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itslottiehere · 9 months

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mors tua, vita mea — h.s

hello beautiful people 🤍 welcome back! i know, i know, it’s been a while, but i truly hope this story makes up for the lack of writing! i’ve had so much fun while writing this, and i hope you’ll like it as much as i do <3 please, let me know what you think! you can do so in your reblog, in your tags, or in my asks! if you enjoy the story, please consider reblogging! it really helps me and also make me want to keep going!! without further ado, happy reading! <3

— inspired by “getaway car” by taylor swift.

cw: angst, a bit of kissing, some swear words

word count: 6.5k

gif by @londonharry

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—

the backstreet was dark, a few spots of light showing her the way to the car she hid before the heist took place. before chris could know that there was only one way that night could have ended, and that was with him locked up.

she had been planning this for months now: their biggest heist, her biggest betrayal.

she wasn’t sentimental about it at all, it was just pure business: she knew the cops were closing in on them, so she had to leave before shit hit the fan. simple as that.

also, chris was becoming way too attached to her as it was, so it was really a two birds with one stone deal for her: she had always made it clear that their “relationship” was nothing more than work, but sometimes the nights in the safe house got boring and lonely, and the company was appreciated.

still, a few nights of sex didn’t mean there were feelings involved or anything of that sort, and no matter how much chris said that he “got it”, she noticed the changes in his attitude, how protective of her he became, how his touch would linger for a second longer, how he would double and triple check with her if she got wounded, how he would always make sure she was safe before worrying about his own safety.

how he made it so easy for her to manipulate him.

the poor thing never saw it coming. the pink lenses of infatuation making him painfully oblivious to the fact that he was never gonna see her again.

both her and the outside world, from her calculations: the cops would find plenty of evidence on him, in the safe house, that would tie him up with a pretty little bow and send him off to prison for god’s know how long, all the while making him the perfect scapegoat for her.

she couldn’t know if chris would rat her out, — although she thought it not likely, given the lovesick puppy look he had ever since they slept together, — but even if he tried to, she made sure not to leave any trace of her identity in any document, in anything that had to do with any illegal activity.

and even if she did, they wouldn’t have found her: the identity she used wasn’t hers, and she was gonna stop being the person chris knew as soon as she drove away, her new id card safely stored in the pocket of her jacket, the old one burnt to a crisp.

the soles of her shoes were scraping against the gravel, the ground wet from the light november rain, while she jogged to what would bring her into a new life, a new start. she had to get out of there, immediately.

what she wasn’t expecting was a dark silhouette appearing on the other side of the alley, seemingly jogging towards her.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

she was so sure she had locked the exit door on the back, so how did chris manage to get out? he would have had to figure out she was planning on framing him.

if that was the case, this wasn’t gonna end well.

she opened up the door to her car, ready to bolt, when the unknown figure spoke slowly: “wait.”

that was not chris. the voice was deep, rough, and the way he pronounced just one single word made chills run through her body.

or maybe that was just the adrenaline of it all, the fear of getting caught betraying her partner by said partner.

“wait.” the figure spoke once more, getting closer to the car. “i need a lift.”

what the actual fuck? did he take her for an uber driver or something?

she scoffed and got in the car, keys inside the ignition, ready to drive off.

which couldn’t be done since the tall figure decided to stand in the middle of the alley.

she couldn’t really honk, not when the alarms inside the building were about to go off and the place was about to be stormed by cops. she had to leave, and if she had to run over him, then so be it.

she put her foot on the gas, put in the first gear and was very much convinced that the man would decide to move out of the way.

but she had no such luck.

his hands hit the hood of her car, hard, while she pressed on the breaks with all her strength in order to not make him flat on the ground.

so much for survival instincts, she thought.

“were you really about to run me over?” the man spoke — his figure now becoming clearer since he was nearer than before. a lazy smirk cut his face. “mmh. i like you.”

and just like that he was opening the passenger’s door, seating down and buckling his seatbelt.

she was utterly shocked, what the hell was going on, why was he- “who the fuck are you? and what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing in my car?”

the man chuckled lowly, casting two deep indents in his cheeks. “oh wow, they didn’t tell me the owl had such a filthy mouth.”

the name made her eyes go wide: the owl. working in the darkest hours of the night was her distinctive trait, hence the nickname she chose for herself while doing business.

“‘m harry, by the way. don’t have a cool nickname like yours yet, but perhaps i should find one. what about the puma? what do you think?”

she scoffed, looking straight and finally driving away. “well, harry or the puma or whatever you wanna be called-”

“harry is just fine.”

“alright, harry, would you mind telling me why the fuck are you here?” her patience was wearing thin and she really didn’t want to lose any more time on this.

“oh right, sort of forgot to tell you, didn’t i? okay, well, my dear owl- hold up, don’t i get to know your name? i told you mine.” he turned his body to face her.

judging by the deep frown of her eyebrows and how set her eyes were on the road in front of them, he assumed he wouldn’t get it that easily.

“well, doesn’t matter for now. so, back to where i was: i have been checking you out for a while, saw your latest works and was very impressed. i’m in need of a partner, and from what i saw tonight, so do you.” he spoke, and in the far distance they could hear the police sirens and spot the blue and red lights: everything was about to go down.

harry coming to bother her on that particular night was really somewhat karmic, wasn’t it? she screwed over her partner, so fate had to bring an annoying man in her plans, once again. she cleared her throat, her tone dry.

“how did you know what i would do?”

harry turned once again towards the road. “i knew the police was closing in on you, so i thought that if you played your cards right you may have the chance to get away, and the better escape plan would have been to ditch your partner.” the man in her passenger seat stretched his legs, his arms raised up, his voice coming out a bit strained. “word on the street was that tonight something was going down, i thought to check it out to see if it was actually gonna be you. my lucky night, i’d say.”

harry had heard plenty about the owl’s operations and was extremely intrigued by her. the plans were intricate, but incredibly well thought out, and often went down without a hitch, and the chosen artworks to be stolen being invaluable masterpieces made it all the more admirable. he knew as soon as he saw one of her biggest heists go down so smoothly that he desperately wanted to be in business with her, so he began keeping tabs on her, which brought him in that alley, that precise night.

he didn’t expect to be so entranced to her.

sure, he was in awe of her plans and the way she carried on her business, but he was struck by her. even more than her looks, it was the confidence she radiated from her stance, her set gaze, her clenched jaw, that was what drew him in immediately.

he knew she was trouble, especially given her line of work. but it seemed like he couldn’t help himself to fall under her spell, and that was saying something, since she tried to run him over not even 20 minutes prior.

oh, poor harry didn’t know what he was getting into.

she wasn’t dumb, nor blind: harry was a treat for the eyes, and obviously way more prepared than chris ever was. still to that day she couldn’t believe he didn’t see it coming, it was all so clear to her. she was sneaky, of course, but he must’ve had some clue, right? or well, she guessed that what people say is true: love makes you dumb.

harry was another league, though. he kept track of her, which must’ve not been easy since she always took so many precautions to keep everything on the down low; he discovered her plan and also understood that the better route for her was to ditch her partner.

he definitely had more experience than chris, and that could be an advantage: for once, she could have someone to bounce ideas off of, and since harry managed to find out her ironclad plans, it means that something wasn’t as hidden as she would’ve liked, and having him could help with that.

when she started her business, she swore that she had to be the one calling all the shots: being the perfectionist she is, she couldn’t relegate the responsibility of something so important like a heist to someone who wasn’t herself. she decided to get a partner — enter, chris — just because sometimes it was physically impossible to do it all on her own. that didn’t change the fact that he was merely a mean to an end, he had no voice whatsoever in planning anything, and not once had he complained about it, nor he had any reason to: the money was good, and once he even got to win her affection — or well, what he thought could’ve turned into something more — he was good with doing whatever she wanted.

she had the feeling it wasn’t gonna be like this with harry.

or well, at least not that easy.

“that was impressive, not going to lie. it mustn’t have been easy to keep track of my movements. so, bravo.” she spoke, her eyes quickly glancing towards him.

a smirk took place on harry’s face, the praise of such a pro stroking his ego. “it was, but very much worth it.”

his voice was smooth like silk, and even the dumbest person walking on earth could’ve felt the flirty undertones of his words from miles away.

she quickly thought about it, a new plan. a new, better plan.

“okay, pretty boy. if you can keep up, i can think about being partners. that is, if you prove worthy of my time.”

“deal.” he smiled, and again the dimples on his cheeks made an appearance. “pretty boy, huh? should that be my badass nickname?”

“still better than the puma.”

that night marked the beginning of a new era, four years of the most lucrative, crazy, exciting heists the both of them could have ever imagined.

and over the course of those years, the inevitable and not so unexpected happened: they fell for each other, and they fell hard.

endless night of planning, scheming, and building trust with each other turned them into real life bonnie and clyde, absolutely drunk on adrenaline and love.

it was definitely not something she had planned, not something she had wanted either, but there was no denying chemistry: sometimes, things just happen, and you have no choice but to let them run their course.

harry was just as smitten: he was hooked from the beginning, and fought hard to win her over from day one.

it started as a ‘business partners with benefits’ kind of deal, a way to ‘pass the time’, — at least for her, harry was already harboring feelings for the woman — but it bloomed into something more, somewhat organically.

he still teased her that she became soft for him when he got injured during an escape: the rope attached to the top of the building didn’t hold up harry, who suffered a bad fall. his shoulder was dislocated, and she had to be the one who had to put it back in place, since hospitals weren’t really an option, and harry couldn’t ignore the look she held in her eyes, as if even just the thought of hurting him was physically hurting her.

he didn’t expect it, definitely not from someone like the infamous owl: she showed no remorse for her actions, no feelings for the first six months of them working together, and he made peace with the fact that that was just the way it was gonna be, but was pleasantly surprised when that revealed not to be the case.

the world knew her as a scheming, logical woman, but harry had the privilege of being her soft spot.

he was always a pretty open guy, not scared of having big feelings or of falling in love. he had already felt it in the past, he just wasn’t prepared to experience how powerful it could feel with the right person: what he felt for her was something out of a novel, a perfect mixture of infatuation, almost obsession, adrenaline and maybe insanity, and it was so incredibly addicting.

the last heist was a perfect success, their biggest bag as a matter of fact. the artwork they managed to steal had taken months upon months of planning, but it all went down incredibly smoothly: 7 minutes, in and out, exactly like they had wanted. they were already far when the police arrived, harry behind the wheel, driving their getaway car.

with chris, she had never let him drive, ever: she had to be in control of everything, of every little aspect, probably because she never fully trusted him. but she did trust harry, wholeheartedly so.

the drive to the dingy motel wasn’t too long, the night chill enveloping them thanks to the lack of a roof on their car. the adrenaline was running high still, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning in and leaving a kiss on harry’s smiling lips, their grins quite too big to properly kiss each other. but it didn’t matter, the feeling was all the same, the rush quite impossible to describe to someone who never felt it.

harry disconnected their lips, not before leaving a quick peck once again, and looked back to the barely lit country road ahead of them.

“very risky to distract me like that right now, sweetheart.”

“couldn’t help it, pretty boy. you’re just too damn good-looking.” she smiled at the nickname, and harry did too: it stuck ever since that first night, and harry definitely never complained.

“c’mon, we’re almost at the motel.” harry’s hand took its rightful place on her left thigh, softly squeezing the flesh, awakening a storm of butterflies and inviting them to bat their wings in her stomach. she rested her hand on top of his, gently toying with his rings.

the motel neon sign was missing a few letters, its occupants nothing less than unsavory, but she didn’t care: she wasn’t one to be scared in the first place, much less with harry by her side.

once they got to their room, she locked the door and quickly found her back pressed into it, harry’s lips straight on hers. she knew what was coming, it happened every single time after a hit: the euphoria of a successful heist was a very powerful aphrodisiac.

harry’s lips pressed slowly against her own, he was in no hurry now. after he felt her body relaxing in his hold, he moved onto her neck, and smiled against her skin when he heard a shaky breath falling from her lips after he sucked lightly on the spot he knew would drive her crazy.

her hand went immediately into his hair, tugging on the curls she loved to play with at every chance she got, while the other travelled down his torso, heading towards his belt.

knowing where she was going, harry detached his lips from her neck and looked at her: flushed cheeks, her eyes — his favorite feature of hers — slightly glazed over, her lips full and a raspberry colour. he smiled at the sight.

“sweetheart,” he murmured. “sweetheart, hey.”

“mmh?” she hummed, her hands roaming under his shirt, feeling the expanse of his tummy and chest, pressing her lips in the dip of his throat.

harry hated to have to tear himself away from her and her touch, but a shower was in order, and also making her wait made the whole situation way more intriguing, her getting antsy waiting for him really did a number on him.

her forehead rested on his chest, a small whine falling from her lips when he felt him trying to move away from her, which made harry chuckle. he softly pressed a kiss to the top of her head, slowly walking backwards towards the restroom, but her arms refused to leave his body, so she was stumbling along with him, her cheek still smushed against his chest.

harry reached behind his back to untangle her arms from his waist, not without her protesting. he leaned in and planted a wet kiss on her cheek, murmuring a low “be right back”, before leaving the room.

she felt drunk, as she usually did whenever harry was in near proximity, but there was nothing she could do about it.

she laid down on the dingy bed, eagerly waiting for her lover to be back and, to kill the time, she decided to turn on the tv.

what she saw sobered her up real quick.

the news were reporting a robbery at a famous gallery, two figures with their dark hoodies up filmed from a camera at the end of the alley.

a camera both she and harry failed to notice.

they were lucky the camera was at the opposite end of the dark and unlit alley, and caught just a glimpse of their backs, but this wasn’t good. this was not supposed to happen.

never, in all her years of planning, had she forgot to notice a camera, and the fact that this happened with their biggest heist made the blood drain from her face.

she tried her hardest to lower her heart rate and to focus on what the newscaster was saying: two suspects, no faces identified, probably left by car, all the other cameras in the block were somehow off during the escape — somehow actually being the work of one of harry’s acquaintances — and the police had no leads for the moment.

all things considered, it wasn’t bad at all.

so why couldn’t she seem to catch her breath?

the bathroom door creaked open, a bit of steam filling the room. harry stepped out, a towel hanging on his lower half, his body glistening with little droplets of water, hair matted and still dripping a little.

he had a dopey smile on his lips, which soon fell once he noticed that she wasn’t ogling at him as she usually would when he stepped out of a shower.

“hey,” he called out to her, “something wrong?”

she didn’t even notice that harry had walked back into the room, so she slightly jumped at the sound of his voice. her head quickly turned towards him, as she just as quickly turned the tv off.

“of course, yeah.” she smiled. “missed you.”

“could’ve joined me, you know?” he grinned, “never would refuse a beautiful lady like you.” he got closer to her and pressed his lips softly against hers.

she reciprocated the kiss, disconnecting it quite a bit earlier than harry would’ve liked, and murmured still close to his lips, “can we cuddle for a bit?”

harry’s hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs slowly stroking the apples, “yeah, of course. want my shirt to sleep in?”

she excitedly nodded, staring at his back while he retrieved a shirt from his luggage.

sleep came quickly to harry, his arm holding her tightly against his chest, comforted by the feeling of having her safe in his arms.

she still couldn’t quite catch her breath.

harry woke up to an empty bed: the creamy rays of sun beamed through the worn blinds, rousing him awake. as he did every morning, he reached for her, looking forward to hooking his arm around her waist and feel her snuggle against his chest. but that day, his hand touched a cold piece of comforter instead of the warm, soft body of his girl.

his eyes opened immediately, trying to adapt to the light, his brows furrowed as he knuckled his eyes, trying to blink away the sleepiness. his slightly startled heart stopped once he saw her seated at the little desk the room provided, typing away on her computer, wrapped in his sweatshirt with her hair still damp from the shower she probably had just taken.

way too focused on adjusting the last details of the meetup with the buyer for that same night, she jumped when she felt two strong arms engulfing her.

“morning, love.” his morning voice was a gift straight from heaven, it never failed to make her feel warm and cozy. “don’t like it when i wake up without you.”

she could hear the pout on his face, and she smiled at the notion that he was so affected by her absence. “good morning, pretty boy. just had to take a shower and finalize the details for the drop off with the buyer tonight.” she turned around and looked at his still half closed eyes. she tilted her head up, puckering her lips a little, “kiss?”

harry didn’t miss a beat and laid his mouth on hers, moaning softly at the contact.

she hadn’t lied per se, she had to do all of what she said, but she also couldn’t stand lying awake in that bed for one more second: she had barely gotten any sleep the previous night, the video of them on the news flashing continuously in her mind.

so she tried to focus on work, to get things right before they could go wrong.

the day went by as usual, the two of them laying low, preparing for the meetup with this anonymous buyer. the sum of money this person was offering was definitely mind blowing, and there was no way they could turn it down.

in the late afternoon, they left the motel to reach the location given to them: it was a rundown warehouse, obviously abandoned, and they were under strict orders to arrive at 8pm on the dot, to leave the car outside the main gate, and proceed by feet till they arrived to the container with the number 258: that was where they’d find an employee of the buyer.

it was all routine, they almost never handled a deal with the buyer directly, and they understood the reason. she and harry never exchanged names as well, for safety reasons, or any other details, just informations about the drop.

at 7:50pm, they were parked outside the warehouse. the chill of the desert air made the hair on her arms stand, a shiver running down her spine.

“cold?” harry asked, after he noticed her shudder. it wasn’t that cold at the moment for him, and it was probably gonna be worse once the sun was set all the way, but nonetheless he put his jacket on her shoulders, his big hands running up and down her upper arms to give her some warmth.

she smiled at the gesture, and tilted her head up, “thank you.”

he reciprocated the smile and took her hand, in the other one holding the bag containing the stolen piece of art. “of course, darling. now let’s go, wanna be back in that motel bed as soon as possible,” he cheekily remarked.

they walked hand in hand till they found the container 258, and knocked three times, as instructed. the shutter was pulled up, a man dressed in a suit, who looked to be in his forties, appearing behind it.

“welcome, you must be the sellers. please, come in.” the unknown man spoke, and she and harry made their way inside.

harry laid the bag carefully on the table, beside a briefcase, previously set down.

“thank you, sir. as per your request by email, the-”

“actually,” harry interrupted, “you didn’t speak with me. she,” he pointed to the girl beside him, who had a stony expression, “is the head of the whole operation, so if you want to explain something to someone, you can do so with her.”

this was also something they were both used to, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. if only they knew they were actually talking to the owl, they’d probably kiss the her shoes.

the deal was over in 5 minutes, the majority of which was spent with the two of them counting the money, making sure every penny was in that briefcase. after confirming so, they barely said goodbye to that sexist prick, and went back to their car.

the drive to the motel was quiet, but not uncomfortably so: harry’s right hand took place on her left thigh as usual, while her arm was stretched behind his headrest, playing mindlessly with his curls, scratching his scalp lightly.

“hey, pretty boy.” she called, a soft smile on her lips.

harry smirked at the nickname, he couldn’t help it, “yes?”

“i really love you,” she softly said, taking her hand away from his hair and moving it to stroke his cheekbone, “you know that?”

harry couldn’t help but feel his tummy warm up at her words, his cheeks getting a bit flushed. “i do know, darling, but thank you for the reminder.” he snickered, “i love you too.” he said, and took his right hand off her leg to grab her hand, planting a soft kiss to her palm, and to every knuckle.

once they finally reached the motel, harry turned off the ignition and turned to face her. his hand took a hold of her jaw, and pressed a kiss against her pouty lips. she sighed into the kiss, a thing that drove harry absolutely crazy.

“what if-” she tried to talk, but was quickly interrupted by harry kissing her again, “we go to the room to-” another kiss, “put down our things and-”, yet another kiss, “then we have a drink at the bar?” she put her hand on harry’s chest to push him a bit further, or else she wouldn’t be able to finish the sentence. “if i’m not mistaken it’s right by the reception. sounds good?”

harry nodded, and to seal his agreement he kissed her once again.

after making their way down from their room into the motel bar, they sat down at the counter, harry’s hand on her back while she climbed on the stool.

the bar was definitely empty, just a couple of old men sat in the corner of the room, a deck of cards between them.

“two old fashioned, please.” harry asked the man behind the counter.

it was a sort of a tradition, getting that drink after a deal: the first time they did a deal together, he was the one suggesting going for a drink, which she — surprisingly to him — did not turn down. once they reached the pub nearby, she ordered an old fashioned, and asked harry what he wanted, to which he answered “the same”, and it became a tradition ever since then.

“oh wait-” she said all of a sudden, which made harry turn his head towards her.

“oh i’m sorry, did you want something else?” he asked, unsure of even his question, since she had never ordered something else.

she quickly shook her head, “no no, don’t worry, i just realized i forgot my phone in our room.” she stood from the stool, “i’m gonna go get it and i’ll be right back, alright?” after she spoke, she left a lingering kiss on his cheek.

harry hummed and with a little smile, he playfully said, “be quick, i’m gonna miss you.”

she returned his smile, and opened the motel bar door, “i’m gonna miss you too, pretty boy.”

harry didn’t think any of it after ten minutes, she probably got caught up on something online, or had to answer to an email right away and couldn’t wait.

he didn’t think any of it after twenty minutes, thinking she may have had a call to make and it was taking a bit longer than usual. he settled on shooting her a message, asking if she was fine. the message was left on delivered.

but after thirty minutes, he needed to check on her. what if she was sick and he was there waiting for her at the bar like an idiot? what if there was a problem and she needed his help, even if she would most likely never admit it?

he left some banknotes on the counter, and rushed his way upstairs.

once he stood in front of the door, his blood run cold: the door was ajar.

something was wrong, very wrong.

carefully, he pushed the door, reaching for his pocket knife; once it was open, his eyes darted around the room, looking for something out of place.

the thing is, it wasn’t that something was out of place, it was that something was missing: her bag, her clothes, her laptop, herself, they were all missing. there was no trace of her, as if she had never been there.

“what-” he rushed in, the door left slightly open behind him. he hastily opened the bathroom door, checking if maybe she was there, but, alas, she was not.

“what the fuck is going on?” harry muttered to himself, so confused that he was sure that his movements weren’t even making sense. his head kept turning from side to side, trying to find something, anything to help him understand what was going on.

he was never one to panic, always been a pretty clearheaded guy in every situation he’s found himself in, but not when his girl was involved, and especially when he was totally in the dark about what had happened.

his eyes finally zeroed in on a piece of paper on the desk.

of course, of course she’d be smart and leave him some sort of trace, so he could find her and get her back.

he stumbled on his steps, his legs wobbling as if made of jelly and with frantic fingers, he opened the piece of paper, which showed just four, short words.

mors tua, vita mea.

“wh-what, no-”, he rambled, shaking his head energetically, choosing not to believe the reality that was downing on him. “no, no, it can’t-” he kept chanting, over and over, but his rambling was cut short.

in his peripherals, he saw the red and blue lights bouncing off the dirty white walls of the motel room, the sound of the police car doors closing and of the steps of the officers coming up the stairs, but the sounds were almost muted, the shock making his ears ring.

the door was pushed open, three officers coming in first, guns blazing, while the others were surely waiting all around the motel, pointing their guns at him through the windows.

“put your hands up! over your head!”

harry robotically obliged, not in control of his body anymore.

“harry styles, you’re under arrest. you have the right to remain silent, anything you say…”.

he didn’t hear the rest of the miranda rights over the sound of the faith he had in her shattering, puncturing his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

—

18 months later.

“styles, you have a visitor.”

harry’s eyes opened at the voice of the guard, the ceiling of his cell staring back at him. those were words he didn’t get to hear often, only two other times, and both times it was always a nosy journalist wanting to write a story about a pretty successful art thief. he laid still, pondering whether to go or stay in his shoe box of a cell for the rest of the day.

“styles, get up. i don’t have all day.”

harry dragged his feet along the corridor, and once he arrived to the designated room, he headed towards the seat the officer pointed. once he sat down, he grabbed the black phone receiver, and didn’t even bother looking at the person standing in front of him, his eyes closed already in annoyance.

“look, if you’re another fucking journalist, i’m not gonna say a word to you, so you wasted your time coming here and i’m asking you to leave.”

the person in front of him hesitated, as he heard a shallow breathe on the other end of the receiver.

“hi, pretty boy.”

harry’s eyes had never opened so fast, and his heart skipped a beat.

no, no, this wasn’t real, this was just his mind playing tricks on him: stupid, fucking horrible and cruel tricks.

the voice didn’t match the exterior: the person in front of him had another haircut, a whole other hair colour, the eyes — the feature he most loved about her — covered by large sunglasses.

but he knew. he knew it was her: the way her lips were set in her natural pout, the shape of her face, the freckle she had at the right corner of her bottom lip.

the way his heart was going out of his chest trying to reach for her.

he was supposed to hate her — and he did, he so did — but the way his nickname fell from her lips lit up something in him, something that no matter how much he wanted it to be dormant, it was still there.

his brain could only manage to ask her the one question that nagged at him ever since that day.

“why.”

he stared at her through the glass, green tired eyes boring into her soul. she knew it was risky, showing up at a prison under yet another false identity, but she knew she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye one last time. one real last time.

so she swallowed harshly, and opened her mouth, keeping her answers short in order not to break down.

“think about the place where you first met me, harry.” she murmured, while his stony expression was staring back at her. “i had no other choice.”

harry chuckled darkly, a grin so deranged that she felt her blood run cold. this answer of hers opened the gate to all the hatred that had been boiling in him for 18 long months.

“that’s such bullshit, and you know it. you had a choice — you fucking did — and you made it. you chose to tip-off the police, you chose to leave your name out of every document, you chose to use a fake identity with me as well, and make it impossible to track you; you chose to pack your bags and steal the car, you chose to leave me behind and letting me take the blame for it.” his voice was laced with venom. “i spent 18 fucking months in this cell, with just one question running through my mind, all day, all night, every day: why did you choose to do this to me.”

“harry, i told you, i had-”

“bullshit!” he screamed, a prominent vein on his neck, while smashing his fist against the plastic glass, over and over again. “you ruined my fucking life, and you have the gall to give me that as the reason why you did it? tell me the truth! tell me the fucking truth! you owe me at least that.”

the volume of his voice and the violence he was hitting the glass with made her stand up and hang up the receiver, scrambling to get away from him before his actions brought too much attention on her as well. three officers had to come in to stop harry from smashing down the glass and jumping on the other side of the window, and had to drag him away whilst he was still fighting with all his strength, his legs kicking and arms flailing trying to be freed, his voice repeatedly shouting just one word, over and over: why.

nine days later, harry found himself moved to a facility of a higher security rank: his violent act during the visit wasn’t an isolated episode, and basically opened the door to a side of harry that he never knew. he never knew such anger in his life.

the guard guiding him stopped in front of the nth same looking cell.

“bradford, your new roomie is here.” the guard sarcastically said, making harry want to punch his face in, but unable to do so because of the cuffs on his wrists.

the man laying in the bunk barely scoffed and glanced at harry while he was walking into his new “home”.

once the guard went away, bradford turned to harry and looked him up and down, then returned to stare at the ceiling. harry could perhaps even manage to put up with the guy, if he always kept this quiet, but he felt like at least an introduction was to be done, to be the least civil. “‘m harry, harry styles. and you are?”

his new cellmate groaned softly while standing up, putting his legs down from the bunk.

“i’m bradford, chris bradford. and i know exactly who you are.”

harry was definitely dumbfounded, “what? how do you-?”

“your case was all over the news, even inmates got to know about it. but most of all, i know you because i’ve been you.”

harry’s confusion must’ve been displayed clearly on his face, because chris just scoffed and kept on talking.

“we’ve been framed by the same person." he murmured, "and we’re gonna take her down together.”

—

the latin phrase mors tua vita mea, of medieval origin, means “your death, my life” (or: “your death (is) my life”).

beyond the dramatic tone of the literal sense, this expression is used when within a competition or in the attempt to reach a goal there can be only one winner: the saying indicates that the failure of one is an indispensable prerequisite for the success of another.

—

taglist: @a-strange-familiar @stilesissaved @harrysonlylover @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kittenhere @neverstaisfied

–

please, let me know what you think and please, please reblog! thank you so much for being here, it means the world <3 also, just a little fyi, there's no plan for a part 2!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #getaway car #harry styles x you #my writing #harry styles story #harry styles imagine

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xitadori · 1 year

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"variety is the spice of life!"

summary: your stoic coworker, kento, intimidates everyone at the office, including you. he's determined to change that, however, when your favorite coffee mug goes missing from the break room.

pairing: coworker!nanami kento x f!reader

tags: office au, coworkers to ?, budding feelings, mention of reader's mom, gojo is a menace

wc: 4k

There are a few personal rules Kento tries to abide by during the workday to keep his sanity.

Never work after hours.

Avoid Satoru Gojo whenever possible.

And last, but most importantly,

3. Coffee.

The company break room feels stale as he walks in, though it's not unusual for the cramped space. It's been untouched for the morning, the motion-activated lights flicking on with his first foot through the door. Kento revels in the quiet. There's a long day of conference calls and urgent-but-not-so-urgent email chains to scour through -- he can already feel the ache throbbing inside his skull at the thought of it all.

Sighing, Kento prepares a pot of coffee with nimble fingers. The warm brew smells heavenly as it begins to drip down into the rounded glass.

Drip, drip, drip.

Whatever benevolent spirit that cursed him into running the stupid rat race has to be smiling upon him at the moment, he's sure of it.

Gurgle, pop, drip.

"Oh, good morning, Kento," a small voice breaks the blanket surrounding the room. He knows it's you without even looking. He'll blame it on your distinct voice, but really, this is all part of a little routine he'd grown a little too reliant on over the past month or so.

Over the gurgle of the machine, Kento listens to you shelf your bag and hang your coat. "Good morning," and when he says your name, it feels a little extra soft, a little too smooth in his mouth. He clears his throat with a minuscule furrow of his brow.

You only hum in response. He's pouring the coffee into the tall silver thermos he carries like a prayer, and with his back turned to you, you allow your gaze to drift over him, a little more freely than you would any other time. Kento's broad shoulders move wonderfully under the crisp button-up. You admire the taper of his cornsilk hair, how neat every strand always sits, perfect and poised just like the man himself.

"Have a good day."

And just like that, Kento, with his sharp features, offers the tiniest smile you'd ever seen before breezing past you, that deliciously robust scent of pure black coffee following him out the door.

He left some in the pot for you, with your signature mug placed directly before the machine.

Some things were unavoidable, as unfortunate as they may be. Kento Nanami is an intelligent man, with too much on his plate and perhaps a little too much patience for his own good. But patience does not equal amusement -- especially not when it comes to a specific coworker.

"And so I said, hey, my name's not on the list, but it can be in your phone," Satoru Gojo chuckles as he tosses a crinkled ball of paper between his hands, ass wedged sturdily against Kento's desk as if it were molded there. His head of white hair stands tall and stark above the partial cubicle walls separating workers. How he never gets in trouble with their boss, Kento never knows -- it's not like he's seen Satoru do much actual work in the time they've both been with the company.

Kento sighs. "So you bothered a hostess at a restaurant you knew you didn't have a reservation at," he pauses his typing to glance at his coworker, a look of disapproval etched into his angular face, "and that's a good thing?"

Satoru rolls his eyes, blowing a raspberry casually. "I didn't bother her. It's called making a move, Nanamin. That's how you get places! You see an opening, and you go for it." He tosses the paper ball extra high and snatches it out of the air with a flourish. "You're so boring, Nanami. Can't get anywhere good if you're staying stagnant!"

"I didn't know you knew that word, Gojo."

"I know a lot of words."

Kento clenches his jaw. Idly, he grasps the thermos beside his keyboard. He stands and heads off toward the break room without another word to the lean man invading his space.

"Alright, catch ya later!" is called after him, but the words slip right off his turned back with ease.

Kento mulls over Satoru's words as his long legs guide him forward. Stagnant. Is that how one would describe him? He didn't exactly live the most exciting life at the moment. Working full time, going back home, relaxing with a book before bed, waking early, repeating it all again. It isn't glamorous by any means, but... that's just being an adult, right?

Well, maybe he could do with a little variety. His life has felt very much the same for the past handful of years, since his college days are behind him and there's less pressure to become a social creature.

Maybe Satoru was right. About this one thing. Not much else.

A couple of workers are busy chatting at a table when he enters. The room isn't what it is at 6:30 every morning -- it's more lively, with different conversations and the smells of lunches and it's all a little much to handle after listening to Satoru blabber on for twenty minutes. A few eyes fall on Kento almost immediately. His footsteps, even and direct, shout a signal even from down the hall. They all quiet themselves as he walks past toward the counters.

Your gaze lumps in with the couple already trained on his form. The air had shifted upon his arrival, falling a little more chilly, but as your eyes meet from behind his glasses, you find yourself wondering why.

Your coworkers begin to bin their meals, slowly picking up where they left off just moments before, but guiding themselves back to the call floor instead. Before long only a few stragglers, save for you and Kento, remain in the white tiled room.

The smell of coffee grounds hits you like a freight train. You sip quietly from your own steaming mug, poised in a shy manner on the far end of the counter line. It's been almost two months since your transfer to this location and you have yet to make many waves when it comes to your colleagues. It doesn't necessarily bother you -- you're not here to make friends anyways -- but the utter clique-iness of these adults does irk your somewhat delicate nerves. Maybe that's why you watch Kento, or, rather, the reaction Kento elicits, with such curiosity.

"Good afternoon," he greets you by name, clearing his throat, and you feel yourself jump the slightest bit. Had he noticed you looking at him? Were you staring?

You nod softly in his direction at your side and take another sip from your mug. "Afternoon, Kento."

He unscrews the cap for his thermos, looking rigid as he stares down into the cylinder. Boring. Stagnant. Kento allows himself to take in your form from his peripheral. You're leaned against the counter, much like Satoru against his desk earlier, but you look... withdrawn, almost lost in your own thoughts. He hasn't seen you interact much with any of your coworkers. Though, he can't decide if you're naturally more reserved, or if there's simply less animated energy when he enters a room in this building.

"How are you liking the new office?" he asks suddenly, surprising the both of you.

It takes you a moment to formulate words. This has already gone off script for your usual limited banter. Was he just being polite? Were you making him feel awkward? Below you, your feet shuffle a bit. "It's decent. Kind of quiet in my corner, which I appreciate."

A tiny smile grows on his face, though neither of you are directly looking at each other. "That's great, I'm glad to hear that." The coffee machine spits out the last few drops and he hastily refills his thermos, leaving enough for you to refill if you needed. "Take care," he says, and with that, returns to his desk before much else could take shape.

Baby steps. At least you didn't shuffle away as soon as he attempted that hackneyed bit of small talk. Kento sighs, though, running a hand over his tired face.

Maybe a little change might do some good in his life.

It seems the universe hates Kento Nanami, moreso than usual. His fingernail taps impatiently against the desk, tick, tick, tick, and it's as if every word that crawls into his ear simply falls out the other side, refusing to stick anywhere useful.

7:42.

He should be pulling into his driveway by now. He should be, by all accounts, stripping down to lounge clothes and settling in for a nice quiet meal. He should be listening to the client sneering his ear off, too, but it seems none of these things are going to happen tonight, for better or worse.

Eventually, the client falls off track and loses steam, bidding Kento goodbye and leaving him alone with a shrill dial tone and a pretty screensaver to stare at while his brain catches up.

What a waste of time. What a horrible way to break one of his cardinal office rules.

Kento sighs, gathering his things. The call floor is completely dead. Computers lay blank, chairs lay empty, and the only sounds surrounding him are that of his own shuffling and, presumably, the janitorial staff starting down the hall. He just wants to get home. The next two days off are almost taunting him as he glides toward the elevator, irritation bouncing him from foot to foot.

"Oh, fuck it all."

He stops.

"This is so ridiculous."

He listens.

"I can't believe... just... c'mon!"

He sighs. He knows that voice, drifting into the slightly darker hall, from a very bright break room. Suddenly, the call of his couch seems a little less important than it had a few moments ago. Kento peeks his head through the open door.

You're sitting on the tile, head in your hands and shoulders slumped in defeat. Every single cabinet lays wide open, their contents pulled out and piled onto countertops and tables and even the floor, surrounding you in a sea of sugar packets and disposable cutlery. If he didn't know better, he'd say a cafe style bomb had gone off.

When he says your name, it drips with cautious concern.

"Oh!" You jump, throwing a frazzled look over your shoulder. Everything feels thick and staticky the instant your gazes lock together. A warm rush of embarrassment pools under your skin, replacing the icy drip of anxiety from just seconds prior. The juxtaposition leaves you feeling prickly.

Kento is quiet for a moment. His eyes scan over the scene behind his glasses. "Is everything alright?" he asks.

No, you want to admit, but instead, you smile and shuffle to your feet as gracefully as you can manage. "Yeah, I'm just-- just looking for something." Your hands shake just the tiniest bit as you work to put everything back in its rightful place. Containers click against each other as they're hastily stacked and shelved. In the blur of embarrassment, you don't notice the man come closer until his shoulder bag is placed on the table, next to his thermos.

"Did you misplace something? I can help you look." His presence behind you feels strong, some stoic aura hard against your back, despite how kind his words come out.

"It's silly. Don't worry about it, Kento." You sigh. "I'll clean this up, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make a mess."

Large, veiny hands are already working to put everything away at your side, starting with the higher cupboards above your heads. He doesn't say much else until you're both finished and the disaster of a room goes back to the boring, stagnant state you meet in every morning. By the end, the tremble has died down, but there's still a strange sense of humiliation melded with a little self-pity heavy in your chest. "Thank you. You didn't have to help, you're already here late," you thread your arms through coat sleeves and watch him duck his head under his bag strap.

"It was no issue, you seemed upset. I'm sorry you've lost something. Maybe it'll turn up soon."

This is the most you've heard his voice in one day. It's smooth, like marble, working against the jagged edges of your mood.

"Yeah, maybe." you reply softly.

Kento glances at the dark hallway while you finish gathering your things. He hopes he's not coming off as impatient. Truthfully, finding you like this was a surprise, but some part of him felt... useful, to assist you like that, even if he didn't know what in the hell you were searching so hard for. Something told him not to press it. "Can I walk you to your car?" he asks suddenly. Gripping your bag, you blink up at him. Of course, you've seen him, you know what he looks like -- yet somehow, now, he seems different. There's a softness around his eyes, around his mouth as he speaks. "It's gotten dark. I'd feel much better knowing you got to your car safely."

"That's very kind. Thank you, Kento."

"Of course. Whenever you're ready."

True to his word, the parking lot is caked in darkness when you both wander outside of the officeplex. Tall overhead lights spit out cones of harsh light over the pavement. It's a strange familiarity to the early mornings he arrives, when the sky is still dim and the birds are still waking themselves. Kento scans the lot for whichever vehicle might belong to you out of the very few that remain.

"It's this one, there," you say quietly, leading him off to the side and several lanes away.

He dutifully follows and stops just before the sidewalk dips down into the inky blacktop. Suddenly, something strikes him, a memory breaking into his thoughts like a desperate raccoon. "What is it that was lost?" Kento asks, his voice a tad louder than he intended with the both of you so isolated. Your hand pauses it's grip on the door handle and you're caught staring up at him like a deer in headlights.

"My mug." you admit. "My mom gave it to me."

He closes his mouth into a thin line. It must mean a lot to you, with the way you were acting. He hums and nods once stiffly. "Drive safely. Have a good weekend," Kento says, somewhat awkwardly, before turning to head to his own car a row behind yours.

Even in the darkness, you watch him go. "Thanks again, Kento. Goodnight."

He looks at you once more, paused at his driver's side door. "Goodnight."

So, maybe bending his own rules is okay, on occasion. Sure, he's at work even earlier than normal, and on a Monday no less, but he's not actually working, so it doesn't really count.

Kento walks briskly down the flat, dotted carpet of the call floor. He scans over desks as he passes, noting only anecdotally how messy some of his coworkers are, and sighs to himself. What is he doing? Looking for a silly little homemade mug at 5 am?

Maybe Satoru infected him with something, being so close the week before.

Light begins to pool across the floor, bleeding in from long windows spanning the far wall. He's already searched their particular hall a few times to no avail. Kento doesn't necessarily want to dig through people's work stations without proper suspicion, but at this point, even he's become a little bothered by the utter disappearance. It's not special to him like it seems to be to you -- but it couldn't simply have gotten up and walked away. What if someone broke it and threw it away without saying anything? You'd be devastated, if your stressed expression had anything to say last Friday.

Kento grumbles to himself at the end of the final pass. No white mug with scribbled little hearts.

On the way to the break room, he considers buying you a replacement. Would that be strange? Would you appreciate the idea, or think him dismissive for it?

The blonde is too caught in his thoughts to notice someone tailing him.

"Hey-- Hey! Damn, you walk fast."

Kento's blood runs cold as soon as a hand grasps onto his forearm. A cheshire grin greets him as soon as he whips himself around and claims his arm as his own again. Satoru, looking like the cat that caught the canary, beams a pearly smile, ever unaffected by Kento's disinterest in him. The confidence radiating from this man is irritating so early in the morning.

"Why are you here so early?" Kento asks flatly, not stopping his stride. Satoru jogs just a little to match his pace.

"I could ask you the same thing! You should use this time more wisely, like hitting the gym or something, not stalking around looking through people's stuff!" The sly man tips a brow. "Never took you as the nosy one between us, Nanamin."

Kento clenches his jaw and turns a corner. "I'm not being nosy. I'm looking for something that's been lost."

At this, Satoru makes a sound similar to a raowing cat, strangely amused. Kento internally groans. He's up to something.

"Did she ask you to look, or are you looking on your own?"

He stops. Satoru stops a few steps ahead.

"What?"

The white haired man smiles, mischief alight in his eerily blue eyes. He says your name so casually, as if you're a daily topic of discussion, before continuing, "you don't talk to anybody else here, besides her and I. I'll never catch you dead at a nightclub or anywhere else fun, so, hey! I gave you an opening."

Anger bubbles up in Kento's throat. If he had seen how close to tears you were a few nights ago, he wouldn't be smiling so smugly right now. And if Kento didn't want to deal with the nightmare that would be HR, he would throttle his little frenemy, looking all too pleased with himself. Instead of saying what he really wanted, Kento grumbles stiffly instead.

"Where is it?"

"In my bag--"

"Give it to me."

"Woah now, eager, aren't we? So I was right? You do like her!"

Kento pinches his bridge. How juvenile. How... strange, someone as self-centered as Satoru noticed the minuscule interactions between you both. "It was wrong of you to take it, especially for such a stupid reason. She was really upset about it. Give it to me before you break it."

Satoru mumbles something about being right under his breath before producing the ceramic like a delicate crown in his hands.

Kento takes it and continues his trek, his throat feeling a little tighter than before. He runs his gaze over the mug. It could do with a thorough cleaning after being in Satoru's possession for a few days. Down the hall where he left him, Satoru yelps out, "variety is the spice of life!" as if he's supposed to know what he means by it.

That morning, you don't join him in the break room. Kento stares into his thermos. Your bag isn't where it usually sits, and your designated hook on the wall lays empty. Did you even come in today? He feels his chest squeeze. Maybe this meant more to you than he could realize. Next to the gurgling machine, your mug lays in shining condition, the messy cursive now legible after he spent so long running nimble fingers over the glazed surface. Your name, with a hasty little good luck! tacked on underneath, surrounded by hearts.

Kento leaves the break room with both of his hands full.

A fireworks display stares at you in the form of a generic screensaver. You've been on the clock for a good while, yet, your keyboard sits cold. How silly, being so upset over something like this, at your age. Moving away to the big city, taking a leap with your career, but leaving your family behind... it's just part of being an adult, right? An uncomfortable itchy lump catches in your throat that you try to swallow away. You need some water. You need something.

"Good morning," at the sound of your name, the first thought is that you're being scolded for simply sitting on the clock -- but then it hits you, who exactly that voice belongs to. Over your shoulder, you turn to see familiar blonde hair, and those broad shoulders from before. Kento stands straight as a board. He's looking down at your bag, propped against the desk leg. He clears his throat.

"I wasn't sure how you take your coffee, so I put a little cream and sugar. I hope it tastes alright."

You find yourself gaping, a fish out of water. A hurricane lets loose in your stomach at the sight of his outstretched arm, offering you a shining gem. Steam rises easily out of the white ceramic. The smell is heavenly and you're not sure if it's from the coffee alone anymore.

"How did you..." you start, but shut yourself off before your voice can waver any more. You take the mug with care and caution and stare into the creamy tan liquid like a kid on Christmas. Kento watches your face morph from apathy to wonder as you take in the situation. You don't even take a sip, but place it on your desk and stare at it for a moment in silence.

"If you don't like it, I can make more." he says, the usual smooth tone escaping him in favor of something akin to nervousness. Maybe what he thought would be a kind favor came across as something... creepy? His jaw works against itself as he considers an exit route.

"Kento, this is... thank you so much." The chair beneath you creaks with how fast you stand and tuck yourself into his torso -- your arms wrap around him, your face smooshes unceremoniously against his firm chest. The force of your hug is enough to make you both loose footing in surprise.

Kento's body completely ignites at once. From head to toe, he's burning up, an unfamiliar swirl and flutter dancing under every inch of skin. "I know it seems silly, but... this means a lot to me. Thank you so much. You're so kind." you mutter into his shirt.

Slow to the catch, Kento lays his unoccupied hand over your back. By the way you fist the cotton between you both, he can tell you needed this -- at least, something like this, some sort of emotional relief. The turmoil wreaking havoc in his stomach pushes him to rub small circles where he dares to hold you further against him. "Of course," he clears his throat and dares to glance around, wondering if anyone had noticed, "I didn't like how upset you were. I... found it, this morning."

You peel yourself away, only partially, to look up at his face that now has a healthy glow to it. "Sorry," and you break yourself away, despite how warm he feels in your personal bubble, "that was kind of uncalled for."

"It's alright, I don't mind."

He smiles. More than the microexpressions you've previously been gifted with under the guise of general manners, his smile feels purposeful and genuine as it stretches across his angular face. And you smile back.

"Would you mind walking me to my car again tonight?"

Kento clears his throat in an attempt to kill these strange insects tickling his chest.

"It would be my pleasure."

Against the quiet monotony of the call floor, a pair of ocean eyes watches you with far too much interest. The owner leans himself against one of the cubicle walls, resting his cheek against folded hands, and utters an almost dreamy sigh. "They grow up so fast." Satoru fake sniffles.

#kento;#nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 2 years

Text

I just realized what crisp rat's Mario voice reminded me of. He has the same energy as Owen Wilson in one particular scene in Cars; Lightning McQueen is forced to make a personal appearance at his sponsor's tent full of rusty cars, and he viscerally doesn't want to be there so he phones it in, clearly reading from a prompter just to get it over with.

"Remember folks, with a little bit of [SPONSOR'S NAME HERE], You too can look like Me. Next slide. Kachow™ [WINK AT CROWD]. Where's my trailer?"

"Mushroom kingdom, here. we. come."

The exact same dull intonation, but Owen Wilson did it on purpose because the scene required his character to sound bored, and crisp rat just didn't care.

#mario movie #super mario bros #crisp rat #cars #cars 2006 #lightning mcqueen #phoning it in #bored #boredom #mario trailer #super mario trailer

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cerastes · 6 months

Note

What the fuck is blue archive if you know. I got 3 friends trying to pull me into it. Game looks pretty but not a fan of it being literally schoolgirls.

If you're not a fan of that then you're really not going to like it, yeah.

I played it a few months as a side game, for reference:

It's an autobattler that's nnnnnot really fun or good in terms of gameplay and I'd say it's boring, to be frank. However, the main draw of Blue Archive is not its gameplay, it is in fact everything surrounding it, it's got production values up the wazoo, including stellar music, great graphics, excellent animations, crisp and smooth effects, and overall it's a truly gorgeous package and wrapping. Basically, BA doesn't really care about having gameplay worth talking about and instead focuses on everything else presentation-wise and when it comes to its cutscenes, bond cutscenes, Live2D animations for characters, and all that. I'm told that it has a solid plot but I've also been told gullible is written on the ceiling so I'm just relaying that info but I'm not putting my name behind it. From what I played, I can tell you it had fun writing in a wacky way (I still hold Aru and Problem Solver dear, they are Team Rocket, basically), but that's the extent of my praise for (and my knowledge of) its writing.

It is unapologetically catastrophically horny for school girls so if that's a no-no for you, then that's THE no-no for you and you should not even consider it, yeah. You'll hear "um there's teachers too", which is true in the same way that the cheap delicious sandwich you ate at that joint last week was totally not rat meat because it had 2% ground beef in the patty.

So if you're looking for a game with great presentation, worth a look, if you want a game with fun gameplay, ActRaiser for the SNES is right there and it's very easy to emulate, you can play as an angel in that one and it's real fun and ambitious for its time, also it's got a real Castlevania-ass vibe going on with its music, and if you want a game in which you don't go googoogaga over schoolgirls, then you already stopped reading a few paragraphs ago, because, again, BA's absolutely not the game for you, so I'll take the chance to say that maybe look for a guide for ActRaiser before starting for the builder sections but JUST to see what things do, try to figure things out yourself from there on, trust me, it's a fun game. Super Castlevania IV is also good tbh you could try that one too, it's challenging but REAL solid. Listen to ActRaiser Stage 1.

youtube

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salsflore · 7 months

Text

sat quietly to the side of the makeshift archery arena, mika watches intently as childe lands what was probably his fifth or sixth bullseye.

they’d been at it for about half an hour or so, and while she enjoyed the crisp, cooling breeze — she was beginning to get bored of merely watching him from a distance which, though it went unvoiced, became evident in her yawns and stretches.

childe takes notice of this, of course, and stops for a quick breather, setting the bow aside before going over to her. “you okay?” he asks, with a sheepish smile, reaching to pat her head. “i feel bad, making you sit here to do nothing. why don’t you join me?”

“err,” she hesitates but ultimately refuses, shaking her head to save herself the very much likely embarrassment, “nah — it’s fine, i’d probably be like, super bad at it anyways.”

“just a few rounds, please?” he’s intent on convincing her, and she loathed the idea of disappointing him, so its not like it took him much for her to sigh and say ‘okay, fine..’

his pitiful expression turns into one of excitement as he takes her by the arms and pulls her up and along to the practice area, just a few steps away. “it’ll be fun! trust me. and who knows.. you might even be a much better archer than i am!”

he lets go of her to pick his bow up, handing it to her. it was a sleek silver with gradient blue accents that almost appeared to glow; pristine, unusual in its design, and also much heavier than she expected.

thankfully though, its not enough for her to struggle with. mika positions herself on the spot he’d designated for himself, using a little flower on the ground. “n - now how do i do this..?”

“like this.” he takes a moment to help her out, minimally adjusting her stance and nocking the arrow for her. “there you go!”

feeling both nervous and excited, she readies herself for that perfect bullseye she was secretly hoping for. a little unrealistic, given it was her very first time – but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t hoping a little.

though it was a bit difficult, she manages to pull the bowstring back, launching the arrow and watching in anticipation as it... flies right over the target.

oh.

her first instinct is to just crumple up into a ball on the ground, but she’s left standing there instead, immediately and absolutely dying from her unnecessarily exaggerated embarrassment.

she looks over at childe, who’s trying his absolute hardest to hold back a laugh [ not like he found her failure funny, more so her reaction ] upon noticing her visibly flustered expression as she begins to fret, stammering an apology, which he interrupts.

“it’s fine, it’s fine, i promise! it was your first time – so just, just calm down a little, okay?” he lets a small laugh slip, and takes a step behind her. “i’ll help you.”

now he’s closed whatever little distance they had between them, and it’s getting harder for her to maintain focus. its not like this was the first time, yet...

“like this.” a new arrow is nocked once more and, instead of simply guiding her this time, childe places his gloved hands over hers to correct her stance where necessary. “then... you let go.”

bulls— err, well, nevermind.. but at least with his guidance, the arrow was able to actually hit the target this time, instead of just avoiding it completely.

“close enough..” mika remarks, and sighs, lowering the bow once he lets go of her. “ah, whatever! i give up. here,” she offers it back to him, and he takes it.

“you give up too easily, and that won’t do ～ how about this: if you get a single bullseye, i’ll reward you with a kiss?” he teases, hoping for a reaction..

but she ends up directly rejecting him instead, shaking her head with a huff. “no way. that’s even more of a reason for me not to do it — i’d really rather just watch you.”

“but isn’t that way more boring?”

“well, i mean, you’re pretty good at it, so–”

“pause. is that a compliment i’m hearing?” he sets the bow down, “huh! i never thought i’d live to see the day.”

“would you rather i lie to you, or..?”

“c’mon, don’t be like that. i’m just saying, its rare of you to be so nice to me.” childe jokes, and throws his arms around her. she resists, to no avail. “makes it all the more sweeter to hear.”

“...you’re welcome, i guess.” she mutters, awkwardly hugging him back. not like she wanted to or anything, it’d just be rude if she didn’t, right? [ or at least, that’s what she tells herself. ]

“am i skilled enough for it to warrant a kiss, too?” there’s hope in his voice, though he already knew her answer. mika’d always been pretty predictable in that regard.

“maybe.” she says, but he manages to sneak a kiss off of her anyways. she whines in annoyance, but doesn’t do anything to stop him when he leans in for another, either.

he taps his foot, “i’m expecting more later, by the way.. like, a little reward for everytime i land a bullseye.”

“i hope you miss terribly, then.”

childe squeezes her. “how mean,” he lets go of her and picks the bow back up. “but its more satisfying this way, to prove you wrong.”

“so... be sure to watch me closely, ‘kay?”

TAGLIST ✧ @moonlitdeerr @byakuyasdarling @lovinglin @violetsareblue-selfships @gorouwife @pretty-shining-star @lost-in-azalea-forest @littlestpetship @yumelamb @pudding-shrine @sxaras @mellys-insectarium @ghostictreat

#i didnt write this in one shot but it was all late at night when i was half asleep and everything i said was barely coherent probably #this was just a thingyy but it became a bit longer than i expected hashtag whatever #﹒﹒self indulgent writings #⠀monoceros caeli ✦ 21.11⠀

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mmollymercury · 2 years

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TAG GAMEEEEE!

Thank you @glitternightingale!

Favourite time of the year: My go to answer is autumn. I kinda hate summer because I hate the sun and heat but I like not having as much rain. I sit outside a lot but during this time I usually wait till it's late so its colder out. During autumn, the temperature is just right, the sun isn't intense and the breeze is perfect UURRR🤌

Comfort food: I love salty things, so probably regular salted crisps (potato chips if you're not Britishhhh😵😵😵) but I also really love white chocolate- but not as much as crisps, I swallow too many of those fuckers, its a problem. Plus, I just don't like to eat a lot of sweet stuff all at once. Salt all the wayyy🥵🥵🥵

Do you collect something: I go in and out of phases of wanting to collect stuff, like boxed, old ass bratz dolls that I remember from childhood... but I never do end up doing it. I'd have to say Roger Rabbit collectibles, since he's the most merch I've got of one character, also idk if clothes count as collectibles but I've got one Roger shirt and one Roger jumper, which is honestly my claim to fame, they're both vintage and so rare to find. I really want to get a bunch of encanto merch tho, so thats probably next.

Favourite drink: I'm very boring, apple juice and raspberry flavoured water😳😳😳

Current favourite song: I love music so much, it's hard to pick, so I'll just say the one that's been stuck in my head most recently: Sunny Side Up Summer - The Bob's Burgers Movie🍔💖

Favourite song: God! Idk!!! Who could honestly pick??😭😭😭 heres my personal jam playlist:

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLyNzoGJKjdrN5pJOop2M8OZJuqPJn21pP

all these songs are beautiful💞💞

Tag 9 people you want to get to know better:

AAHHH I don't really know many ppl,,,, so most of these are just gonna be regulars i see liking my stuff, which I really appreciate!! Thank you so much 😭😭🥰🥰💞Some are that and also ppl I've had nice convos with xx

@pinwheelwhirl @ro-bun @omgcheez @usedtobeguest123 @immabethehero @breannaaiedail @oncexinxmyxdreams @rats-and-chamelons @sardonyxmadrigal (who i have a soft spot for, simply because my tumblr username used to be sardonyx related too! And I know we're talking abt the same sardonyx!! 😭😭💖)

#tag game #get to know me #teeheeeeee

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mar64ds · 5 months

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HELLO FRIEND WHAT IS UR OPINION ON CRISP RAT VOICING GARFIELD (i love the comics and old movies sm theyre my childhood, im kinda worried ab how the movie's gonna turn out and if it's just gonna be ab his relationship with his random dad, i hope it's good and we see Jon and Odie a lot!!)

it's bad, it's like the only thing i don't like about that trailer, i hate chris pratt and his voice is so boring and doesn't fit garfield at all. it's another mario movie situation where i'm very excited for the movie but i wish he wasn't there

i saw leaks a while ago so i knew the movie was going to be about his dad and was curious about this plot. Odie seems like he is going to be really present in the movie since he joins garfield and his dad in their journey, and john seems like he will be important for the emotional core of the movie. I like what i've seen so far!

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chitrolls · 1 year

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I have no idea how to format this. Putting it into a post instead of an ask felt like the right thing because this turned out way longer than I thought it would. Thank you, @spectrology for the ask! I look forward to answering all the rest. This is really helping me knock some dust off. :)

CONTENT WARNINGS: Nightmares, mention of children in extreme poverty, immolation, and implied canon-compliant body horror that comes from being shoved in a helm, but nothing gory or detailed; just mention of the fear of it.

Running Delphi Electronics was a daymare in the early nights. It didn’t take long for word to get around that there’s a legitimate clairvoyant living around the Stacks and not another one of those boring psychics that flipped some cards and told people to think inwards. Things got so busy that you, Almaaz, and Lovelace (still only going by Rhiana at the time) went down to the old space docks to steal a bench. With things getting so busy, a bench was the only thing between you, your employees, your customers, and a fire code violation. One of the downsides of a combination psychic-electronics repair shop.

Now that you’ve long wizened up and keep your readings on an appointment-only basis, the bench doesn’t get the same traffic it used to. Sometimes the girls and Eli meet out there for their lunch. Or maybe you condemn Tyckho to the bench to keep him from ragequitting when he’s got to clean a spectacularly disgusting PC casing. Even you like to stretch out your long legs and have a quick smoke of herbs and dry mind honey when you feel like you’ve got enough privacy.

Tonight, you’ve got some gutter rat from Grub Town stuffing their face with a couple grilled cheeses. There’s no doubt Amoura is to blame for this. A Glossolalia lifer herself, she grew up in Grub Town until you took her in and gave her a job selling trinkets and oddities at your shop. Seeing scrawny wrigglers running around always gets her upset. Not being able to take it anymore, she put a bunch of sandwich shit in the break room fridge and bought a sandwich press. Kids quite literally started crawling up out of the sewers. It wouldn’t be so bad if they, at the very least, weren’t so sneaky about it.

Your loiterer stares up at you with this massive pair of gray eyes that say they aren’t afraid of you. Even as you take a seat on the far end of the bench, they continue to enjoy their sandwiches. You kind of recognize them through the grime and melted cheese. They know you aren’t a threat, but kids around here know they have to put on some kind of a tough front to keep the city’s adults from squishing them underfoot.

When they do start to ease up a bit, they open their little mouth.

“How do you know when, like. Your dream is a vision and not a dream?”

The streets have been talking about Delphi Vitale and speculating about how his amazing clairvoyant abilities work for sweeps. There’s also the crisp, laminated print affixed to the shop’s window detailing some of the services you provide. In-depth dream visions are one of them. You have to give the kid this stupidly animated shrug in response. It’s the only way to genuinely convey what you’re feeling with your face hidden beneath a heavy hood, some gaudy sunglasses, and a smog mask.

“You kinda just get a feelin’ for it, kid.”

What you’re not going to do right here and now is trauma dump on someone you don’t even know; especially when that someone is a kid trying to suck crumbs and the memory of cheese from beneath their fingernails. Still, you can’t help but wonder how well this kid sleeps during the day.

Growing up, you were a fitful sleeper. You were kept up all hours of the day by this terrifying daymare of a man on fire. You were half this kid’s age, maybe even younger, when the daymares began. Up until that point, you had most of your visions while you were awake with the occasional prediction shoved in some background scene of your rare “normal” dreams. You can admit to yourself that you still find the image of that man scary. Or maybe it was his presence that kept you unnerved.

In the early days of your burning man dreams, he’d be standing right at the side of your pool of sopor slime. You’d try to force yourself awake, but that just made things worse. It made his looming feel all the more heavy and even with your eyes just cracked open, you still saw him there and you always knew it was him by the sight and the smell of his burning flesh and his Empire-issue helmsman uniform.

As you got older, you learned ways to manipulate your dreams. It wasn’t much, but figured out how to fling yourself out of your body and watch your dreams like a fly on the wall. He still loomed over your body as you slept. Your dreams only changed to suit whatever in your life was different as you aged or moved hives. The closer you inched towards young adulthood, it was like the man knew you were not in your body anymore, so he started screaming for your attention.

By this time, you had surrendered yourself to the Empire to join the helmsman program. You felt there was no other way for you to survive with your chrome and, besides, you were doing pretty well for yourself despite it all. You didn’t have to deal with your sleeping daymares and waking ones that came with needing to live under the radar to survive. This new lifestyle also provided you with a small solution that kept you running for nights without needing sleep: charging stations. You’d just plug in for a while and last a couple nights on electrical currents running through your ports and brain without needing so much as a wink.

There were PSAs about running on charging stations for too long, of course, but you were fine. You figured out a system. You’d get at least one good day of sleep after several without and you were peachy. Really, you weren’t. Sometimes you’d get a bad discharge running through your ports that made you jerk and jolt about when the worst of them hit. Once you had a series of them that couldn’t have been more than half a minute, but there he was, just outside the edge of your vision. His screams became resigned sobs.

Maybe that’s why you were so off the night you were finally able to carry out your big assignment. The program wanted you hooked into some newfangled experimental ship built for navigating the more dangerous parts of deep space. A clairvoyant in the column meant they crew could more effectively navigate without getting torn up by microplanet sized space debris or sucked into a dying star.

You tell yourself things went south that night for a number of reasons. One of them being that your discharge was worse than usual. Shit, you were also pretty damn scared of being plugged into a ship for unknown stretches of time without someone around that’ll say it’s time to be dismissed for the night so you could rest your ports and get all your psionic energy back up. You didn’t want to wither away until your body let go of your extremities and eyes and senses to preserve and feed the part of you the Empire found useful.

Unfortunately, it was too late to worry about any of that. Too late to say you don’t want to be in this program. Too late to beg for a different assignment, something planetside where you could use your abilities to predict rebel activities. Too late to do anything about the sparks your ports sent up through the helms column that made an impressively long wick out of your ponytail. And it was way too damn late for you to finally be realizing why you spent your entire life haunted by daymares of a man on fire screaming for his life.

“Yeah… You get a feelin’ for it.”

#chi writes #i know this is a word salad; i'm rusty so don't bully me #this is how a hemorebel is born #what happens next may surprise you #ptolem drabbles #ptolem valens #delphi vitale #idk how to tag this so i'm playing it safe for my own finding

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