth, he’s eased up a lot on the guilt and is able to relax more.
Nads: smokes cigarettes, but only if they’re stolen. she’s got an active lifestyle to say the least and she doesn’t want to risk fucking up her lungs, so that’s her compromise. my god does she love her weed though
Beth: smokes cigarettes to take the edge off her anxiety when she has to go outside during the day. she knows they’re worse for her than weed, but she’s wary enough of her liminal space powers without imagining what they might do if she got stoned.
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12. What’s an outfit they’d despise wearing Vs one they’d love wearing? Draw it!
(Tales of Arcadia; i’m godawful at drawing clothes so i’ll just describe them as best i can ashdflkshdfkl)
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Liyen: loves comfortable, understated, professional-looking masc clothes, usually in muted shades of gray, blue, or black. give them a fuzzy turtleneck sweater and black pants and they’re happy. meanwhile they’d be SUPER uncomfortable in loud, clashing colors or anything too femme.
Schommag: Does Not Like Clothes That Will Get in Her Way, also not a big fan of dressing femme with very few exceptions (the right Little Black Dress, for example). give her what she needs to get around the woods and stay out of her way. that said she does love showing off her muscles, so she wears a lot of tank tops and sports bras (and sometimes no top at all, if she can get away with it).
Oryalv: VERY femme, particularly business casual. this man loves his pantsuits. meanwhile his nightmare is middle-aged high school coach aesthetic. put him in a t-shirt and khakis and he’ll start pouring smoke like a teakettle
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18. Have they ever committed a crime? How? Why? If not, then what’s their opinion on crime?
(origfic, unnamed VALENTINE DON’T DO THAT verse)
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Valentine: has been made complicit in a lot of their family’s cutthroat-noble shadiness growing up, is otherwise a law-abiding sort up until they jump off the slippery slope and get the war crime ball rolling in earnest. Whoops
Edmund: has gotten into plenty of cutthroat-noble shadiness of his own volition, thank you very much. unlike valentine he’s a whole lot more inclined to go UHHH and pull up when it comes to war crimes
Marcel: LOVES war crimes. LOVES them. would marry them if he could. lucky for him he’s captain of the guard and has plenty of opportunities. will otherwise use the law as a bludgeon but i don’t think he’s too bothered about it for its own sake
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24. Mcdonalds, subway, or KFC?
(Final Fantasy Tactics A2)
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Nebilim: subway, grease is sensory hell and makes him sick and it’s the easiest place to avoid it. the number of variables per sandwich make him anxious, but if he has to pick one then fuck it, it’s worth not putting grease in his body.
Moovry: loves grease with all his somehow-still-functioning heart, would bring his own beer keg to KFC and refuse to leave til he’s finished his fourth bucket of chicken
York: MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS. gets the happy meal and then uses the toy to test their black magic minispells. we hardly knew ye, beyblade
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30. Have they ever dreamed about another oc?
(Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, taxidermy/doll horror cw)
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Faerna: has dreams about missing his mother sometimes. he hasn’t seen her in a long time, and for all he knows she thinks he’s dead, but he can’t bring himself to go back and look for her when he doesn’t know if she’ll approve of the life he’s chosen for himself. for all he talks himself up, not everyone’s happy to have a thief and a conman for a son.
SkekNev: has recurring dreams about the victims of their taxidermy coming back to life. less of a HOLY SHIT THE DOLLS ARE ALIVE nightmare for them, more of an anger/anxiety nightmare because stop that, stop having autonomy, i made you like this for a reason.
Aivne: dreams a lot about her little siblings. outright nightmares, semi-lucid rehearsals of danger scenarios, memories from before they lost their parents.
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36. If they’re nonhuman, what’s their opinion on humans?
(origfic, faeverse)
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Aislinng: vampire/incubus, more specifically A Dracula Lookin Motherfucker. depending on how much of a bastard he is in a given au, humans are usually somewhere between ‘fun to dazzle with my Supernatural Charms’ and ‘boring. where are the interesting people to torment’
Meadowsweet: rabbit faun. depending on which of the two wildly different versions of him we’re talking about, he either treats humans with the same goodwill as anyone else who might need his healing, or looks down on them and considers them fair game for whatever evil bastard he’s pining after this week.
Agaric: aislinng’s son with a forest spirit, so fuck if i know what to call him at this point. humans tend to find his brand of quiet, aloof awkwardness either offputting or endearing; either one is mortifying, and he’d mostly rather just keep to himself.
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42. What’s their standpoint when it comes to washing hands?
(origfic, bumfuck nowhere cult)
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Cristina: obsessed with cleanliness, washes her hands constantly, crissy please you live in the desert
Skinner: if my hands are clean i can’t wipe them on cristina’s robes now can i
Rosemary: who needs to wash hands when you’ve got tentacles ;)
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48. If they were defeated fairly in battle, would they accept and move on or throw a fit?
(origfic, slasher movie slaughterhouse dimension)
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Maggie: will stay down and let you think she’s beaten, until you take your eyes off her for a second too long. then she’ll go for your hamstring
Dee: will accept it and move on, but will also try to make you feel like winning wasn’t really important anyway. maggie loves her dearly but she is kind of infuriating to everyone else
Esau: is delighted when somebody beats him, because if they’ve gotten that far they’ve committed at least one horrific atrocity and will have to live with that forever (if not embrace it). the real treasure was the corruption and PTSD we found along the way. no wonder maggie kind of hate-connects with him, he reminds her of dee lmao
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54. Have they ever lost anyone?
(misc origfic)
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Gray: lost the person who summoned them, gave them form, and taught them how to speak. once she died, all they knew was that she’d stopped coming, and that their only friend--their only contact with the world outside the cave--was gone. they’re there alone for a long time before a hitchhiker stumbles across them, and now they’re clingy as fuck and terrified of being abandoned again.
Ashdown: lost her wife the spring before her story begins, which left her so depressed she didn’t bother flying south for the winter with everyone else. she does eventually find love again, after coming to terms with the fact that what she’s lost isn’t the only thing she can ever have.
Jake: lost his older brother as a kid, which might or might not be why some fuck haunting their own fursuit recruits him to help with their unfinished business.
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[DYING WHEEZE]
thank you again for the questions!!! i have. so many ocs. SO many ocs, and it’s always fun to get a chance to trot a bunch of them out, especially with a good range of questions like these :D
#the golden ghost#tales of arcadia#dark crystal age of resistance#asks#tag memes#ocs#my ocs#toa tag#origfic tag#my origfic#final fantasy tag#smoking cw#weed cw#dolls cw#origfic group tag#because there's too many to tag all of them on this post asdhfslkdfhsdf
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