#hoping to make it out to organize next year's shoot as well!
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Many of you know that I had the honor of organizing the Owl House photoshoot at DragonCon this year. It was a fantastic experience -- we had easily over a hundred people show up dressed as a whole array of different characters from the show, and everyone was absolutely lovely.
I never got around to sharing our official pictures, so here's a selection of some of my favorite pictures from the photoshoot (and stay tuned for some other silly ones that felt worth posting on their own)
This was absolutely one of the highlights of my 2022; I love this show and so many of its fans so much, and I'm looking forward to organizing more things like this in the coming year!
(Pictures courtesy of Photography by Anne Fry. I was the Hunter leading things; if you're also in some of these photos I'd love for folks to point themselves out!)
#the owl house#toh#dragoncon#dragoncon2022#dragoncon 2022#genuinely; this has been an extremely rough year for me and this was such a wonderful and important bright spot#hoping to make it out to organize next year's shoot as well!#f: us weirdos have to stick together
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okay i don’t know if u still talk about this series but i LOVED harry & bels story it was so beautifully written that i stopped writing my dissertation to finish it today!!! how do u they bel & h would be in 2024?? 🫶🏻🫶🏻
sweet angel! thank you so much for reading 💜 hope the dissertation is going well. I loved writing for harry and bel so here is an update for you.
word count: 1,383
love on tour
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Y/N loved weddings.
She loved the joy it brought the couple and everyone in their life. She loved seeing pieces of the couple scattered around as she tried her best to piece their story together. Y/N loved the cake, the food, and the open bar, where she loved to drink as many Shirley Temples as she liked until she gave herself a toothache. There was so much love in the air that Y/N always wanted to step back to see how happy everyone was to be there. The dance floor is where Y/N liked to be most of the night dancing from partner to partner.
The wedding of Naomi Hart and Sarai Barrera is something Y/N had waited ages for after the engagement last year when on vacation in Italy with Y/N and Harry. It was a week-long celebration for her best friends, seeing as Y/N and Harry didn’t see them after the organized engagement party at Harry’s home, where their family gathered.
While the ceremony today had been beautiful, Y/N could not stop crying. She delivered her speech and said everything correctly with no tear in sight, but after she pronounced them married, Naomi and Sarai shared a beautiful kiss, and the waterworks began. Harry pulled her to the side, squeezing her tight as she let her tears drip down her face, knowing she’d steal a moment to fix her makeup, although she knew it wouldn’t budge. Ailany, her makeup artist and close friend, promised a bucket of water would not move her makeup.
Y/N was finally done with pictures and ready for a cold beverage. Still, because brides were busy, she was given a list of miscellaneous tasks that Y/N happily passed on to Naomi’s brother, who was excited to have something to do running away from any more photos. Y/N and Harry grabbed photos together. She knew they would be going up around their house in London. Harry had plastered his favorite pictures of them, from one hanging in the kitchen to a few scattered in the hallway next to the art pieces both had acquired through the years. Three were placed on the mantle, and each had their respective picture on the nightstand at the side of their bed. Their love is scattered throughout the house, easily seen by anyone who visits them.
She was running away from the large greenhouse and into the venue before someone could stop her. Y/N would also be keeping an eye out for her boyfriend. She needed a kiss to make it through the next hour. As Y/N turned the corner, she almost bumped into someone, but she quickly stepped away, noting the person had drinks in their hand. The familiar vanilla smell filled the air around her, and Y/N instantly settled.
Harry.
She had found Harry.
“Bel, you alright?”
Y/N nods, “Need a drink.”
Harry grins at her, raising one of the glasses in his hand. “Fancy a water?”
Y/N shoots him a bright smile. “Did you know I love you, Harry Styles? Because I do. So much.”
His cheeks turn pink, “it doesn’t hurt to hear from time to time, my love.”
She takes a long drink of water, sighing in relief. They happened to get married on the hottest day in California. Winter was like no other here, but today felt like the start of Spring. Harry slipped his hand into Y/N’s and began to walk with her. Y/N didn’t question where he was taking her. She was happy to steal a moment away with him.
Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, the comfort of being with her person enough to soothe her.
Harry had led them to a dead-end that faced the ocean, the windows long and tall, allowing her to view every inch of the outside. He carefully helped her sit on the bench to smooth her dress.
“Alright, amor?”
“Perfect.”
They settled close to each other, Harry resting his hand on Y/N’s lap as she once again leaned her head on his shoulder. It’s a beautiful day, and Harry can’t help but think that one day, it will be Y/N’s and his turn to marry. They both want it, and he has the perfect ring for when the time is right.
“Back to filming soon?”
Y/N sighs, “Let’s not, estrella.”
“You’re going to leave me.”
Harry knows she loves her job, but after the time they’ve spent at home together, he selfishly wants her to stay with him as he enjoys his break and begins the process for his next album.
“I love you, Harry. You promised to come with me for a week or so.”
He had agreed. Of course, he would be going, but there was something special about simply being Harry and Y/N inside the comfort of their home.
“I will. You have the last of the award season soon.”
Y/N frowns, “I was invited, but my films are releasing this year since everything was pushed back.”
“But Lily Gladstone, my love.”
Y/N laughed. “She’s going to win. We’ll send her a bouquet of flowers.”
“I will be attending the Brits,” Harry reminds her.
“Will I be your date?”
“If you’re free?” He teases, knowing very well she has this date saved in her schedule.
“Dork.”
The silence floats around them, and Y/N knows they must head back soon but makes no move to stand up. Instead enjoys the quiet of being with Harry.
“Y/N?” Harry voiced after five minutes.
“Hmm…”
“What do you picture your future like in a few years?”
She detects the tremble in his voice and moves her body to face him. Her hands snaked up his suit, and her fingers briefly played with the lace collar before settling on his cheeks. Y/N loves Harry. He’s never afraid to speak his mind, but sometimes he even overwhelms himself.
“Well,” she starts. “Our future is us living in London. It’s a place we love, and I don’t picture us living elsewhere unless you magically convince me to live in Italy, which I would never oppose. We’ll have two dogs because you promised we’d get one this year,” she reminds him.
“We’ll make it happen,” he promises.
“In a few years, I hope we’ll be married. You’ll be touring, and I’ll be your groupie, having quit acting.”
“Y/N,” he deadpans.
“Kidding,” Y/N giggles. “I hope to have directed a few films, one I love with a cast and crew who support me every single step of the way. I want to continue to create a safe environment and continue to pave a path for Latinas. But mostly, I hope we’re happy. We continue to encourage our dreams and hold each other’s hand when things get tough. I hope to love you for as long as I breathe. How does that sound?”
Harry’s eyes shine with tears. He gives her a single nod. “It’s perfect. Everything I want.”
He closes the gap, needing to kiss Y/N. Needing to express that he wants everything she stated. He feels the world pause around them, and he knows at this moment there is no one else in the world who could ever come close to making him feel as loved and cared for as Y/N makes him. Soulmate is a big word, but he knows it’s the one for them deep down.
Y/N giggles against his lips, “You love me?”
“Te amo,” he responds.
“I love you.” That is Y/N’s answer.
Harry pulls her in for another kiss, full of passion and familiarity. So much is being said at the moment, and Y/N knows they won’t ever forget it.
Y/N loved Harry. She knew he was her person. The person she was meant to spend the rest of her life with knew he felt the same.
2024 so far had brought them lots of joy, and with Harry’s birthday coming up, she knew it would only get better. Ultimately, Y/N had no idea what 2024 had in store for them, but as long as she kept loving Harry and he loved her, she knew everything would be alright.
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles fluff#harry styles x y/n#harry and bel#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles series#harry styles fic rec
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I'd prefer if we never got to see the origin of Vault Boy and Vault Tec's branding in the same way I'd rather not get a canon answer of who started the War or how. That's the point of War Never Changes.
Vault Boy is a sinister figure in his cheerful embrace of Armageddon. Giving the Vault Tec brand a face and a name and a backstory feels so unimportant to what is actually interesting about Fallout. What's important to me is the big picture pre war, and the details of what comes after.
What is interesting to me is exploring how propaganda is designed to convince people how close they are to annihilation--or homelessness, unemployment, obscurity, or being The Other and therefore destined to suffer--in hell, in oppressions, being ostracized. Honestly insert any sort of marginalization or suffering here. Crony capitalism uses propaganda to market products designed to manipulate people into buying distance between themselves and that annihilation. Putting themselves "behind the thumb" of Vault Boy, so to speak. Buying a lifestyle. Vault Boy does it with a wink and a smile, inviting those who can afford it to buy their way to safety while using capital and fear to perpetuate the cycle. I don't need the specifics to understand this.
Some ghoulnaysis below the cut:
I'll admit, my initial reaction to pre-war Ghoulgins being the inspiration for Vault Boy was funny! Mr. Cooper Howard, washed up actor experiencing an existential crisis being shoehorned into corporate propaganda that then haunts him for the next 200+ years? Selling manifest destiny, racism, the Rugged Individual, the revisionist history that cowboys were a) white and b) more than a brief footnote in the history of the colonization of North America's west. The commodification of entertainers/creatives/public figures. Selling identities to be packaged into a product that will outlive them? Only to have that person live alongside that role they regret (?) playing... kinda tasty, if we have to give Vault Boy a backstory, though I didn't get a clear sense of his actual feelings about being used as a propaganda guy which I think is a failure of the show to commit to the narrative they set up, which happens with a lot of the show's (lack of) engagement with Fallout's larger themes anyway.
But The Ghoul (stupid name!!! weird and boring choice!!!) is just such an uncompelling and repellent character to me. I love a good bad guy or even anti-hero, but honestly he lacks any interiority. He's an evil karma character (eats people, waterboards and mutilates people, sells people to organ harvesters...like? that literally makes you evil in the games...) but the narrative pushes him as an antihero or someone with gray morality because he what..."likes" dogs? And isn't as decayed or unsettling looking as other ghouls (implying handsome=good or interesting). People aren't afraid of him because he is a ghoul, they're afraid of him because he's evil and will hurt them! Sometimes for no reason! I see the callback to the director telling him to shoot his co-star and Cooper saying he's "the good guy," but is that why he becomes so fucking evil post war? Really?
I don't know why he does what he does other than...the world sucked before and sucks now so he might as well represent the basest of human behavior? That seems to be the thesis of the show--unless kindness and community is engendered (by the vaults, by Management, by a civic government, by corporations) people will descend into chaos.
So why have this poorly executed anti-hero be the origin of Vault Boy? What are the narrative choices being made here? Is it just Rule of Cool?
Personally I would like a pathetic, rotting wet cat of a ghoul, some sort of carved out husk of a washed up movie star either trying to relive his glory days, or avoid them--having given up hope of finding his family after 200 years--being dragged into Lucy's orbit and being constantly reminded of his Vault Boy fame, that she is a walking Vault Girl with her Okey Dokey's and Golden Rule. He'd be a joke, a footnote of the old world. He'd be mean and snarky, even unpredictable and uncooperative--have a public persona of friendly curiosity and a private, cynical one.
Pathetic Ghoulgins would remind audiences of the cost of capitalism and imperialism without resorting to the thesis that war never changes means that people are inherently cruel and will resort to violence, rather than existent corporate and political power structures intentionally create the conditions in which people accept perpetual cycles of exploitation and harm for the sake of their own safety and comfort, despite knowing the cost of maintaining the status quo, and not seeing or believing that distance between the status quo and total annihilation is measured by the smiling thumbs up of a cartoon mascot.
I'm sure there are other ways The Ghoul could have been a successful character as well but.... That's satire. That's interesting. That's Fallout.
#fallout#fallout tv#fallout prime#fallout tv show#the ghoul#cooper howard#vault tec#“let people enjoy things” well i enjoy critical analysis#i dislike the big picture of the show but i love fallout enough to dig through the mess#fotv critical#fallout critical
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damn shoes
summary: being pregnant and putting on shoes don’t usually mix well.
pairings: Steve Harrington x Pregnant!Reader
warnings: pregnancy, uhhh its pretty fluffy ngl
a/n: hello! so i haven’t written for the stranger things fandom though i’ve been in it for many a years, so this is a first! plus this is the first time writing in quite sometime, so it might be a little rusty. but i do hope you enjoy! 1.1k words
Pregnancy was, in theory- weird. Growing another human from your own body. Said human living inside your womb for nine months, completely moving each and every organ in your stomach to make room. The ‘morning’ sickness that was actually all day sickness that would be triggered by the most random things. Things you once enjoyed eating suddenly became the worst, and yet enjoying such an odd combination of food.
But it would be worth it in the end, the endless mood swings, back pains, the kankles, the tossing and turning during the night struggling to find a comfortable way to sleep. The past nine months would seem like a piece of cake the moment you would be able to hold your baby in your arms.
But as of right now, the only thing that you could think about was the fact you couldn’t see your damn feet. Even as you were seated on your side of the bed, sneakers by your now sock clad feet- it was still a struggle to see them. Somehow, by some miracle you managed to put on your socks.
With a sigh you tilted your head to the side, watching the sunbeams as they entered through the slits of the blinds, creating little slivers of light against the carpeted floor. The sun had risen only a few hours ago, the summer sun creating overbearing heat that somehow felt even worse now that there was a human being created from your very body. The day ahead was gonna be a long one, shopping for baby furniture.
Just the thought of that made the fact of the matter even more real. In only three and a half more months your family of you and Steve would add a member. A teeny tiny member at that. Placing your hand on your bump you let your eyes look toward your sneakers. But soon your brain was fumbling over the fact that, how did you manage to put on your socks but not your shoes?
You had tried to put the shoes on while they were already tied, but that didn’t work. The ties were too tight and once you untied them to retie them, place them back on the ground and tried again- only for them once again to be too tight. And when you untied them and slipped them on, you couldn’t lift your leg high enough or lean down far enough to reach and tie said laces. And honestly you were too tired to try anymore ways. The pain in your lower back worsening each time you bent over, and over, and over. With a pout and a groan you rub your eyes with the palms of your hands, taking a break and trying to figure out how to put on your damn shoes, letting your hands fall back to your lap before once again- glaring at the black and white sneakers.
“Is there a reason you look like you are trying to shoot lasers out of your eyes at your shoes?” A voice rang out through the once quiet bedroom, with his hands on his hips- which was his usual stance, and towel slung over his shoulder was none other than your husband Steve. With a tilt of his head and leaning more on one side, causing his hip to jut out, he sends you a smile.
Replying with a huff you simply shrugged your shoulders. “If I glare at them enough, maybe they will magically levitate onto my feet.” You say simply, lip jutted out. Steve rolls his eyes with a quiet laugh, “Next time Henderson is over, you two aren’t allowed to watch Star Wars again.” He decides, taking the dish towel off of his shoulder and placing it onto the dresser before stepping towards where you sat, kneeling on one knee in front of you. “Dustin will have a field day when I tell him you think ‘magical levitation’ means Star Wars.” You said, your pout from before turning into a small smile.
“Is that not what they do?” He questioned, voice a little dramatic in hopes of making your smile wider, “The force is an energy field.” He once again rolls his eyes at your words, “Energy fields, magic- same thing.” He brushes off with a shrug before placing his left hand on your knee and letting his right hand cup the side of your face.
You let your eyes trail to the hand on your knee, reaching out and twisting the wedding ring on his finger that matched your own. “What’s going on, honey?” His voice was softer and more quiet than before, tilting his head to try and catch your eye. “I can’t put my shoes on, I tried everything and everyway.” You responded, cheeks flushing in embarrassment at the confession, sniffling to try and will the tears away.
It felt embarrassing not being able to put on your sneakers!
As Steve felt your cheeks heat up he rubbed his thumb against the apple of your cheek, “Hey,” He cooed, you only responded with a huff, moving your hands to rub at your eyes with a pitiful, forced laugh. “It’s embarrassing, m’sorry.”
With a shake of his head that you couldn’t see, Steve was soon pulling your hands from your face, letting your hands fall to your lap once again as he now placed both hands on the sides of your face, leaning in closer with a small frown. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about, not with me.” Steve promised, words hushed and sincere. He then presses a kiss to your forehead, then leaned back.
He soon was grabbing your left shoe, holding it in his hand. “What are you doing?” You questioned, he hummed in response, placing a kiss to your knee before lifting your leg up a tad to slip the shoe on. “Skydiving,” He replies, which in turn causes you to laugh at his dry tone.
Your eyes were soft as you watched him tie your shoe, finding it adorable and endearing that Steve Harrington still had to use the bunny ear method to tie shoes. After the left shoe was on and tied he moved to the other shoe, repeating the previous actions before he leaned forward to speak to your stomach. “Listen, I get it, you gotta grow before you come out, but give your mom some slack.”
Before he can say anything else, said baby is kicking right where Steve had placed his hand. “I know you can hear me!” He says through a laugh, which in turn causes you to laugh. He then tilts his head back to look up at you, the way the light hits his eyes makes them look more golden than usual, the more you stare the more it reminds you of the sun shining through the blinds that you were looking at a few moments ago. After a moment that feels too long, you are pressing your lips to his.
Maybe not being able to put on your shoes was a good thing...
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#stranger things imagine#stranger things imagines#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction
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Sparrow Of the Dawn : Chapter 1
Sam x Willa (Fem OC)
Warnings: Alcohol / Mentions of drinking, brotherly banter, dark humor/mentions of death (if you squint), otherwise silly boys being boys.
Word Count: 3.9K
Summary : Sam unfortunately finds himself in not so meet cute with Willa. Hopeful that he doesn't cross her path again; the world works in mysterious ways and not always in your favor.
Authors Note: AHHHHH I can’t wait for everybody to read and I hope you all love it as much as I do!! I’m so excited and nervous, feels like I’m waiting for the midnight premiere of Deathly Hallows (part 2) all over again 🥹😭💜
Flower Power - Greta Van Fleet
“She’s a sparrow of the dawn, our love is born”
“Oh, HEY,” Jake says sarcastically the second he opens the front door, “Nice of you to show up, Jackass,” huffing out a laugh as he shuts the door behind me. The scuffed-up cherry wood floor creaks under the weight of our feet as I follow him over to where he had been organizing new stock behind the bar.
“Right.. aaand where’s my paycheck again?” I retort, sliding onto my regular spot and dropping my camera bag next to me. The spot in the dead center of the bar has been claimed as mine since before Jake even opened, the stool now complete with my etched initials SFK under the cushion.
“Time is money, brother, and I lend you mine for free, so you get me when I’m free. Which apparently to you means 9 a.m.?” I say, clasping my hands on the bartop, “So please, tell me what is so important that I needed to be here so early.” He sourly smirks back at me.
“Yeah, yeah. I have a few new ones in for you to shoot, and I’d like to get it done before we get busy today.” He picks up his clipboard, eyeing his stock list.
“We finally got the pomegranate Downeast released last month that was on backorder, as well as the pear and the guava passion fruit. Then we have ‘Reciprocal’ from Bissell Bros here in Portland, and ‘Interchangeable #7’ from Blaze Brewing in Biddo. I’d really like to get the blaze shot for our ads because it has the most interesting can art. But, ya know, I trust you.” He reads off.
A year ago, Jake, my older brother, bought this bar located right here in the heart of the Old Port. Back in his senior year of high school he got really into “Black Sails”, this pirate TV show; he practically made it his personality. Naturally, he decided he wanted to run a bar for the rest of his life, so when old man Chuck decided to retire, Jake jumped at the opportunity to purchase it. “Caravel Tavern” has only been open for 6 months and It's been his baby ever since.
“Wow, Jake Kiszka putting trust in ME? Are you feeling okay?” I feign shock grabbing at my heart.
“Just get it done, you idiot,” he says with a roll of his eyes.
“Alright, alright,” I say, glancing over the options. “Give me like an hour. I have an idea that might work. I need to head to the farmer’s market in town, but I can have the best shots edited and emailed to you tomorrow, and then we can pick the best ones for print.” I grab my bag, digging around for my car keys. “Hey, when is Josh in today? I’d like to get some shots of you guys pouring drinks for the website and Instagram for Josh’s intro post.”
“He should be here by the time you’re done with everything. That is if he’s on time. But let's be realistic, when is a Kiszka ever on time?” He replies as he breaks down boxes with a box cutter.
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I take a right onto the gravel that’s set behind the farmers market, my rusty 92’ Ford F-150 rattling as I park. I hope to god it’s just a heat shield making that noise. I cannot afford another repair on Edith. She may be an old crotchety bitch, but she has my whole heart. Well, right behind Penelope, my Bernese mountain dog, Penny girl will always be my number one.
Ding
I put her in park and shove my hand into my backpack blindly searching for the source of the text tone. Finally finding my phone Tweedle Dum🦞 appears on the screen.. I let out a giggle.
We’re running a special on whiskey sours tonight pick up some eggs, princess.
I switch Jake and Josh’s contact name back and forth between tweedle dee and tweedle dum mainly to keep them on their toes, but I’d be lying if I said tweedle dum isn’t just whoever has pissed me off or been dubbed the biggest dumbass that week. The emojis always stay the same so I can keep them actually straight though.
You got it, boss, I send back to Jake, winning the title this week for making me wake up at the ass crack of 9am. Which absolutely is early for me.
Gathering my things, I step out of my truck, immediately being hit with a cold gust of wind, the air causing my eyes to water slightly. I brush away a tear forming in my eye before it threatens to fall down my cheek. For it being the end of March the air is crispier than normal. I pause a moment too long, and a shiver runs through my body. I zip my jacket up a little higher, trying to preserve my body heat. Making sure I have my mesh bag with me, I shut my door and head over to the booths.
I make a beeline for Linda, a sweet older woman who is here every week selling chicken eggs, various fruits from her garden, and some knick-knack crafts she makes. I have about seven bowl koozies, though I’m not sure I even own as many bowls considering it’s just me, but they are really good for ramen and ice cream. Which I do not eat together. Jake and Josh live in the apartment above the bar, so when I moved back after college, I got an apartment a couple roads away to stay close.
Our parents moved out of our small hometown, which sits just on the other side of Portland. Padded off to Apple Valley, Georgia trying to settle into a warmer climate or something. They bought a house big enough for just the two of them and a guest room on an acre of land, “just in case any of you boys come to visit” Mom said. In all honesty, Apple Valley is just the same town, different state. They always said they didn’t like the city because it was too big, which is funny to me after spending the last four years in Boston. Everything here seems much smaller now.
“Morning Linda!” I smile and wave at her.
“Oh, Samuel. You’re up early this week. How are you doing, Sweetheart? How’s my Daniel?” She flashes me a warm smile. She’s also Daniel’s biggest fan. Pretty sure she only comes into the bar to see him, even though I met her first. But what can I say? I’m apparently an excellent matchmaker; we just won't mention the fact that she's 72.
I chuckle, “I’m just out running some errands for Jake. I’m on call today, apparently. Daniel’s good though! He misses you, ya know.” I finish flashing her a wink.
She lets out a high-pitched laugh, “I’ll be down to visit with Miss Eleanor. You tell him not to worry.” She raises an eyebrow and smirks at me, “Anyway, what can I get ya my dear?”
“Think two dozen will do it for today.” I hand her a crumpled ten-dollar bill in exchange, “Keep the change, Lin. I’ll see you at the bar or next Saturday, whichever comes first.” I set the eggs carefully in my tote and head toward my next stop, the flower truck.
The beer I’m photographing for the bar has a brightly colored logo in a style reminiscent of comic book art. A bold red can with yellow, blue, and purple adorning the signature name. My idea is to use a bouquet of different flowers to accent the colors and make the can pop.
I scan through the metal buckets, trying to mentally piece together an arrangement without disturbing the flowers too much. They are far too delicate to be pulling and yanking on them just to try them out for size. Some of the people here, like Linda, make their living posting up every Saturday.
I reach for a bundle of forget-me-nots, settling on those along with the last of the remaining Irises, a few red Dahlias, Daffodils, and Butterfly Milkweed. Taking a step back slightly away from the displays, I start to rearrange the bouquet to my liking. Extending my arms out in front of me, and changing my angle to make sure I like how the flowers look together. Just as I decide that, yes, these will do for what their intended purpose is, I feel someone aggressively poking my bicep.
I turn toward the person attached to the finger. Not going to lie; I’m a bit impressed by the force of it, considering I’m wearing a sweater under my quilted jacket, and the woman who’s doing the poking is standing at about 5 foot nothing and looks like a swift breeze might carry her away. I blink slowly at her a few times and raise my eyebrows waiting expectedly.
“Did someone die, or did you just fuck up like, wicked bad?” the snark heavily laden on her tone.
I close my eyes and let out a long breath, “Uhm, it’s uhh –” I stutter a bit, really trying to play it up, “My grandma died last week, actually. Did you know her? Her name was Althea.” I gaze down at my shoes and drop my head a bit, taking a moment before I attempt to look for her reaction through my eyelashes. If I held my breath long enough, I might just be able to work up a tear. Would that be too dramatic? .. maybe.
“Oh.. uh. No, I didn’t. I’m sor–” Regret immediately paints her face.
“I’m fucking with you.” I let out a small laugh
“What?” her eyes narrow at me, trying to figure out if I’m lying or telling the truth.
“I’m joking, my grandma is fine. Are you okay? Or is it a normal occurrence for you to ask a complete stranger if they’re mourning a dead relative?" Amusement settles on my face.
She lets out an audible groan. Why is she so angry? She tugs down at the sides of her short floral dress and waves a hand out toward my arrangement.
“Why on earth do you need every single purple flower!?” She exclaims, “And who jokes about their grandma dying?” stamping her beaten-up Doc Marten into the patchy grass. She actually stomped her foot at me. What are we twelve?
I roll my eyes and attempt to alleviate the situation, “Bachelor Buttons.”
I have work to do and absolutely do not need an attitude from a complete stranger, even if she is cute. I have brothers for that purpose, and they do their jobs well enough.
“They’re mostly purple but with a bit of blue. They symbolize love if you’re trying to give them to someone important.” I scratch the back of my head and briefly hope she says she’s not. I immediately throw the thought away with a shake of my head. Nope, not opening that door.
“I don’t need Bachelor Buttons.”
“.. ookaay. You could always d –”
“I need Irises.” She says, cutting me off, “Specifically. Okay? And I’m fine, but if I can't find irises today because of you count *poke* your *poke* days!” she ends her sentiment with a final sharp poke to my chest and storms away. God damn, her finger is like a tiny dagger.
Listen, growing up without any sisters means I don’t know much about women, but what I do know .. is definitely never believe one when they say they’re fine.
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As I walk through the door of Caravel Tavern for the second time today, I call out, “Okay, Jake, I’m back with your eggs, Asshole. Where are you?”
I set my camera bag and the eggs down and lean over the counter, checking to see if he’s kneeling behind the bar top.
“.. Jake?” I look side to side. Where the hell is he? It’s the middle of the day, not nearly early enough for lunch.. Not like the guy takes a break anyway.
“JAKE WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” I yell through my cupped hands. The sound echoes through the empty space.
He comes running from the back room, a panic written on his face. “Jesus Christ, Sam, what?”
“Got your eggs.” grinning wildly at him. I swear I'm actually his favorite brother.
“Well, thanks, Samuel, for being useful for one thing today.” He says, before changing his tone, “You okay? You look a bit tense?”
“Yeah,” absentmindedly, my hand drifts to my shoulder, rubbing at the area where angry-flower-girl poked me earlier. “Actually, you’ll never believe what happened to me at the farmers market.”
He’s not looking at me when he hums his response, just putting the eggs in the mini fridge next to the ice well. I slide the second carton over to him.
“I ran into this girl, actually, she ran into me rather. I was picking out the bouquet arrangement for the photos I want to take and she sorta.. Came at me poking?”
He slowly stands and looks at me, his brow furrowed a bit. “She.. came at you?” He pauses. “Poking?”
“Poking,” I point to my shoulder in disbelief.
“Okay, and what did this poking girl want?”
“To yell at me for taking all the irises. I tried to do the gentlemanly thing and suggest an alternative, but she poked me some more and stomped off. She was hot as hell even if she was a bit psychotic.”
“Well, why did you take all the irises? You also could have taken the other- wait, “ Jake pauses, turning to face me head-on. He sets the empty carton on the counter, “No, whatever you’re thinking about, cut it out,” He points at me, “Did you forget about the last ‘cute but insane’ girl?”
“Hey, she wasn’t that bad! AND she was really hot?!” both hands raised.
“Sam, she cracked your windshield” he pinches the bridge of his nose.
Just as I’m about to further protest, “Cracked windshield? We’re not talking about ‘the Bride of Chucky’ are we?” Josh says
“Oh, come on guys, you can say her name. And again.. She wasn't that bad.”
“No, every time you say her name she comes back like Voldemort, and none of us need that shit.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Get your ass clocked in so I get your headshots done, and you can get to work lest Jake have a stroke.” I lean toward Josh and whisper, “You’re already late.”
“When isn’t he late?” Jake sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Well,” Josh claps his hands together, “it is clearly time for my close-up. Sammy, let’s get this shit fest over with.”
Oh, Josh, ever the dramatic brother.
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I don’t spend a ton of time taking Josh’s photos, grateful that he isn’t afraid of the camera. I barely have to direct him, which makes my life that much easier. If he could work on just not being a pain in the ass the rest of the time, that’d be great.
A few goodbyes later, and I’m finally off to edit. Putting all my things into the passenger seat and giving my truck some words of encouragement, the engine turns over. Thank fucking god. I live fairly close to the bar, so I decide to not bother with the radio and just listen to whatever comes my way.
Still thinking about the poking girl, mostly because my chest was sore. I didn’t expect to be stabbed today. I do hope she found her Irises…
‘Now I don’t hardly know her, but I think I could love her,’
I turn the volume up on the radio, hoping it’ll help me focus on driving and not thinking about her.
I make it back home, throwing the truck in park and hustling up to my apartment. I’m quickly greeted by my bundle of joy. I set all my things out to edit on the counter and take care of Miss P before I start working.
Taking a walk is probably what I needed to do anyway.
I got Penelope right after I graduated and moved back up here. Being used to a house full of people to just living alone was.. well, lonely. I think I lasted only a few months living alone before I gave in and went to find a pet. The twins suggested a cat because they’re fairly low maintenance, and their plan was to get a couple cats once their lives settled a bit. Settled ended up being right around when Jake bought the bar, I would hardly call that settled, but it worked out for them. Me on the other hand, I’m more of a dog person. As soon as I saw Penny, I knew she’d be my adventure buddy, coming with me on my walks and hikes and photography trips. It’s definitely easier with a dog, despite what Josh says about how easy it is to train a cat with a harness to adventure with you.
Once she is settled in after our walk, I sit down to edit for a while. Pulling up the photos of Josh, something seems off. Why are half of these out of focus? I think to myself, scrolling through the options. If he could have just stopped talking for two seconds, this one would have looked good. The longer I scroll through the options, the more annoyed I get. Why did she poke me so fucking hard? Finding myself rubbing the spot on my chest, I force myself to get up for a minute. Maybe I just need to walk around. Wandering into my bathroom, I pull the collar of my shirt down to see the spot, if it doesn’t actually bruise, I’ll be SHOCKED.
Sitting back down, I take one look at the photo I've been trying to salvage, letting out a sigh. This is awful.
Me: hey I’m not super happy with how Josh’s pics came out.. Do you care if I just borrow him in the morning to get some new ones?
Me: Not at 6am tho- it’ll be Sunday, The Lord’s day, and he would want me to get my beauty rest.
Tweedle Dum🦞: lol that’s fine bud
Me: I may come back for a drink tho. Shit has me STRESSED.
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“God, Sam, don’t you ever leave?” Josh calls from behind the bar.
“You’d think I was tired of looking at your ugly mug all day, but guess not.” My lips wind into a tight smile. “Can I actually get a drink? I’m annoyed as fuck that I hate all the pictures I took today, and a drink sounds like the perfect remedy.”
“Turning to alcohol to solve your problems, hmm?”
“Shhhhh,” I wave my hands in front of me. “Can I get a Clover Club, maybe? In a whiskey glass.. No garnish. I don’t wanna look like a little bitch.” I groan
“Let your freak flag fly, brother,” spinning away to go make my drink and tend to the other patrons seated down the bar top.
This drink really better do the trick so I can relax for five minutes. Honestly, the pressure I put on myself to make sure I do well for Jake’s pride and joy, along with trying to find my own way with a full-time job is a little exhausting. It’s hard knowing that Caravel is his baby; he really doesn’t have much else going on. I swear if he got laid, he’d be a hell of a lot less uptight about it, but I digress. I don’t totally feel like I’m the most reliable person, but I try to make sure he can count on me and I don’t contribute to his stress. Ya know, he’s my brother, and I want him to be as proud of me as I am of him for doing what he loves so much. I don’t think I tell him enough how proud I really am of him. He’s someone I look to for inspiration for trying to pave my own way. I’d never tell him that though, because he’d probably think I was yanking his chain or something. I have a job trial-type thing down in Boston later this week, and I’m really hoping it turns out to be something good. I could use something good right now.
Josh interrupts my thoughts, setting my drink down, “Just how you asked for it in a cocktail glass with extra garnish.”
I sigh audibly, “Ya know, I don’t even care. Gimme it.” I gulp it down in nearly one go. Josh looks surprised at me. Whether it’s because of my eagerness or because he knows I’m terrible at holding my alcohol, I’m not sure. I don’t care.
“One more.” I close my eyes, waiting for the gin to work its magic on me. Feeling my muscles relax bit by bit, my brow finally straightens out, and I sink down against the wall closest to my seat. I sigh audibly again, though this time it’s one of relief.
The longer I sit here, the more people are trickling in. Sipping on my drink this time, I notice people in all sorts of outfits looking vaguely like anime characters. Gathering in little cliques of friend groups, a few interesting folk bouncing from table to table. I can't tell if time is moving incredibly fast or if the alcohol has made me move slower, but suddenly, I have the realization that it’s packed in here. Since opening, they’ve been able to handle everything behind the bar, just the two of them, with Daniel manning the door, but I don’t think they’re equipped to handle whatever event these people are overflowing from.
I swig back the last sip of my drink, grab my glass, and make my way to the back room. I toss the raspberry garnish before setting the glass in the sink to be washed. Grabbing the ice bucket, I start to fill it to make sure the front is stocked for them; ice is usually always the first thing to go. I lug the full bucket back behind the bar, and refill the ice well.
“Thanks, Sammy. Hey, would you mind bussing some of the tables and asking the people with tabs if they need any refills, please? I’ll make sure I put you on the payroll for the night,” Jake asks, eyes pleading and desperate for help. And really, who am I to say no to him?
“Of course I can. I’ve got nothing else better to do anyway.” I start to reach for a tray.
“Thanks. I mean it.” he says, squeezing my shoulder, “I forgot PortCon was happening, and we’re close to one of the hotels.” He explains before returning to the drink he's making.
That explains the costumes. I do my rounds checking to make sure everyone seated in the booths are okay, grabbing the empty drinks out of their way, making light conversation when I can. I bring a tray of glasses, napkins, and various random trash items back behind the bar and set them in the bin next to Jake. Just as I go to take another trip, my eyes catch the door. Of course. Of course, this would happen to me. I can’t have a single day go smoothly if my life depended on it. Good God, someone is out to get me, I swear.
“Fuck me,” I say out loud.
“Who is that?” Jake says to me as he’s working on his current drink order.
“The angry-flower-girl with the dagger fingers,” I pause, looking at the dude standing next to her, “annnd her date.”
“Oh shit.”
Crimson and Clover - Tommy James and the Shondells
“Now I don't hardly know her
But I think I could love her
Crimson and clover”
<- Prologue Chapter Two ->
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Genesis
introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii
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ch. lxxv - CUFFING
fashion mogul!mingi × reader
buy me coffee ?
!! A T T E N T I O N !!
things aren't always what it seems but when even the truth is left unheard, what can people do? one musn't lie but what if the lie is more accepted than the truth? the scariest thing in this world isn't monsters or demons. it's people with no agenda and time to waste.
"Daddy's home!"
The front door shut gently after the beeps of the electronic keypad went off. You peeked your head from the kitchen, furrowing your eyebrows slightly, "Mingi, where are you?" Mingi soon popped into the hallway with three shopping bags, surprising you. "Wow, guess who went on a shopping spree," you teased as you stepped out of the kitchen while wiping your hands on a rag.
With a wide grin, Mingi shook his head excitedly, "Oh these aren't for me, these are for you and bean!" He said before rushing to drop the shopping bags on the couch. Your eyes widened and you speed-walked to him, hitting him on his shoulder that unfortunately did nothing as Mingi began pulling the items out one by one. "Look, this is a onesie bean can wear from six month to two years," he said, showing how the fabric of the onesie stretched. Intrigued, you started peering over the items that Mingi brought home, "Or so it said. I've seen your baby pictures, Mingi, you were a long baby," you pointed out.
As soon as you mentioned baby, Mingi turned and dropped to his knees, looking up at you with hopeful eyes, "May I?" He asked with his hands on the hem of your shirt. Seeing him so excited to greet his baby, you maneuvered yourself to sit on the couch and pulling him between your legs before nodding, "Go for it." Immediately, Mingi lifted your shirt to the top of your bump and his soft lips made contact with your skin, right where bean's head was, "Hi baby, did you miss daddy?" His voice was so gentle and the soft caress he gave on the other side of your stomach only increased the amount of affection he was showcasing. "I think bean missed you because when Wooyoung was here earlier, bean didn't move much. But then, Wooyoung played a video of you cussing whilst gaming and bean started moving around," you told him. Mingi's eyes lit up and he started pressing more kisses to your tummy, "That's my baby! That's my bean!" He proudly said.
After spending a fair amount of time on your tummy (bean), Mingi rested his cheek on it and looked up at you, "And how's the baby mama doing today?" He smiled. You exhaled sharply and pursed your lips, "Well if you must know, I spent most of the day on my legs because I felt productive and energized and I even convinced Wooyoung that I could do all the heavy lifting while we were putting some of bean's things in my room and then right after Wooyoung left, all the pain shot through my my back and legs and I had to like rest for a solid hour before trying to start dinner."
The initial smile on Mingi's face turned into a pout at your admission of situation when he was not there. Hearing you having trouble when no one was around to help brought a sinking feeling to Mingi's stomach and he absolutely hated it. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've-" "Leave work to help me cut onions?" You chuckled after cutting him off, not even realizing that you patted his head like a kid, "I only needed a tiny bit of rest and after that, I was good enough to even clean the apartment and even organize the shoe rack." The glare Mingi gave was a clear indication that he was not happy with your activities and it dropped to your stomach, poking it gently continuously, "Bean, daddy needs your help reminding your mom that she needs to take it slow or else I'll make sure to cuff her hand with me," he chastised, shooting you a look as if threatening you in the guise of talking to his child.
Though you wanted to roll your eyes and tell Mingi to stop acting silly, but you felt bean moving inside of you at the sound of his voice and you'd like to imagine that bean was moving closer, seeking Mingi. "I think rather than remindinh me to take it slow, bean should remind you to take a break. You've been coming home a lot later and frankly, tonight is the earliest you've returned in a while," you pointed out but Mingi only shrugged, "You're doing the best at home so I want to do my best at work especially now that we're going to open at the Gallerio and release a new line, I want you and bean to be proud of me."
It wasn't until he said it that Mingi realized two things.
One, how cringey and childlike he sounded.
Two, how genuinely he wanted your approval. Bean was just there to be his muse but you? He wanted to be able to be worthy. Or even just worthy-adjacent.
"Mingi, I'm already proud of you no matter what you do and frankly I'm more worried about you not taking care of yourself because you think you have to prove something," you took his face in your hands and it was then that you realized how touchy you were being, touchier in a sense that it felt rather... Intimate in a sense. So you squeezed his cheeks and shook his head gently, "And frankly I don't want this to be a thing because it'll set a bad example to bean when they're born, like bean will need to achieve something to gain our affection or approval or something which is so stereotypically Asian, it actually borders on cliché," you joked, making Mingi chuckle and nod. "Promise me you won't kill yourself just to get my respect? Because you don't have to do that with me. I'm here for you because as we promised, we'll be completely honest with each other, right?"
Other than his mom, he had never hear a woman being so genuine with him. Mingi lacked a lot of experience in certain areas and he lacked awareness from time to time and he was usually just expected to do better on his own without much support. So he really took your sincereity to heart and he realized how much it meant for him to have a partner in crime. He couldn't even stop the grin that kept growing on his face. He probably looked stupid but he didn't care.
"If we're being honest, I think I need to tell you that I'm like two minutes away from chewing on my leg because I'm so hungry," Mingi sheepishly said, making you laugh as you push his head slightly out of disbelief. "You go take a quick shower and change while I heat up our food. I almost forgot about dinner because Wooyoung made me eat so much snacks today."
Mingi nodded and pushed himself up to his feet, "I'll be quick, okay?" And before he could stop himself, he leaned down and pecked you on the forehead before turning around to go to his room and take a shower. It was only when he saw his laundry that you had done on the basket by the bed that he realized what he had done. Eyes wide, jaw agape, Mingi crouched down in an area hidden from his opened door to silently scold himself for treating you as if you two were in a relationship. You both had yet to set boundaries as co-parents in terms of treating each other but he was sure kissing or pecking each other randomly was not part of it.
Meanwhile, you were still on the couch, dumbfounded and trying to process what happened. You were trying to figure out whether the forehead kiss really happened or not because so far you both had been touchy when you both needed to like for photos or when you helped each other. Heck, he even give you foot rubs from time to time because they tend to get tired from the extra weight. So your head was swimming with thoughts questioning what just happened.
But to be frank, your head was trying to focus more on figuring out why you liked it so much.
Weird.
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A Cut Above
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Hairstylist!Reader
WC: 2680
Warnings: T; Mentions of food, divorce, lots of pining and fluff otherwise.
A/N: I wanted to write a Hairstylist!Reader story a few years ago, but l wasn’t feeling super confident about my writing and just never got around to it. In the last few months I’ve had this urge to get back behind the chair again, which is what sparked this fic. Still haven’t decided if I will get back into doing hair as of yet, but I can enjoy writing about it. This is not beta’d and hope it reads well cause I’ve been run low sleep. Enjoy!!
Masterlist / Series Masterlist / Next
“You done for the day?”
The question pulls you from your thinking. It’s an organized chaos of mental notes streaming through your subconscious.
“I wish. I have one more then I’m done. It’s a new client too. So I’ll be a bit longer.”
“Color?”
“No, thank god! I don’t think my feet can take another 2 to 3 hours more.” The day was filled with back to back clients— a typical Saturday in the salon. Your clients who worked long hours, were always filling up your Saturdays. “Just a cut. Benny made the appointment for him, said his friend was in need of a change— very vague about it”
“Mmm.. Benny.”
“Earth to Hannah!! Gonna need you to touch back down girlie.” Hannah was the salon receptionist, and Benny Miller’s secret admirer.
“Huh? Oh sorry, got a bit distracted.”
“You don’t say? You know, you could just ask him out, would probably be way more exciting than sitting there and daydreaming about him 24/7.”
“I do not daydream about him 24/7–“ She tries convincing you, but you know her far too well. You shoot her a pointed look— you’re not buying it. “Okay! Alright, I do think about him— a lot! But I can’t help it, he’s so…”
“Pretty?” You finish her thought.
“Yeah. He’s so pretty.”
“Well, I have it on good authority that said Pretty Man Child Benny, might have an itty bitty crush on a cute little receptionist. So, put your big girl panties on and make a move.”
Benjamin Miller— Benny, was a long time client of yours, turned friend. He was in your chair every 5 weeks maintaining that gorgeous head of hair. Gotta look good for the ladies when I’m in the ring— his words.
As the years went on, you found you were collecting Benny’s friends and family as clients. His older brother Will, Will’s wife Nicole, his close friend Pope (still haven’t heard his real name), as well as Mom and Dad Miller. Benny kept your chair busy and you were grateful for that.
He’d text you on Monday saying he’d had a friend who was needing a cut, something about a fresh start. He was in luck because you had one spot open, so you scheduled some guy named “Fish” as your last client for the week.
“Wait really?! He knows who I am?!” Shock was written all over Hannah’s face.
“Hannah, you greet him every appointment— of course he knows who you are.”
“I think I black out the minute he walks through the door.”
“That would explain the drool every time.” You can’t help but laugh at her expense.
She rolls her eyes back at you as she gathers her things from the front desk. “Alright, I’m going to leave before you decide to carry on with this onslaught of nonsense. Going to go home and pour myself a glass of wine in celebration!”
“Celebration?? For what?”
“Benny Miller knows who I am! And he has a crush on me!!” You let her bask in her glory, as she all but floats to the front door.
“Hannah…” You catch her attention before she’s exits. “Text him! Preferably before the wine.”
“Yes mom!” She mocks back at you before the door swings shut.
*
You had 15 minutes until your appointment would be showing up, so you took the time to clean your station up a bit and set up for his hair cut.
Your shears, combs and clippers laid out on your hair cutting tray, clean cape folding on top of your station.
As you were checking over your schedule for next week, making a list of colors you needed to pick up from the beauty supply, the front door opened welcoming your client— your very handsome client.
He looks nearly 6 feet tall, and so broad. His hair is dark chestnut from what you can see peeking out from under his hat. There’s a casualness to him in the way he carries himself— a shy confidence.
“Hi! You must be Fish.” You give him your name as you make your way up to him, extending your hand out in greeting. His rather large hand gripping yours, firm but a gentleness to it.
“Did he really tell you my name is Fish?! Fuckin’ Benny.” He shakes his head, as if to fain off embarrassment. Shoving his hands in his pockets he starts laughing about it. “Yeah, he did. I am assuming that’s not actually your name though. Although, not judging if it is.”
“No, my name is Francisco Morales, but you can call me Frankie.” You notice the flush creeping up his neck— you make a mental note at how gorgeous he is before you get caught staring.
“Okay then, Frankie. You can come on back and have a seat here at my chair. Feel free to put your hat on my shelf there.” Helping him get situated.
“Let me go grab a clean towel and then we can chat about what you are wanting.”
Frankie sits himself down and starts to take in the space. You seem very tidy and organized as he glances over at your tray of cutting tools. He right away decides he likes that about you. Benny didn’t mention how beautiful you were when making him this appointment. He said you were pretty but he wasn’t expecting to be overwhelmed by how stunning you were— he knows he has to try his best to be cool and not ramble on.
He sees you making your way back to him in the mirror, his eyes locked on yours like magnets— he notices you catching him staring, but then you give him a smile that lights up your face. There’s that butterfly sensation tickling his insides, he hasn’t had that happen in a long time, but he welcomes it.
*
Arriving back to your station you take the small towel and place it on his shoulders before securing the cutting cape around his neck.
“So what are we thinking?” You ask as you begin to run your fingers through his hair, taking in the texture, density and the shape of the cut he has now.
“Uhh, I umm… I don’t know. I’m open to your professional opinion.” He didn’t realize he needed to come in with a style in mind. His usual barber usually says “Hi” then starts hacking at it.
“That’s okay.” You look at him in your mirror, his eyes already fixed on you and you feel your breath catch in your throat.
You hadn’t noticed his dimple earlier, and you can’t seem to keep your eyes off of it when he smiles. You steady your thoughts and continue to comb your fingers through his hair making note of how it lays and it’s natural growth pattern.
“You have a nice wave going on. If we work with it and bring your sides and the back in a little tighter the top will lay nicely.”
He’s captivated by everything you’re saying, and yet he doesn’t understand a single word of it. You could tell him he needed to shave his head and he’d willingly let you, no questions asked.
“How does that sound Frankie??”
“Honestly— I have no idea what any of what you just said means, but I trust you.”
“Well, I appreciate your honesty.” You find his nervousness charming. “You won’t be losing much length overall, it will be more shaping and connecting the sides to the top.” Your hands moving around his head as you try to explain your process.
“Again— no clue what you just said.”
“Got it! Enough hair jargon then. Let’s get you back and washed up first.”
The warm water hides the sweat that’s formed on your palms as you begin washing his hair. He’s settled into the shampoo bowl, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest in such a kicked back manner.
Your fingers work diligently as you begin to scrub the soapy liquid through his wet locks. As you spend ample time working over his scalp, you catch the sound of a faint moan. You don’t think he meant for it to sound so erotic, but it’s stirring a warm feeling with in you.
“Feel good?”
“Mmmhmmm..” It’s all he’s able to manage, your movements awakening him in so many ways, his spine vibrating with an indescribable desire.
Suds throughly rinsed, leave in conditioner combed through, you both get situated back at your station.
He seems way more relaxed, more chatty and asking questions as you go section by section, meticulously trimming away the unwanted ends.
His questions alternated between your professional life and personal— where you grew up, favorite food and what made you decide to become a hairstylist. In a different circumstance, it might have felt invasive— but there was an ease to Frankie that had you spilling your life story to him so freely.
In return you asked him for more about himself. He shared about his life in Delta Force, where he had met Benny, Will and Pope, who you now know as Santiago.
His life as a helicopter pilot keeping him busy most of the time. He even felt brave enough to mention his semi recent divorce. You didn’t feel like you needed to delve deeper into his failed marriage, especially for only just meeting him.
You shared the same sentiment in working long hours and how it had you feeling overwhelmed at times, like you had less free time for yourself— mentioning you were working on trying to have more fun and go out. You shared how your former partners were always annoyed with you for being so consumed with work, the main reason you hadn’t been dating as much.
Checking and cross checking the length, you’re happy with how it’s shaping up.
“How do you normally style your hair? What are your go to products?”
He looks at you with the most sincere and confused expression, nervous to share his routine with you.
“Normally it’s just straight out of the shower, quick rubbing of the towel over it so it’s not dripping, then toss the hat on.” Pointing to the battered hat he’d worn in.
“Frankie! If there’s only one piece of advice you leave here with, please let it be that you never aggressively rub a towel over your hair again!”
He thinks he should feel embarrassed but there’s a sweetness in the way you share your knowledge with him— he will make a conscientious effort to gently pat his hair dry from now on.
“Since you mentioned you are usually throwing on your hat, it’s probably safe to assume there’s not much actual styling going on?”
“Uh, yeah… Not much styling. The least amount of steps possible is my go to method.”
“While the hat vibe is cute, I would not be doing my job if I sent you out of here wearing—”
“You think I’m cute?” He cuts you off. That dimple again making an appearance, his grin slightly laced in flirtation.
“Umm, yes.” Your face feels hot, the blow-dryer not helping much, as you try to remain calm and collected.
“Hm!”
Grabbing some product and applying a small amount to your palm, you begin to distribute it throughout his hair. .
“But I think without the hat is cute too. Easier to see all of your,” You gulp at your next admission. “Attractive features.” You giggle as you finish styling his freshly trimmed hair, each strand manipulated with such precision— the new length really does add to his handsomeness.
“You think I’m attractive too?” He says shifting in the chair, his gaze still steady on you.
“Oh wow, I’m really just letting my internal monologue run my mouth aren’t I?”
He shrugs with the slightest cock of his eyebrows in response.
“And now would be a good time for the ground to just swallow me up!” You groan, hands covering your face as you attempt to hide your embarrassment.
“You’re cute when you get all flustered.”
“So you think I’m cute now? We just going to spend the rest of the night confessing our new found feelings having only just met?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” He states so casually.
The rest of his appointment is filled with more flirtatious banter, a connection that you’re both very much aware of— yet neither of you stating the obvious
“Thank you again.” Frankie says holding a bag of products he insisted he leave with, wanting to branch out from his usual “hat vibe”’as you called it— said hat’s bill tucked into the back pocket of his already snug blue jeans.
“So… Do you want to set something up for next time?” Pulling out your schedule, hoping that Frankie likes his cut, and you, enough to return regularly. “I think 5 to 6 weeks would be a good amount of time to see you again.”
“Actually— I was hoping I could see you sooner than that.”
“Oh! Okay. When are you thinking?” Slightly confused, you start scanning over the openings you have in the coming weeks.
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?? I’m not follow— Oh! Ooooh!”
“Yeah….” There’s a budding nervous energy about him as you realize what he’s asking. “There’s this sports bar around the corner— the guys and I hang out there from time to time. Anyways, they have some great appetizers and craft beer on tap… If you’re open to it, we could, um go… Unless you have other plans…”
“Yes! I’d love to Frankie.”
“Yeah?!” His face instantly beaming with excitement.
“Yeah! Just let me clean and lock up real quick, then we can head out.”
*
Drinks and appetizers flowed into a moonlit walk back to your car— both of you stalling out your goodbyes.
“So, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Frankie says as his hand cups your cheek, his warm gaze fixed on yours. “I hope this isn’t too soon, but would it be okay if I kissed you?”
“Yeah.. I’d like that.” Leaning into him to close the gap, fingers carding through the nape of his silky waves.
Frankie’s lips all but crash into yours, the intensity growing from your own, eager for more of him. He nips at the plumpness of your lower lip, encouraging them to part for him. His tongue slipping inside your mouth and you can taste the bitterness from his beer still lingering.
A grip is established on your hip, his hand slowly moving around to your backside eliciting a breathy moan from deep with in you as the heated kiss escalates.
Laughter from a rowdy group of bystanders reminds you both of your surroundings.
“Sorry, I got a little carried away there.” Frankie rests his forehead on yours as he tries to regain his composure, his breath fanning across your cheeks— they’re no longer cold from the frigid air.
“Well, I most certainly wasn’t complaining. In fact, I look forward to you doing it again sometime.”
He places a kiss to your forehead, before exchanging goodbyes. He promises again to call tomorrow, and you’re already breathlessly excited for it.
Heater cranked up in your car, willing your body to adjust to the heat. You grab for your phone in your purse, pulling open your message app so you can send a quick text before putting the car in drive.
-Hey Benny, just wanted to thank you for setting that appointment up for Frankie. He’s a great guy! Super funny and hella charming.
-You sure we’re talking about the same Frankie?? 😉
-Funny! Anyways, I appreciate it and I’m looking forward to seeing him again!
-Oh! Hannah called, we’ve got a date next week!
-You be good to her Benny!
-Of course! No problem! Make sure you and Frankie thank me in your wedding toast 🍾🍾 Night!!
You roll your eyes at his last text before tossing your phone in to the passenger seat. The entire drive home you can’t get Frankie out of your head, wondering if he’d find you too eager to call him when you got home.
The decision made for you by the buzzing of your phone— Frankie’s name flashing on the screen.
Next
#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales x you#frankie morales#triple frontier#wildemaven writes#pedro pascal
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:Requested: ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Actor's Manager ˎˊ˗
- Ahh it's finally done !1! I didn't post that frequently because I'm being a good student... For now.
˗ˏˋ 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚃𝚘 𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝 ˎˊ˗
"Cut!" a shout was heard from the assistant director "Alright! That's all for today! Comeback on Monday!"
Leon stretched his arms groaning. He's tired and wants to sleep. He was having difficulty from the script because it wasn't that organized and some of the words he had to pronounce was hard. Sighing, he look around to find his manager which is you.
Seeing you talking to the Assistant Director "Yeah, I think we need to-" "Did...I did great?" hearing his voice you turned to your side. He was wearing a brown coat for his character which was kinda damn hot. "Y-yeah, you always do...A-anyways! I'll talk to you later Lacey" Lacey, your best friend which was the assistant director. She was the only one who knows about your relationship, for the past 7 years she still didn't ditch on the both of you. She nodded and giggled, walking away and went somewhere else. "Oh, Really? That's the 40th time you said that" he chuckled while fixing his messy hair. You always notice his mistakes but he'll always manages to make it right. He didn't even care when you keep telling him to back out because he wasn't capable at some scenes... That only makes him laugh, get ready to get mind-blowing because oh he'll do it. He doesn't care if explosions are included.
"Y/n! You got a message from one of the Talk shows!" the both of you heard Rebecca's voice. Last month, Leon got his first Oscar. Both of you got interviewed a lot on talk shows. Topics about the movie, life and other. "Well... I don't have any schedules today so... Might as well go!" you know how Leon gets quiet on talk shows and you do all the answers. He doesn't really mind going as long your going with him. "Yea, sure. I'm just hoping it won't take long"
.
"Today's guest are none other than... Leon Kennedy and Y/n L/n!" the audience clapped with their hands and some of them screaming not that loud. Both of you walking towards the stage, waving at the audience. The both of your greeted the audience and the host. Sitting down at the couch next to where the host is. "Well if it isn't the iconic duo" the host laughed. 'Iconic duo', that nickname was made when some of your fans saw some pictures of you two hanging out every day and always seemed to be not separate able. "How you two doin'?" the host asked. You smiled "Oh were doing great! How about you?" you asked the host nicely. Leon isn't really a fan of getting interviewed, so expect him to be quiet. "I'm doing great too! Thank you for asking but... Is Leon alright there?" the host then focused on Leon who's seems to be staring of to space. You nudge his shoulder "oh- what- ... Ah... Sorry, I've been really hella tired from the making of the movie" the host then let out a frown "Oh... Really? Shoot, I didn't know you two were still on work... I'm really sorry if i bothe-" "No, no, no! It's okay! Were on a break anyways!" You apologized to him and then turned to Leon glaring at him but, he only let out a chuckle. "Oh... Is that so? Well, alright then! So, uhmm, let's start first with some questions from your fans" Oh god- this isn't good. Look, some of you fans have been asking really weird questions! "Alrighty, the first question is for... Leon!" You sighed in relief but also nervous about the question for Leon. Leon then turned his head towards the host waiting for the question "Leon, are You and Ada are in a relationship?" Suddenly the audience started to clap, scream and some of them getting flustered. Leon didn't really react about it. The audience didn't seem to notice the sad expression on your face. Your relationship between Leon has been in private for more than a year...
"Ada? Ada Wong? Pfft, no. She isn't my woman, you can see the both of us interacting in every scene of the movie but that doesn't mean we're dating. She hates me and I'm not her type" Leon wants to get this over with, he can see your face in a sad expression. Some of the audience frowned at his answer. You tried to laugh so it wouldn't be obvious that your saddened. You couldn't handle it anymore... You want your relationship to be public! But your sure there'll be something going bad to happen.
After the interview was done, finally the both of you can rest and have some alone time in your shared apartment. You sat on the couch with your head low. "Dinner should be done in... 6 minutes" Leon said, wiping his wet hands onto the handkerchief. He then saw you sitting ln the couch, your face in a sad expression "Hey? Everything okay?" walking towards you, he then sat besides you and put his hand on your shoulder "Hey, talk to me..." You turned your head to look at him. "We... We should stop this..." Your hands were shaking and your eyes almost filled with tears. Leon got confused on what your saying "w-what? What are you talking about?" " I m-mean... that we should end our relationship!" now tears were rolling down your cheek. Leon's eyes widen, confused "End it? W-why? Did I do something wrong? Tell me! and I'll fix it! I p-promise!" He begged. What were you saying? Why end it? Did he do something wrong? "Y/n... Please give me a reason?" He said, holding the both of your shaking hands in his. "I want our relationship to be known! I'm sick of everybody thinking that You and Ada are in a relationship which isn't true! But... Everyone can possibly hate me, them expecting that it should be Ada your dating not me-" you tried to talk but Leon interrupted you by putting his lips onto yours. He doesn't want any negative sentence coming from your mouth. His hand reaching up to your cheek caressing it. After that kiss, you couldn't help but kiss him again. The worries were disappearing, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pulled away from the kiss to catch a breath and admire him. A yelp then came out from your mouth when he suddenly picked you up, bridal style "Let's continue this to the bedroom" you giggled.
Throwing you to the bed. Leon undressing himself and his clothes placed somewhere else. He slowly crawl towards you with his eyes lock onto yours. "Let me take care of you..." He said, he was now on top of you. His head dip down to your neck kissing it making you moan. "Open your legs for me pretty... Let me show that your way better than that Ada" and so, you did. Your legs open just for him. His hand slowly pulling down your short pants, the cold air making contact to your skin. "Oh~? What's this?" You feel his fingers touching the sides of your panties "Isn't this the panties that i bought you~?" You immediately nodded, he chuckled and got even more horny than ever. You look beautiful and hot wearing it <3 maybe he should take a picture? "It's just for you L-leon..." You whispered. He smiled, of course it was just for him. "It is... I'm going to make you scream my name over and over again..." This... Is going to be a longgg night.
Falling down from the bed. The sound of Heavy breathes filling up the room. "Your killing me woman..." He joked, looking at you at his side still breathing heavily. "Did I go too hard on you?" Gosh, you love his aftercare's... It makes your heart feel warmer than ever. You shook your head "You know how I love it when you go rough" you tease him making him chuckle. You then felt him shuffle from the bed, looking to your right he seems to be getting something from the night stand. "Leon? What's that?" you ask him but he didn't respond but continue to search something from the night stand. "Leon?" He was holding something... It's a small red box- wait- He then turned around to you still laying at the bed. "Y/n... We've been together for more than 5 years an I enjoyed it so much. You mean so much to me. Your the last thing that I want to lose... I'd look forward to every little surprise and laughter I can give you. I love you so much Y/n, will you mary me?" Your heart was beating fast, and tears slowly starts to pour down to your cheeks... You don't know what to do... But can only let out a 'Yes!'. Letting him touch your fingers, he slid the ring to your index finger. You couldn't help but launch yourself to him hugging his naked body. "Woah, thare!" He laughed and that made you laugh too. He wrap his arms around your waist, his next mission was to plan the marriage.
PLEASEEEEEEE I HAVEN'T POSTED FOR A WEEK DKBAOBBQ.
#resident evil#blueyheartzposts#resident evil x reader#resident evil fanfiction#leon kennedy#leon scott kennedy#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy fanfic#leon kennedy x y/n#angst to fluff
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Hello darlings! 🍂
So a while back someone asked if I’d ever be willing to share my planning document for the story. As I’m currently in the process of extending my in-game year to 6 days I took a moment to redo my template. While it is still blank and spoiler-free, I thought this would be a good time to show you all what it looks like. Of course this includes a long rambling explanation so I’ll leave everything for anyone interested under the cut…
So first and foremost this is just the template that helps me, and may not work for others. I also know some simmers keep a calendar oriented around in-game events like birthdays, weddings, etc.; however, mine is designed to help me translate my writing into orderly in-game shoots as well to see if there’s an imbalance in posts.
To break it down, I use a system where 6 in-game days=one real life year (although this template could be used for any formula). Each of these days is listed under the year and corresponds to a color for easy visual delineation. The pattern then repeats itself each year. Under each day, I have five slots categorized by times of day. This is because I usually have more than one post to shoot on the same day, so I can list them out neatly to the right rather than all in one line. It also gives me a better idea of what time of day/lighting to shoot each scene in.
Moving to the right, you can see that scenes fall into different categories. I mostly use “story posts” which is just the scenes as written in order. “Other events” and “Etc. Posts” are for things like letters (when I will need to load into another household to take photos there) or portraits, lookbooks, etc. All the way to the right is where I tally up the total number of story posts for that year, which helps me identify gaps in the narrative.
When I am ready for a particular arc (as I’m currently in the 1930-1933 arc this already has a completed spreadsheet), I read through the writing that I have and plug each scene into the corresponding year. I can then move some scenes up or down if need be as well as see where I can add scenes. When it’s completed, I can go in game and know exactly what needs to be shot next or if I missed anything. It does take a bit of time to translate my writing into this spreadsheet, but I find it saves me a lot of time and headache in the overall process.
I hope that this wasn’t overly complicated as I know systems/organization techniques often make sense to those who use them but not to others. Feel free to leave any questions in the comments 🥰
#my apologies I cannot for the life of me remember who asked!#otherwise I would tag you dear#but I hope you see this and find it helpful#resources
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In a Different Light: Scene Two
Back with part two of the Sleuth Jesters!actor AU! AO3 link is above, but the entire chapter will also be included below, as usual. And of course, many thanks to @naffeclipse for these characters who have lived rent free in my head for months now hehe <3
Hope you all enjoy! It's time for those other kisses.
Rating: T
Word Count: ~23,300
Content Warnings: Very mildly suggestive content
Summary: The animatronic sighs heavily.
“Yes, I know I should have gone with the handcuffs instead. But why else am I supposed to wear suspenders if not to seductively slide them off for you one at a time?”
As he says this, he reaches up and hooks a finger underneath one of the straps. His air is nothing short of coy, like an idea has just taken shape in his devious mind, and he slowly eases the fabric across his shoulder, flirting with slipping it over the edge. A curled metal digit suggestively rubs the suspender. It would probably have a much greater effect on you if his little show wasn’t currently being backed by cheery elevator music, and that alone has your lips spasmodically twitching.
Sun gives the impression of waggling his brows, rife with an emotion you refuse to label.
“Are you seduced yet?” he croons.
~~~
The city streets on New Year’s Eve paint a scene of winter white awash in the pale yellow shine from stores and lampposts. Strings of warm lights keep the sidewalks appearing deceptively cozy, but you know that just beyond the cold glass of the car window is an even brutally colder world. The temperature at last dipped to the single digits today, and with the sun having just disappeared below the horizon, casting the sky in a dark blue and gray mix, everything will freeze over tonight.
Craning your neck so that you can see the sky better, you know that the heavy darkness that greets you from above holds layers of clouds thick with snow. The forecast you caught a glimpse of on the TV before Moon had ushered you out of your home stated that the snowfall accumulation was anticipated to reach an extra five inches.
Probable reason to stay indoors. That hasn’t stopped your work party from staying on schedule at some ritzy, swanky hotel the city is known for, and nothing short of a disaster will impede the event. The show must go on, or so the producer had said. Attendance isn’t mandatory, as today is a company-observed holiday, but it is heavily encouraged since the one previously planned earlier had to be postponed to tonight. Maybe you’re the fool for going to this one, but you’ve actually been really looking forward to it. It’s a chance to celebrate with everyone all the hard work they’ve put into each scene. When the final episode of your team’s triumphant efforts airs, another party will be due, but this one feels extra special despite filming not being done yet. You’re welcoming in the new year together, and after all the time you’ve spent getting to know your coworkers, not going to the party held tonight would feel like you’re missing out immensely. You need this reprieve just as much as everyone else does.
And… well. The present company attending the party certainly factors into your desire to go. One-third of your favorite attendees sits next to you now, and you pull away from the window of the car to peer at Moon instead.
The beloved hat from his detective costume remains firm on his head—the sole piece he seems to have grown a deep attachment to. It suits him well and almost makes you feel like you’re still in the middle of a shoot, acting out a scene with Detective Moon in his patrol car as you scour the city together.
His gloved hands rest on the wheel, and his eyes remain fixated on the road ahead. A very good thing, given his typical driving habits and the fact that you’re sure he knows most of the city police by name now. Not by choice either. That’s exactly why you didn’t relay to Sun or Eclipse how you were getting to the party until you’d fastened your seatbelt. For one, when Moon had offered to come pick you up and escort you to the hotel, how could you have possibly said no to that? It sure beats paying for an expensive lift to the event. For another, the texts you’ve since received are nothing short of concerned. After the string of praying emojis Sun had posted in the group chat, you’d decided to just put away your phone for the time being.
You’ll be fine. Moon hasn’t hit any obstacles yet, literal or figurative, though that was a bit of a close brush with a tree he had on that last turn.
As he often does, he senses your eyes on him without needing to check.
“I can feel your stare digging into my faceplate. What is it?” His voice starts out in that soft grumble you’ve come to adore, but then his low pitch lifts to a little more lilting—a tease. “See something you like, maybe?”
The instinctive response that wants to clamber out of your throat is quickly choked down. Even though he’s the one who’s mentioned it, you suspect he has no idea. You’ve long since soared past “liking” him. That conversation you had with Eclipse weeks ago has not left your thoughts since. Every day at work, every night in bed, you’ve thought about what he’d said. What he’d done. You now know that the attraction you feel for the others is not just in your head. That part is indisputable. Having a relationship with Sun, Moon, and Eclipse is appealing to you in no small amount. You just needed the time to realize that on your own and make sure that this attraction wasn’t only a passing fancy.
Judging by how every single one of your waking thoughts has been centered on them for countless hours, you’re pretty sure you have your answer.
In a rare burst of what’s either bravery or stupidity, you decide to throw caution to wind. Your fingers wiggle as they sneak over Moon’s arm that’s closest to you and then dip around his wrist. There is a flash of red as he briefly glances away from the snowy roads, but he has to snap his attention back to the traffic around him. A car honks not too far away.
Honey couldn’t be sweeter than the smile that curls up your face.
Buoyantly, like you haven’t spent hours agonizing over how to approach your feelings for him, you say in a singsong, airy tone, “I might.”
Moon chuffs. His dry amusement at your antics never fails in elevating your mood, though you couldn’t be happier as it is. You squeeze his wrist playfully, and his hand clenches around the steering wheel. Only a matter of time now.
The swish of the windshield wipers fills the quiet, broken only by the clicking of the turning signal as Moon takes a harrowing left. You’re honestly surprised he remembered to signal at all. His fingers drum atop the wheel while his processor tries to determine if this is a game worth playing. He knows as well as you just how risky diverting any of his fleeting attention from driving is, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t against having a fun time.
Your fingers skirt along the edge of his glove, cheekily dipping in just an inch, and Moon shakes his head.
“You’re betting your life, piccolina.”
You wrinkle your nose at the pet name.
“I’m not that small.”
Moon, contrary to his trepidation, lifts the hand you’ve been toying with off of the steering wheel just to give you a so-so gesture. You snatch the opportunity to claim your prize, but you get the impression that Moon purposely lets you take his hand. His glove creaks as leather intertwines with your own fingers, lacing together and squeezing.
You beam proudly at your catch, and Moon rubs his thumb across your knuckles. He thankfully doesn’t look away from the streets, so you take full advantage of smiling at him and enjoying the moment with your friend. Moon’s presence always embodies a sort of calm that lulls you. He’s someone you can sit with in quiet and not worry about filling the space with words. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up from snoozing on his shoulder. Whenever that happens, you always apologize profusely, but for some reason, it just keeps repeating itself, and Moon thoroughly basks in it—both in getting you to relax that much and also being able to razz you relentlessly about it when you wake up.
You suppose it’s a small price to pay.
“Comfortable?” your companion’s voicebox thrums.
Yes. Very much so. Incredibly so, in fact. But you can’t say that because you don’t want to drop the teasing nature that Moon evokes. The kindness in the simple question wraps around you like a warm hug.
“I suppose,” you trail off with a shrug, and though Moon isn’t even peeking at you, he can certainly see the movement in his peripheral.
He flicks the signal again when he reaches his next turn. You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s signaling in the wrong direction though because at least he remembered to do it, and that’s what counts. As he slowly twists the wheel with only one hand, you hold your breath and hope some of the praying emojis Sun spammed in the group chat have a good effect. The tires skid a little in the slush of the road, but Moon miraculously doesn’t lose control, and he navigates onto the next street without further incident.
You breathe again.
“You suppose?” Moon drawls now that he’s not intensely focused on not crashing into a pedestrian or oncoming traffic. Or not as focused, you should say.
“Mhm.” You tap your free hand on your thigh and assess the current arrangement that begs to be malleable and crafted to your liking. An idea begins to form.
You glance at the time on the dash. The party started a half-hour ago, which means you and Moon are already late. It’s fifty-fifty on who’s to blame for that one, so you don’t really feel too bad. What’s a few more minutes? Granted, his brothers will probably begin a search party if you don’t show up soon, but you’ll take that gamble.
“So I was thinking,” you cautiously open with, and the words roll across your tongue as you draw them out.
Moon groans.
With a dour metaphorical tongue, he drones, “Here we go.”
He’s already clued in on what you’re doing, and you have to bite your own tongue to stop the laugh that wants to come out when he tightens his grip on your hand. Depending on his mood and how charitable he’s feeling, the lunar animatronic can be swayed by your charm into going along with some scheme or another as long as it’s legal. Often, he’s one-half of the voices of reason in keeping you in line while another brother backs him up (the third being more easily swayed by your wily ways, and you’re not going to name names, but it’s Sun). However, Moon is overlooking one important fact: He’s currently alone with you. You don’t need much more than that.
The seconds drag on as Moon waits for you to lay out your clearly devilish scheme befitting only the worst of criminals. When it becomes apparent that you won’t, he gives another synthetic groan that is entirely disproportionate to the situation at hand, and at the next red light, he comes to a full stop only a little past the white line. Then, he turns to you.
“What is it you want?” he gruffly demands, like you’re about to ask him to commit petty crimes with you again.
Honestly. You’d only asked him that once, and that was just because you’d wanted to see if the vigilante style would suit you in this life too. Moon had acted like you’d offered to start a mob instead, the very opposite of what you were going for, and you think that maybe playing detective has gotten a little too into his head because he’d threatened to turn you over to the cops he apparently knows so well if he caught you doing anything nefarious.
Maybe you should have approached Sun first about that. He seems more like the type to let you do some shady Robin Hood-esque business while covering for you.
But a little vigilantism isn’t on your plate tonight. Instead, you flutter your eyelashes at Moon, teeth peeking past your lips as you lose the fight in controlling your smile.
“I’d like a coffee please.”
A few more seconds of silence. His eyes don’t leave you for any of it, but you can practically see the mathematical formulas floating past him as he tries to parse for anything illegal in your request.
Slowly, like he’s defusing a bomb, he says, “I’m sure they’ll have that at the party.”
To that, you then amend, “Yes, but I’d like a specialty coffee.”
“…And this coffee would be special how?”
“Because you’ll stop at that really good café a few blocks from the hotel to get it for me?”
It comes out as a question, but your hopefulness is tinged well throughout. You’d clasp your hands in front of your chest if you weren’t already holding his.
Moon is sometimes difficult to get a read on, and even with no distractions around you, you can’t quite discern if he’s on your side this time. He searches your face like he’s studying some ancient script, committing lines to memory. His thumb still hasn’t stopped the soothing paths it follows across your hand.
Two quick presses to a car horn from behind jolt you and Moon. He resumes driving again, focusing back on the snowy road, and you reluctantly accept that you won’t get your way this time. That’s okay. Disappointing, but you can’t win them all. You’ll finagle things into your favor next—
“Tell me where to go,” comes the defeated exhale from your beloved companion.
You resist the wild urge to cheer and instead gleefully direct him to your new destination. It doesn’t take long to find it at all since the shop is directly along your current route. Incredibly, it’s still open even this evening—just what you were hoping for. Since the storm has begun to worsen, few people are out and about, which means rare street parking is open. Moon pulls into a space that is just a little ahead of the café, and you give his parallel parking the compliment that is due.
He’s actually really far from the curb in a way that would have not flown if he were taking his driver’s test, but there’s enough room for other cars to squeeze past his if need be. So you’re still proud of him. He gives you a sort of suspicious, sideways frown, but you can tell from the bashful hunch of his shoulders that he’s preening at the attention nonetheless.
Whoever approved his driver’s license is either an angel or an advocate for causing trouble.
You offer to go into the café alone, but he quickly shuts that down and tells you to give him your drink order instead. You reluctantly do, and as you’re rummaging in your coat pocket to give him money for the drink, he’s already out the door and telling you to stay put. The door then slams shut, and Moon hurries through whirling snow to the well-lit doors of the café.
Slumping in your heated seat with an exasperated sigh, you watch him with fondness budding in your chest. He left the car running so you wouldn’t be left in the cold—just another gesture that makes you feel odd inside. Like you’re restless and full of energy that you don’t know what to do with. You’re overflowing with affection for someone you hadn’t known until just months ago, and now, you consider him to be one of your best friends.
For some reason, your head is spinning with emotion.
In the cozy interior of the car, you watch through the snowflakes dotting the passenger window as Moon’s dark silhouette flutters about in the store. The edge of his thick overcoat sweeps around the back of his knees, and the hat he stole from set casts most of his head in shadow. You don’t think he ever intends to part with it. Maybe you should take a page from his book and nab some spare ribbon and bells when all is said and done. The character you play isn’t you, but you can’t help the connection you’ve developed with the vigilante over time. Parting from the show without taking a memento seems wrong. After all, it’s this role that led you to meeting some truly amazing people.
Moon wraps up with the order in little to no time and hustles back to the car as fast as his spindly legs will carry him. The winter wind whooshes inside the car when he opens the door and scurries inside. Just as quickly, the door shuts behind him, and he whistles from the cold shock.
“Might become a block of ice if it gets any chillier out there,” he hisses in a fizzle of static. “I can feel the snow getting in my joints.”
“Don’t worry, mon clair de lune,” you reassure, cranking up the heat to full blast for him. “I’ll be sure to warm you up before you become an icicle.”
“Believe that is my job,” Moon drawls, and he passes you a deliciously smelling to-go cup. “Here.”
He presses the hot cup of coffee into your waiting hands, and you greedily latch onto it while wholeheartedly extending your gratitude.
The aromatic sweetness hits your nostrils fully as you take a deep breath. Pure delight runs through your blood, and you hastily take a very long drag from the wonderful drink, swishing the steaming liquid around on your tongue before swallowing.
“Oh, I could kiss you right now,” you whisper into the lid of your coffee.
Thoroughly savoring the taste of your next sip, your eyelids flutter closed as the heat penetrates that frosty layer that had been persistently clinging fast. This is exactly what you needed. After another deep breath to relish in the richness, you glimpse over to find Moon’s pleased optics on you, soft and as warm as your drink. His smile is small, like he isn’t aware of it. But it changes before you can get a good look, and a familiar slyness overtakes all else.
“What’s stopping you?” he brazenly needles. He’s just playing around again, a harmless prod, but his innocuous question makes you pause like a deer in headlights.
Your hands are warmed by your to-go cup, the wind is whipping at a brisk pace outside the car, and your heart is abruptly thump, thump, thumping away in your chest at a breakneck speed that rivals the December gust.
Such a small, simple, harmless question makes something apparent to you then. There’s no one here but you and him, nothing else to demand your attention. Nothing to hold you back or make you doubt yourself or put you on the spot. It’s just you and the sweet lunar animatronic you hold very dear to your heart.
In this brief ounce of privacy between you and him, you feel a touch braver than usual.
“You know…” your voice mumbles, more to yourself than him, “I can’t really think of anything that is.”
The kiss—correction: two kisses—from Eclipse a few short weeks ago flashes in your mind. He hasn’t pushed once since giving you time to think about it, about how you feel about him. His brothers. A relationship with all three. You’ve been given time to consider fostering that with each of them if your heart yearns for your friends as much as you now know they yearn for you. It hadn’t quite clicked before the reveal that they wanted you. Since Eclipse’s confession, it’s never felt more real, and the way each of them act around you should have clued you in much sooner.
At least you know better now. There’s no writing off the lingering looks or touches or the words that sometimes carry a heavy tint to them. No, they all have meaning finally, and it’s felt like agony forcing yourself to slow down and think things through in the events leading up tonight.
The only one who’s pumping the breaks is you. Nothing is keeping you from just… letting go. No one is here to be a voice of reason as Moon sits beside you, closer than he’s been in weeks. Eclipse said he’d let his brothers speak for themselves about their feelings, but they’ve seemed to avoid the topic out of courtesy to you. No doubt their big brother told them about the moment he’d shared with you in that small alcove under a snowy night, much like tonight. Ball’s in your court now, and you have the chance to play.
You know what your heart wants. You’re sure of it.
So it’s a natural, easy choice for you to give in to the temptation whispering in your ear to stop resisting and just close the distance.
Moon doesn’t move an inch as you lower your drink in one hand and near, the only indication of him realizing what’s coming shown in the widening of his eyes.
With a small sweep of your fingers, you tip back your detective’s hat, hesitating only a moment to wait for any signs of discomfort from either you or him. Finding none but only the giddy anticipation coiling in your stomach and the inviting, subtle lean Moon makes in your direction, you slowly lid your gaze shut, tune out the pounding in your ears, and brush your lips against the cold metal of his cheek.
They demurely curl upward at the crackling gasp he emits. The sound has you wanting to stay, wanting to hear it again. You settle for trailing a ghost of another kiss just along that delicate swirl of metal. Before he can have a chance to react beyond that and before you can start second-guessing your actions, you pull away. Your heart won’t stop racing. It feels like your body is hardly contained to your seat at all and that you’ll glide away if you breathe too hard.
Moon’s dark pupils are blown incredibly large and round. His reaction is exactly what you were hoping for, and a small burst of pride wells behind your sternum. You did that. You made him react that way. You.
It’s a small tick in your confidence category, but even greater is the joy that grows wings and takes flight with you on its back. Moon gapes at you like you’re from the stars above, and you’ve never seen him stare at you like that before, but it’s already strengthening the heat in your cheeks.
You give him a moment to process and then delicately clear your throat.
“Shall we get going?” you ask your silent companion in an attempt to play coy. Internally, you’re a fumbling mess of a human who’s running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. The coffee cup trembles in your hand.
Even with your little prodding, he doesn’t seem to quite come out of whatever spell you’ve accidentally tossed him under. Well. Not entirely on accident. You very much kissed him on purpose.
Moon releases a thin hiss of air, like his cooling components are working overtime. He blinks once. Twice.
“What was that for?” he finally utters with tangible awe, but it’s little more than a breath. His voice could melt you into a puddle right in your seat.
You think back to what Eclipse said to you that night at the start of the month. A helpless shrug lifts your shoulders.
“Oh, you know. Just felt like getting a head start on the new year’s tradition.” Then, to make sure he’s on the same page as you, you add, “I take it Eclipse told you what happened a few weeks ago. About… testing the waters.”
Instead of scoffing, Moon softens almost imperceptibly. You’re starting to think he has no intentions of ever looking away. He lifts a hand towards you but then hesitates. Searches you for something you aren’t sure of. You lean your head to the side in invitation, and his hand cups your face much like Eclipse’s had.
In a sotto voce tone that crawls into your bones and makes its home there, he murmurs, “Clip asked us to give you time. That you wanted to think about it first. That’s why I—why we haven’t said anything. But I also don’t want you to feel like I’m not interested. Because I am. Interested, that is. Very much. In a way that’s probably more eloquent than I am when I’m around you.”
He gives an adorable little giggle that betrays his nervousness, and you titter alongside him.
Unable to not rib him just a little, you say, “Why, Detective Moon, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were feeling shy.”
“Funny. Don’t get used to it,” he warns, but he’s smiling as he does.
It feels good to know that you’re not the only one off your game at this. Makes it more lighthearted. No perfect lines or filtered dialogue like in front of the camera. The mask is off, and the sight you’re seeing beneath it is even more precious to you.
Moon takes a moment to process his next words, and you can tell by the thin whine stemming from his chassis that he’s heavily considering them. You stay quiet as you wait, and when his brow furrows, you know he’s settled whatever internal debate he was warring with.
The chilled hand is slowly warming at your cheek. The emotion on his face runs parallel to what’s been burning in your heart all this time.
“Would you mind if I got a head start too?” he tentatively asks.
There’s no ignoring the knot in your throat. Your stomach is flooded with antsy excitement, and you try to tuck away an errant strand of hair that keeps falling out of place. You feel like you’re shaking from nerves and eagerness. Imagining this exact moment playing out in your head for the past few weeks is very different from suddenly living it now.
You do your best to hide the thrilled tremor in your voice.
“I don’t see why not.”
The words probably don’t come across as confident or unaffected as you’d like, but then Moon is swiping away that loose bit of hair just as easily as he does so your thoughts. You feel him tuck it behind your ear, his fingers brushing back against your cheek a second time before sneaking around to the back of your scalp.
No resistance is offered when he pulls you close. You let your eyelids fall shut again just in time to shiver at the effervescent tap of his permanent grin to the very small corner of your lips, once again surprising you with the location of the kiss, though you won’t complain one bit about that. He doesn’t keep you for very long, but it’s enough that you have to let out a ragged breath that’s been building up ever since he teased you. His kiss leaves you spinning. That’s two for two that you’ve been caught off guard by a romantic display of affection. Well-played.
He shifts back some so that you can make eye contact—a simple task that you are now failing miserably at with impeccable odds.
You feel faint from the swell of emotion that this animatronic manages to pull to the surface with just a single kiss.
A flighty exhale precedes your shaky voice.
“Would it be cliché if I said ‘wow’ after that?”
Moon’s answering smile shines with elation. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the often stoic animatronic so profusely happy.
But before you can dwell on that, something else then catches your notice from his proximity. You scoot back in a little closer, safely preserving in your memory the tiny noise of shock Moon makes so that you can reflect on it later.
You take a deep breath in, and your curiosity momentarily beats out your fidgety nerves.
“Hang on. Is that… cologne?” you mutter, inhaling another whiff to confirm before leaning back, stunned at your findings. “Did you put on cologne tonight?”
Moon shifts again. Seems you’re not the only one feeling fidgety.
“Why do you ask?” he hedges cautiously, black pupils shifting, and you almost think he sounds defensive until his hand leaves your cheek. His fingers disappear into the insides of his coat, rummaging for something out of your view until he then pulls out—to your complete and incredulous astonishment—a can of WD-40.
He gives it a tiny shake.
“Did you want to use some too?”
In all your daydreams, there were a few things you had imagined happening right after you kissed Moon. Some gentle words. A hug, maybe. In the more risqué scenarios, an inability to breathe as he kissed you senseless again and again. All of those had seemed like viable options on the table of your secret hypotheses.
This, though. This was definitely not one of them, and you are baffled. You refuse to believe he just happened to have that can on him out of complete coincidence. It’s purely inconceivable.
You have to tell him as much.
“You have not been carrying that around all day just for the sake of making that joke.”
Moon’s faceplate rotates several degrees. He squints at you suspiciously. Contemplates the deep meaning of the universe, judging by how long he stays silent. Then, he casually hits you with a bombshell.
“You seem like you could use it.”
Your jaw scrapes the floor.
“Excuse me?! Are you implying that I smell?”
“…‘Implying’ is a rather interesting word choice.”
“Moon!”
Any reservations you might have had are banished by the lurching urge to snatch his beloved little hat from his bald little head and chuck it outside. His self-satisifed aura tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
Before you can think of some wisecrack to put the cretin back in his place, Moon smoothly clarifies, “You smell nice. You always do, actually. It’s light and sweet. Pleasant.” He gently pokes the can’s nozzle against your shoulder. “Just like you.”
You’re left speechless for the second time in as many seconds. Your brain is struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire changes, so you sit there useless for a few moments while trying to think of what to say.
It’s a little unexpected, is all.
Moon appears to be none the worse for wear. He enjoys your surprise for a bit more and then continues on.
“That’s why I put on something nice-smelling too. Or at least what seems to be popular among you humans. Just wanted to put in a little extra effort. For you. Not the WD-40 though, sorry. That’s only for emergencies.”
While still very unexpected, the reasoning is enough to somewhat loosen your twisted tongue.
“Emergencies,” you parrot, deadpan.
Moon nods. He surreptitiously sets the can behind you on the floor of the backseat.
After another extended beat, a snort escapes you, your face falls into your hand, and your nostrils flare with your amused exhale. Moon’s fans whir a little louder at the sound, and you sigh again before peeking at him through your fingers.
“You’re a dork, you know that? A buffoon.”
The gremlin is practically vibrating in his seat.
“One might even say I’m a jester.” He waggles his brows. “A sleuth jester.”
“Yeah, one might not.”
Your hand falls from your head. You point an accusatory finger at him.
“Clown behavior. That was terrible and unfunny.”
“Wanna see a magic trick?” he asks with glee.
“No,” you bark out around a loud laugh, and he snickers happily.
You sit together in the warm comfort of the car, and the sense of longing draws you into a contemplative quiet while you watch him, and he does much the same. Your smile is going to wear out from all this use it’s been getting, but you don’t mind at all how effortlessly Moon summons it. He has to do very little to tug that giddiness to the surface. A fact that you’ve taken special notice of more so lately.
His attentiveness is apparent even in his actions, and you want to address that.
“For the record,” you say, more muted than earlier so that Moon hears the subdued seriousness in your voice, “I just want you to know that while you putting in extra effort is really sweet and appreciated, it’s also not strictly necessary. I don’t expect you to go out of your way for me. Getting to spend time with you is more than enough already. You don’t need to change anything about yourself to please me.”
The ruby glow dims a little, and Moon’s hands fiddle with the edge of his coat. You have the sneaking suspicion that if he could blush, his cheeks would be matching his optics right about now.
“I know,” he says back, equally gentle. “Actually, that is part of what endeared you to me. The fact that you don’t care that I’m—that any of us are animatronics and have different functions or needs or even lack of needs that humans do have. But I also know that it’s a custom to put in a little extra effort for someone you care about… someone you might be considering building a relationship with.”
His admission presses down like a leaden weight on your tongue.
“Moon…”
You’re not sure what to follow that with. You wish you could express everything that his heartfelt words are doing to you and how they threaten to stop your heart in its tracks if it keeps missing a beat.
What you do manage to say, gingerly, is much smaller in comparison than everything you want to express, but it’s a start.
“Thank you for being patient with me.” You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and try to focus past that. Moon waits for you to continue with a silent understanding in his demeanor that speaks volumes. A bit meekly, you say, “I doubt it’s much of a secret anymore how I feel about pursuing that with you, Sun, and Eclipse, huh?”
His hands stop playing with his coat. The crescent splitting the dark sapphire blue and lustrous silver of his faceplate curves an elegant sweep along the metal craftsmanship, and you are reminded not for the first time that Moon is beautiful. In your mind’s eye, you trace an imaginary line around the smooth curls and hidden divots, every slight highlight and blemish and silver scratch. With your imagination taking flight, you are met with a fantasy not unlike the one you’d had of Sun weeks ago. In this one, you sit in Moon’s lap, cradling the lower half of his faceplate in your hands, and your lips find those intricacies to lay a kiss on, to bestow your affection. His own hands paint a delicate dance that rides up the back of your shirt while he flirts with the edges of it.
It’s just as intimate and gripping, and it leaves you shuddering in your seat. As you blink, and the scene dissipates.
You want that. You want it a lot. There’s not a shadow of a doubt in you about that. No shying from the truth now.
All you have to do is take the next step forward into the others’ waiting arms.
Moon doesn’t reply, which you think you appreciate more than a verbal confirmation. He leans away from you back into his seat much to your disappointment and blinks slowly, a languid relaxation to his serene expression. As far as he’s concerned, there’s seemingly no one else in the world now but you and him.
You're tempted. You doubt he’d say no to letting you test the waters with more than just the tips of your toes. But the snow is falling, and you have a party to get to, and you can’t remain frozen forever in this moment. It’s hard to remember your other obligations, but you manage to peel your gaze away.
“We should—” you swallow around your voice crack and clear your throat. “We should probably get going. To the party and all that.”
A rumbling respiration stems from Moon’s metal chassis. The lunar brother reluctantly shakes off his daze, muttering some indiscernible words to himself, and he sets the car back into motion down the street. The hotel isn’t far now, just up ahead and poking through the cloud of dark gray and white whirling outside. Even still, it surprises you when there’s a subtle tug on your wrist.
Moon’s fingers curl around you, slipping one hand free of your cup so that he can grasp it. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, but you don’t need to. His fierce focus on the wet and slushy roads tells you all.
When he pulls up to the hotel’s overhang, the valet draws up to his side to discuss parking. You tune them out in favor of enjoying the two points of warmth in your hands, one around your coffee and the other ensnared in leather. All too soon, Moon lets go and gets out to let the valet take over.
You gather your things and tighten your coat around your waist. In that very short time frame, your door is then swung open, and Moon gives a debonair dip to hold out a hand to you, his other arm behind his back.
“I believe I offered to escort you in,” he remarks with a tinge of coyness. It seems he’s getting a little of that spark back after your moment together.
Your surprised sound at the unexpected gesture threatens to oust you, but you do your best to keep your cool.
“Such a gentleman,” you croon.
His low brush of laughter makes the cold feel not as strong on your cheeks as he helps you out of the car, the heels of your shoes wobbling on the cobblestone until you find your balance. His eyes reflect the twinkling golden ambience of the city lights around you, warm and delighted. They brighten even more when he offers you his arm and you take it happily, shivering from the cold that cuts through the tailored fabric of your suit pants.
Together, you and Moon enter the skyscraper hotel, and after showing your identification to the personnel and each being given some sort of pass, you are fast directed to the second floor where the holiday party is being held. In the elevator, you can’t seem to bring yourself to let go of Moon’s arm. He doesn’t seem too keen on letting you go either. His other gloved hand rests smoothly atop your own as if to keep you there.
As soon as the elevator doors slide open, a symphony of music and conversation greets you. The noise would normally grate against your ears, but with the calm presence of your friend guiding you into the chaos, your shoulders stay relaxed and your steps sure. Several coworkers take notice of your entrance and nod or raise their glasses in celebratory welcome. You wave to your colleagues, but you search for someone else. Technically two someones, but in this crowd, you know you won’t have to look long.
Moon steers you towards the left of the floor where open double doors lead into the main hub of activity. There’s another check-in desk there, but you and Moon only have to flash your name badges to be waved on in. The room echoes the same noise and bustling activity just outside it, with more of the film and production crew milling about and enjoying themselves. Lifting your head, you get a waft of what can only be delicious food, and you absentmindedly let out a pitiful whine as your stomach grumbles.
Soft snickering from above pulls your attention, and you glare at Moon. His merriment shines wide in his teeth.
“Do we need to take a quick detour?” he asks, reading you in a heartbeat.
You release a pained sigh.
“No, I can wait. Let’s find your brothers first.”
“Already done.” Moon points to a table off in the corner, and sure enough, twin sets of rays, one yellow and the other blue and purple, peek out from the chairs. Both are facing away from you since they’re sitting beside each other, so they haven’t noticed your arrival yet, something your feet seem keen on remedying as they hasten over to your friends. You end up dragging Moon along for the ride, but he’s quick to catch himself and match your speed.
Sun and Eclipse appear in deep conversation, the former chattering enthusiastically while the latter answers more slowly, slouched against the wall next to his chair and a hand shadowing his optics. You can’t help but admire how the sharp suits and ties they wear fit them both very attractively, though Sun’s already discarded his coat on the back of his chair. Eclipse catches sight of you and Moon first, and he gives a little wave that makes you accidentally clench Moon’s hand and causes Sun to spin to see you as well just as you reach them.
“It’s about time you got here!” he exclaims. “We were just about to start dinner without you.”
You tut in skeptical disbelief, saying, “A likely story. You can’t even eat, which… makes me wonder. Why are you holding a glass?”
Sun looks at the flute in his hand then back at you.
“What, this? It’s champagne. One of the waitstaff gave it to me, so now I’m trying to blend in. Is it working?”
From over your shoulder, Moon says, “Considering that you start to act tipsy whenever a certain special someone is around, I’d say you fit right in.”
You dutifully ignore Sun’s indignant squeak because your attention is quickly arrested elsewhere. In one chivalrous motion, Moon slips away from your side to pull out a chair for you. Your head ducks as the temperature of the room inches up a couple of degrees, and it only grows stronger when he helps you shed your heavy coat to drape it over the back of the chair. You murmur your thanks and slide into a seat across from Eclipse, Moon pushing your chair back in. He answers with a hum of acknowledgement and takes the one next to you.
Clearing your throat, you attempt to focus on what he’d just said.
“So who’s the special someone?”
Eclipse snorts loudly, and you tilt your head at him, confused. Sun rubs a hand over his optics with a groan. You can hear his internal fans kick on from over here.
The brother sitting next to you is the only one to take pity on you, but his amusement could be classified as tangible.
“I was referring to you, sweetness.”
“Oh.” Your mouth might be hanging a little open, but you can’t be blamed for it. That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. Actually, there are a lot of things happening tonight that you weren’t expecting, and you have a sneaking suspicion they’d be obvious to literally anyone else. “I hadn’t, ah, noticed.”
“Really?” Moon’s voice is dry, intoning more of a statement than a question.
“Don’t be rude,” Sun chastises Moon, but you think that might be because he’s just still embarrassed from his brother’s remark. “They haven’t eaten yet. You can’t be mean to someone with an empty stomach. It’s bad manners.”
Eclipse squints at him.
“How is that considered bad manners, but not the whole being mean part in general?”
“Because I don’t want to exempt myself from being allowed to get on the nerves of my big brother.” Sun turns back to Moon. “Stop kicking me under the table.”
“Move your damn big feet then,” Moon fires back, slumping deliberately in his seat.
The table shudders with a jarring bang, and you carefully tuck your legs close to your chair to avoid catching any crossfire of the sudden battle happening under the white tablecloth. You share a knowing look with Eclipse, and the dazed tiredness in his gaze makes you smile.
He sighs.
“Did you have a safe drive here?”
Was Moon a safe driver for once, is what he’s really asking. You rest your chin in your hand and lean forward.
“It was a nice, smooth ride,” you muse, fingers curling around your coffee cup. “My chauffeur knew some tricks that made the trip seem to go by so much faster. Feels like we got here in no time at all.”
Eclipse sighs and briefly closes his eyes as if calling upon divine intervention. You think if he had an actual nose, he’d be pinching the bridge of it.
“How many red lights did he run?”
“None,” Moon says, rejoining the conversation as if he and Sun weren’t just engaged in a slapdash battle of footsie. “I take care of my passengers and ensure their safety at all costs.”
“Past experience and numerous police tickets say otherwise,” Eclipse returns wryly.
Moon’s grin sharpens.
“Performance is based on tips.”
Pupils as black as midnight peer out once more, flicking between you and Moon in confusion before settling on you.
“And did you… tip him?”
You give Eclipse a conspiratorial wink.
“I held his hand while he drove us here.”
“Mercy.” Sun recoils, absolutely appalled. “You risked him driving with only one hand on the wheel, and in this weather? Are you perhaps feeling unwell?”
“If you try to suggest putting your fingers in my mouth again, we’re gonna have a problem, and that’s a threat.” You point at Sun for emphasis, and he pretends you’re holding him at gunpoint, his hands flying up in a pacifying manner. One of your eyes squeezes shut, and you mime shooting, which makes him slump back dramatically in his seat like you got him square in the chest. You shake your head, lips twitching upward while Sun straightens again. “I’m not sick, but I am hungry. Actually, I think I’m gonna go grab some food before it’s all gone.”
“Allow me,” Eclipse says, and it’s not a question. He rises to his feet.
You consider getting up anyways just for the principle of the matter, but a single finger pointing at you to sit back down is enough to have you settling in your chair with a fake pout.
While buttoning his suit coat with one hand, he asks, “Anything you’re particularly in the mood for?”
You consider for a moment.
“Mm, no, I trust your judgment. You probably know my tastebuds better than I do at this point.”
An emotion passes across Eclipse’s dark faceplate, something that makes your skin prickle at the sudden knifelike quality to it. Instead of voicing whatever he’s thinking, he just spins his rays and returns your wink from earlier.
“I’ll be back with a plate.”
He saunters away, politely dodging groups of people and conversations as he makes his way towards the mouthwatering smell of food. You track him for a little while as you nurse your coffee until you’re brought back to the present at your table. Sun and Moon are being unusually quiet, and both are staring at you.
“What?” you say after a pause.
Sun’s smile normally warms you to the soul, but there are times when it sends you into fight or flight mode, just like Eclipse’s. In fact, all three of the brothers share that uncanny ability, and it’s no less disarming whenever it’s aimed at you. The meaning behind the near-predatory flash of teeth can operate anywhere on the scale of danger, and depending on Sun’s mood, it can quickly tip over into territory you want to avoid.
His rays blur in one direction then the other.
“You have a way with words, precious.”
“…Thanks. I think.”
You don’t know if that was meant to be a compliment, but you’ll take it as one anyways.
Sun doesn’t say either way, but the deep blue of his pupils are cutting. It’s offset by the rather distracting way he’s swirling his champagne around in the flute like it’s a glass of wine. You’re not exactly sure why he’s doing that, but you are impressed at how not a single drop of liquid spills over the top despite being full.
A couple of minutes tick by as you simply relax and chat with the brothers while sipping your drink. It’s not long until restlessness begins digging in, however, and you give a cursory glance around the room and tap your fingers on the table.
“So what’re your plans after this?”
The question is barely out in the open before Moon answers with a sarcastic, “Going home and getting absolutely plastered.”
Apathy ricochets off you and Sun.
“They should make a park for people like you.” Sun tips his glass at his brother. “An unamusement park.”
“Hilarious.”
“No, it’d be the opposite of that.”
“That’s just Wall Street, Sun,” you say around a yawn, and Sun somehow makes a noise like he’s clicking a tongue he doesn’t have. You don’t question it.
Moon hmphs and crosses his arms like a child. You decide it’s best not to tell him that it only endears him to you even more.
“You do have a bit of a dry personality when it comes to acting,” you say, reaching up to scratch your chin in contemplation. When Moon’s faceplate swivels at you, utterly dumbfounded, you quickly add, “Not that that’s a bad thing! It’s just different from what is more common nowadays. That’s probably why you and Sun complement each other so well too. In fact, I think you would have been great in a show like Dragnet, Detective Moon.”
“No, don’t get him started—” Sun begins in a petulant whine, but it’s too late.
Moon’s red optics widen a fraction, and he suddenly gets a gleam in them, like he just got hit with inspiration. His metal fingers tug the brim of his hat so low that only the light of crimson shines from the shadow. Then his hands make quick work of loosening the knot of his tie just enough that it sits slightly askew. He squints across the table at the wall, staring at nothing with such intensity that it’s like he’s scrutinizing something a great distance away. His shoulders pull back, while he mimes takes a heavy drag of a smoking cigar.
Finally, to tie the charade together into a neat bow, he says in a very husky, deadpan voice that cracks with static, “Just the facts, ma’am.”
Sun’s eyes roll so hard, they could fall out of his head. You grin wide. In your peripheral, you think you see dark rays approaching your table.
“It’s almost like he does it effortlessly,” you joke playfully.
“That’s because there is no effort put into it,” Sun says, exasperated. “He’s not acting. Monotone is his personality.”
A sneer breaks Moon’s act, and he spins his head around in a complete circle to taunt his brother. Defying all physics, his hat remains squarely on all the while.
“Sun’s jealous because he knows if this were a different show, he’d be relegated to sidekick status.”
As Moon’s speaking, Eclipse returns, full plate in hand. He sets it down in front of you, to which you thank him, picking up the silverware next to you. His rays give a little wiggle in return, and he melts back into his seat with a grunt, propping his elbow back on the table and resting his head on his hand.
“I think being a main character has gotten to your head,” Sun returns snippily. There’s an exaggeration to his voice and haughty head tilt that tells you he’s just as much bantering along with Moon. The swirling of his drink gets more aggressive. “We’ll see how well that works out for you. Maybe this will be the start of my villain arc, and I’ll secretly become the big bad of the story with a mafia to my name.”
“Ugh, please do,” Eclipse groans from where he lounges, dragging his hand down his faceplate. “I’m tired of having to be mean.”
That snags your attention. You shuffle a bite of what might be teriyaki chicken onto your tongue and chew thoughtfully.
Holding your hand in front of your mouth as you munch so that you don’t endure another lecture from Sun, you say, a bit muffled, “I really should find the time to sit in on one of your classes soon. I wanna hear all of your secrets to playing the big bad villain.”
Eclipse’s chuckle flows on a deep wave that buzzes in his chest and warms yours, making your own cheeks hurt, both from the large bite of food you’re chewing and from how you beam at fostering such a sound. His low-lidded black eyes slide over to you, peering out from under his hand.
“That’s easy,” he says. “Anytime I have to act angry, I just think about these two idiots and the shit they make me put up with.”
Sun’s visage turns affronted.
“Language! And what exactly do you mean by that anyways?”
“He certainly couldn’t be referring to all the times we’ve pranked him,” Moon retorts, pretending to examine his nonexistent nails.
You nod sagely in agreement.
“Or the times you’ve tried to sabotage his shoots by distracting him.”
“Or how often we customize his wardrobe for fun.”
“And there was also that time you hid his car keys in a jello mold.”
Moon brightens at that one like you’ve made him recall a fond memory.
Sun leans back in his seat and bends an arm over the back of it. His frown slants sideways.
“Well, when you say it like that, it makes us sound bad.”
You twirl your fork on your plate and share a look with the animatronic from across the table.
“I wonder why.”
Your group laughs then along with one supremely ragged sigh from Eclipse, stirring up a decent amount of noise in the already loud room. The conversation continues much the same, with the three brothers taking cracks at each other while you watch the show and scarf down your dinner. It’s by the time that your plate is scraped clean and you’re sipping on the cold leftovers of the coffee Moon got you that a new presence is drawn in by the chatter in your small corner. You don’t immediately notice them until they speak up.
“Why am I not surprised to see you four all cozying up together in your own little area?” a calm voice addresses your table.
You glance up and find a much too complacent smirk staring you down.
Sun takes a gander at your table’s new visitor and acquires an awfully mischievous glint.
“Uh oh. Security breach! Someone better let staff know that the Loch Ness Monster has gotten out of containment again.”
Like clockwork, Vanessa’s eyes narrow, and she places her hands on her hips, lips pursing.
“That nickname hasn’t been funny in all the ten other times you’ve used it.”
“Au contraire, little fish. It ages like a fine wine.”
Rolling her eyes at the lighthearted taunt from the jesting animatronic, she turns back to you.
“So when’s the wedding?” she presses, apparently deciding to return fire with fire.
A scoff trickles out, and you consider diving into a lengthy, not at all defensive rant about how the rumors your coworkers love circulating are just that: rumors. Just because you’ve decided you want to be with the celestial animatronics doesn’t mean you’ve all had a conversation about making that public yet, if ever.
But then Moon decides that now is apparently the best time to slide his arm behind you and tuck it over your shoulders, and you’re left choking down your own rebuttal because he just threw it in the mud in one shove.
Vanessa doesn’t smile often. She looks like a damn cat that caught a canary now.
On reflex, as if you can salvage your dying dignity, you say, “We’re not dating, Ness.”
Technically not yet since you still need to have a chat with Sun privately and then discuss with all three of them to make sure you’re on the same page. But you don’t need to clarify that.
“Yeah, Nessie,” Moon adds, dutifully ignoring Vanessa’s immediate grimace at her other equally despised nickname. Really, though, he needs to stop talking all at once. “Can’t you see we’re all just hanging out like a couple of buddy ol’ pals?”
“Not helping, Moon,” you half-heartedly lament, trying to formulate a protest, but the blonde-haired woman has already taken the bait.
She lifts a brow.
“If this is how you treat your ‘friends,’” she says, actually pausing to make the air quotes, “then I’m glad we never became more than associates.”
“Aw, there’s no need to be so pessimistic,” Sun drawls with a heavy inflection, sweet like molasses. He reclines in his chair, crossing his legs. “Just because we never had a spark between us doesn’t mean there aren't still plenty of fish in the sea. Or lake, I should say. The show’s not over yet.”
“It’s about to end prematurely if you keep talking like that,” Vanessa shoots back without dropping the flatness in her tone one iota.
Sun’s smirk is all dangerous edges, and his rays twirl flirtatiously.
The display and banter is nothing out of the ordinary between those three. Though she may deny they’re friends, Vanessa has always gotten along well with all of the brothers, which is probably another reason you’ve also gotten along well with her. She’s been in the acting business longer than you have, and instead of trying to show you how things are done, in the beginning, she watched and noted your own technique. Only after you asked her for her advice did she offer it. She’s brought a professionalism to the show that is greatly needed, yet she still keeps an open mind to how everyone else does their own work.
For that, she’s earned a lot of respect from you. It took only a little nudging to get her to warm up to your friend group. The feigned disinterest is now just part of the usual routine, and you know for a fact that no one except Moon and Sun have gotten her to laugh aloud.
You owe a lot to the show you’ve all worked on together for the friendships alone that you’ve gotten through it.
“Have you been enjoying the party?” You decide to reroute the conversation before an all out war can break out in the form of snappy comebacks.
Vanessa groans.
“I could be relaxing in bed with a hot cup of tea. In fact, I should be relaxing in bed with a hot cup of tea. But for some godforsaken reason, I made the poor choice to come here instead.”
“Because you like us,” Moon singsongs, circling a finger along the white tablecloth.
Vanessa deigns to ignore that. Everyone knows he’s right, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before she ever agrees with him.
She addresses you instead.
“I see they’ve been practicing their terrible pick-up lines. I’m sorry you had to be the unfortunate one and settle for scraping the bottom of the barrel, unlike the rest of us.”
“Wow,” Sun huffs, dry as sandpaper.
“Deserved,” Eclipse chips in, just as dry but no less entertained at the spectacle unfolding.
“Like I said,” you say, not concealing your amusement at Vanessa’s persistence, “we’re not an item yet, so stop trying to set us up.”
“Yeah, I really don’t think you need my help with that,” she returns far too smoothly.
Your jaw goes slack, but Vanessa steamrolls right over your scandalized shock as usual.
“Anyways, I came over to fetch you for a second if you can spare one from your boyfriends. Freddy is asking for you.”
“Oh!” At that, you glance around in search of the bear animatronic, purposefully ignoring that last small dig.
With his big, hulking frame, it doesn’t take long to spot Freddy. He’s chatting with a few others in a semi-circle. As expected, you catch the slightest glimpse of Gregory next to him, though the poor kid seems miserable in his suit and tie. You can more than relate and have to stifle a small chuckle at his pout.
You turn back to your table and ease out of your chair onto stiff heels and creaking joints. Oof, that’s definitely the sound of your knees going snap, crackle, and pop.
“I’ll be right back. Save my seat?”
Moon blinks at it. Then back at you.
“Why? Is it dying?”
Before you can give back a snarky reply, Sun tacks on with faux concern, “Hey, is your fridge running?”
You share a wordless, pointed look with Vanessa and decide it’s best to not indulge them before they can get on a roll because once they start egging each other on, there’s no stop in sight.
Eclipse nods at you.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them in line while you’re gone.”
The twin snide leers in response tell you otherwise, but you’ll let him deal with that. His problem now. As you turn, you get a glimpse of Moon hunkering in close to his brothers with an excited sharpness in his movement.
Vanessa doesn’t have to say a word while you walk beside her. You just take her exasperation in stride because you know you don’t have a good rebuttal ready. She ends up sticking with you all the way to Freddy’s group, giving you the tiny impression that she’s been requested to “chaperone” you from one side of the room to the next.
As you’re weaving around the many groups of friendly faces and cheery waves, greeting them back with as much enthusiasm, you catch sight of Vanessa’s tie and nearly do a double-take. On a simple black background is a tiny print of many rabbits, with a myriad of bow ties, hats, and ribbons. It’s so fitting, you can’t not say something.
“I like the tie,” you snicker.
She follows where you gesture with a hand. It could just be the light in the room, but you swear you see a hint of mirth from her at you noticing.
“I thought it would be funny,” she says in an unfazed tone that makes your breath hitch around another sharp snort.
A lot of your coworkers find Vanessa to be standoffish. They don’t know what they’re missing because at her heart, she is one of the funniest people you’ve come to know. It just took a little to get her to warm up to you, and now, you consider her a great friend. On top of that, she’s incredibly talented to boot. You’re beyond glad that she was cast for her role in the show. That final showdown between you and her still gives you shivers even with all of it being an act.
“It is pretty fitting,” you agree, trying your best to don your best blank façade and failing. “Since it’s the year of the rabbit, after all.”
“Ugh. Now I know you’ve been hanging out exclusively with those three idiots. And what’s worse is I’ve heard that joke at least a hundred times tonight.”
“A hundred and one now, and the night’s still young.” You elbow her tauntingly, and she shies away with a scowl.
Vanessa appears prepared to tell you exactly what she thinks of your terrible jokes, but before she can, your name is called out in a sonorous clap.
You find Freddy eagerly waving you forward, and without a second thought, you’re by his side and being swept into a ferocious hug.
“It’s so good to see you outside of work for a change! I never thought those rascals would let you out of their sights for the holidays.”
A terrible groan threatens to break your throat.
“Not you too, Freddy,” you bemoan.
“No worries, I’m just pulling your leg.” He lets you go and beams down at you, good mood infectious. “But all jokes aside, I am glad you decided to come out tonight. The party wouldn’t be the same without the star lead.”
You blow off his statements, a little frazzled and more than a little flustered.
“Oh, ease up on them, Frederick. You’ll make the poor thing blush,” joins yet another voice, deep yet muted.
William Afton’s figure is just as imposing even outside of the villainous character he portrays. You don’t know how you missed him in the small circle Freddy’s been chatting up, but his piercing observation of you has you straightening up. He isn’t someone you’ve had a chance to really get to know, but as a more senior actor in the group, he’s posed an intimidating factor in his wealth of experience alone. You’ve seen him in action; he’s incredible.
What’s even more of a delightful surprise is his present company—namely, the small child standing next to him, their hand in his and swinging the pair’s arms happily.
The child is none other than the actor that plays a much younger version of the vigilante, one whom you’ve found to be utterly adorable. They’ve easily won the hearts of the cast and crew, and judging by the way William holds their tiny hand so delicately, they’ve gotten him wrapped around their little finger too. And even if those two weren’t holding hands, you’d already know how close they’ve gotten in the time they’ve worked together because of all the little anecdotes that’ve been passed around the grapevine about them becoming an unlikely pair of friends. Their bond reminds you of a paternal relationship. William is the one who gave them the beloved nickname Ribbon, thanks to the bright spool of red they’ve taken to tying in their hair upon realizing it was also part of your costume. It’s a reminder that they look up to you, for whatever reason that makes you hyper aware of everything you say or do around them. You’re no role model, but you’ll do your best to be one for Ribbon if that’s what they need.
As for the nickname, you’re sure it was meant to be a silly, one-time thing. But then others caught wind of it, and now it’s just kind of stuck. The little child actor couldn’t be more thrilled at getting their own moniker and almost downright refuses to respond to anything else.
They catch you watching and give a jaunty wiggle of the fingers of their free hand—a wave you can’t help but return. The kid bounces on their toes, pleased.
“It’s about time you came over and said hello,” quips a sarcastic tone that you recognize in a heartbeat.
You peer around Freddy.
“Hey, kiddo. How’s tricks?”
Gregory pulls a sour grimace.
“Don’t call me that.”
“He doesn’t like being called a kid,” Ribbon helpfully explains. They light up impishly. “It’s a sore spot.”
“It’s not a—” Gregory stops and forces himself to simmer down, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that young.”
“And I’m sure they mean nothing by it,” Freddy smooths over, likely sensing the argument before it can begin. “But even still, there’s nothing wrong with being a child! Why, you have gotten to experience something that most other kids your age have only ever seen on TV. That’s something to be proud of.”
“My parents let me skip school,” Ribbon brags when Gregory just grumbles.
You click your tongue sharply at that.
“They’d better not be! Else I’m gonna have some very strong words with them, dumpling.”
That has the tot giggling, and William shakes his head.
“No need, I already checked. They’re not missing out on school. I actually had the chance to meet their parents sometime ago.” He pauses to subtly indicate to a couple who aren’t too far away, chatting with a few people you vaguely recognize. Vanessa is also talking with them, and you wonder when she snuck away from your side.
William continues, “They informed me that any education outside of school hours is being handled at home or with tutors. And in fact, this little one brought their math homework to the set last month and showed me just how quickly they’re learning.”
The two share a small glance. It’s easy to see the pride in William’s features.
Then Ribbon turns to you.
They cup a hand over their mouth and loudly whisper, “He didn’t know the answers to some of the questions, so I had to show him how.”
You share a conspiratorial gasp.
“No kidding? Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re here to help these grownups learn, huh?”
A toothy grin flashes, and they nod excitedly. It’s then you notice the giant red silk in their braid, tied like a bow. The ends curl and frame their face cutely. You think you might even hear the chime of a bell.
Guess they’re going all out on their outfit tonight. Seeing them mimic your vigilante costume even outside of work grants you a deep fulfillment that runs through your chest. You hope that wherever they end up afterwards, it’ll be overflowing with only good, kind people. And hopefully their parents will preserve their childhood as much as possible too.
Anyways,” you say, turning and regaining Gregory’s attention, “Sorry, bud. Freddy’s right that I didn’t mean anything by it, but I’ll make sure to not call you that from now on.”
Gregory shrugs, crosses his arms, then uncrosses them like he’s not sure how to react. More than likely, he just feels put on the spot.
He chews on a response for a bit before he goes with, “It’s fine if you do it, I guess. Just don’t make it a habit, or else I’ll start calling you old.”
You feign shocked betrayal.
“How dare you? I’ll have you know that I’m always at my prime.” But then, unable to resist playing along, you pretend to feebly sway on your feet and place a hand to your chest, while the other reaches behind and presses at your spine, and you hunch over. “Oh, but your words—they cut so deep! I can feel them, seeping into my poor mortal bones, cursing me with old age. Agh, my back! It’s breaking!”
Like you’d expected, Gregory can’t quite hide his amusement at your shenanigans, and though he gives a valiant effort, his smirk is strong across his face.
“You’re such a theater kid,” he mocks.
You straighten with a frown.
“Oh, that’s real rich coming from you, shorty. Them’s fightin’ words.”
The sardonic, gloating image of the other threatens to start a semi-hostile bickering match between you and him. Fortunately or unfortunately for Gregory, Freddy intervenes like the paternalistic figure he’s come to embody.
“Alright, that’s enough. No need to start verbally swinging. I swear, you’re like a couple of cats and dogs sniping at each other any chance you get.”
Very maturely, you jab an accusatory finger at Gregory and retort, “Don’t look at me. He started it.”
The bear animatronic gives you a heavily imploring look. Your aura of innocence doesn’t seem to be swaying him in the slightest. Pity.
“You’re just mad that I’m right,” the kid taunts.
“Gregory,” Freddy warns, rounding on him and sounding for all intents and purposes like a disappointed parent.
You puff up your cheeks, readying another witty comeback on your tongue, but Freddy must have some sort of sixth sense because he shoots you another damning look that halts the friendly fire in its tracks. A silent standoff occurs between you, him, and the spunky little brat who thinks he’s winning, judging by the proud uptilt of his chin and his haughtily lifted brow. Which, to be fair, he’s not wrong in believing that, but details.
“To completely change the subject,” Freddy says before you can research if it’s legal to throw hands with a kid in self-defense, “I called you over here because I wanted to tell you something while I have the chance. And to start with, I’m sure many others have said the same thing to you already, but I want you to know it’s been a pleasure getting to watch you work throughout filming.”
One of his hands settles on your shoulder and stills you entirely, though you certainly weren’t expecting that last remark either. He makes sure he has your full attention before he keeps talking.
“I think I can speak for everyone here when I say that you’ve brought a uniqueness to the show. There is something to be noted about the good nature you carry into every circumstance, and as such, I’m grateful our paths were able to cross because of it. You have heart, and that shines well in your role. I believe the success we’ve had would not have been so easily attainable without you as the vigilante.”
In just a few short sentences, Freddy manages to strike down your smile and hollow you out. You stare in dumbstruck fashion at the bear animatronic. The heartfelt honesty wasn’t something you were expecting or ready for, and it cuts through your defenses and threatens to crumple you like a napkin.
“Freddy,” you hesitantly start, growing uncomfortable, “that’s really sweet and all, but I’m not—”
He gently interrupts you by briefly holding up a hand. You fall quiet.
“Please, let me finish being sentimental and overbearing while I still have you here, and then I’ll let you get back to the party. Since we’ve begun working together, I haven’t quite had an opportunity to tell you this, but I think you are an extraordinary individual and a talented actor. More importantly, however, I know that some of our… shall we say chattier team members have been spreading rumors. You probably know exactly what I’m referring to, so I’ll refrain from going into any details in case there are other listening ears nearby.”
He pauses just long enough to seemingly collect his thoughts. The unexpected direction of this conversation has your heart immediately jolting in your chest and pounding erratically, fearful of what he might say after hearing all of the gossip. Despite the sudden urge to turn tail and run, you hold back the panic that looms just on the edges of your peripheral. It waits to descend, circling like a hawk, and you push it back with an obstinate force.
You will wait to hear him out first, though you pray that he hasn’t called you over to condemn your relationships with the celestial brothers.
Perhaps your stone-faced silence is a dead giveaway, or maybe the stiffness in your jaw is actually a trembling line that betrays your worry. Either way, Freddy takes a good, long look at you, and it’s then that his expression changes. Determination or certainty or something close straightens his shoulders and eases his trepidation away.
He continues in a much more private murmur, for your ears alone.
“My point is, in spite of those rumors, I can’t help but notice how increasingly happy you’ve become, even in this small timespan. You seem brighter than before. Lighter on your feet. I know I didn’t meet you prior to us working alongside each other, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m sounding presumptuous here because that truly isn’t my intent.” When his smile reappears, it’s like a ray of sunshine shining proudly upon you. His tone overflows with his benevolence as he finishes, softer still, “I just want to say that whatever that happiness is and whomever it might be with—if that is indeed the case—I hope it is something that works out for you. And I hope you pursue it if it does. Because like many others here, you deserve to have good things in your life too. So don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise, no matter what they may say or believe.”
A friendly or perhaps comforting squeeze grips your shoulder. The following pause is loud.
Having said his piece, Freddy waits patiently for you to respond or maybe just to mull over what he said. Or to do anything at all instead of just gape at him.
Something slips into your eye. Both of them, funnily enough. You wait a moment too long to blink the odd sensation away, and it starts to burn.
Freddy notices, because of course he does, and his brow furrows.
“I’m sorry. It seems I’ve made you upset by what I said.”
You wave off his concern.
“No, no, I’m fine, really,” you lie very convincingly. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. It’s okay. I mean, I’m just—”
You bite your tongue to stop the immediate urge to deflect. You don’t like to think of yourself as overly emotional. Your soul lies in your work, and that’s where your emotions shine. You also know that while Freddy’s praise is flattering, it’s far from true. There are so many talented, gifted people working on this production. Anything you do is but a speck in the grand scheme of things, and a great deal of other people deserve credit far more than you do.
Still, it’s a palpable relief to hear what he said and to know that you have someone supportive in your corner. It touches you deeply because while it’s one thing to be recognized for your work by someone like him, it is a whole new matter to hear an outsider’s approval of the relationships you’ve been brewing over restlessly. Freddy is a role model—an inspiration—to the team. In many ways, he’s become a sort of parental figure that many look up to, you included. Having your silly human heart’s desires be acknowledged and embraced by him means a lot to you more than any kind of praise. A whole lot.
So much so that it stabs right to the center of all the inner turmoil that’s been burgeoning inside you without an outlet, and your ears feel hot and your throat tight.
You attempt to just laugh it off, sounding a bit uneven and watery.
“Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” you say at last, and the easygoing tone you were shooting for kind of falls flat.
You’re exactly like he said: happier and lighter. Have been for weeks—months—now. But especially recently. Just took you a little longer than most to notice.
You’re certain though about what you want. You don’t feel like you need to test the waters anymore. Originally, you’d been alarmed at jumping into three relationships headfirst without any thought, but truth is, you were thinking of it long beforehand. You just refused to see it for what it was, the longing for something more than friendship. This isn’t your emotions getting confused from what you act out in front of a camera, like you’d originally feared.
The teasing and rumors are things you’ve gotten used to over time. But what Freddy said goes farther than that, and it’s beyond refreshing to hear someone else’s perspective confirm what your intuition has been shouting from the start.
As you wipe your eyes with a hand, you say only a little shakily, “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you. I think I needed to hear that more than you realize.” You take a moment to collect yourself, swallowing hard and letting the immense relief settle your nerves.
You’re here. It’s okay. It will be more than okay, but at least you know that you have people in your corner who genuinely care. You weren’t exactly ready for the emotional rollercoaster you just rode, but you’re thankful nonetheless. It feels good to not be alone like you’d once thought. It feels incredible.
As the racing in your chest calms back down, the levelheadedness returns. Freddy is still waiting like a worried spectator, so you decide to reassure him in the best way you know how.
Your smile is small but facetious.
“You know, it’s a good thing you approached me about this. Here I was, all worried you’d turn me down, but I’m so glad you finally saw the light and decided to confess your undying love for me before the clock strikes midnight.”
For an animatronic, Freddy does a fantastic job of blanching.
“Oh! No, that’s not… Ah, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
He panics to the point his voicebox starts to stutter as he backtracks. William steps in to rescue him.
“They’re joking, Frederick. They know you’re not the one who’s madly fallen for them.” His eyes slide over to you. “Which those three have, by the way.”
You spread your arms in disbelief, neck burning.
“Geez, did everyone else figure out my love life before me or something?”
“Only a little.” The man smirks, something that is extremely hard not to react to when it’s so unlike him.
“What’s a love life?” Ribbon innocently pipes up.
Gregory replies, “Tch, don’t ask them because they clearly don’t know.”
Freddy pats the top of the boy’s head.
“None of that now. Be nice. They can work things out in their own time. There’s no rush.”
You don’t have the heart to tell Freddy that that is exactly what you’ve been worrying over. So you instead peer back over to your table, gnawing on your lip as you think.
There’s not a clear view of them, but you can see Sun’s rays spinning wide as he converses with his brothers and a few others who have swung by to chat, standing beside the table. You wonder what they’re all talking about and suffocate the desire to go back over there. Just because you want to be with them doesn’t mean you have to act like some lovesick puppy.
As you’re weighing the pros and cons of making up some very transparent excuse to slip away from your group and return to the boys, a discordant echo of feedback rings through the crowd, making everyone wince.
“Sorry!” a distant voice yells, and then there’s distinct tapping on a microphone. “Test, test, testing, is this thing on now? I guess it is after that little noise.”
Everyone turns to the source, and you see the executive producer on a raised platform with a mic, two large projector screens on the wall behind him. Once he’s got the mic in working order, he requests everyone to take their seats, and you try to hide your elation at being dismissed from social convention. You make sure to wish the others a farewell and happy new year in case you don’t get to see them again later that night, giving an especially grateful squeeze to Freddy’s arm, and then you hustle your way back to three shining faces.
In the end, Moon proves to have been a valiant defender of your chair after all, and you reclaim the spot next to him while the man who organized the event launches into a lengthy speech of thank yous and cheers to the future progress of the show.
The distraction allows you a private moment to reflect on what just transpired and ease back into a calmer state. However, when you wipe your eyes a final time to stop any meddlesome tears in their tracks, your actions do not go unnoticed like you’d hoped.
Moon turns to you and leans in close so that he can whisper.
“Are you alright?” His concern is a selfless gesture that touches you deeply, like he’s ready to jump at a moment’s notice for your sake.
Your eyes glisten a little more at the sweet thoughtfulness.
“I’m fine. Promise.” At his persisting worry, you gently clarify, “It’s nothing bad. I’m just… really, really happy.”
Your heart leaps with your words, confirming the veracity of them.
Surprise rounds off the lines of disquiet and inclines the edges of his mouth. Moon’s steady regard holds unmistakable compassion.
“Good, I’m glad. Still, let me know if you need anything, and I’ll take care of it.”
You’re not at your verbal best right now, so you nod, and he shifts back to the speaker. You think that’s that, but then one of his hands seeks out and rests on the top of your lap, palm up. An offering. The questioning flash of red is only just visible at this angle.
You try to not let your sentimentality show so plainly to the room from you beaming as you slip your hand into his. It feels like you’re shaking with relief and euphoria.
From there, it’s easier to focus on the speech. The speaker informs the party that they are welcome to stay till midnight to watch the fireworks that the city will be setting off across the harbor. The hotel is waterfront, meaning the room’s windows facing the harbor will provide an exceptional view of the night sky. After that, the hotel has requested that everyone vacate the event room no later than one in the morning if they don’t have a reservation to stay and to please abide by the quiet hours rule. The fact that your group is even being allowed to hang around that late makes you wonder just how much money was slipped under the table to cover that cost.
You critically eye the waitstaff still handing out glasses of alcohol. It will be a miracle if there isn’t a single incident resulting in someone getting kicked out, and you know you don’t want to be around when that happens.
After the speech, a video is played on the screens commemorating months’ worth of silly moments and fun memories filmed both during shoots and in the lulls between. You end up laughing along with the others at the antics and bloopers caught on video, and even one of Sun and Moon’s pranks makes it on the screen. It’s a heartwarming stroll down memory lane that is bittersweet and a reminder that the show is nearing its finale.
After the video ends, the executive producer steps down from his stage, once more thanking everyone for their hard work and encouraging them all to finish off the plentiful catering leftovers. The room explodes into applause and some whistles, and you join in with the ones sitting next to you. It’s been a hard journey with many late nights and abysmally early mornings, but you’re close to the end. You’ll miss the familiar people you’ve come to enjoy seeing every day and the kindness of the teams you got to work with. One thing is for certain: Your phone is positively bursting with contacts from many, many people you’ve met just through working on this show. You hope that your future job will connect you with some of them again face to face when all is said and done.
Mind abuzz with thoughts of where you’ll end up next, you whittle away the hours yet again with your favorite company. At one point, Sun hands off his flute of champagne to a passerby with superfluous reassurances that he’s done “absolutely nothing to it!” He doesn’t sound trustworthy at all, but when he gives you a universally austere wink, it becomes obvious he’s just pulling the other person’s leg.
At some point, someone pulls out an honest-to-God Clue board game from who knows where, and you end up on a three-person team with Moon and Sun—much to the chanting of your friends and coworkers—to solve the mystery and take down your competitors. Eclipse pairs with Gregory and an actor who played as one of his goons. Becker, you think his name is.
A mix of people from other departments, from the sound crew to the camera crew to the stunt performers and everyone in between, get involved too, whether it’s to team up or just spectate like this is the greatest new sport. In the end, the result is a truly raucous round that leads to your team’s victory. High fives and gloating abound, but that’s quickly stampeded when you, Moon, and Sun lose the next round. After that, you decide to let other people have a turn, and you mingle with those you haven’t had a chance to chat with in a long while. What makes it an even better experience is that throughout the socializing, you find yourself with a tail or two or three. They let you reach out first—a hand on their backs or elbows—which leads to them returning the favor so that you’re in constant contact with at least one. It doesn’t escape your notice that doing this means you’ll receive more raised eyebrows and probably stir up the pot of gossip.
But unlike before, that thought doesn’t really bother you as much.
You know why.
As the clock ticks closer to midnight, the party dwindles in size. Some depart to go celebrate the new year with family; others leave to follow the call of their beds. You catch one more quick interaction with Ribbon, and they give you a big hug that you return just as tightly. Their little arms threaten to bruise your bones, and it only makes your fondness for them soar. Their parents also bid you goodbye, sharing grateful waves at you, and you watch as they lead their kid to the hotel’s elevator, Ribbon squeezing both their hands and skipping between them.
Not an ounce of tiredness in that one. You wish you had their energy. The studio couldn’t have picked a better vigilante-in-the-making.
Feeling winded yourself, you return to your seat with a drawn-out groan. While you were away, Sun and Moon swapped places. Judging by the delighted tapping of Sun’s fingers on the table and Moon’s unhappy glower, it wasn’t a unanimous decision.
It’s a mere fifteen minutes to midnight now. And that’s when Eclipse returns to his seat and decides it’s high time to throw another curveball your way.
“I have a proposition for you,” he slyly says, which has you simultaneously uneasy and intrigued.
“Oh?”
“Yes, oh?” Sun parrots, with much more skepticism in his tone.
Eclipse grins wryly. In between one blink and the next, he snaps into view a solid black card between his middle and forefinger. The slender card has no meaning to you, at least not until he flicks it a certain way in the light. The embossed letters reflect the ambient glow just enough to be legible, and that’s when you gasp.
“You’re joking,” you breathe, and Eclipse chuckles.
“What? What am I missing?” Sun looks between you and Eclipse and then at the card, but Eclipse tucks it away just as fast.
You lean back in your seat, stunned.
“This hotel has to be booked solid all through the holiday,” you manage to say. “How on earth did you get a key? Did you book a room months ago?”
The eldest brother is obviously enjoying this, both your and Sun’s reactions, unlike Moon who is slowly becoming one with his chair the further he sinks into it, and you can’t find it in yourself to deprive Eclipse of his moment. You weren’t expecting that at all.
He shakes his head and keeps his voice low, like he’s sharing a secret.
“I don’t know if you’ve met him yet, but there’s a man here who I used to work with on a different set years ago. He’s a cameraman, and the bulk of his work is focused on taking candid pictures to be used for promotion. Back when we first met, we both were still graduating past being labeled as fresh blood in the industry, so we ended up hitting it off. He’s been a good friend of mine ever since.” Long fingers fold together, and Eclipse props his elbows on the table, shadowed metal almost ominous in the light. “That’s all to say that he was invited to tonight’s party as a plus one because his niece is one of the actresses for this series, and they’re rather close. He chose to book a room at this hotel months ago for the event out of convenience.”
Eclipse leans in closer as excitement in his voice builds, and like an infectious pull, you mirror his movement.
“Here’s where it gets interesting,” he simpers. “I overheard that this place has a pool and bar—more specifically, a rooftop pool and bar. Due to the cold weather, the outdoor half of the pool has been closed for winter, but the indoor half has been kept open. And currently, guests are allowed to use their keycards to enjoy a nice swim and some drinks from ten o’clock in the morning to ten o’clock at night. So naturally, when I expressed my interest in accessing the place, my friend gave me one of his spare keys with the exception that I don’t tell anyone where I got it from.”
You're astounded and can see how Eclipse relishes having such a captive audience.
“Kind of failed on that front already,” Moon tacks on blithely. He feigns disinterest, but his gaze is fixed on you as well, assessing.
You hope he isn’t readying to read you your Miranda rights if you so much as suggest an iota of interest in this.
Eclipse, however, only puffs out a synthetic breath at his little brother.
“Anyone who’s a snitch,” he clarifies.
“So what you’re saying is,” you say, still starry-eyed with wonder, “we can sneak up to the rooftop and watch the fireworks from there?”
“Among other things, yes.”
You pause.
“Other things?”
Eclipse doesn’t answer. But his shifty keek at Sun has you feeling on edge.
“Oh!”
You flinch as Sun violently shoots to his feet, chair scraping behind him, and he is just as wide-eyed as you.
“I’m suddenly fully on board with this plan without any dubious behavior whatsoever.” He holds a hand out to you. “Let’s go do some illicit activities.”
You side-eye Moon. Sun does much the same.
“By which I mean technically not illicit at all,” he hastily adds. He wiggles his fingertips at you. “Coming, doll?”
Your hand reaches for his.
“Nothing dubious, huh?”
Sun gently pulls you out of your seat. The animatronic picks up your coat too and drapes it over your shoulders before you can have time to think about it, and the warmth of your coat extends deeper than it normally would. He takes your hand with a stifled sound that is by definition just plain cute. Suspicious or not, you’ll go wherever he leads as long as it means staying by his side. Clearly, the brothers have something planned, especially since Moon hasn’t made a peep where he normally would about anything remotely smelling of unlawful, and you squirm with your own enthusiasm.
“Here.” Eclipse gives Sun the keycard, and while Sun pockets it, you frown in confusion.
“Wait, aren’t you two coming with us?”
At long last, Moon breaks his silence with a benign grin aimed up at you.
“In a minute, starling. Go on up before I change my mind.”
Eclipse tips his head at the elevators.
“We’ll catch up with you shortly. Sunny wants to share something with you first.”
Said animatronic is trembling like a live wire in his bundle of excitement.
“I hope that isn’t what you mean by illicit,” you snark, and you let Sun steer you out of the room with not a second to spare.
“No, no, you won’t find any sort of recreational things on me. I have clean pockets, promise!”
You almost lose your footing, but the other is quick to catch you.
“Thanks.” You pat him appreciatively. “ Also, I wasn’t thinking you had any dirty pockets there, Sunny. But now that you mentioned it… Hm, I might just need to check for myself and thoroughly investigate.”
You watch in bemusement as Sun repeatedly presses the elevator button to summon it. His head snaps to you with some wily scheme dancing inside, his blatant impatience subconsciously pulling you in so that you have to tilt your head back farther to keep him and his lovely rays in sight.
His inner mechanisms click and whir at your closeness. With the hand not holding yours, he taps you on the nose, making you wrinkle it.
“Let’s not get handsy just yet, dear. We haven’t even discussed marriage.”
That earns him a scoff.
“Then color me surprised, snookums, because it sure seems like we’re eloping.”
You lean your weight against his side, confident that he won’t mind, and Sun lets go of your hand to wrap an arm around your shoulders instead. As you’d suspected, he squeezes you like he plans to imprint you there.
One of the two elevators dings upon its arrival, and the second the doors swish open, Sun hustles you inside. His barely restrained frenetic energy has you snickering, to which he lightheartedly swats you. Once he’s pushed the button for the top floor with more aggressive tapping, he spins back around to give you his full attention. His boundless enthusiasm means a need to channel it somewhere, so it’s no surprise when his fingers continue to busy themselves by beginning to undo one of the buttons of his cuffs to roll his sleeve up to his elbow.
“Trust me, you will know when we’re eloping,” he remarks without thought as he’s focused on his task, neatly tucking away fabric and moving on to the next sleeve.
Oh, he makes it too easy for you sometimes. You brace against the wall while letting a flirtatious smirk emerge. It’s impossible not to tease him a little more, not when you’ve got him trapped like this.
“When we elope, detective?” you echo smugly, pulling a little of your character to the surface. You can’t help it when he walked right into that one.
Sun doesn’t say anything.
Not in the way you’d expected, however. He doesn’t freeze like it was a Freudian slip of the tongue or react with visible panic. No, he doesn’t utter a single word in the aftermath of that little taunt, but he needn’t do so in the way his eyes speak for himself.
Cerulean blue is piercing in low light, you realize. Unwavering as he doesn’t add anything more to confirm or deny your question. You’re playing a losing game of trying not to focus on the bare metal that is revealed as Sun finishes rolling up both his sleeves. Only a beat more of silence has to pass before you realize that you’re the one who’s prey to the sudden intensity of the solitude from the craziness of the night. It’s just you and Sun now and a weighty stillness in the shadow of what you’d thought was an ignorant exchange. Somehow, that has you more uncentered than probably any comeback he could have returned.
Sun’s not saying anything in defense because he doesn’t intend to deny it.
You swallow. Nothing but the vibration of the elevator and its lighthearted music disturbs whatever tension has begun to form. Not unwelcome or even necessarily uncomfortable. But it is noticeable, and you’re becoming extremely aware of everything in the small space, namely the animatronic who’s taking up most of it right in front of you.
Before the tension can get any thicker, the elevator comes to a halt somewhere in its ascent. You and Sun watch as someone, presumably a hotel guest, steps onto the elevator with you, reaches over, and taps a button for a few floors up.
You were wrong; the tension can get thicker, and it is compressing you.
The ride up is painfully silent, made worse by the fact that for whatever reason, Sun does not stop staring at you. You’re just an arm’s reach shy of being cornered against the wall, and apparently, Sun sees no issue with this and how it might look to the unexpected friend who’s joined the circus.
Hardly ten seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity before the other person’s floor is reached. They exit without a word or a glance in your direction, and that’s exactly how you prefer it. Without looking, Sun reaches over and nudges the button to close the doors. They slide shut, and your ride to the top is continued once more with only one animatronic to fill the space and your vision.
Funnily enough, this is the first chance all night that you really get a good view of his outfit, what with him being so close. Since you’re desperate to latch onto anything else, you concentrate on that instead. To your surprise, what you see has you in tickled disbelief.
Blinking, you nod in his direction and say, “Please tell me those suspenders are from your costume.”
Sun glances down at the thick loops of fabric on his person as if he’s seeing them for the first time. Then his grin flashes back up at you, twinkling.
“Do you like them?”
He already knows the answer, cheeky thing.
“As if you even need to ask.” You ignore how his amused leer makes your skin pleasantly tingly. You are, in fact, ignoring a lot of things that him being so close is doing to you. A shiver runs down your back. Which you also ignore. “What I’m more shocked by is how you and Moon seem to be sneaking off with pieces of your outfits and getting away with it.”
Sun shrugs and brushes imaginary lint off his shirt with a hum.
“I needed something special from my costume to wear tonight since I wanted to dress to impress. It was either wear these or my handcuffs.”
“…I think you and I might have different definitions of how to impress.”
The animatronic sighs heavily.
“Yes, I know I should have gone with the handcuffs instead. But why else am I supposed to wear suspenders if not to seductively slide them off for you one at a time?”
As he says this, he reaches up and hooks a finger underneath one of the straps. His air is nothing short of coy, like an idea has just taken shape in his devious mind, and he slowly eases the fabric across his shoulder, flirting with slipping it over the edge. A curled metal digit suggestively rubs the suspender. It would probably have a much greater effect on you if his little show wasn’t currently being backed by cheery elevator music, and that alone has your lips spasmodically twitching.
Sun gives the impression of waggling his brows, rife with an emotion you refuse to label.
“Are you seduced yet?” he croons.
You’re actually on the verge of hysterics after bouncing from that tense moment to now this highly entertaining version of a strip tease, but you’re doing your damndest to keep down the stunned laughter rattling inside your chest. You purse your lips to hold back the tide and then take a second to compose yourself.
“I don’t remember this scene ever being in the script,” you say instead, keenly aware that the elevator is not soundproof nor private. You suddenly wonder if there is a security camera in here and if some poor staff member is seeing all of this, and you almost burst into a guffaw right there.
Sun taps a coquettish finger like he’s shushing you. He can tell how close you are to losing it, and he has no problem chuckling at whatever face you’re making.
“That’s because it’ll be our little secret behind the scenes,” he chirps.
Before you have time to unpack that little remark, the lilting elevator voice declares you’ve reached your destination. You straighten back up when the doors slide apart, a deep exhale blowing past your lips to calm the fluttering in your chest, but Sun doesn’t move just yet.
His hand extends out to you, palm up. A light request and one you don’t have to ponder at all to accept. You’ve noticed that all of the brothers seem to enjoy holding your hand. That’s good, because you enjoy it too.
As the two of you traipse out onto the floor, you’re struck by an intense smell of chlorine. Your lungs expand with the joyous call of swimming pool water, and it’s a small shame that you don’t have a swimsuit on to take a quick dip.
Sun scouts the area with you at his side. Miraculously, the floor appears entirely vacant and ghostly quiet. Couldn’t be because the pool and bar hours have long since passed. Certainly not. There’s a gym up here too, secured off behind glass walls and an entrance that requires keycard access to get in. But that’s not what you’re here for.
“This way.” You lead Sun down a hallway, trusting your nose.
He’s quiet still, but his steps are no less eager than yours. You wonder what it is he wants to show you and why he needs to show it up here of all places and what on earth was that moment you shared in the elevator because it certainly felt like something. There’s no denying the thrill you get from sneaking in somewhere that’s technically meant only for actual hotel guests and only during certain hours. It makes you remember being a teenager, getting into trouble or always just dancing outside of it with someone you lo—
Someone you care about.
As you and Sun peruse the vacant floor, what you’re doing begins to catch up to you. It starts with a giggle from one or both of you—you’re not sure who, but it’s definitely you—like you’re misbehaving children getting into things you shouldn’t. Very quickly from there, the chortles you had tried to suppress from before begin to slip out with Sun not far behind, and you fall into a repetitive pattern of stifling your hitching breaths and hushing each other with no success.
“Sun, you’ve gotta—” you loudly snort and laugh even more. “You’ve gotta stop—”
“Ohoho, I’ve got to stop? Not this barrel of laughs right next to me?” he gibes, his free hand snaking out and poking you in your sensitive stomach.
“H-hey, no! You cut that out right now, mister!”
Sun’s fingers wriggle treacherously, and your squeal bounces off the walls. Another round of shushing does little to quell the jittering butterflies in your stomach that are making your chest heave with half-caught breaths. To your relief, Sun ceases the merciless assault on your ticklish side, but it’s only to then stop in place.
You stop as well when you realize he’s not budging, and you smile a little crookedly over your shoulder at the unreadable way he looks at you.
Standing there in the hall, Sun doesn’t move an inch aside from his rays that twirl in a leisurely circle. His hand is warm in yours, and his focus doesn’t stray to anywhere except you. He takes a long moment to just keep you at his side, quiet and contemplating.
Then, without preamble or any warning, he kindly says, “You have a pretty laugh.”
And wouldn’t you know it, there is now no air conditioning in the room whatsoever because you can feel yourself heating up all over.
“Oh,” you start, openly floundering like a fish out of water. “I’m… Thanks?”
An affectionate huff graces your ears.
“You don’t have to thank me for that, silly. All I mean to say is I enjoy hearing it. Seeing you happy makes me happy.”
Thump-thump.
Seems like all three of the brothers adore leaving you speechless too. You’re aware your mouth is parted, but you don’t even know what to say to that. Sun said it like it was another one of his simple observations he loves to make, like it’s as plain as the weather or the nose on your face.
Like it wasn’t a tease or anything meant to poke fun. Just mere fact.
The edges of your lips find their way back up your cheeks.
“Then I’m glad to hear that. Because you make me happy too,” you say quietly.
Yellow rays pick up speed.
After a subtle glance around, you add, “Not that I don’t appreciate the really sweet confession, but are there any other pressing things you need to admit right now, or do you mind if we get outside first before your brothers show up? You said there was something you wanted to show me.”
The whites behind his blue pupils catch an opalescent flash of light, like mother of pearl.
“I suppose I can wait to tell you about my outstanding arrest warrant,” he says. “Come along then. We don’t have much time left!”
“Wait, your what now? Sun!”
He tugs you after him, warbling giggles promising he’s up to no good, and that’s all the answer you get from the animatronic.
Thankfully, you make it down another hall without further incident as the walled-off pool comes into view. It’s surrounded by glass panes just like the gym. The lights are dim inside, signaling that it isn’t open. But that’s hardly a deterrent, and as you near the door that will let you inside, you can see through the room that on the other side of the pool is another door that leads out onto the rooftop.
In one swift swipe, Sun glides the key across the card reader, and the door unlocks with a beep. Like a true gentleman, he proudly opens the door for you. Or rather, he tries to.
You watch him jolt when the door doesn’t swing open. Grunting, he then grinds his heels into the floor and heaves and tries to yank on the door with all his might. The metal and glass obstacle refuses to budge.
Having some pity on him, you calmly say, “Honeybee, it’s push, not pull.”
He pauses. Stares. Gently, he nudges the door in the opposite direction. It swings open wide.
His grin is an even, flat line.
“I knew that.”
“Sure you did.”
Disregarding your mocking tone, he keeps the door propped open with a foot and bows low.
“After you, my dove.”
You shake your head at the endearment and step past him, waiting for him to quietly close the door behind you before you pipe up, voice echoing across the water.
“Are you just throwing out pet names now and seeing what sticks?”
His chassis purrs with his mirth, restlessness keeping him in motion. “I thought about calling you a chicken, but doing so seemed most fowl.”
“A ch— What did you just call me?!” Oh, you’re about to show him just how non-chicken you are, but you then cut yourself off as soon as his joke lands. Blowing out a loud breath, you give Sun the full scope of your unimpressed glower. His optics lift from his joviality.
“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”
“Got you good though, didn’t I? Hmm?”
When he’s like this, very subtly swaying from one foot to the other like he’s listening to some silent tune and his endless delight needs to be used somewhere, you can’t hold onto a frown to save your life. You just can’t.
So you purse your lips and pout as hard as you can to show just how unamused you are. You’re so unamused. It’s almost funny how deep your lack of amusement runs, it’s so unamusing.
Your lips quiver at the edges. Sun sees it.
Without warning, he sidles up to you, humming some unknown tune, and then with his thumb and forefinger, he reaches up and pinches your lips together, making them even flatter.
“On second thought,” he remarks, completely ignoring your indignant, muffled protest, “a chicken or a dove isn’t accurate because what I’m clearly seeing now is a duck.”
He emphasizes his point with a squeeze, making you create the very unwanted impression of a duckbill, and he springs away from your enraged swat and squeak, delight carrying his voice loud across the pool.
“Sun!” you yell, rubbing your smarting mouth. “Don’t run away!”
“No offense, duckling,” he titters as he does the exact opposite of your demand, “but something tells me that would be to my detriment!”
“Yeah, that something is me! Come back here!”
You chase the fleeing animatronic around the pool and to the door leading outside. Sun slams into it first, sprinting out with you fast on his heels. The icy cold temperature shocks you from its severity, but you’re too lost in the chase to give it much thought. Sun skips all the way past the closed bar and outdoor pool, up a small flight of smooth cement stairs, and to an area overlooking the harbor.
Right into a corner.
Seemingly realizing his mistake, he turns back around, but you’re already there, closing in on him. What’s worse is he’s still cackling, and you don’t know how you’re going to get your payback, but you’ll figure it out somehow.
“Hoohoo, you’re looking a little frosty over there,” he says, hands lifting up in a placating motion as you near. “Perhaps this would be a wonderful time to go back inside where it’s nice and toasty!”
“Perhaps not,” you shoot back, ignoring how you’ve lost the war in maintaining a frown. The joy on Sun’s faceplate is just too contagious.
He drops the placating gesture in favor of hooking a finger in his collar and tugging on it like he’s nervous. What a drama queen.
“You know, I heard diplomacy is in currently! Super popular! All the cool cats are trying it, so I think we should give it a shot too to see what’s what.”
You’ve reached him at this point, and your hands land on your hips. “That’s funny to hear, Sunny, since just thirty seconds ago, you didn’t seem all that interested in it.”
The animatronic sputters at your very sound logic. His expression is not at all apologetic while he pulls an excuse out of thin air.
“Change of heart?” he says uncertainly.
“Yeah, how believable.” The desert has nothing on your arid tone.
You step forward and grasp one of Sun’s bottom rays, one of the few you can actually reach. Though he could very easily withstand your strength, Sun lets you pull him down until he’s eye-level with you. You have some long-winded speech waiting in the wings—pun not intended—about how this “duckling” can meet him step for step in weaponized terms of endearment, and you absolutely will use that to your advantage to drop the most unhinged pet names in front of others when he least expects it.
But then Sun speaks up before you get the chance.
“If we were to, say, hypothetically, continue the trend of listing things that are funny,” he begins, speaking lower now that he’s so close to you, “then I’d like to mention how this little predicament happens to have reminded me of what I wanted to show you.”
Your skepticism is unmatched.
“Does it involve pulling a sudden disappearing act?”
“Goodness, no! That’s the very opposite of what I want because that would mean putting distance between myself and you… little duck.”
Your eyes narrow.
“You’re pushing it.”
“Just moving the goalpost, darling. Let me finish before we run out of time.”
You can’t help cracking up at that, shaking his ray a little so that all of them swing side to side a few degrees.
“What, do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight or something?”
“Excuse you, I’m more akin to a Prince Charming than anything. But that’s beside the point because I have something very important I need to tell you.”
When he says your name then, the silliness ebbing away to make room for something more serious, you perk up, and your smile dims with concern.
But Sun eases away the wrinkles of worry with his thumb, soundlessly cupping your cheek and soothing you in a motion that makes your heart skip. You’ve noticed it doing that a lot lately. He takes the hand that’s listlessly clinging to his ray, curls his long fingers around it, and lifts it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. The wind is slow yet sharp, cutting into your bones. You instinctively huddle into your coat in a vain attempt to preserve some heat.
Sun tuts when you shiver and helps you slide your arms into the sleeves of your coat rather than just keep it around your shoulders.
“I should have brought my jacket up as well so you’d be at least a little warmer. Sorry about that.”
You snatch his hand back, which he gladly accepts.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine with you here. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”
Sun chuffs, shaking his head but minding his rays so that they don’t prod or scrape you. His mouth twitches.
“You’re always so sweet, honeydew. Silly pet names aside, I hope you know that I’m only ever teasing you with them. When I’m not trying to be a romantic, that is, which is actually always, but regardless—”
“Romantic?” you interrupt softly.
This time, Sun’s eyes do widen. His rays pop out wider, and it’s the first time tonight he actually looks rattled.
“Oh! Oh goodness, I did just say that, didn’t I? Not that that isn’t exactly why I brought you up here in the first place, but I had intended to at least drop that particular piece of information with a little more delicateness. I don’t want to go scaring you off so soon before I’ve even had the chance to reach the second bullet point in the speech I’ve rehearsed and scrapped at least a thousand times, and— Oh dear, this isn’t how I’d planned things to go.”
“Sun,” you say as soon as he pauses. His rays begin speeding at your voice, and you resist the sudden desire to close the infinitesimally small space between you. But you do have an inkling of why he brought you up here, why Eclipse and Moon hung back to give you time alone with him.
The math is starting to add up. Surprisingly, even with your rapid fluctuation of heart-pounding excitement, you feel a calmness that reassures you. This is where you’re meant to be, with him.
“Be honest with me,” you request, and Sun nods emphatically. Dork, you think with full affection. You take a deep breath in, hold his gaze and the stars within, and then let your breath out. There’s nowhere else to go, but your feet still try to inch you closer. “Did you bring me up here to kiss me?”
A lull. Out here, it’s a little harder to hear Sun’s mechanisms working overtime, but the fact that you can hear them at all tells you he’s processing quite a bit. That already is a big hint of an answer, but you want to hear him say so yourself.
With an artificial exhale that layers an inexplicable tenderness, he says, “Well, it wasn’t an expectation, but I certainly would be lying if I said I wouldn’t like that. More than that, though, I just wanted to confess how I feel about you and go from there. But I suppose I am that transparent, aren’t I?”
Your cheeks are stretching again from your happiness.
“Don’t feel too bad. It took me until a certain conversation with Eclipse a few weeks ago to realize any of you had feelings for me.”
Another puff, this one exasperated.
“Yes, I'm aware. Honestly, we all thought we weren’t being subtle in the slightest. Even our coworkers noticed, dear.”
You wince and protest, “Okay, well, I thought they were just joking around! You can’t blame me for that. Especially since I thought you all were just playing too.”
“Which remains a mystery to me! I even asked you months ago if you wanted to practice kissing so that we could get it right during filming.”
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens once more.
The moment he’s referring to is vivid in your memory, only because you’ve thought about it more times than you’d like to admit and had just sadly written it off as Sun being his usual playful self. Yes, he was flirting, but you hadn’t thought he was flirting-flirting. Just that it was the usual game you all play. But still… months ago? Just how long have these three been trying to get your attention?
“You were flirting with me then?” you say quizzically.
Sun chuckles, and one of his arms winds around your waist. He holds you like the daintiest flower, and even you feel a flash of embarrassment over just how much you like that.
“As I said, a mystery. But like any good sleuth, I have a feeling that with your help, we can put our heads together and solve this case.”
You brighten immediately. There he is.
“Ah, I see,” you play along. “Taking inspiration from a certain show, hm? So what are your deductions, Detective Sun?”
“I’m so glad you asked! Because I have quite a few, but for the sake of time and the fact that the fireworks are soon to start, I’ll give you the cliff notes version and do away with any alleged speech, rehearsed or not.”
His palm is so warm around your cheek, hiding you from the cold as much as he can. You hardly even notice it when he’s embracing you like this. Your eyes search his, your entire being ready to latch onto his every word to lock it inside your heart and never let it go.
In the strongest sincerity you’ve ever heard from him, he says, unspeakably gently, “I like you. Not just as a friend, though you are without a doubt one of the best and closest I’ve ever had. I like you in the sense that I have fallen for you. Complete head over heels, tumbling-down-the-staircase kind of mess. I'm absolutely sure you know that by now, but if you don’t, I am not above paying to have it written in the sky so that it gets through your thick but lovable head.” His warning comes with a wagging finger, and you snort despite the unexpected mistiness creeping behind your eyelids again when you blink.
Sun’s fake glower softens to an incandescent warmth, pulling you in like a flower.
“The point is, I want to pursue this feeling with you, as do my brothers. I’m sure they’ve already told you. Heaven knows if I have to listen to Moon brag for another minute about getting a kiss from you tonight, I will lose my sanity. But I also heard from a little birdie that my brothers requested a little, hmm, how did they put it? A head start on the new year?”
You bite your lip. His scrutiny falls lower, and your uneven breath is a cloud of white smoke between you and him.
“Something like that,” you softly say.
Sun’s servos whistle a delighted song.
“I hope you’ll excuse me for being so bold because I’m about to be like that regardless,” he says, “but it sounds like they didn’t do the tradition properly at all. They seem to have missed one very crucial factor, and I think you know exactly what I mean. So with that in mind, precious, may I steal a kiss from you to make sure it’s done right?”
After a confession like that? You wind your arms around his neck, lips parting, blood pounding in your ears. He needn’t have even asked.
It takes a moment to find your voice, but you make sure it reaches him even as a whisper.
“As long as you promise to give it back.” Your fingers toy with the back of his silk tie.
You don’t mistake the way his arms tremble like he’s afraid to hold you any tighter.
His words fall on a cadence weighted down by obvious want.
“If that’s the price for stealing such a lovely treasure,” he respires synthetically, “then I might just have to pay it over and over again.”
In the next second, his mouth finds yours, pressing headily to your lips and threatening to consume you whole. You gasp against him, clinging to the back of his shirt needily while his hand crawls to the back of your head and cups it in a gentle hold so that he can better angle the kiss. His arm doesn’t constrict your waist, but he keeps you there with the assuredness that he doesn’t want to let you go, and his deep groan at your insistence to hold him even tighter makes you lightheaded.
The snowing has stopped, and the temperature has continued to only drop, but you couldn’t feel hotter. The flame inside of you bursts to life with a rush of a powerful emotion that would have once scared you away. Now you only tiptoe around it, not ready to reveal it yet but knowing that it is there, waiting and growing steadily every moment you spend with Sun and his brothers.
You tilt your head with a ragged exhale while Sun twines some of your hair between his fingers, not yanking but prompting a delicious tension that sends a wonderful pleasure through your skull. You’re shivering again, and it’s all his doing.
He writes intimacy and sentiment on your lips with his teeth, capturing every micro-breath you try to take, and still you try to press closer to him. He breaks the kiss for a split second that allows you all of one heightened inhale before he’s stealing that too, and you’re burning together in an addictive passion that you never want to unlearn. For as long as he’ll allow it, you want to know only the smooth curve of his mouth and the hot metal of his chassis that is flush with your chest and the distracting digits dragging along the back of your head and the protective line of his arm that coils around your waist with an equally firm hand securing you there.
That’s all you need to know in the moment.
When Sun parts from you, moving away first because he probably correctly guessed that you’d keep kissing him until you passed out, his eyes slip open halfway, and his grin is askew like he’s swooning. You’re sure you have a similar goofy look too, concealed just barely by the clouds of white that spill out along every exhale while your lungs hurt delightfully. The cold snap strengthens when yellow rays spin at such a fast pace, they’re almost invisible.
The world is near-silent up here, city activity sounding so far away that it doesn’t disturb this perfect peace you’ve found. You don’t want to break the quiet and risk it all being a figment of your imagination once more. So you watch in wonder at how Sun peers at you intently, like he’s fascinated by whatever sight you make.
He braves cutting the silence first, albeit with a far-from-intrusive volume.
“Hmm, how was that? Do you think we got it right, or should we try again?”
You exhale long and slow. The white cloud of air billows.
“I don’t see how it could possibly be more perfect than that.” You adore the way Sun melts at your admission. “At this point, I’m just waiting to wake up.”
The solar animatronic pauses. His rays twist again, back and forth as if in uncertainty.
“From a dream or a nightmare?” he presses.
“A dream, silly.” You fondly shake your head. “Just seems like I’ve been imagining having this for so long, it doesn’t feel real. You, Moon, and Eclipse. I’m worried I’ll blink and be back in my own bed again, alone.”
The hand at your side taps a little rhythm. Sun’s nervousness vanishes as quick as a spring shower.
“I’m afraid to break the news to you,” he says, “but if those are the dreams you’re having, I won’t be waking you up anytime soon.”
You receive a quick kiss on the nose, which makes you twitch and Sun coo at that. You get him back with a kiss to the corner of his teeth. His wavering thrum of pleasure draws out until it morphs into a frustrated groan.
It’s your turn for concern.
“What’s wrong?”
Sun grunts, “Nothing, nothing. Just reminded that I am sadly not an only child.”
“What?”
He inclines his head at something behind you, and you turn in his arms to see what he’s looking at, much to his disheartened whine.
Just beyond the pool room next to the glass door that requires a key to enter, Moon stands there in the hallway, pressed to the glass and a dead grin on his face. His red pupils nearly take up the entirety of his optics. Eclipse is not too far off, but he’s at least giving you some sense of privacy by not staring your way.
Moon gives you a little wave.
You turn back to Sun.
“You know those videos people post of their pets watching them from the window?”
Sun releases a loud, rumbling hiss of static amusement.
“Oh, don’t let them hear you say that. I’m pretty sure at least one of those two in there bites.”
“But not you?” you quip, elbowing him.
Blue flickers against white.
“Only if you ask me to.”
Right then. Probably should have seen that one coming from a mile away.
“Raincheck,” you deflect. “Let’s let the others out first before they miss the fireworks.”
Sun dramatically releases you with a disappointed flair fitting for the stage, but he does as you request.
“I’ll go get the door. You wait right there, precious.”
You watch him skitter over back around the outdoor pool, through the door into the pool room, and then over to the door where his brothers wait. As soon as he tries to open it, a strange sort of tug of war begins where Sun attempts to pull one way, and Moon pulls just as hard on the other side. Judging by his expression, he’s doing it just for the sake of being a brat. The two engage in some back and forth, and though you can’t hear them, you can see Sun’s annoyance and Moon’s pure delight. It’s broken up finally by Eclipse grabbing the back of Moon’s coat and lifting him up like he’s scruffing a cat. Moon doesn’t even put up a fight, seemingly appeased that he sufficiently got under his other brother’s wires.
Once Eclipse sets him back down, Sun opens the door, and the three of them traipse through the pool room to the rooftop exit.
“I should have just left you in there!” Sun is saying as he throws open the door with a harrumph. “Honestly, you’re just so unnecessarily much sometimes!”
“Worth it,” Moon returns, unaffected by his sibling’s agitation. He lights up when he spies you.
“Moonie,” you tease as he approaches, “are you annoying your brother again on purpose?”
“No,” Moon says at the same time Sun gives an annoyed “yes.”
“It’s sibling tax,” he clarifies, coming to a stop next to you.
You tsk.
“I’d be careful if I were you. That sibling tax might come at a cost if Sun decides to do something like throw your hat off the building.”
You’ve barely finished the sentence before dark blue and silver digits are slamming onto the brim of Moon’s hat. He sends a dirty scowl at his brother who’s more than intrigued at the prospect by the sounds of it.
His voice is gruff and disapproving at you.
“Don’t give him ideas.”
Sun snips back, “Don’t be a varmint then.”
While the bickering continues, you find yourself mouthing varmint in confusion at Eclipse. He just shakes his head, equally bemused.
“Three minutes to midnight,” he announces over the sounds of ill-timed threats, probably to redirect his brothers’ focus.
You face the harbor. Sun stands sullenly at your side, and you startle in initial surprise when two arms slide over your shoulders from behind and loosely cross your chest. You sag against Eclipse, idly reaching up to rub one of his wrists as the approaching hour and year looms before you. It’s crazy to you how in such a short amount of time, you’ve grown so comfortable with the celestial brothers. Like something you’ve come to expect and especially welcome. The meaning and intent behind that comfort is the only part that’s shifted, and the change is one that leaves you undeniably giddy.
You’ve celebrated New Year’s Eve before, but never like this. Not with people who mean the world to you in ways you can’t even describe. It’s an entirely new course of life that you’re about to start with them, tentatively exploring this uncharted territory together, and the thought stirs up your curiosity.
What lies ahead? Not just relationship-wise, though that’s something you doubt you could really fathom with all the nuances you will surely find. The unknowing surrounding it actually gives you some relief. You don’t have to stress over and evaluate your every move. Whatever happens with them—with Sun, Moon, and Eclipse—will happen naturally. It’s cause for excitement, which has you shivering from more than just the cold now.
But you find your mind drifting to what will come after this show is finished. You’ve gotten so used to being with them at most hours of the day because you work together. What will it be like afterwards when the time you have with them will be reserved for coming home to a full apartment and making new memories in a much more intimate setting? Where will their talent take them next?
Before you can second-guess yourself, you broach the topic.
“Earlier tonight, I asked you what you’re doing after this,” you say, feeling the heavy weight of the attention from all three. You wet your dry lips. “And Moon was too busy being a gremlin to let me get a straight answer.”
The corners of Moon’s mouth scrunch up, but he doesn’t interrupt you.
“What I really meant back there was… what are you guys going to do after our show is over? Do you have any gigs lined up?”
“Not quite.” Sun clasps his hands together. “But our agent did tip us about a possible dual leviathan role that myself and Moon might consider. It’d mean a lot of CGI, but we would get to wear those funky motion capture suits with the little dots all over them! So who knows. We might just end up trying out for that.”
Your lips quirk in bemusement as you try to imagine it.
“Don’t you need to be, I don’t know, swimming in order to act out a big, scary leviathan?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Moon dismisses, and he leans back against the rooftop balcony. The gentle crimson glow when he studies you is like dying stars in this low light. “If anything, it will be a chance to challenge ourselves in not using our voices as much unless they decide to make the leviathans capable of speech. What Sun said does have its appeal, and we’d probably get to experience some wire acrobatics. But I also think we’d have fun trying our hands at something spooky. Maybe with cryptids or familiars or lifeguards. We’re great at being scary, you know.”
Your face wrinkles.
“One of those is not like the others.”
“You just haven’t seen me acting as a demon yet.”
“I see you act like that every day,” you say evenly to the tune of Sun’s and Eclipse’s ensuing chortles and Moon’s sharp squint. “Wouldn’t really call that one the outlier of the ideas you suggested.”
“Whatever the case, Clip hasn’t decided where he’ll go next either,” Sun adds, earning a noise of agreement from the animatronic behind you. “I heard there might be potential for a third role in the leviathan storyline, but it would be a prequel of sorts. Curious how they’re planning on pulling that one off.”
“They really do plan ahead, huh?” You tap a finger on your arm, and your gaze is pulled to the winter night sky once more. It is so beautiful up here.
“And what about you?” Eclipse chimes next. “Where will you go after this?”
A hum stirs from your throat.
You’re not sure yet. There is a realm of possibilities stretching out before you. The time to contact your acting agent is nearing, and you feel a strong curl of melancholy at the show you’ve put your heart and soul into coming to its end. It’s been a wild ride, and the memories you’ve gained from your experiences will follow you long after you’ve parted ways with the show. But as Sun said, who knows? Maybe one day you’ll find yourself slipping back into your vigilante costume again and playing a game of chase with a pair of handsome detectives.
You look to your boys, standing with you in the cold and enjoying the seclusion from the rest of the city.
“I haven’t quite figured that out yet,” you answer truthfully. You reach out, and without hesitation, Sun and Moon each take your offered hands, one after the other, large metal joints protecting your fragile fingers from the bitter chill. “But no matter where I end up, I’m sure that it won’t be the same without working next to you.”
Sun holds you tighter.
“True, it will be impossible to ever replace the amazing cohorts that we were. But that’s why you’ve got us to come home to now, yes?”
His happy expression reflects back onto you. He’s right. You have a lot to explore now, don’t you? And it all starts with them.
“Yeah. I shouldn’t worry about the future now. After all, I’ve only got two hands.”
Moon’s optics gleam dangerously with his ever-present grin.
“Don’t forget your third one,” he says, nodding surreptitiously behind you.
You start to turn, but before you can, Eclipse’s voice grazes your ear.
“Oh, they won’t.”
Cold metal just barely singes you as a large hand brushes under your chin and tilts your head up until you can see him hovering over you. His eyes are flames in the dark, shining upon you with the intensity of a celestial body. His rays have begun to whirl, and you think it might be because of the wind because it sorely reminds you of a pinwheel, and you have to choke back a laugh. It’s not hard to do when his fingertips caress your skin, snaring your focus and dragging a plume of air past your lips.
“No,” you agree warmly. “I won’t.”
Your inhale stutters right back out when the animatronic stoops down low enough to press a kiss to your forehead before letting your chin go. The sound of a piercing whistle and thunderous boom retrieves your attention, bringing it to the harbor as the first crackles of color light up the night.
The ensuing display is breathtaking. The subtle smell of smoke from the fireworks catches on the wind and carries over to your group as you watch in awe the dawning of a new year. It’s heralded by sparks of intricate designs and blooms that make you squeeze the hands you’re holding on to, savoring the twin pulses you receive in turn. The presence at your back is a solid wall shielding you from the cold as much as possible, heavy arms a comfort that drape loosely around your front.
As you enjoy the fireworks with Moon, Eclipse, and Sun, you can’t help but smirk at what your beloved vigilante would have to say to this. No doubt they’d believe it to be some fever dream, and honestly, up until tonight, you’d thought the same. You’re certain that the smooth operative nature of the brothers’ teamwork to subdue your heart is almost identical to a parallel universe of a different era and a different story—one you can imagine as surely as the ringing of bells in your hair.
Just, you know. Under very different circumstances and outcomes.
For the next half hour, you relish the colorful nighttime display with your boys, all the way up to and through the grand finale. By the time the show ends, you are shaking from the cold, but it’s worth it for the special moment you get to share with them. Everything melds together in a joyous night that follows you all the way back home with the three animatronics whom you adore. Perhaps one day, you might even have the courage to confess that you love them, even though you have a strong suspicion they already know that, confession or no. It’s a comfort to know that just like with everything else, they’ll wait for you first.
But that’s a story for another time.
#eclipse x reader#sun x reader#moon x reader#daycare attendant x reader#sleuth jesters actor au#fnaf sb#writing tag#hope you all enjoy sweet and kind Eclipse while he lasts#because after this I'm jumping back into the other AU where he lives and makes it everyone's problem lol
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I’m back again actually with one more request 😔😔
Jungkook:
^^^ this is actually the artist whose name I snatched for most of my online personas lolol
The entire album is banger, but this song is what introduced me to him. ^^
🤍🤍🤍
um, i made myself sad? anyways, here’s this! it doesn’t exaaaaactly follow the lyrics, but it’s what my brain conjured when i listened to this. i hope it’s okay 😵💫
listen here.
hey, old friend / hope to see you again / someday when the seasons change / i don’t mind a little wait / as long as i can pretend that i’m okay
It’s been exactly a year since you left home.
With 365 days between you and Busan, you’re still waiting for that bittersweet taste to leave your tongue. There’s a small, sad part of you that wants to dive headfirst into that pit of nostalgia in your chest; to swim down, all the way home to that city by the sea. The rest of you accepts reality: when your life calls you elsewhere, you have to pick up the phone.
Unlike a year ago, when you walk into your apartment this time, you’re not struggling to balance more boxes than you should’ve reasonably expected to carry at once. It’s not dark, it’s not empty, and there’s no longer a bare floor creaking under your unanticipated weight. Now, it’s home, filled with all your best-loved belongings.
Well, most of them. Somehow, there’s still an odd box or two tucked away, yet-unpacked.
On the walls hang framed prints of your very first designs: the awkward silhouettes you dreamed up as a kid, and the disproportionate people you’d drawn wearing them. The sketches flow across the wall in chronological order, reminding you how much your skills have improved over the years. At the end of the line, there’s proof in the form of a poster.
Your past self would never believe it, but your persistent inability to draw hands did not preclude you from showcasing your work at Seoul Fashion Week.
With your heels now off your feet and in your hands, you pad down the hall to your bedroom. The second you cross through the doorway, you make a beeline for your closet, flicking on the light switch next to the door before addressing that, too. Shoes returned to their meticulously organized, color-coded rack, you move on to a more daunting task: unzipping yourself from the dress you struggled immensely to zip in the first place.
It takes multiple minutes of twisting, turning, and contorting, but you finally manage to reach the zipper hiding between your shoulder blades. When you finally wiggle free of it, the dress falls into a puddle at your feet. Quickly, you bend to grab it. You promptly hang it in the “to be dry-cleaned” section of your closet, to be swiftly replaced with pajamas.
As you turn to walk back into your bedroom, a cardboard box catches your eye. It sits on the top shelf next to out-of-season outfits in vacuum-sealed bags. Visibly out of place among your artfully curated clothes, it’s a bit worse-for-wear — especially after the four-hour drive from its first home.
It takes less time to stack two hard-top suitcases on top of one another, climb on top of your haphazard pile, and pull the box down than it did to win the fight against your zipper. You waste no time in shooting a glare over your shoulder at the antagonist hanging remorselessly behind you.
Impatient as always, you drop to the floor and sit cross-legged with the box in front of you. Unlike every other box you’d moved with to Seoul, this one isn’t labeled in your chicken-scratch hangul. A little mystery, you open it cautiously as if its contents might bite.
Inside are the little trinkets you’d forgotten you’d kept: theatre ticket stubs, loose bits of confetti you’d saved from various concerts, photo booth picture strips with people you hadn’t seen or spoken much to since you left. Your heart twinges as you take in their faces. All of you had grown up and apart since you sat there, squished together and smiling.
There’s one artifact in particular that makes your heart flip. Sitting at the very bottom of the pile is the cell phone you thought you’d lost — one you apparently packed, but assumed was gone forever. As soon as you got to Seoul, you’d replaced it, but none of your data survived the switch over.
In a flash, you scramble to your feet and scurry out of your closet into your bedroom. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you vault yourself onto your bed and you don’t stop crawling until you get to the nightstand on the other side. Within seconds, you slot your new charger into your old phone. You wait with bated breath for signs of life.
It takes an eternity to finally turn back on, but once it does, your old phone screams at you for the multiple software updates you’d missed over the last year. You ignore those notifications, but there’s one you can’t.
A missed call and a voicemail received at some point during your drive north.
There’s no way to describe the feeling in your chest. Halfway between a thunderclap and an electric shock, it forces out a gasp, nonetheless.
Jeon Jungkook.
You’d gotten into a fight the month before you left, and just like that, years of friendship went up in smoke. He was angry at you for leaving him when he needed you; you’d cried because he didn’t seem to care what you wanted. It was messy and it broke your heart in two.
You never told him precisely why his lack of support stung so fucking bad.
By the time you piled your life into the trunk of your car, neither one of you had apologized for the cruel shit you’d said. His contact information was gone in a few hours’ time, and you never heard from him again.
Or so you thought.
Hey, it’s me. I — uhhh — I know you’re on your way out of town, and that I’m way too fucking late with this, but I can’t let you go like this. I can’t let you go, period. Not — not the way that sounds. I’m not trying to prohibit you from going anywhere. I mean that I — Fuck, I should’ve written out a script or something…. This isn’t going well, is it? Anyways, I miss you. I’ve been missing you this whole fucking month. And I really am happy for you — proud of you. Most of all, I’m sorry for being so fucking selfish. I just — call me when you get there, okay? Call me, and then I’ll know we’re okay. That we can be okay. I, uh… I love you. Drive safe.
#jade’s requests#jade’s drabbles#1k drabblepalooza#bts#jjk#jeon jungkook#jungkook#bts jungkook#bts drabble#bts imagine#bts scenarios#bts angst#jungkook drabble#jungkook imagine#jungkook scenarios#jungkook angst#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#jeon jungkook x reader#bts jeon jungkook#jeon jungkook x you#jeon jungkook x y/n#jeon jungkook drabble#jeon jungkook angst#jeon jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook scenarios
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Jaheira quirks an eyebrow up at Hector as he approaches and gives him a fastidious look up and down. "Well now," she says teasingly. "You *can* make yourself presentable, when you have a mind to."
Hector rolls his eyes at her and grins. With Jaheira, as with no other member of his companions - even with Karlach - he has always had a strangely bantering, teasing relationship. He has always, almost from the first moment they met, felt comfortable with her, and has missed her wisdom and her steady presence tremendously in the Hells.
"That makes one of us," he shoots back, equally teasing.
She barks a laugh. "Hah! Forgive me... I am simply excitable. It is good to be out under an open sky once more." As Wyll did, she takes a long and appreciative sniff of the open forest-scented air.
"My first since the reconstruction began," she explains. "We left quite a mess behind, but the city begins to look something like itself once more." She scoffs mock-dismissively. "Same twisting alleys for purse-pickers. Same wooden buildings, ready to get burnt by next year's dragon. Same cisterns overflowing..."
Hector smiles. She speaks dismissively of the city but he knows, deep down, that its survival is important to her, and not just because of her children tying her down there.
"How do you think the rebuilding is going?" he asks.
She chuckles. "Baldurians simply... get *on* with it," she says. "Stubbornness? Civic spirit? Plain stupidity? Perhaps all three - but nothing I will sniff at any longer."
She waves her hand as if to indicate a wide crowd of gathered forces. "Harpers have come from half the world over to lend aid. Farmers, masons, healers... My own son Jord has been wooed to their ranks. Already he plants crop cycles in Wyrm's Crossing."
He can hear the pride in her voice, mixed with affection - and some frustration as she goes on: "Not so for my daughter. Rion's rejoined the Flaming Fist - temporarily, you understand, to 'organize the craftsmen.'" She snorts. "Though she spends more time locking up comrades for pocketing aid funds. They might learn a thing or two - if they don't expel her. Again."
He nods, listening intently, drinking in the news of the city, of her family, of anything she wants to talk about. "All well and good," he prods, "but what about you? I want to hear what you've been up to."
"Honestly?" she quips. "Much more sitting down than I'd like." She grins, seeing the smile this elicits on his face. "Mistake me not, there is still much to be done. Plans to make. Maps to be frowned over." She shrugs. "But my children are more than capable of doing it. Even the young ones tire of me peeking over their shoulders. This night offers them a brief respite from me, at least."
She looks around thoughtfully, taking in the small campsite, the people thronged through it. "And this place, now I look at it... it is where you all spent your first night together, no? A fine spot for an adventure to begin... a fine spot indeed."
Hector's smile fades and he watches her keenly, reading the expression in her eyes. "You're not going back to the city, are you?" he asks softly.
She chuckles, feeling herself so easily read. "Of course I am," she says mildly. "Perhaps just... the long way around. It would be good to stretch my legs for a bit." She shakes her head. "I'll find my way back, as I always do."
She gives an exaggerated sigh. "I admit defeat. Baldur's Gate is my home." She tips her head to one side, in an attitude he has noticed she uses when she feels she has a lesson to impart. "But that is the thing about home," she says gravely. "The only way to see it clearly is to leave and look back - for a little while at least."
She fixes her eyes back on him, and it is his turn to be read, her eyes seeming to look through him, searching out his thoughts. "For all your travels," she says gently, "I hope you have arrived where you want to be. Home, whatever that means to you."
He has given a lot of thought to this, over the months. The definition of home. Once, it was the monastery, without question, but that was before the nautiloid, and he looks back on it now as something that is of his past, somewhere he cannot return in the same spirit in which he once lived there. Avernus, for all that it has housed them for some time now, is not really home either, not where there is no moonlight. And this camp and the others like it, the travels that made him who is is now... for a time they were home, but that time is past as well.
But there is only one real answer. His home and his heart are within Karlach now, in the life they build together, wherever it happens to land.
"Karlach and I are each other's homes," he says quietly, just a little sheepishly, "in wild Avernus..."
She reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, a warm touch of reassurance, solidarity, wisdom. "Karlach is lucky to have you," she answers. "And know that you are not forgotten; if your friends don't drag you from the hells, it will only be because you've freed yourselves first."
She must see the emotion in his face, the lump rising in his throat, because she gives him a gentle shake and releases his shoulder, stepping back. If he needed to cry on her shoulder, he suspects she'd allow it, but the sentimentality is not in her nature either.
"But there will be more to discuss on that matter," she says lightly. "First - I must inspect the refreshments." She gives him a teasing wink. "You never know. Some ne'er-do-well might have tampered with the wine."
#bjk plays baldur's gate 3#hector carlisle#i love jaheira so fkn much you guys#if it weren't for avernus i'm pretty sure hector would be with her helping to rebuild the city#<3
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asphodelus [ scaramouche x reader ]
5. you're on your own, kid.
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is being lonely a normal thing? or is it just due to your upbringing?
warnings: mentions of suicide? not a bunch but scaramouche has joked about k/lling himself lmao, allusions to murder like always, a bit of fighting and blood, more to be added once i'm free
a/n: lol despite the title and summary i basically said nothing about being drowned in loneliness except for a paragraph or two but i'm too lazy to find a new one so bare with me pls
extra a/n in the end!!!
scaramouche felt like he just came out of hell.
well, technically, he did.
he had stayed at your lair longer than he intended to last night, and right now, he is currently sipping the most bitter coffee known to man at seven in the morning, in hopes of cutting down his need for sleep.
(it doesn't help, by the way. his eyelids are on the verge of closing.)
one look at him and you could just tell he's sleep deprived— not that he wasn't for the past few years he has worked in this department.
maybe he should just quit this stupid job.
“what in the world happened to you?”
scaramouche swiftly whipped his head towards the owner of the voice, and lo and behold, the last person he wanted to see in the first hour of his working hours, the man of the hour— tartaglia.
the ravenette clicked his tongue as he stepped away from the office kitchen, heading straight back to his desk with his mug in hand. he was not about to deal with someone so insufferable this early in the morning.
but it doesn't make it any better when the aforementioned ginger eagerly follows him from behind, insistent on getting an answer. scaramouche's not surprised, honestly. that's just how childe has always been, never backing down until he gets what he wants.
scaramouche's reply was curt. “leave me alone.”
but that doesn't stop childe from following him.
it wasn't until they finally arrive at scaramouche's desk that childe asks another question. “that case still keeping you up?”
right— if there's one thing about childe, it's that he has been by scaramouche's side since childhood. so, basically, he knows everything. from up to his darkest secrets and down to his traumatic experiences.
“no.” scaramouche half-lied.
to be fair, scaramouche wasn't entirely lying— he was confined in your base for pretty much most of the night, busy with the whole fantomatique ordeal, but that didn't mean it didn't remind him of those days; not when the fantomatique, the organization you're in, was the sole reason he lost what he had back then.
“well what has got you so uptight then?”
scaramouche didn't have time to sit in his chair when childe shoots that question. suddenly deep in thought, he just had half the mind to actually break it down to him and explain what he's been up to, but a flashback from last night flooded his mind.
“if you ever dare say a word about our partnership, you'll know who's throat i'm going for next.”
yeah, that's definitely not happening.
he may have joked about ending himself a few times, maybe a little too much, but never in his life would he ever want his blood to end up in your hands.
childe irked a brow at the ravenette's silence. before he could comment on it, another voice interrupted him instead.
“balladeer! captain's calling for ya!” someone shouted from across the room, and both of the detectives turned their heads towards the source of the voice. they didn't need to look at the person to know who it was anyways— it was the tsaritsa's assistant, katlin.
with an audible, and clearly loud sigh, scaramouche placed his mug down on his desk harshly, before brushing past childe's taller frame.
it's not like scaramouche wanted to meet his captain. hell, meeting the tsaritsa wouldn't even be the last thing he'd want to do– he'd rather explode than to ever have to face her. yet he needed an opportunity to squeeze out of the stupid personal conversation childe had decided to have this early in the morning, and this was his only resort.
childe's voice fell on deaf ears by the time he reached the tsaritsa's office.
he stopped for a moment, hand on the doorknob. scaramouche knocked three times on the wooden door, and a muffled come in can be heard from the other side. he inhaled deeply before pushing the door open, and he was greeted by the sight of the tsaritsa working on a pile of paperwork on her desk quietly.
scaramouche approached slowly, and stopped once he was just a few steps away from her desk. he stood there for a few beats, and when the tsaritsa didn't bother to bat an eye at him, he almost wanted to roll his eyes.
an asshole, as always.
“did you call for me, captain?”
after a hot second, she finally tilted her head up from the pile, staring at him with a deadpan look, one that never fails to be scaramouche's reason to end it all.
“oh.” was the first word that came out of her mouth, and she continued. “i did.” she said it as though it was a question, which prompted scaramouche to dig his nails into the palm of his hand that was shaped into a fist. he's glad that he could at least hide it from her prying eyes— save it for the high desk she currently occupies.
“right. i wanted to let you know that you are in charge of patrolling the city today.” she cleared her throat, flicking her eyes back to her work. “that's all.”
scaramouche frowned, confused. “but i'm handling that case from the other night–”
“not anymore.” she cut him off before he could even finish his sentence, and scaramouche gritted his teeth.
“what? why?” oh, he knew why, he didn't need an explanation to know exactly why she wouldn't give him a big case. there's no reason for him to be handling major cases when he's still under the fuckery of the tsaritsa's supervision. it's not like he hasn't been doing the same old patrol shit for the past year. this wasn't a surprise to him at all.
the tsaritsa sighed, looking at him once again with that same blank expression. “i've handed it over to the people who are far better for it, balladeer.” well, that definitely stings. “i don't expect you to be ready for such a task, not after that stunt you pulled last year.”
“...and how long do you plan on keeping me in the shadows? am i not a detective?” scaramouche pressed, although he already knew the answer to his question.
maybe when you finally deserve that detective title you live up to.
and those same exact words rolled off her tongue, which made scaramouche dig his nails into his palm deeper. right, it has always been that answer. what was he even expecting from the likes of her?
without replying to the tsaritsa, scaramouche turned on his heels and left the confines of her office at the speed of lightning, making sure to slam the door shut. if the captain was going to keep making him do such lousy jobs that even the lowest scums of the fatui could do without supervision, then he might as well break a few furniture or so in return. it was only fair.
the streets were anything but peaceful, scaramouche thinks.
it was roughly around ten in the morning, and the city was as busy as ever. folks were out and about, and he could vaguely recognise the same twenty people or so by the fountain doing their weekly protest against the fantomatique, as if that could make any changes in snezhnaya.
scaramouche sighed as he continued on patrolling, with a few of his subordinates trailing behind.
the ravenette was just about to leave the city and head on over to his next patrolling area when a sudden fight broke down at the same spot people were crowding at by the fountain he saw earlier, and that made scaramouche tsk in annoyance.
i'm not getting paid enough to deal with shit like this. his second insight of the day.
as his team hurriedly jogged over to the scene, the two men that were fighting already had each other's fists in the other's faces, and scaramouche grimaced as he witnessed the tall and bulky man successfully knocked the shorter man down, leaving a trail of blood running down the man's nostrils.
gasps and whispers were exchanged between the small crowd as they watched the scene before them. what was supposed to be a peaceful protest to fight against the deadliest organization had swiftly turned into a local fight you'd typically see in rowdy bars. scums.
“what the fuck?!” the man on the ground yelled, before quickly standing up to continue on with the fight. the shorter man was seconds away from landing a punch towards the taller man's stomach when scaramouche finally interfered. the show was amusing to him, but he had to put a stop to this, lest he prefers a full-on lecture by the jester later on.
“that's enough fighting, you two.”
the two men suddenly glared down at scaramouche, who was way shorter than both of them. amusing, really. they quickly shared a glance, and as though the tables had turned, they ganged up with one another against the shorter male, looking down at scaramouche with eyes full of mischief.
scaramouche only looked at them with nothing but boredom, hands shoved in his pockets like he has no care in the world. of course, who was he kidding? he was confident that he could take the two down in mere seconds, despite the fact that they both looked like they had a much bigger build than him. after all, the ravenette was put through rigorous training for him to be accepted into the fatui, no less that he's one of the higher figures in the said academy.
one of the two men scoffed, and scaramouche raised a brow as he stared up at the man with tanned skin. “who does this midget think he is? aren't people like you supposed to be running your legs and fighting for the safety of this city? and yet another person was killed last night. have you no shame, standing here, yet contributing nothing to the city?”
“the fatui do not deserve such praise from the kingdom when all you people do is patrol and run around like the weaklings you all are.” the other man said, already stalking up towards scaramouche.
scaramouche paid no heed to their insults. who do they think they are, trying to pick a fight with him?
the crowd could only nod their heads and whisper between one another, agreeing with what the two men were saying.
scaramouche could not blame them, truly. the people of snezhnaya had lost hope with the fatui. fifteen years had passed and the citizens are still forced to live in fear, in their own homes, in their own country. the fatui have barely done anything to keep the city safe, not when there was no way the fatui could have done anything to take down the fantomatique without getting their heads sliced off the second they look into the fantomatique's plans.
the fatui used to be the organization that the citizens of snezhnaya look up to and seek help from, but now they only serve as merely a name with zero contribution.
but even so, it didn't mean that the fatui haven't tried. the people do not need to know the struggles the fatui had to endure during times like this. hell, they don't even know the amount of members who had died trying to keep the city safe.
scaramouche only had a bit of pity towards these citizens. there was no point in doing so when the only thing he gets in return is this sort of treatment.
“if you boast so much about us being useless, then why don't you try being one yourself?” scaramouche had said in return, and the two men scowled.
then, scaramouche continued. “oh, pardon me. you both are already one yourself.” the slight jab of insult made the two men clench their fists, resisting the urge to jump at the short male. “tell me, what is the point of you being here, protesting, when you are too cowardly to even do half of the things the fatui do on a daily basis?”
“you–”
“might i also remind you that you are within the vicinity of the city, therefore the violences and ruckus you have caused here could get you arrested?”
the two men pursed their lips into a thin line, as if they had their mouths zipped the second that sentence rolled off the ravenette's tongue.
“if you think that you can pick a fight with me then be my guest.” scaramouche shrugged, knowing fully well that he could take both of the men down in a heartbeat.
when scaramouche finally decided to look around the crowd, eyes trailing over each person present there, he somehow saw you. you who was already staring right back at him, making scaramouche slightly falter at the sight.
what were you doing here? in the middle of a protest against an organization you are in?
as if you could read his expression, you shrugged your shoulders, exactly like what he just did a second ago, and scaramouche frowned.
the two men in front of him stared at scaramouche weirdly, confused as to why the ravenette was suddenly paying attention to the crowd.
just as scaramouche wanted to go after you, you vanished into the said crowd, and that made him even more sour than he already was.
damn you and your stupid assassin skills.
“uh, sir? what do we do about them?” one of his subordinates had asked from behind, and that finally made scaramouche snap back to reality.
scaramouche looked over his shoulder, and back to the two taller men. he sighed, bringing a hand over his face. “just… make sure they don't make a scene again.”
his subordinates could only nod as they took care of the two men, whilst scaramouche took the liberty to walk out of the crowd to search for you. that is if he manages to find you, archons know where you had decided to disappear to.
just as he passed by an alleyway, he was quickly dragged into the darkness by his fatui coat, causing him to whip his head around to the perpetrator, hand holding his gun on his duty belt.
and when he pulled out his gun and had it pointed to the person who had dragged him in, he was instead greeted by your figure looking right back at him, eyebrows raised and hands in the air, feigning innocence.
“woah there, officer. no need to get violent.” you waved your hands, albeit a little too excitedly. “it's me.”
“it's detective to you.” scaramouche corrected you, slowly putting his gun back. “what the hell are you doing here?”
“excuse me?” you scoffed involuntarily. “i live around here. do you really think i live in my base all day long? what kind of psycho do you think i am?”
scaramouche rolled his eyes. “you're a maniac. cramping up in your lair all the time wouldn't surprise me.”
“you wound me, balladeer.”
he ignored your comment. “what were you even doing in the crowds?”
“i could ask you the same thing, detective.” you enunciated his title. “aren't you quite the hotshot yourself in your department? why are you out here doing a weakling's job? patrolling the city?”
scaramouche had half a mind to tell you about his temporary demotion, yet he zipped his mouth shut instead, ignoring you once again as he observed his surroundings, making sure there was no one else here but you two.
you sighed when he didn't reply, pulling out something from your cloak, piquing scaramouche's interest. “what's that?” he asked.
instead of vocalizing your reply, you simply waved the item in front of his face. two tickets to a… fair? festival? whatever it is, what are you even planning on doing with them?
“what the hell is this? a date?”
you gagged. “what? god, no. as if i would ever go out with the likes of you. not even over my dead body would i ever disrespect myself like that.”
scaramouche rolled his eyes at your harsh words, and you didn't wait for him to snap back as you got to the point. “viktoria is going to be hosting a festival by the end of the week, it might be our best chance on getting the information we need from her.”
“and what do you plan on doing once we've got her in our hands?” he asked.
“we drill her until she's nothing but a blabbermouth.” scaramouche raised a brow at this, as though he's not fully convinced by your words. “what? she might be a tough nut to crack, but she's never shutting that big mouth of hers once she starts talking.” you grinned.
“should i be concerned on what you might have committed in order to get these tickets?”
“oh wow, again, what the hell do you take me for?”
scaramouche leaned on a wall beside him. “a psychopath, that's for sure.”
frowning, you slapped one of the tickets to his chest, keeping the other back to where it was in your cloak. “if you ever won an award for being the biggest douche in snezhnaya, i, for one, would not be surprised.” you retorted, and scaramouche shrugged his shoulders in return as he slipped the ticket into his pocket.
“do you have any more intel that i should know of? or is that all?” scaramouche queried, and you took a moment to think.
after a hot second, you simply patted his shoulder, walking past him to exit the alley. “i'd say… try to dress citizen-like.” you looked over your shoulder to eye at the ravenette's clothing, and scaramouche gritted his teeth, knowing fully well that you were judging his outfit. so much for calling him a douche earlier.
you seriously cannot be looking at him up and down when you're currently donning the same exact outfit as his, the only difference being the stark contrast between his fatui themed colors and your… dull ones.
“do you have a problem with the way i dress?”
you didn't bother to reply to his question directly. “maybe i have forgotten to tell you. viktoria knows the fatui like the back of her hand. it wouldn't be nice if you were caught red handed this early into the game, no?”
and just like back then at the fountain, you were gone in the blink of an eye.
damn you and your stupid dendrobium shenanigans, he thought once again.
and what the hell did you mean by dress citizen-like? was there something wrong with his sense of fashion? scaramouche looked down at his outfit, the usual white button up shirt with a simple black tie and black pants, completing it with his fatui coat that goes down to his ankles.
what could possibly be wrong with his choice of clothes?
after your little rendezvous around snezhnaya city, you finally decided to head back to the comfort of your home.
the corridor to your apartment was dark, a stark contrast to the winterly yet bright day in the city— despite the fact that the sun is close to setting. it didn't take long for you to reach your doorstep, unlocking the wooden door with the single key you were holding.
you apartment looked just like any other ordinary apartment you'd typically see in snezhnaya. you had only made minimal changes to the interior when you had purchased the place, fearing that you might have to move out yet again for the umpteenth time.
as much as you loved the luxury you get from each mission you were sent to, being the dendrobium truly has its individual cons.
the shift of your foot in the quiet atmosphere made a soft crinkle, as though you had stepped on something. a piece of paper, maybe. looking down, you eyed a piece of letter on the carpet by the door, and after a bit of squinting, you eventually recognized the familiar bloody stamp on the top right corner of the letter.
sighing, you bent down to pick up the letter and rip the cover open, not caring if it damaged the letter in the process. your eyes darted over to the handwritten letter, barely reading through its contents. there was no need of doing so, it's bound to be the same stupid content either way.
dendrobium,
a new target awaits. retrieve the documents needed from a merchant named alexis nikova. finish your work within twenty-four hours. your reward will be waiting for you at the usual place.
messenger VI.
groaning frustratedly, you tossed the letter on a desk near the living room. i just got home, for god's sake, you thought as you discarded your coat before flopping onto your couch, head leaning back.
you stared at the ceiling, and the ceiling stared right back at you. maybe if you stared at it long enough, you would think that it was straight up mocking you for the amount of risks you're taking in order to live.
“must be nice being a ceiling, huh.” maybe you've gone just a tad bit insane for saying this.
sighing once again, you readjusted your position on the couch with your back to the cushioned seats.
this was routine. you close your eyes, you try to calm your mind and rest before doing your nightly dendrobium duties, just like how you've always been doing for almost a decade.
and before you knew it, you were already entering dreamland.
except for the fact that it wasn't quite dreamland at all.
with a short and shaky gasp, you jolted awake, shooting up from your lying position on the couch. beads of sweat rolled down your face as you tried to calm your heavy breathing and shivering body.
you're not certain what time it was, but one thing's for sure; it was well past midnight. the moon that was shining brightly in the sky and the eerily quiet street downstairs gave it away.
great, you passed out for the whole evening.
you stared at the starry night as you calmed yourself down, serving it as a way of comfort... or some sort. you weren't sure if it helped in any way.
after a moment of nothing-ness, you finally decide to grab yourself a cup of water, ignoring the way your head throbs from your recent nightmare.
nightmares— you're definitely not a stranger to it. if anything, nightmares are your best friend. the kind of best friend who won't stop bugging you, leaving you no personal space. yeah, that kind of friend.
you're not even sure when was the last time you had a positive and enjoyable dream.
as the warm water fills your dry throat, you sighed in contempt. you looked at the ominously large clock by your counter, and you groaned when you saw the time.
2:08. way past midnight.
you would've been out finishing that stupid task at this time around, but instead you had just woken up to yet another gruesome nightmare. great, just great.
despite the fact that you have well over 15 hours until your mission is due, you have no intention of dragging it any longer. you're not a fan of doing things last minute— contrary to what people your age have the tendency to do.
maybe it's the fact that you've been brought up differently than other kids, or the fact that you practically had no one to look up to when you were a child yourself. well not anymore, for that matter. you've always been dependent on only yourself.
dwelling on the past isn't what you do— definitely not during nights where you're supposed to be finishing your tasks; yet here you are.
if not for the fact that you were from the streets, or for the fact that you were taken into this organization— you probably would've become a perfectly normal kid.
you could probably imagine yourself owning a small bakery down the street; like the one you'd always stop by every saturday morning with the kind lady serving you. the owner there would always insist on giving you extra pastry, excusing it as what she'd say: “you remind me of my own daughter.” maybe she's too kind for her own good— dully because she's serving a murderer every weekend.
nevertheless, if it weren't for your upbringing, you would've been a normal person, dealing with life normally, instead of having to fish out hearts and blood every night; all for the sake of your own living.
your apartment is too quiet. the place is nothing but despair. you feel like the wooden floors are eating you up, and your knees are at the brink of giving up— just like your whole being.
and yet you have no one to lean on to for help.
you're all alone. and you may think that's okay, but it's not. but what is there to do than to just suck it up and not dwell on it?
so you down your cup of water and swallow up your miserable self— and instead go out for your nightly duties as though it'd help rid your deteriorating mental state.
and maybe the relief in finishing up your next target might just give you a bit of color in your life— well, at least for tonight the color will be red.
scaramouche thinks he's gone nuts.
it's been a full week, and he's done nothing but patrolling. no cases under his lead, no crime scenes he needs to overlook, not even three sheets of paperwork on his desk that is due soon.
it's not like he's expecting anything less, nor anything more for that matter, but god forbid the tsaritsa lets him have at least a bit of fun in his gray colored life as a detective. correction— revoked detective title, but admitting that would hurt his pride and ego.
and it doesn't make it any better that he has nothing to do but sit in his desk all day after patrolling in the snowy city— and having to witness people like childe and signora experiencing the most fun in their jobs, leaving him in such a crestfallen state he might as well just break both his desk and chair in two.
good for them, he'd thought one time. leave it to the most miserable people to get the most exciting cases to work on. (he likes to think he is not miserable himself)
there was basically nothing for him to look forward to the following the weekend.
so that quite explains the reason why he's currently standing over the golden bridge— the place where he had met you for the very first time, professionally. not that whimsical and silly showdown or whatever he had put up to whilst chasing you down that one night.
you're late, five minutes late to be exact.
scaramouche's not the time of person to be so calculating (he is), but he couldn't help but glance over the giant clock on the highest building in the middle of the city every few minutes, save it for the fact that his week has been nothing but depressing. this was the only thing he might have looked forward to, albeit his very displeased face.
after two minutes or so— you finally arrived; in all your out-of-breath glory. and maybe a bit sweaty yourself, but scaramouche won't point that out to spare your embarrassment.
5:07 in the evening.
“you're late.” is the first thing he says as you finally calmed yourself down from all of that running.
you glared at him. “good evening to you as well, balladeer.” you enunciated his name with just a tad bit of annoyance, but he ignores it.
“what has caused the dendrobium to be so…” you raised a brow, a signal for him to continue and finish that sentence. or maybe a warning, he thinks. “unpunctual.” he settled on the least insult he could think of, but the way you're currently looking at him with those murderous eyes tells him that he's not safe either way, insulting or not.
“i had some errands i had to run at the last minute.” you replied, wiping off the bit of sweat on your forehead with your sleeve— despite the chilly weather.
the ravenette doesn't reply, instead opted to glance at your outfit. well, there isn't much difference from your usual choice of clothing, but at least you looked... decent, to say the least.
“i see that you've actually taken my advice, balladeer.” you said after a moment, and when scaramouche flickered his eyes to yours, you were already looking up and down his outfit. “well aren't you quite dressed for the occasion!” you beamed as you clasped your hands together.
scaramouche rolled his eyes and turned around, not giving you a second to relax from your high. “stop wasting my time and get going. i don't have all day.”
he walks first, leaving you behind. he needn't worry anyway, because not even ten seconds later, you were already on the same pace as him.
what a show off, he thinks. (you're not. it's just your average agility and strength; one that he could definitely never outdo. and not that he would ever admit that to you).
“can't you be a little more enthusiastic?”
“can't you be a little more quiet?” he shoots back.
you groaned. he's definitely not going to hesitate bursting your bubble every time you say something positive.
it was silent for a moment, with only your footsteps to accompany the both of you to your destination as the sun starts to set.
“so,” you tried striking up a conversation when you felt that it was too quiet and too awkward, looking at him beside you as you both walked down a path. “got any plans for the evening?”
scaramouche side-eyed you from your left. “don't we have a job to do? like getting that viktoria woman on her knees?”
you gasped dramatically. “oh, you seriously cannot think that would be the only thing we will be doing for the whole evening? that would only take around... a quarter to an hour, or maybe less, depending on how long she is willing to blabber that big mouth of hers, but that's besides the point.” you threw your hands up into the air a little too excitedly, looking up at the sky. “we practically have all night to enjoy ourselves!”
“that is a quarter to an hour less of my time, then. would that not be good for the both of us? these kinds of festivals are a bane to my existence— to anyone, really. there are so many things that i can actually put my effort and time to than waste it on an unenjoyable event.”
you snorted at his reply, finding amusement in his words. “oh balladeer, has anyone ever told you that you're sad and miserable?”
“yes.” he said. “quite a lot, actually. maybe a little too much for my liking.” he ends his sentence with yet another sarcastic tone.
and again, you stifled a laugh. “how do you even see a joyous festival and immediately think ‘oh, this is not worth my time, i shall better go back to my sad life to continue doing my sad job like the sad person i am.’” you tried mimicking his voice, but it came out a little bit restrained and whiny. he's too unbothered to comment on that.
“there is nothing joyous about festivals. only boring people like you would find solace in such stupid events.”
you laughed, only this time you couldn't hold it in any longer. for someone so dull and boring, he is quite the epitome of amusing. and a little bit of funny, if you have to admit.
and maybe— this might have just made scaramouche have the slightest bit of interest in this festival you look forward to so much.
taking down the most dangerous organization with you will be quite the roller coaster, he thinks. but that's what makes this whole mission better.
he's still not sure of your motive and why you want to take down your own kind, but maybe along this ride he might be able to learn a thing or two about you.
well, one thing's for sure is that you have such horrendous taste in fashion. and you're too cheerful for someone who is tasked to commit murders every few nights.
and it's kind of weird that for the second time since he's known you, scaramouche looks forward to working with you. despite your quirks and questionable sense in style.
the reason behind scaramouche's deep hatred towards the tsaritsa needs to be studied.
a/n: woah h finally posts a new chapter after a two month hiatus???? this is not her. she's currently drowning in a pile of books and on the verge of ending her life. (it is me)
anyways yeah i'm back from my slump i hope you guys are still here 😞 i'll try to update more frequently i promise!!! as always i hope you enjoyed this chapter i made a ton of changes to my writing over my hiatus so i hope this makes up for my absence LMAO i'm trying to improve more if that's not obvious haha anyways i guess i'll see you all in the next update :P
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#h✧˖— asphodelus#scaramouche x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact reader insert#genshin x you#scaramouche#scaramouche fanfic#genshin scaramouche#scara x you#wanderer x reader#kunikuzushi x reader#I FINALLY GOT THIS DONE#I AM FREE FROM THE SHACKLES#watch me disappear again
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Tumblr Plays Pokemon White 2 - Part 5
I just need one.
Just to steady my nerves.
JUST. ONE.
GLUG
GLUG
GLUG
Ohhhh thats the good stuff.
Okay Polly. You can do this. Just walk out on that soundstage. And, i dunno, act?
Dear lord this is like third grade talen show all over again. Only this time I don't have Hugh to dig the hole.
......
The filming... actually turned out okay? It was pretty standard fare hero schlock but ah well.
And hey, i actually have a fan!
Hmmm this is going straight into my veins.
Dont tell my mom.
Your lucky I've had my lemonade hit today old man.
Welp. Guess I'm a move star now.
hehe.
Oh shoot it's dark. Uhhh is Pop Roxie still running his boat? I did say I was gonna do all the gym matches so I kinda gotta go to Castelia right? Hnngh maybe I'll come back to do more films later?
At least after getting a set of wings or something to get here and back again in a jiffy.
I wind up running to the pier in the rain.
Okay Hugh I'm here, sorry I took so long. See there was this bald guy with a really unfotunate name and-
Whaaaats going on here?
What like.... like the terrorist group? I mean lets not jump the gun here Roxie. I mean just cause theyre dressed kinda funny doesn't mean we can just jump to conclusion. Besides even if they WERE Team Plasma they wouldn't just admit to it. Nobodys that-
... Wow okay so... you guys are like... actually that dumb then?
Look I- No I get you wanna make some big dramatic speech but I- Stop cutting me off you RUDE LITTLE-
Hugh, baby, do NOT cut the Polly off when shes speaking! You know what happened in third grade.
Anyway Hugh goes off on this whole hate filled speech about how much these guys suck. And I expected some kinda edgy response but instead.
Home slice. You were chased... by Lillipup? Dude I hit a Lillipup with a bike when I was, like, five and it was flattened like a pancake. Sure, I got banned from riding for, like, ten years but my point is that anyone who runs from a Lillipup, a Lillipup right?, has no right joining a terrorist organization.
God its the third grade all over again.
Hope you have a shovel Hugh.
Oh sweetie.
We're gonna bury you.
Plasma Grunt sent out a Patrat against Bentley and you can just tell that Bentley has a chip on his shoulder over the Gym battle because hes raring to go. Patrat starts with bide after Bentley wraps him up, after that I had Bentley use growth while Patrat stored energy. Next round Patrat releases the energy and Bentley hit him with vine whip. That combined with wrap gets the little rat int he red. Patrat manages to forestall hi defeat with detect but one return later and its over.
After defeating the Patrat Bentley learns Leaf Tornado.
The Plasma grunt and his buddies have enough sense to run off before we can really get going and run for their lives.
Its okay Hugh you didn't have a shovel anyway.
Uh... Pretty sure thats a YOU job? Your the gym leader here.
However Roxie gives me the HM for Cut before running off.
Well Hugh guess we have a free HM now soooooo
Deep inhale through nose
Yeah okay.
Your lucky were friends Hugh.
The things I do for friendship.
Thats what I DOING! GAWD
Look its not like we're even going to find them! If they're really in a terrorist cell theres no way they're just going to be standing out in the open like a jackass saying "Come and get me Polly"
.... Bentley.
Go loose buddy.
Hey look its a purrloin.
And now its dead.
Just like old times. Old times being, like, the day before yesterday. Or whatever.
Aaaand the Plasma grunt runs away.
Hugh get her!
I... you... She ran RIGHT PAST YOU!
YOU HAVE A PIG WHO BREATHES FIRE!
wHaT... i DONt.... THIS IF YOUR VENDETTA!
oh please do tell
Okay she said they have a boat. Castelia City has a port. Hmm Okay.
I... we were JUST there Hugh! We'd have been better off just waiting in Virbank for them to come back and then jumping out at them from behind a trash can! Or dragging them into an alley to get info or something!
Arceus Dammit Hugh! This is YOUR revenge quest! I'm just tagging along cause Prof. Juniper asked me to complete... the... pokedex....
You know what Hugh, you uh, you go on ahead. I have some stuff I gotta... take... care of....
Shit shit shit how many pokemon do I have to catch?!
Ran into a shaking bush and caught an audino on the way to the pokemon center. Shove THAT into the PC for now, what else....
Route 19... Route 19 gotta start with route 19. Habitat mode dont fail me now!
GOT IT!
YOU. IN BALL. NOW
DANGIT YOU ARE NOT GETTING IN THE BALL
ARIES GT OUT THERE AND PARALYZE THAT CRETIN!
YES
IN BALL
CAUGHT
MOVING ON
DAMMIT OF COURSE THE FIRST PURRLOIN I FIND HAS LIMBER
AAAAAAAHHHHH
#pokemon#tumblr plays pokemon#tumblr plays pokemon white 2#pokemon poll#pokemon playthrough#pokemon white 2#white 2#pokemon black 2#black 2#b2w2#pkmn b2w2#pokemon b2w2
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Father of Time Chapter 21: Greetings and Warnings
Link went to see Malon first thing the next morning. He was surprised to see a letter sticking out of the small box they had for mail and found that it had the redhead's handwriting on it once again. As he walked out to the paddock to get Epona, he opened the letter and read over it quickly.
Dear Link,
I am so happy you got my letter! I don't know how it even got to you but I'm glad it did.
The ocean sounds amazing. I'm glad you got to meet one of your dad's brothers! I don't always get along with all of my uncles but I hope it went well for you. Make sure you fill me in on everything when you get back, okay? Do you think you'll be back for Starfall this year? I know that maybe you can't know but it would be so nice to see you again! It's still months away so I don't know why I'm worried! It just feels like you've been gone very long.
There's been some strange monsters spotted at the edges of Hyrule. Daddy says I'm not allowed out at night again, though I don't think there's been any stall-monsters at all! Maybe you and your dad can convince him that it's okay, once you get back?
Let me know as soon as you can when you're going to be home okay?
Malon
Oh, shoot. Link folded the letter up carefully and shoved it into his pocket, realising he had never thought to write her when they were in Faron. Well, this was probably going to be a huge surprise, wasn't it? He whistled Epona's song at the fences and the horse nickered in excitement as she galloped over. "Did you miss home too, girl? Miss your nice, warm and dry stable, huh?" The mare nudged him with her face and blew air at him. Link laughed and gave her a rub before heading to the gate. "Come on, Epona. Let's go see Malon."
(Read the rest on AO3!)
#Legend of Zelda AU#post-OOT AU#post-MM AU#Legend of Zelda fanfic#Fierce Deity#Fierce Dadity#loz fanfic#Fierce Deity is a good dad#loz au fic#post MM Link#Legend of Zelda#Father of Time fic#precious awkward teenager Link you are so much fun to write for
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