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stick-ball · 2 months

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I'm still thinking about what Nora wrote in the recent Thea Muldani post, and it has me reeling in the best way possible.

I feel like it could have been an important moment for Thea - when Jean started following her around after joining the Ravens bcs. She was a black woman in that mess of a place and it was *hard* and as Nora said, nobody gave a flipping fuck about her really. No matter the effort she put in.

She fought hard for every little slip of recognition and approval. But still, no matter how good, she was nothing to the others on the team, even people she must've been in some way intimate with, even if in a shallow way. Then, though, everyone knows Kevin and Riko, and how above everyone else on the team they are. The standing is written plainly on their cheeks, so that no one forgets it, and the number on her jersey is far, far from theirs.

But then, there's the third guy. None of them really knew much about Jean before he joined them in his freshman year, did they? Maybe im forgetting something, but to my knowledge from all we know, Jean was not a celebrity kid, but a dirty secret for the Moriyamas. So, there's this other guy, who has a number 3 appointed to him by the Master himself, and from all possible people to follow, he is there right at her heels whenever he can. He did it bcs she was that good, and he wanted to get pointers to assimilate with the teams work smoothly enough to not get more punishment than he already was receiving but, Thea doesn't really know this does she? Not about the punishment and most likely not about the fact they do think she's good enough to be noticed by the perfect court either. It's not riko who's noticing, but it's still something, isn't it? So yeah, I think they must be maybe not friends exactly, but in some weird way, it must be some kind of landmark for them both. Maybe that will turn into a kind of friendship years later in a healthier setting?

But again, imagine the mess of that: Jean is always with Riko and Kevin, except when he's following the girl everyone around is trying to put "in her place". And he matters in some way, he must, because standing is everything in the nest, and he's right after the sons of exy.

I dont think it makes Thea "stand a bit taller" or feel stronger or whatever, bcs she knows she is strong and talented and is worth being here. Or at least she tries to remember that her belief in herself is what got her here. Her faith must come from within. But everyone still needs the recognition of all that hard work. To not burn out. At least every once in a while, especially in a place so devoid of it as the Nest. And maybe Jean was the person to first show that recognition to her, without even knowing it?

#im just stuck in the thea brainrot sorry nobody gets out of aftg timblr untouched by my thea brainrot now #i woukd say im sorry #but i finally got out of 2 days of dissociating so im in a celebratory mood again #so yeah #thea muldani #thea muldani protection squad #nora sakavic #jean moreau #all for the game #aftg #tfc #the foxhole court #kevin day #the sunshine court

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drabblingman · 11 months

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Mephistopheles shut their diary in one hand with a "snap", and rushed off as fast as he could. His steps mixed with the rapid clacking of his cane, and his old injury screamed at him, but that didn't matter right now.

He had to find them. To set the record straight.

But what exactly was the truth? Wasn't his whole reason for snooping because he disliked them? Hadn't he been trying to unearth dirt on them? To write a scathing piece in the R.A.D. Times on? To sully their reputation, and prove they weren't as honest as they appeared to be?

Stupid.

They always told him the truth. He had tried time and again to catch them in a lie, but he never could. They never lied. Even when they knew what they said could be misconstrued, or twisted against them, they always spoke the truth. Their truth.

Why would their diary be any different?

He was so stupid.

It was one of the things he liked about them. But if he disliked them, why would he like something, anything about them?

Why would it hurt that they thought he hated them?

He liked a lot of things about them. Their honesty. Their quick, yet cutting, wit. Their ability to get in and out of the most frustrating and precarious of situations, always with a new story to tell. Their humor. Their laugh.

He liked them, damnit, so why did they think he hated them? Why did he think he hated them?

He gritted his teeth, and clutched their diary tighter in his free hand.

God above and Demon Lord below, he was so stupid.

He turned a corner, and found them exactly where he knew they would be. He had, after all, had to plan for the optimal time to go looking through their most personal of belongings, and it'd be a rookie mistake to not know where your target was at the time of infiltration.

The human exchange student was alone, after class, at a table outside of the school. They were packing up after working on their homework for exactly 58 minutes, so they could make the late bus that left exactly an hour after school. Something he had planned meticulously for.

Too bad all of that planning had gone out the window. (Which was, ironically, how he had planned to make his daring escape.)

He approached them as they were placing their books in their bag, not yet noticing him.

"How dare you write such accusations!" is probably not the best thing to shout at someone while holding their diary.

Which is why Mephistopheles preferred the written word. Preferably, articles. Then, he could go back and forth and rewrite anything that came out too harshly or just plain wrong. Here? Oh no. He couldn't backspace a single letter from what he said here.

They looked up, bewildered.

And then he saw it. The dawning realization that in his left hand he held their diary, replaced quickly by the shock and betrayal that he had alluded to having read it.

It was like they had frozen in front of him, yet he was the one who felt cold from his own thoughtless actions.

Had he mentioned how stupid he was? Because he really was quite stupid.

"Why do you have that?" They asked him, their voice low and serious.

"I-! Well-!" He spluttered, unable to think of a perfectly valid excuse for breaking in to their house, their room, and their locked and magically-enchanted diary.

"You know me! I'm an investigator! And I must investigate you!"

They stared at him, then at their diary, still clutched firmly in his hand.

"Give it back."

Mephistopheles blinked at their outstretched hand, processing, for a moment too long, what they had requested of him.

They made a grabbing motion.

"Oh-" he finally realized, quickly dropping their diary back into their palm.

They packed it in their bag with the rest of their books, silently, as Mephistopheles watched.

"We- we really must talk!" He managed at last, stumbling on his words.

Their head snapped up, and the glare they threw his way he would've sworn gave him physical damage. Even Lucifer, king of the death glare, would have quaked in his stupid fancy shoes.

"What's. There. To. Talk. About?" They asked him, enunciating each word carefully.

"About what you wrote-"

"-You mean my private thoughts?" They cut him off. "You mean my private thoughts that you violated? That you read without my permission? That I wrote so I wouldn't have them running around my head? So that I wouldn't speak them out loud? Those?"

He winced.

This was not going well.

And he was probably digging his own grave.

Which he assumed they would then dance on.

And then they'd probably raise him from the dead, just to kill him and dance on it again.

But still...

He had to know.

No matter what, he had to know.

"...Do you really think I hate you...?"

They stared at him, as if he was completely stupid. (A sentiment he was really truly beginning to agree with.)

"Why would I lie to my diary? Of course I do. What other proof do I need after this stunt you just pulled?"

Ouch. That one stung a little.

Ok, a lot.

"Then, what about the other things you wrote about me?"

They held his gaze for a moment, before looking down at the table, quiet.

"...What does it matter?" They asked bitterly, sadness tinging the edges of their words as they avoided eye contact with him.

He approached the table from the other side, placing his white-gloved hands on it's filthy surface, leaning forward to try to catch their gaze.

"It matters a lot." He said gently, reaching out cautiously to their face to comfort then, or at the very least get them to look up at him once again.

"At least, to me it does." He withdrew, suddenly anxious his touch was unwelcome. "Because I don't hate you. In fact, I've come to enjoy your company."

The human's face shot up once more, their eyes wide, searching his own meticulously for any trace of sarcasm or untruthfulness.

"What?"

He felt his heart thud in his chest when their eyes locked with his. He hadn't even meant to say that last part, it had just come out of his mouth without thought, but now, he was forced to address it. He was forced to confront his feelings about them. Or, rather, his feelings for them.

Why hadn't he noticed it before? Had it happened too slowly for him to perceive the changes? Had all of their late night "investigations" into Lucifer and even later night editing sessions together caused them to rub off on him? All of the teasing they did of each other? The back-and-forth quips they exchanged as if they were playing tennis? The compliments veiled as insults? The insults veiled as compliments? Had they completely flipped his opinion of them without him even knowing?

Or had it happened all at once, when he had read confession note after confession note in their diary, crossed out and marked up and edited, not unlike how he wrote his articles, and felt his chest swell with each word? Each little thing they claimed to admire in him? Each piece of evidence that showed how much effort they had put into trying to make everything perfect? Had he been swayed in that instant, convinced, finally, that they weren't always nearby just to be a thorn in his side?

They stared at him expectantly.

"I- I..."

He suddenly couldn't find the words.

Well, that was a first. He almost laughed out loud at the ludicrousness of it. Him. At a loss for words. The very idea had never crossed his mind before. Sure, he had sometimes had to look up different ways to get his point across more eloquently, his thesaurus was sometimes his best friend, but he had never been so completely devoid of words before.

He pursed his lips, dumbfounded.

"Mephistopheles...?"

They managed to shake him out of his reverie, their voice gentle, and quieter than he had ever heard it before.

Their voice. He really liked their voice. When had that happened? They had just said his name. His full name, with their clumsy, human voice. He was supposed to hate human voices. They tended to trip over his name. But this one didn't. Why didn't they? Had they practiced? They must have. But why would they? Why had it mattered to them? After everything he had put them through, why did they even bother giving him the time of day, much less recite his name over and over to themself until they got it right?

His hands, seemingly of their own accord, drifted to their face once more.

The human, a flustered expression plastered to thdid own face, could only splutter as he brought his forehead to theirs.

"What I mean..." Mephistopheles stated, so close now to them he felt he his heart might burst, "...is this."

The last thing he saw before closing his eyes and locking his lips with theirs, was a look of pure wonder.

He burned it into his memory forever.

It was like he was desperate; the second he had given in and kissed them, he couldn't get enough. But the way they was responding to him, it seemed as if they felt the same. Their hands had hooked around his neck, pulling him as close to themself as they could with a table in between the two of them.

They tasted so sweet. Like the berries they ate throughout the day that he would poke fun at them for, seemingly the only healthy things they'd eat with regularity amidst the snacks and junk foods they enjoyed.

Their hands were exploring now, fingers combing through his undershave. But his were no different. Running up and down their neck before slowly making his way back to their face.

He wanted to stay in this moment forever, but alas, he knew they couldn't. After all, they both sadly needed to breathe.

As they parted, he realized he was the last out of the two of them to open his eyes.

They were staring at him, panting, stars in their eyes. It was enough to make his own breath hitch.

"What... Was that...?" They asked, breathlessly.

"That..." He stopped, panic creeping in. What was that, indeed? It was unlike him to suddenly lose himself like that.

He scrambled internally for a reply, some kind of excuse, a way to claim temporary insanity, anything except the truth...!

The truth.

It suddenly smacked him.

The truth, the one thing he knew he could always count on from them. His MC. His wonderfully human MC.

He loved them.

No matter how hard he tried to bury it away from himself, there was no hiding from the truth. He should have known that.

He loved them.

"...That was my own confession." He finally managed, looking down in embarrassment.

"I read page after page of yours... Which I know was wrong...!" He added hastily, "but after reading all of those kind words, and then... Reading how much you thought I hated you, I..."

He locked eyes with them again, scared of how they would react, but determined to vocalize his feelings.

"I don't hate you. MC, I adore you. I've come to realize I am absolutely smitten with you. I was just too stupid to figure it out until now."

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