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dragon-kazansky · 1 year ago

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Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Nine - Late night scandals

♡♡♡

"What do you think Bridgerton?"

Benedict turns around to find the artist he had accidentally offended at the gallery the other night.

"This one more to your liking?"

"Mr. Granville--" Benedict raises from his chair to approach the man.

"Perhaps they should take it over to Somerset House so it can be skyed right next to mine."

"I believe I owe you an apology, sir." Benedict says, feeling rather embarrassed.

"Unnecessary. I actually quite enjoy the eloquent stings of your critique. So?" He gestures back to the painting on the wall.

"A touch morose for my tastes," Benedict says.

Henry points to the next one.

"A tragedy. The hound deserved better," Benedict comments.

Granville laughs. "Where is yours?"

"My..."

"Your work," Granville clarifies. "Are you tell me you're not an artist yourself?"

"Well, I-- I suppose sometimes I like to... Well, I mean, I almost--"

"I believe 'yes' and 'thank you' are the words you seek. But either way, you should come by my studio." Mr Granville holds out a small card to Benedict, who accepts it. "The pieces I do for myself are there, and I think you will find my real work far less, um... Oh, how did you put it? 'Cold and lacking inner life?'"

Benedict scrunched up his face as he nodded, still burning with embarrassment. "I shall never live that down, shall I?"

Mr Granville leaves.

Benedict returns to his table where he had been absentmindedly doodling. Eyes. He was sketching out a pair of eyes. Pretty ones. From memory.

He sighs and closes the sketchbook.

♡♡♡

As you sit in the drawing room of the Bridgerton house, as invited by Violet, you discover that she had no idea about the boxing match, or that Daphne had been there.

You keep your eyes focused on the latest Whistledown paper, though you had stopped reading it.

Daphne was playing the piano while her mother interrogated her.

"A boxing match is no place for any young lady." Violet sighs.

"Is it a place for a prince? Was he at today's match, sister?" Hyacinth asks.

"He certainly was."

"It is a loathsome and barbarous form of entertainment," Violet was very displeased.

That was when Daphne took the opportunity to mention you had gone as well, which had Violet looking at you.

"You too?"

You glare softly at Daphne, who gives you a smug little look. Crafty one, she is.

"Anthony invited me," you admit.

Violet looked terribly ill all of a sudden. You were sure she would being this up with her eldest son at some point.

"What about the duke?" Hyacinth asks.

"What about the duke?" Both Violet and Daphne ask at the same time. You eye Daphne curiously from your seat.

"Was he also present?" Hyacinth asked, less enthusiastic now.

"I do not know," Daphne says. "If the duke was there, I did not see him."

Hyacinth leaves the piano to go see what Eloise is up to. She had been scribbling away in her book since you arrived.

You put the Whistledown column down and rose from your seat to seek entertainment near the window. Watching the street was surely more entertainment than listening in on that conversation.

Anthony enters the room and greets both his mother and his sister. You turn and he greets you too.

"Did you truly take your sister to a boxing match?" Violet hounds him.

"Your admonishment will have to wait. I have news," he cuts her lecture short. "Prince Friedrich has asked for my permission to propose." He looks at Daphne.

She stops playing. "So soon?"

"Well, what did you tell him?" Violet asks.

"That I know better than to answer for my sister. I have no objections to the man. People speak well of him. Whatever you decide, Daph, you shall have my support."

You look at Daphne quietly.

"I... uh... I..." She doesn't know what to say.

"You need not decide now," Violet tells her. "You certainly have no known him long."

"Let me know when you have an answer, and I shall convey it." Anthony says to his sister.

"Indeed." Daphne looks at him.

Anthony leaves as quickly as he came in. It was clear Daphne needed time to think.

♡♡♡

When Daphne had pleaded with you to attend the next ball with her, you couldn't say no. There was a sadness to her gaze, and you wondered from where it had risen.

Something had happened between her and the duke, and she had been off kilter ever since.

The ball, like all had been so far, was wonderful. The theme was a little more out there this time, but everyone was behaving quite perfectly.

You were standing with Daphne as she scanned the crowd. Exactly who she was looking for, you weren't quite certain. You would suggest the prince on the account that the duke was apparently leaving London tonight.

The prince could be seen across the room. He was in conversation with someone. You glance toward Daphne, but your gaze shifts as Cressida Cowper comes over. You give Daphne a gentle nudge.

"Daphne." Cressida chuckles. "You look beautiful, as always."

"Thank you, Cressida," Daphne says politely.

"You could have chosen anyone," Cressida says. "You have gentlemen lined up to pay you tribute. Yet you did not hesitate to steal my chance for happiness away, did you? I knew the marriage market would make rivals of us, but I never thought youcapable of being my enemy."

"The man made his choice, Cressida. What did you expect me to do?" Daphne asks.

Daphne walks off in the direction of the prince. You look at Cressida and then walk off in the other direction.

There is nothing you could ever say to her.

You begin to walk alongside the dance floor, watching the couples dance. A hand comes into view, and you turn to see a friendly looking young man smiling at you.

"May I have this dance?"

You take a moment to gather yourself. You had hoped one of the Bridgerton boys would be here to dance with you, but you supposed you couldn't rely on them every time.

"You may."

You go with him to dance.

It seemed Benedict wasn't here.

♡♡♡

Benedict was, in fact, making his way to the studio of Mr. Granville. He was intrigued by the artist.

He finds the address and knocks on the door. Henry Granville answers.

"Mr. Bridgerton."

Benedict stands there a little awkwardly.

"Come in, come in."

Granville lets him in. Benedict enters and follows him. He is led further inside and finds himself in a large room. A circle of easels presented around two nude models.

"I do not know what I was expecting, but it surely was not this." Benedict says.

"Oh, simply a gathering of like-minded souls." Henry tells him. "Here, let me show you what I've been working on."

Benedict is led further inside the studio. He passes a couple of painters discussing war so causally.

"What do you think?" Henry asks.

Benedict walks over and takes a look at the canvas.

"Hmm. It's a far cry from Somerset House, I must say."

"I shall take that a compliment."

They both chuckle.

"And I must say, I'm truly jealous. Is this your life?" Benedict asks.

"There are advantages to being the second-born." Henry tells him. "Heirs have the responsibility. Second sons have the fun."

They both chuckle again.

"So... why not go have some fun?" Henry gestures to the models. He's giving Benedict the chance to epress himself through art.

Benedict picks an easel and sits down.

♡♡♡

As you dance once again tonight, you spot Anthony standing off to the side. He's staring at the opera singer.

You hard heard whispers about him being infatuated with an opera singer, but had no idea if there lay any truth to them.

You continue dancing with your partner.

Benedict was still a no-show tonight, which you found to be rather disappointing. You had been looking forward to another evening of his little quips and teasing.

When the dance ends, you curtsy to your partner and head in the direction of Anthony and Violet. Lady Bridgerton had tries to introduce her son to a rather pretty young lady, but he showed no interest.

"Shall we dance, Lord Bridgerton?" You ask, looking at Anthony.

He turns and looks at you, for half a second, thinking you were another lady his mother was intent on pushing on him.

"Yes, let's." He offers his arm, and you take it. Violet watches you both go. Even if he chose you, she would be pleased, but she knows her son will not take you as his wife. You're his friend who has come to rescue him from her for a while.

Violet downs a third glass of champagne.

"She is persistent," you say.

"Hm?"

"Your mother."

Anthony chuckles softly. "Yes. Quite."

"The opera singer..."

He looks at you.

"Nevermind. Its not my business."

Anthony's expression softens. "I was - am - found of her."

"Yes. I assumed as much."

Anthony sighs. "It's complicated.

You nod and say no more on the matter. Anthony spins you around elegantly.

"Is Benedict not here tonight?" You ask, twirling with him.

"Benedict? No." He gazes at you. "Why do you ask?"

"I just noticed his absence."

"Missing your dance partner?" He teases.

You chuckle. "Am I that obvious?"

He winks at you, and you shake your head with a smile. "I'm fond of you boys. I can't help it when I notice one of you is missing."

Anthony grins. "How lucky we are to have gained such a special friend such as you."

As Anthony gives you another turn around the floor, you spot Colin speaking with Penelope. You smile softly at the sight and then turn your attention back to the eldest brother.

At least you'll have one Bridgerton on your dance card tonight.

As the next dance begins, Anthony keeps your company longer. You're aware this may catch attention from others, especially Lady Whistledown should she be here, but none the less, you dance with him twice.

You soon see that Colin has left Penelope on the sidelines to dance with Miss Thompson, and you also find the prince talking to Daphne amidst their dance.

The dance ends, and you manage to catch sight of Daphne fleeing the ballroom.

Anthony bows, and you curtsy.

"Until next time." He nods his head at you. You smile and nod, taking your leave. You worry about Daphne and intend to go check on her, but you're stopped by another gentleman.

You sigh and realise you'll have to dance with him before you can flee again.

The dance feels like it drags on, and on, and on. You smile, you listen to your partner talk, but your mind is focused on Daphne. She did not look well when she fled.

When the dance ends, you spot Anthony leaving the ballroom. You waste no more time and follow him.

He heads outside. You follow.

"Anthony?"

He turns and looks at you. "Go back inside."

"What's the matter? What's happening?"

"Did you see him?" Anthony asks urgently.

"Who?"

"The duke."

"He is here?"

"He was, and now I can't find Daphne." You realise he's concerned about his sister.

You hear something further in the garden, and Anthony hurries off. You follow him, close on his heels.

What you find is not what you ever expected to see.

Simon and Daphne were not just kissing. His hands were all over her. Her dress had been pulled down. You cover your mouth, though you can not hide the gasp that escapes you.

Anthony runs at Simon.

"Bastard!"

Simon receives a strong punch to the face. He falls to the ground, and Anthony takes another swing. He punches him a third time and then stands beside his sister. You hurry to her other side and checks her over.

"Daphne..."

She is speechless. She has no words for you. They have been caught in a compromising position.

"You will marry her," Anthony declares.

"What?" Daphne looks at her brother.

"Immediately. We can only hope no one saw you take such liberties, and my sister is saved further mortification. You will marry her!"

Anthony is angry.

"Brother!"

"I cannot marry her," Simon says.

"You have defiled her innocence, and now you refuse her hand? I knew you were a rake, Hastings, I never thought you a villain."

"I cannot marry her," Simon states more firmly.

Daphne looks hurt.

"Then you leave me no choice. I must demand satisfaction."

"A duel? Anthony, you cannot--" Daphne begins.

"He dishonours you, sister." Anthony looks at her. "He dishonours you and me and the very Bridgerton name. I have misjudged you, indeed. You have duped us both, but I shall not see my sister pay for my own misdeeds. We will settle this as gentlemen."

"I understand," Simon agrees. "I shall see you at dawn."

"I do not understand," Daphne says softly. "You would rather die than marry me?"

You look at Simon quietly.

"I am truly sorry."

"We need to go, Daph. Before anyone should see us." Anthony says softly.

You reach out for her arm gently and pull her away, Anthony follows you both.

Daphne takes her brother's arm after he begs of you not to say a word about anything. You swear by it, looking him in the eye. Anthony thanks you.

You drift off from them as you enter the ballroom once again.

Anthony approaches Colin and tells him he is taking her home. He asks Colin to take care of their mother. You decide to step in and help. Anthony looks grateful.

Anthony and Daphne leave.

Colin looks at you, but you just smile softly at him and ask him to help you with Violet. He doesn't say anything about Daphne or Anthony.

Neither do you.

♡♡♡

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@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

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@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen -

#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

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gargoy-ross · 3 months ago

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Ramattra x gn!reader

I haven't written in almost a year. But I guess I was in a mood again so here we go, enjoy the midnight scribbles.

You lay in the soft king sized bed and watch as he goes over the mission reports and plans. It's rare that he let's you near anything related to Null Sector - stated that it would only put you in unnecessary danger. It appears that he, too, has missed you're company.

While the silence between you is comfortable, you find yourself restless and nervous yet again.

The question has been bouncing in your head for quite some time now. Three and a half months to be exact.

You taste it in your mouth, and feel the weight of it in your heart.

But you'll never know if you don't ask.

"Do you want to get married?"

You try to throw the question in the air with the same tone of voice you'd ask about the weather. It's a good performance, really, considering your how much of a nervous wreck you are.

With equal amount of casualness, Ramattra doesn't even look up from the reports.

"Do you need a piece of paper and a ring as a proof that I care?"

It's not said with any bite. You know he cares about you - the trust and vulnerability he's shown you are more than enough proof. The indirect rejection still leaves a bitter feeling though.

Your relationship was unconventional and nowhere near perfect, but you knew your heart. And that heart wanted only him.

"I'm being serious, Ramattra."

He pauses and actual thinks about it for a moment. Marriage didn't mean much for omnics, you supposed, but it meant a lot to you. You hope it meant at least something to him.

After a minute of silence, one that really felt more like an eternity, he offers you a proper answer.

"You know we can't do that. The marriage rights of omnics are... Nonexistent in most countries."

He adds as an afterthought: "and I am a globally wanted terrorist.

"Even if I did find someone willing to wed us, it would be too much of a risk."

It was an expected answer. The logical one. Not the one you were hoping for.

"I understand. It wouldn't need to be anything big or official. Even just the two us..."

You wave your hands as if they could better explain it. The floor tiles seem so much more interesting than his intense gaze on you.

"I'm not looking for proof. I know. It's meant to be symbolic. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I suppose it's a bit silly and sentimental to need a ceremony to-"

"I will have it arrenged," he humms.

Just like that?

"Is month enough time for you to prepare?"

You nod, not trusting your voice to carry the weight of emotions.

Ramattra seems satisfied with this exchange and returns back to his previous activity. You, one the other hand, smile like a teen who just scored a date with their crush.

You're getting married in a month.

Then a bubbly feeling that starts from your stomach and spreads through your limbs leaves you shaking on the soft bed. Ramattra looks back at you with a tint of worry as you giggle like possessed.

"Is there something funny about this? Are you... alright?"

You stiffle the giggles enough to answer: "Well, usually marriage proposals are a bit more grander than that."

"Ah."

He shuts the data pad and walks over to your shared bed. You sit up, expecting him to sit with you for some well deserved cuddles.

Instead shifts awkwardly to kneel in front of you. Even when you're sitting on the bed while he's on the floor the height difference has you tilting your head up slightly.

He takes a hold of you hand, as gentle as always, and seems to merely admire it for a moment.

"I know I'm not the most... conventional boyfriend, and I don't want you to settle with less than what you're worth."

"Ramattra, you're more than I could ever ask for-"

"Let me finish." He stops your interjection before you can continue.

"I want to make this work. I have not cared for anyone, human or omnic, as much as I care for you. You have taught me how to love, and for that I am forever grateful. "

There is ever so slight tremble in his voice. His thumb traces softly along your hand and he looks at you with so much love you think your heart might burst.

"Our lives are short, will you share yours with me?"

#ramattra #overwatch x reader #ramattra x reader #ramattra overwatch

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dilly-dahlia · 8 days ago

Text

vii. Fair Frights and Car Lights

pairing: Gene x Reader

content: pdh, drill team!reader, opposites attract, grumpy/sunshine, drug mentions, harassment, blackmail,

summary: Nothing could be more fun than a day at the Fall Festival, especially if it was spent with people you cared about. Even if some parts were less than ideal, the world has a funny way of making things turn around.

word count: 9.5k

masterlist

The Problem With Popularity masterlist

previous part

You were on the phone with Katelyn. She was obnoxiously singing “Cotton Eyed Joe.” Except she didn’t know any of the words, so it just came out as a bumble of gibberish until she finally got to Cotton Eyed Joe. It was getting increasingly harder to focus on getting a solid line of eyeliner when she was being so distracting.

“Katelyn. Please, for the love of all that is good, be productive.”

“I believe that singing “Cotton Eyed Joe” while you’re doing your makeup is productive,” Katelyn replied. She set her phone down for a second, giving you a nice view of the One Direction poster on her ceiling, before she picked it back up. “My dad gave me a Twix.”

She held up the opened candy bar to show you before taking a bite. You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s fantastic.”

“Hey, so”—Katelyn paused, reaching up to cover her mouth so her chewing wasn’t too disruptive—”why are you dressing so nice?”

“This isn’t nice,” you instinctively responded. There wasn’t really much thought behind the response, and it was obvious that Katelyn could see right through the indifference by the absolutely expressionless face she gave you.

“Y/n, you’re wearing makeup. To the Fall Festival,” your friend pointed out. You didn’t know what to respond with but a shrug because that was unusual for you. You normally didn’t because you had yet to actually buy waterproof makeup and there was an abnormal amount of water themed games at the festival. Not to mention there was almost always a face painting stand run by creative elementary schoolers that didn’t have to do much to convince you to sit and let the scribble on your face.

“How do you know-”

“You literally told me at three in the morning, oh, my god, Katelyn. I like Gene. We had a whole conversation about it,” Katelyn said, cutting you off before you could even voice your question about how she came to the conclusion she had.

You were left gobsmacked. Of course she had to actually use her brain and put two and two together to establish your subconscious reason of why you wanted to look nice. You hadn’t even considered that fully—you’d just put together an outfit and brought out your makeup bag without really thinking about it.

You weren’t sure why you were surprised Katelyn was able to piece together the puzzle you hadn’t even known was jumbled. She was one of the most critical and blunt people you’d ever met.

“Okay, so the whole thing with Gene is irrelevant,” you said. Katelyn hummed in disagreement, but didn’t make another comment. “I am just really feeling the makeup today.”

“Right.” An annoying scuffing and shuffling came from Katelyn’s room as she flopped onto her bed and got herself comfortable. “Anyways. You look hot. Do you think that perhaps you and I could go to the festival next week. Because you so rudely made plans with Sasha, Gene, Zenix before I asked.”

Katelyn playfully scoffed while you rolled your eyes. “I didn’t know you wanted to go with me!”

“We go every year, Y/n.”

“No, we went last year. That’s the only time we’ve gone. I’ve only lived here a year.”

Katelyn groaned. “It’s the principle.”

“Y/n! Your friends are here!”

You cursed, staring at the unblended dots of pink on your cheeks. In your rush to put down the blush stick and pick up your brush, you accidentally swiped a line across your left cheek.

Stupidly, you thought you could make it work. You hurried to grab your brush and blend the crap out of the pigment on your face, but immediately realized that you would only look sunburnt.

“Julie, I’m not ready,” you yelled back at her. You saw her pop her head into the room through the reflection of your mirror. When she caught sight of you, she struggled to bite back a laugh.

“Are you joining a sunburn contest in New Orleans or something?” she asked, ducking her head when you threw your unused eyebrow pencil at her. “Hey! What do you want me to do about it?”

“Distract them, or something!”

“They’re not my friends!”

“Julie, please.”

Julie let out a long, loud groan. She dragged her feet across your carpeted floor, back out your door, and shut it behind you.

A long moment of silence passed. You were working hard to remove the obvious blush from your cheeks, but you couldn’t tell anymore if the blush was gone or if your cheeks were irritated because you had been rubbing at them.

“So back to you and Gene-“

“Katelyn, if you don’t shut up then I am going to pour hot coffee over you on Monday.”

—

Julie really hated this.

She wasn’t an entertainer like you. She didn’t know how to make people laugh or read a room all that well. The only time she had really hit the nail with the latter was because the other person was having a full blown mental breakdown.

Yeah. Julie never did so hot in social situations. Any situation, really. She sucked less when she was on her room or was working with her hands or was talking to—

“Y/n’s still getting ready,” Julie blurted. It was out of nowhere. She had been standing in the hallway entrance, fidgeting with her fingers and a frayed edge of her sleep shorts, just looking at the trio of friends in front of her. “She got up late.”

She saw Gene smile. She only knew it was Gene because of the number of football games she got dragged to where you always talked with him. It was obvious to her you liked him, but she hadn’t said anything.

The one with red eyes and brown hair scoffed. “See? I told you guys we shouldn’t have stayed up so late. We barely made it here before ten, and she’s not even ready.”

“Zenix, you were the one rushing us out the door,” Gene reminded. He looked down at his phone, but had glanced up while he spoke.

“Because you would’ve been complaining about being late if it weren’t me. At least if I’m the one complaining then I don’t have to hear about how-”

“Hey.” Sasha offered Julie a wave, sidling up next to her. Julie tried to continue eavesdropping on Gene and Zenix, but she was already confused with what they were talking about. “How’s it going? How’s school?”

“Oh. Fine,” Julie replied. She shrugged, not knowing what else to do.

Sasha hummed, some of her silver earrings clicking against each other as she slowly nodded her head. Her silver hair was straight and sleek, as it always was, and the light of the kitchen shone off the glossy strands. “Any boys? Girls? Romantics interests, if you will.”

Julie’s eyes widened. Her mind immediately went to the guy she was talking to, the things she’d done for him, but she hadn’t told anyone about him. Not even Aphmau or you or any of her other close friends. She hadn’t let so much as a hint leave her lips. As far as Julie knew, no one but her, him, and two of his friends knew what she did.

Julie faltered, her mouth opening and closing like a fish’s for a brief moment before she shook her head. “No. No, there’s no- I’m not interested in anyone.”

She had always been a terrible liar. Her tongue always knotted up and caught around the words and she could never get out a straight sentence. And she knew Sasha didn’t buy her lie because the silver-haired girl raised a perfectly manicured brow.

Lucky for Julie, she wasn’t questioned further. Sasha fixed her expression to be more neutral before crossing her arms. “Yeah, most of the people at Phoenix Drop high are jerks. I mean, look at those two.”

She jerked a thumb in the direction of Zenix and Gene. They were still bickering, but Julie couldn’t be sure if it was still because of their arrival time. Julie couldn’t help but laugh, because she knew how her sister felt about the older one.

“Y/n has questionable taste,” she stated. She made sure her voice came out loud enough that Sasha could hear, but not so loud that her comment would alert Gene.

Sasha laughed and clapped her hands in what Julie assumed to be relief. “Finally! Someone else said it. I swear, she first told me she liked him and I was convinced it was about his money.” She shook her head, turning her gaze back to Julie. “But honestly, compared to some other people, Gene and Zenix aren’t all that bad. They’re just . . . weird. Nothing like Balto and his friends, though.”

Julie stiffened at the name. Sasha pretended not to notice, but she took note of the reaction and stored it in the back of her head for later.

Sasha continued, “I mean, don’t get me wrong. The three of us have definitely gotten high or intoxicated before, but . . . Irene, we’ve never taken drugs to parties. I mean Balto goes all out. He gets everything. Grass, fent, roofies . . . He’s insane.”

Julie’s skin was starting to crawl. She could feel the sweat gathering at the back of her neck, and she reached up to swiftly wipe it away in an attempt to make her less hot. “Uhm, why hasn’t he been caught yet?” she asked, her voice quiet and small.

Sasha took a second to give Julie a once over. She took note of her body language. Julie was avoiding Sasha’s eyes. She was fidgeting excessively with her gold necklace and Sasha only noticed then that the letter B hung from the jewelry.

She furrowed her brows, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to pop her hip. “He gets other students to do his dirty work,” Sasha simply said. She watched again as Julie reached up and wiped the back of her neck. “They take the fall and Balto gets off scott-free. Administration can’t actually prove that he’s the one dealing and providing the drugs, so they can’t do anything to him. Plus he uses his parents money to bribe them.”

Julie hummed. She cleared her throat and pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time. “Um, I’m gonna go check on Y/n.”

Sasha nodded, giving Julie a soft smile. “See you later, Julie.”

“Yup.” The word came out as a squeak. The next second, Julie was turning around and physically forced herself to walk down the hall casually.

Once the brunette was out of sight and, presumably, out of earshot, Sasha turned to Gene and Zenix. Her smile fell and she raised her brows.

“She’s the one Balto’s got,” Sasha said, stepping closer to the two boys so she could speak quieter. She cursed under her breath. “Why is he preying on a little freshman?” Both her friends shot her a knowing look, Zenix’s gaze switching between her and Gene. Sasha rolled her eyes and lightly hit his shoulder. “Gene’s over blackmailing Aphmau. And Y/n, for that matter. He’s trying to be all high and mighty for her, remember?”

Zenix nodded, but Gene scoffed and shook his head in response. “I am not trying to be high and mighty for Y/n. I . . . just realized that maybe I shouldn’t be preying on little freshmen as a senior.”

Sasha glared at him. “Right.” Whatever got him to that conclusion, she supposed.

“Okay, so Julie.” Thank Irene Zenix was there. He could always be counted on to keep a conversation at least somewhat on track. “She’s the one selling for Balto?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha admitted. She spared a glance back toward the hallway, making sure no one was coming down it. “I don’t know if she’s actually dealing or selling for him, but she and Balto are definitely involved. She stiffened when I said his name and she’s wearing a necklace with a B on it.”

“Couldn’t that be her dad? His name is Bernie, right?” Zenix asked. Sasha deadpanned. Sometimes he was really good at keeping them on track, but other times, like this, Sasha wondered if Zenix lacked common sense.

“You don’t- No, Zenix. The B does not stand for Bernie.” She didn’t even know how to start explaining why it didn’t stand for Bernie, so she brushed it off.

“So Balto and Julie are dating?” Gene asked. His arms were crossed and he was staring off at an empty space on the wall across from him.

Sasha shook her head. She was sure they weren’t dating—not officially, anyway. “No. If they were dating then Balto would’ve told us. He explicitly only told us what he did the way he did to mess with us.”

“But why?”

“He could be trying to get to Y/n,” Zenix suggested. So he could figure out puzzles. “She’s pretty, popular, friends with lots of people. Balto could be trying to do what you were at the beginning of the year, Gene, and bring the whole friend group down.”

Gene pursed his lips. He didn’t regret getting to know you, he just wished the initial circumstances were different.

But why you? Because Balto liked to break people, that was why. He was similar to Gene in that regard. He would see a bright light in someone, the way lights reflected off their eyes, and he would be hit with the urge to dull it. The overwhelming desire to ruin their life.

You’d gone through enough of that. Gene refused to let it happen to you again, and he wouldn’t let it happen to Julie either.

“So what do we do?” Sasha asked. Her voice was low and her heart pounded in her ears. She felt like they’d be interrupted any minute. “We can’t just-”

“Sorry!” Your voice bounced around the living room like a bell. You emerged from the hallway wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a gray tank top. Over it, you wore a maroon cardigan with big sleeves and your hair was pinned out of your face. “I woke up late.”

“It’s alright,” Gene replied. He gave you a charming smile. One that turned up and showcased his perfect teeth. “The three of us almost didn’t make it on time either. We wouldn’t have rushed if we’d known you weren’t ready.”

“Oh, you guys didn’t have to do that,” you said, walking over to the front door and slipping on a pair of flats that matched your cardigan. You grabbed your purse from the hook by the door, checking it to make sure you had everything you needed. “I wouldn’t have minded waiting.”

“That’s what I said,” Zenix mumbled. You didn’t hear him, but Gene did, and he gave his friend a glare. If looks could kill, then Zenix might have been vaporized.

“We didn’t want to keep you waiting.” You found it odd that Gene put a special emphasis on we. The fleeting thought that he was the one that didn’t want to keep you waiting crossed your mind, but you were quick to stop on that idea.

“Regardless, I’m sorry that I caused so much trouble.” You slung your bag over your shoulder and smiled at them. “Ready?”

Gene’s car was nice. You assumed as much, but you had only ever seen it in the dark so you were having a very different experience seeing it in the daylight. And you had never seen the inside before. It was a Ford, though you didn’t know what model. It wasn’t a truck with a bed, though, and you were glad for that.

You might have been stereotyping (you definitely were) but every single person you met that drove a truck was always stuck up. Or they were the type to have very cookie cutter values about what the world should be like.

Regardless, you stepped into the back seat with Sasha and marvelled at the cleanliness, the only thing marring the image being the magazine that was upside down on the middle seat. You weren’t sure why, but it surprised you.

“Are you going on rides, Y/n?” Gene asked. His sapphire gaze met yours through the rearview mirror. You couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Maybe,” you replied. “I don’t know. I don’t really like how all of the ones at this festival just go in circles.”

Sasha groaned. “I know. It’s actually terrible.”

“You just have a weak stomach, Sash,” Zenix piped up. Sasha leaned forward, magazine from the center seat in hand, and whacked Zenix over the head.

“Shut up. You’re the one that threw up last year after the Hurricane.”

“I also had, like, two burgers, a third of a funnel cake, plus half of a hot dog that you didn’t eat beforehand,” he retorted, reaching back to swing the magazine back toward Sasha.

“Well it’s your fault for eating so much.”

You laughed at the exchange. The more time you spent with them, the more it felt like you were slowly becoming a more significant part of their group. It might have worried you, considering that people might start whispering about the association and pinning you as a Shadow Knight, but you found that you didn’t mind.

You were comfortable where you were—with the three students the entirety of Phoenix Drop High knew as delinquents. You weren’t worried about anything.

—

You looked over your shoulder. All day it seemed as though someone had been following you. He had dirty blond hair. You couldn’t make out any defining features except for that, but he was wearing a green and brown striped shirt and baggy cargo pants. Every time you looked at him, his gaze was quick to flit away like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.

You turned your gaze forward again, nearly running into Gene. You reached a hand out to stop yourself and warn him before you fully walked into him. He turned around at the touch, and you were quick to lower your hand.

“Sorry,” you said. “I was distracted.”

Zenix and Sasha had stopped. They were squinting at one of the food truck signs, trying to read what it said and debating whether or not that’s what they wanted to eat. From what you could tell, it was a local restaurant that primarily sold carne asada tacos and cheese curds. An odd combination, but it seemed to work for te owners. There was a long line around the truck.

“You okay, bunny?” Gene could obviously tell there was something bothering you. He obviously didn’t know what it was, but he hoped you would be truthful with him.

You nodded instead. “Fine.” But you glanced over your shoulder again. The blond had moved. He sat at a table now. He was on his phone, but its camera was pointed toward you and you shifted uncomfortably. You glanced around, wondering if you could call him out, but realized he had positioned himself strategically so the action looked natural.

Gene’s gaze followed yours. When he caught sight of the blond, his eyes narrowed.

“Fucking creep,” he mumbled. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and moved your body so you were on his other side and he obscured you from the camera’s view. He looked back at the blond. “Shit, I think he’s in our physics.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Yeah. He sits close to Mr. Vega’s desk, I think.” Gene’s gaze flicked to yours, and he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. No one’ll mess with you if I’m here.”

You chuckled at his attempt to lighten the situation. “Because you’re so scary.”

Gene scoffed, splaying a hand on his chest. “I’m offended, bunny. I’m plenty scary.”

You smiled at him. He was right, though, because from the corner of your eye you saw the blond pocket his phone and stand. You watched him walk in the opposite direction and visibly relaxed.

Gene’s arm slipped off your shoulder. You wished for a moment that he would’ve kept it there, just to have him close to you.

“I’ll take care of it Monday,” he said casually. Carelessly, as if he hadn’t just thrown around an indirect threat. Well, you didn’t know if it was really a threat, but knowing Gene it was probably something of the threatening sort.

Your eyes widened. “No! Gene, it’s fine. Really. He didn’t even do anything.”

Gene hummed mockingly, raising a brow. “He’s a creep, Y/n. He was obviously taking pictures of you. He’s probably gonna go home and . . .” Gene trailed off. You wished you were able to see his thoughts, because he looked as though he caught himself thinking something he didn’t want to say. He shook his head. “Never mind.”

You pressed your lips together. You weren’t clueless to what he was going to say. Obviously he was gonna go home and use the pictures of you as material to jack off. It wasn’t something you wanted to think about, though. And you didn’t want Gene to think about it either, so you changed the subject.

“Do you wanna get a table?” you asked, nodding to the designated eating area. “I think Sasha and Zenix decided what they want to eat.”

Gene nodded, and the two of you looked for an empty table the four of you could sit at. You sat across from Gene and used your purse to save the seat next to you for Sasha. Gene set his wallet on the table where Zenix would sit.

His gaze shifted over your shoulder. You looked back to see what he was looking at, but saw nothing. You wondered what had caught his attention, since he seemed focused on whatever it was. When you turned back to ask, his hands were on the plastic table and he was pushing himself up.

“I’ll be back. Bathroom,” he said, but the dismissive way he said it made it sound like a flimsy excuse. He gave you one of his charming smiles. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

You laughed and he walked away. He left his phone, you realized, and considered calling out to tell him. Before you could fully bring the thought to fruition, though, a drink was placed in front of you.

You lifted your gaze, hoping to see either Sasha or Zenix or someone else you knew, but your breath caught. It was the blond. He gave you a smile, which you tentatively returned, before he seated himself in the spot Gene had.

“You’re Y/n, right?” he asked, crossing his arms against the table and leaning forward. He knew your name, so you couldn’t come up with a random one to say. You nodded. “Cool. Charlie.” He motioned to himself. “We have the same Physics period. I sit kind of close to Mr. Vega’s desk.”

Your smile was strained. Of course Gene was right. Why wouldn’t he be? “Really?”

He nodded. “I just wanna say; you are a smoke show. I mean . . .”

You swore your eye twitched as he used his hands to trace a figure in the air, but you couldn’t be sure. It astonished you that some people thought it was okay to just go up to someone and . . . say something like that.

“Thank you,” you bit out. You tone had an obvious edge, and you were being overly hopeful in thinking he would notice it.

“Yeah. You gave me notes one time at your drill practice and—” he whistled. You were sure your eye twitched that time because you were fighting the urge to reach over the table and sock him in the eye. He might like that, though. “I should’ve asked you out then. I’ve regretted not doing it because we have this, like . . . spark.”

No we don’t, you almost said, but you bit your tongue.

“Like, you’re always smiling at me.” He looked at you dreamily and you blinked in disbelief. Did he think smiling was interest? And you could barely even remember this guy—clearly he was making some fantasy up in his head. “So, do you wanna, like, go out or something? Maybe like coffee?”

You pressed your lips into a tight smile. “I’m really busy, actually. Y’know, with the drill team and all my classes. Plus my job.”

You didn’t have a job. You were lying straight through your teeth. The only things you ever got paid for was the occasional craft because you had picked up a random hobby or babysitting something for someone else.

You shook your head as if you were inconveniencing yourself. “Yeah, I’m just so busy. I don’t really have time for dating.”

He scoffed and leaned back in the foldable chair. His charming smile had morphed into an expression of disgust you had seen on crime TV shows when the suspect was being interrogated. “You’re really missing out, you know that? I’m a nice guy—do you realize how much courage I had to build to come over and even ask you out.”

“I’m sure,” you replied dryly.

He gave you a once over, scoffing again and rolling his eyes. “You aren’t even that pretty. And you’re a bitch, too. I’m way nicer than Gene.” He said the name like a slur that left a nasty taste in his mouth. Charlie pushed himself out of the seat and knocked over the drink he had brought you. You flinched back. “And I bought you a damn drink. I used my own money on some ungrateful brat. Don’t you think I deserve to take you out?”

“She doesn’t owe you anything, fucker.” You didn’t need to turn or even fully process the words to know the voice belonged to Gene. And you didn’t—you kept your body forward and tried to keep your face straight.

You were thankful that Gene had come when he did. You didn’t need a savior, per se, but it was nice when someone backed you up.

—

Gene watched over your shoulder as Aphmau and Laurance stumbled out of the photo booth. Well, Aphmau stumbled. Laurance cooley stepped out of the booth without a care in the world, but both of their cheeks had reddened.

Gene couldn’t help it. He might not have wanted to blackmail Aphmau anymore, but he was a curious person.

He pushed himself out of his seat, giving you an excuse about going to the bathroom. He knew it was flimsy and half assed, but he also knew you wouldn’t question him further. He took the long way to the photo booth, walking in the direction you were facing and circling around so you couldn’t see him.

He was glad no one had snatched the printed photos yet. He picked up both lines of film, looking them over. There were four identical photos on each. In the first, Aphmau and Laurance were sticking their tongues out to the camera. In the second they were smiling and in the third they looked at each other as if they were discussing something serious.

And in the fourth, their lips were locked. Laurance’s hand was on Aphmau’s jaw to keep her in place and the girl’s eyes were wide as saucers. Gene raised a brow at the picture. Turns out Laurance had the guts to go for his best friend’s crush again.

Gene pocketed both strips, glancing around and spotting the raven haired freshman waiting by the bathrooms. She was on her phone and Laurance was nowhere in sight, so Gene assumed he was the one in the bathroom.

He strolled over. Aphmau heard his footsteps and glanced up, her eyes widening when she caught sight of him. She straightened and moved like she was going to walk out of the way, but Gene caught her before she could. He didn’t grab her, but he was close enough that he could tower over and intimidate her.

Aphmau was frozen. Gene would have been able to feel her nervous energy even if he wasn’t directly in front of her.

“What do you want, Gene?” He could tell she was trying her best to sound big and strong, but her voice came out as a squeak. It amused Gene, and he had to bite back an amused smile.

“Relax. I don’t want much.” Gene pulled both strips of photos out of his pocket and held them up. Aphmau looked at them with furrowed brows for a moment, trying to figure out what they were, before her eyes widened to the size of saucers and her mouth fell agape.

“You’ll catch flies,” he said and shut her mouth. Gene really couldn’t help but tease her. He’d hardwired that part of himself into his being since he was in middle school.

Aphmau looked over her shoulder, no doubt making sure Laurance hadn’t come out of the bathroom. When she met Gene’s gaze again, her eyes were glassy.

“Please don’t tell Y/n,” she begged, her voice quieting. “Or Garroth. Or . . . anyone. I-I don’t want to be the reason their friend group splits up. All of them have been friends for way longer than I’ve been in the picture and I feel terrible going behind their backs, but— Gene, please. I’ll do any—”

“Calm down. I’m not asking you to do anything.” He held out the photos to her, which she tentatively took between her fingers. “I just came to tell you that I’m done. And to maybe keep a closer eye on your belongings.”

Aphmau’s waterline became so overfilled with tears that they started slipping down her cheeks. It wasn’t a waterfall, and she wasn’t sobbing, but it was a gentle stream that stained her shirt when the tears dripped off her face. “What do you mean done?” She asked it like she was afraid this interaction was a dream.

Gene shrugged. He took a step away from her and slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Done blackmailing you.” Aphmau was still confused. Her dark brows were furrowed and Gene could see the gears turning as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “You’re Y/n’s friend. She cares about you.”

She still wasn’t able to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but she gave him a slow nod all the same. “Okay . . .”

“I still don’t want you to tell her about any of this,” he added.

“What? Why? Don’t you think you should be honest?”

“Because—” Gene cut himself off. He realized how ridiculous this scenario was. This girl was standing in front of him—one he had blackmailed and almost destroyed the social life of. Yet she wasn’t screaming or in the slightest bit upset at him. She almost seemed alarmed, if anything.

But that wasn’t the most confusing or surprising part. Aphmau was a passive person. She wasn’t a fan of conflict and seemed to have bad anxiety based off how much of a people pleaser she was. She kept quiet if she thought what she wanted to say would cause a problem and tended to stay as neutral as she could. That was why Gene had decided for her to be his target.

No, the strangest part to Gene was that he almost seemed inclined to share his emotional woes with this same girl. One who was fourteen. Sure, there was only roughly three years between them—four if you were counting by graduating years—but she was practically a child.

Yet he felt like he at least owed her the short explanation she requested. Even if it put a crack in his armed exterior and showed vulnerability.

He didn’t tell her without complaint.

“Irene, I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he mumbled, along with a few other silent profanities. Aphmau didn’t hear anything outside of a jumble of words, but Gene started talking again before she could ask. “I like her. I like Y/n, and it’d be nice if she liked me back. I don’t think she’d be very happy finding out I blackmailed one of her friends.”

Aphmau’s eyes widened. Obviously, she heard every time her friends teased you or argued with you about your relationship with Gene, but she hadn’t really thought it was something serious. “Oh.”

Gene hummed in faux amusement. “Yeah. Oh.”

She hadn’t meant it like that—like it was something embarrassing he should be ashamed of. Because he shouldn’t. But she didn’t really want to establish what she truly meant. Gene would be fine if she didn’t elaborate, right?

After a moment of silence, Gene blew out a breath. He looked like he needed a cigarette. Actually, now that she was thinking about it, Aphmau hadn’t seen Gene smoke in a while.

“Listen, I know you probably don’t like me”—Well that’s an understatement—“and you have no reason to do this for me, but don’t tell Y/n, Aphmau.”

“What’ll you do if I do tell her?” Because she was leaning toward that option. You’re nice. You’re kind and sweet—you were the first one that really made Aphmau feel like she was part of the group. She didn’t want you to end up with someone like Gene.

“Nothing. I’m asking you as a favor.”

Aphmau blinked at him. She looked over his shoulder because she couldn’t stand looking directly into his piercing gaze anymore. If she’d spent any longer staring at his startlingly blue eyes then she might’ve started confessing every lie she’d ever told.

She did consider his offer. His not offer, really, since neither of them were really gaining anything. Well, he would get a Y/n that still looked at him through rose-colored lenses and ignored everything bad he did. Aphmau wouldn’t get anything, but was it really worth the trouble if she told you?

You were sitting at one of the plastic white tables not too far from where she and Gene were. What caught Aphmau’s attention, though, was the guy with dirty blond hair that sat across from you. He was leaning forward, head in his hands like you were the most interesting and exciting thing to happen to him since his birth. You, however, were sitting at the edge of your seat looking ready to jet from the area as soon as you could.

Okay, Aphmau decided, she wouldn’t tell you about Gene blackmailing her. She figured you already knew about him blackmailing people and you still decided to be friends with him, so who knew if her telling you would even change anything.

She would, however, try and do Gene one better. She wouldn’t be an active helper for him, but if the chance arose then she would give him a nudge in the right direction.

“There’s a guy talking to Y/n,” she told him. She kept her gaze on where you were, just in case something did happen and she either needed to sprint over or alert someone else. “A blond guy.”

Gene’s head whipped around so fast Aphmau was shocked he didn’t break his neck. He cursed (not so loud that it disturbed anyone but loud enough that a nearby mother glared at him before running off with her toddler) and took a step away. He hesitated, though, and looked back at her. His expression was riddled with guilt.

“Aphmau, please.”

She had never seen him look anything but cunning, and pleading was probably the last emotion she’d ever expected him to show. Especially to her. She opened her mouth to respond, but he was already jogging over to where you sat.

He might regret telling Aphmau later—maybe he should’ve just told her he was done with the blackmail and left it at that. Or even better, just stop talking to her at all and pretend it never happened. But she was still your friend, and if you ever did reciprocate his feelings, then he would be seeing her again.

But he didn’t let himself worry about that now. This annoying blond—he knew his name was Charlie Matts because his girlfriend, a girl that had been in Gene’s homeroom class since they were in sixth grade named Moriyah Rose, posted about him nonstop—had been watching you all day. He had some nerve coming to talk, probably harass, you when he had a girlfriend.

“And I bought you a damn drink. I used my own money on some ungrateful brat. Don’t you think I deserve to take you out?”

“She doesn’t owe you anything, fucker.” Gene’s voice came out sharp enough to cut through steel. He didn’t look at you and you didn’t look at him, but Charlie did. His pale eyes met Gene’s and slightly widened.

It was brief. Charlie fixed his face quickly enough that it would be useless to comment on his startled expression.

“She doesn’t owe you shit either,” he snarled. “You can’t come in and act like a white knight when you do shit like blackmail her friends.”

There was no way Charlie, of all fucking people, knew about Aphmau, but that’s where Gene’s mind immediately went. It wasn’t until after a smug smirk stretched across Charlie’s face that Gene considered he might have been talking about past years.

You did glance back at Gene after hearing those words. You hoped Charlie was just talking about what had happened with Laurance the previous year. He probably was, since Gene always got his way and whenever he blackmailed someone that information eventually made its way around the students.

Charlie huffed in amusement. “See? She doesn’t like you so much now.” He turned his gaze back to you, leaning down so your face was level with his. You instinctively pulled back, away from him and into the space Gene occupied. “This boy you’re obsessed with is nothing but a flat nobody who resorts to bringing other people down because he can’t make a name for himself.” He reached forward, and when his fingertips brushed against your jaw you recoiled so far your back hit the back of the chair. “Someone with a future as bright as yours shouldn’t be with someone who’ll end up in his parents’ basement.”

“Moriyah’s pretty, you know?” Gene cut in. Your breath caught at the humiliating tone of his voice, but it got Charlie’s attention and he wasn’t trying to touch your face anymore. “I wonder how she’d feel knowing the boyfriend she loves so much is trying to cheat on her.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Don’t bring Riri into this.”

Gene raised his brows, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Riri? Cute nickname.” He wrapped his hand around the back of your chair and used it as leverage to lean over you. “Listen, Matts. You can walk away from this with or without a girlfriend. Quit bothering Y/n, and I won’t tell Moriyah about your wandering eye.” Charlie didn’t say anything as Gene grabbed his shoulder with his free hand and squeezed.

“However,” Gene continued, lowering his voice, “if Y/n tells me one word about you harassing her again, then Moriyah will be throwing your ass to the ground faster than you can think of an apology.”

Gene’s smile widened as Charlie swallowed and nodded. He gave the blond an aggressive pat on the shoulder. “Wow, looks like you can be a loyal boyfriend. With a little motivation, of course.” Gene pushed Charlie away before taking back his seat across from you. “Now shove off, Matts. I don’t want to see you the rest of the day.”

Gene watched Charlie hurry away behind you. You didn’t, and instead lowered your head to watch your hands as you picked at your cuticles. After a minute or two, Gene reached over and tapped the table in front of you to get your attention.

“You okay?” His expression was no longer hardened. He was back to the Gene you knew—the one that was silently considerate and always needed to reassure those he cared about.

At least, you hoped he cared about you.

You nodded, forcing yourself to smile at him. “Fine.”

The air between you two was thick and tense. You weren’t lying—you really were fine—but Gene could tell that the encounter had at least shaken you up. He wasn’t sure what he could do to comfort you.

You let out a strained laugh. In an attempt to diffuse the uncomfortable tension, said, “Wow. You were scary.”

Gene let out a breath of amusement. He drew his hand back and gave you a soft smile. “Told you I was.” You returned his smile. A genuine one this time, which Gene much preferred over any forced one. Gene nodded to the spilled liquid in front of you. “Sorry about your drink.”

You shook your head and waved it off. “I wasn’t going to drink it anyway.”

That made the attempts to lighten the mood falter. Gene clicked his tongue and pressed his lips together. “I’m really sorry, Y/n.”

“It’s not your fault, Gene.”

“I know, but . . .” He trailed off. His tongue flicked over his lips as he gathered his thoughts. “You don’t deserve that. Ever.”

You smiled, and for a moment Gene had the foresight to see that it would be okay. He would be there to protect you, and in the case that he couldn’t (which he hoped was never) he would be there to help you through it however you wanted to get through it.

“Woah.” Zenix must have been getting sick. His voice was typically raspy, but for some reason his gravelly tone was more startling than usual. When you and Gene looked at him and Sasha, Zenix was motioning to the puddle in front of you. Sasha was quick to set down the food in her hands and gather the paper towels she had picked up. “What happened here?”

Gene rolled his eyes, letting his hand drop heavily against the table. “Fucking Charlie Matts.”

“Oh, my Irene,” Sasha gasped, starting to clean up the puddle. You helped, and the both of you were careful in making sure it didn’t drip off the table and into your lap. “Moriyah’s bitch ass boyfriend?”

Gene nodded begrudgingly. Zenix cringed and handed Gene a red and white striped food boat that had three tacos squeezed inside it.

“Gross,” Sasha mumbled. “Are you okay?”

You nodded but didn’t offer any other response. For a moment, you and Sasha just soaked the spilled liquid into the paper towels. Once the two of you had finished, Zenix was quick to take the soiled paper and sprint it to the nearest trash can.

“Charlie’s a dick,” Sasha said in an attempt to try and console you. Zenix came back just in time to catch the back end of Sasha’s comment, and he nodded in agreement. “I told him I was a lesbian and he said he could fix that.” She rolled her eyes at the memory, picking up one of the tacos from her paper boat and taking a quick bite. “And then when I got my septum pierced he literally went out of his way to tell me I ruined myself and that no man would ever want me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. You tried not to—because that experience was just as bad as yours, but the laugh fell from your lips before you could stop it. You covered your mouth to stifle the sound and let an apology stumble from your lips.

Sasha shook her head, laughing with you. “No, laugh. It’s funny because how dense does he have to be? I told him I’m a lesbian—why would I want a man to want me?”

Just the way she said it made you laugh harder, and it wasn’t very long until the two of you fell into easy conversation. Zenix and Gene added a comment every now and then until the four of you were talking.

For the time being, at least, you forgot about Charlie Matts.

—

After getting off a ride that spun fast enough to slide him to the other side of the seat, Zenix jumped out as soon as it stopped and sprinted to the nearest trash can to vomit.

That happened hours ago. The sun had since dipped far below the horizon and now and Sasha and Gene were not letting Zenix live it down. You figured they wouldn’t for at least a week.

Surprisingly, the ride Gene led to drop everyone off at their houses was loud. You had expected everyone to be tired and not talkative (even if they weren’t necessarily active), but there was not a single moment of silence that passed between the four of you.

Gene dropped Zenix off first. He lived in a boujee apartment in the downtown area of Phoenix Drop. A passing comment was made by him about annoying tenants that didn’t pay on time, and you assumed his family owned the building.

Sasha was next. There was a row of fairy lights turned on around her porch and her mom sat on one of the outdoor couched with a cup of tea and two other people. They were talking happily, but as Gene drove away you saw Sasha get into a different car with the man and woman that definitely wasn’t her mother.

You had moved to the front seat. It had originally been taken up by Zenix, but you felt awkward sitting in the back now that both him and Sasha were gone. Gene had noticed your stiffness and offered that you take the spot next to him. You had agreed, but now silence stretched between the two of you as he drove you home.

It was tense. Gene had been generous and given you the aux. You chose your playlist of soft sounds (predominantly overtaken by Laufey and Suki Waterhouse) to relax yourself. Hopefully it would calm your pounding heart and let you talk to Gene like you normally did.

“I had fun today,” you decided to say. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

Gene smiled. “Of course. You’re basically part of the Shadow Knights now.”

He gave you a cheeky glance that made you chuckle. “I’m not part of your little gang, Gene. Even if I wanted to be you haven’t put me through any sort of initiation.”

He gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Fine, fine. Honorary member, then.”

You laughed. You let yourself lean closer, elbow against the center console and head in your hand, and look at him. Really look at him. Something about the quiet moment in the car was intimate, and you couldn’t think of a better time to see him the way you often did when he wasn’t looking.

There was a bump in his nose. It wasn’t large or particularly prominent—you honestly would have missed it if you weren’t looking at him so closely—but it was there. You couldn’t help but think that glasses would fit on his face perfectly. They would sit right on the bridge of his nose, just above the soft bump. Or maybe he would let them fall further down, closer to where the stud in his nostril was.

His eyebrows were thick and dark, but they didn’t look unruly. The steel of his eyebrow ring sparkled like starlight every time you passed under a street lamp. He had lashes long enough that they brushed against his cheeks each time he blinked and full lips. A newer addition—that you had noticed when he first got it but now realized he had changed the jewelry on—was the black snake bites.

You tilted your head, a fond smile playing at your lips. “Tell me about your piercings.”

Gene raised his brow. He spared you a glance, wanting to look at you as closely as you were looking at him, before turning his gaze back to the road. “What?”

You shrugged. Your mom had fun stories about hers, you wanted to know if Gene did, too. “I just wanna know about them.”

He gave an amused smile before giving a soft, almost disbelieving shake of his head. “I did my nose when I was thirteen. Self-pierced.”

You flinched. “Oh, my Irene.”

Gene laughed, and you revelled in the sound. “Yeah. It hurt like a motherfucker. I definitely did it wrong. But my older cousin Miguel had one and I wanted to be like him, so I took one of my mom’s sewing needles and ran it through my nose.”

You gasped, covering your mouth with both hands. “Gene.”

Your reaction made him chuckle. “Not fun. Both my parents were pissed and healing took longer than it should have.” You blinked at him. He ignored your look of shock and moved on. “My eyebrow I got semi-professionally. Miguel ended up being a tattoo artist and piercer so I was his first customer during his apprenticeship. He nearly put the needle through my skull.”

The sound of your snicker made Gene smile fondly before continuing. “And then I just wanted to get my lip done, so I did. Thought it looked neat. Better now that I have black hoops instead of those god-awful steel ones.”

You hummed. You knew he had other piercings in his ears—at least three more, if you were remembering correctly—but he didn’t elaborate on them so you assumed the stories behind those weren’t as fun.

“What about you, bunny?” he asked, raising a brow and turning toward you as he approached a red light. “Any secret jewelry.”

You scoffed. “No. My mom took me to get these when I was a baby,” you replied, bringing your hands up to squeeze at your lobes. “It was the same session she got her belly button pierced. The parlor she went to offered free piercings for babies. She figured why not and sent my dad to her house to get my birth certificate.”

“Wow,” Gene said, then furrowed his brows. When the green light reflected off his face, he took his gaze off you and continued driving. “How old is your mom?”

“Thirty-three.”

His eyes widened. “She had you at sixteen?” You hummed in affirmation. Gene lowly whistled. “So that’s like if you, right now, had a one year old.” You nodded. It was something you thought about often. And also an argument you sometimes used to get what you wanted. “Wow.”

“Crazy,” you agreed. “And then she had Julie when she was eighteen.”

“Shit.” You snorted at the reaction. Gene laughed, too, though his came out as a more I don’t know how to respond laugh. “Okay, Y/n’s Mom. Get it, I guess.”

You might have said more (despite not knowing what else you would have said considering that was all to say), but Gene turned onto your street and parked in your driveway faster than you realized.

He was quick to undo his seatbelt. “Let me walk you to the door.”

If he had said that a week earlier, you would have insisted that you were fine. You would have demanded that he stay in the car and drive off, and Gene would have settled for watching you enter your house before driving away. Now, however, you found that you wanted to spend more time with him. Even if it was just a fleeting second longer.

You nodded. Gene was opening the car door for you before you could even blink and realize he had already left the vehicle. An amused breath fell from your lips at his antics, and when you stepped out you stepped out slowly to extend the moment.

You walked slowly to your front door, too. The front light was on—a sign that someone was awake and probably waiting for you to return home—and you didn’t want your time with Gene cut short. So the two of you took your time on the short stroll up.

When you finally did reach the door, you hesitated. You took a second too long to decide to fish for your keys in your purse. Gene stayed right next to you as you did, even if you were deliberate in moving things aside until your keys found themselves in your hands.

You smiled up at him. You didn’t know how to stall any longer, so now you were just basking in his presence. “Thanks for the ride.”

Gene nodded. “No problem.”

Your gaze lingered on his for a fraction too long. It was noticeable, and you were silently berating yourself for making it so as you inserted your key into the lock.

“Y/n?” Your questioning hum came too fast. Too eager. Thankfully, Gene didn’t seem deterred. “I . . . Today was fun.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to say. You could tell as much, but you nodded all the same. You kept your hand on the key, key half turned in the lock, hoping he would continue.

He did. Albeit, he wasn’t very straightforward.

“Uhm . . .” He spent a moment just blinking at you, blue eyes widened just enough that you could see the gears in his head turning. “Would you . . . be opposed to doing it again?”

Your brows furrowed, but you tried to pull back the curious expression. “Of course. You, Sasha, and Zenix are-”

“Without Sasha and Zenix.” He cut you off gently. Like the fact that words were even leaving his mouth was an inconvenience to you. You lowered your hand from the doorknob to show that he had your undivided attention. “Just us, I mean. Me and you. At like, a park. Or something. Do you-” Gene faltered. The words twisted on his tongue, and if they had been something tangible, he might have choked. He cleared his throat, tilted his head, clicked his tongue. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing.

“Do you want to go out with me? On a date?” he finally asked.

Your eyes widened. You’d been expecting it after he had lost confidence in his words, but, Irene, you hadn’t anticipated he’d actually ask. You figured he might fumble and change the topic entirely.

The second it took for you to fully process his words seemed to take an eternity—for you, at least. You very clearly heard the crickets chirping and a too low branch brushing against the side of your house as the breeze blew through its leaves. You worried you took too long and that he might think your response was ingenuine.

But Gene smiled when you nodded and said, “I’d love to.” It was the downturned one you adored so much. To hide his growing excitement, he rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face and scratched the side of his neck.

“Alright,” he said. Already you could notice the confidence coming back to his words. “I will let you know the details, then. Does tomorrow work? I know you’re busy during the week.”

You smiled. A wide one that might make your cheeks sore if you did for too long. “Tomorrow works.”

He nodded. You finally turned the key and unlocked the front door of your house. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

If your smile could have gotten wider, it would have. Since it couldn’t, your body opted to make your cheeks warm. You turned your face as you opened the door and entered your house to hide it. “Goodnight, Gene.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

The door shut behind you with a soft click. You spent a moment with your forehead pressed against it, relishing in the euphoria of the moment, before locking it and turning the deadbolt. You only heard Gene’s footsteps retreating to his car after you did that.

When you turned, your dad was sitting on the couch and looking at you expectantly. He had paused his movie—some old western from YouTube he had likely turned on just to fill the space and keep him awake. For a moment the two of you just started at each other like he’d caught you doing something.

He nodded. “What’s the smile for?”

You tried to wipe it off your face. That turned out to be an impossible task. “Nothing.”

Bernie raised a brow. “Yeah, that’s what the voices outside said, too.”

Okay, so he might have heard you. However, he was sitting on the couch and looked like he hadn’t moved in some time, so you were hoping he only heard indiscernible mumbles.

You shrugged. “The voices in your head, maybe.”

You stifled a laugh as your dad rolled his eyes. You had already taken off your shoes at the door and had started shuffling across the living room before he told you to go to your room and get some rest. You sped up when he did, and the first thing you did was flop back onto your bed and stare at the ceiling.

To say you were lost in a daydream would have been an understatement. You were higher than cloud nine, whatever the idiom used to express that was. Your level of giddiness was through the roof and unrivaled by any coming of age teenage girl movie.

Even when you went to bed, when the tendrils of sleep pulled you into the depths of the darkness, your smile remained.

Everything would be alright, you thought.

dahlia don’t write a long chapter challenge. level impossible. sorry guys didn’t mean to make this almost 10k words uhm. it got away from me oops

but anyways. they’re going on a date now so hopefully that makes up for it 🙂��↕️

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#sorry about the word count guys #dahlia’s dreams ☾#tpwp #aphmau #aphverse #aphblr #mystreet #phoenix drop high #pdh #gene mystreet #phoenix drop high gene #gene minecraft diaries #gene x reader #pdh gene #gene pdh #gene phoenix drop high #aphmau gene #minecraft diaries gene

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eldritch-spouse · 2 years ago

Note

i cannot believe no one has suggested this

imagine zizz walking in (or waking up to) on his queen humping one of the plushies

[This isn't exactly what you want it to be, but I had a massive brain vomit moment. Fem reader. There's art in this one.]

TW: Plushophilia (??? There's a doll monster is what I'm trying to say)

Rare are the days where you wake up alone in bed.

Zizz actually sleeps in quite a bit later than you. Granted he usually also settles down for the night much later. Nevertheless, it has become a habit of yours to wake up between his arms, tucked under his chin, or perhaps even being spooned, his hips somewhat restless behind yours.

It must have become an increasingly important aspect of your routine, because you find waking up alone to be more and more insupportable lately. So much so that you groan, immediately disappointed as soon as you register reality- No extra warmth, no gentle breathing beside you, no rumbling purr or claws petting across your hair.

Part of you wants to close your eyes, roll to the side, grab the nearest pile of softness and go back to sleep- Waiting for your King to return so you can wake up properly. And yet, another part is also restless.

What is he up to?

It's not as if you're worried about Zizz, he's probably busy with some project you can't be fucked to care about, but you're almost... Indignant. Some petty little voice in you demands you find the King and plop yourself on his lap, impeding him from working any further as punishment for denying you wake up affections.

When you yawn and make to get up, a slight tug is felt on your arm. Reflexively looking back, you find several of the stuffed companions you share with the ruler crowding your side, as if knowing you intend to leave and attempting to beckon you otherwise. It's tempting.

But not enough to halt you.

Because only a few moments later, you sluggishly take a stand, moving towards the large doors leading out of the bedchambers. All is fine until you turn one of the handles and... Nothing moves.

It actually takes your sluggish brain a couple of static-fillled seconds to register that. The realization followed by another tug, a harsher one to the twin handle, a fierce shove. Nothing. Not a budge, nor a creak.

They're... Locked?

In the relative darkness of the room -Kept this way to cater to Zizz's light-sensitive eyesight- You only note the piece of paper stuck to the left door after an embarrassing amount of jostling the fancy handles. Irritation makes you rip the notice away, squinting so as to make sense of the scribbled writing.

" Your excellence,

I lament to inform you that King Zizz has been called for an extremely urgent matter that requires his immediate attention. Under his command, I was instructed to keep you inside the bed chambers at all costs until his arrival. According to Lord Zizz, it should only take a little while. You may even still be sleeping by the time he returns.

Regards,

Jayde. "

Fury makes you crumple the sheet of paper into a ball, chucking it at the doors as if the force alone would cause them to suddenly part ways.

He's just going to keep you locked up in here like a doll? Like some pet?! The nerve.

For as much as Zizz says he loves you infinitely, incidents like these really serve to highlight a bitter truth you often turn a blind eye to. That he thinks less of you, that he doesn't trust you to handle the smallest things on your own. Maybe because he thinks you can't, that you're so limited to the point of having to be kept in a bedroom like some child.

Mind ping-ponging between all sorts of unearthed emotions, you consider behaving in exactly the way he seems to see you- By throwing a petulant tantrum befitting of someone truly as limited as he thinks you are. And just as a not so smart voice in your head congratulates you for such a thought, a touch halts that process entirely.

You jolt slightly, glancing down. One of the stuffed dolls from Zizz's endless collection lies on the carpeted ground, little rounded hand outstretched towards your foot. Have you seen this one before? It's hard to tell.

He's cute, a crocheted demonoid made of a mix and mash of pink yarn hues. The only other color on him is black, on his wide button eyes, a silk bow around his neck and his adorable tail adorned with jingling bells at the bottom. Why, he's so lovable! Is this one new in the King's collection? That doesn't make sense, Zizz would have shown you if that were the case, he always does. It must have been one you just don't get to see as often- Lord knows some of them are perpetually buried in the ocean of fluff and warmth that suffocates this room at times.

" Aw, aren't you cute? " You coo at the little thing, eyeing his little curved horns as you speak mostly to yourself. They listen however, you know they do.

" You want me to stay? If you reeeeally mean it, I guess I can... "

The choice isn't there, you're just trying to make yourself feel better and avoid getting angry until Zizz comes back.

As soon as you turn back, jingling and rustling can be heard. It's not cause for alarm, you're well aware these cotton and silken entities move on their own frequently, especially when no one's looking their way -It stopped being creepy after the first few days- So you assume the little pink thing is going to crawl back to its resting spot now that you have been successfully convinced to drop the doors.

Instead, you feel a much bigger pair of hands quickly shove your back. You yelp, a clumsy foot catching on your flowing nightgown and swiftly sending you tumbling onto the bed. It'd be lying to say that a small inkling of fear didn't course through you, steadily growing as you gather enough wit and reflex to roll around on the mattress and spot your assailant.

At the foot of the bed stands none other than the same plush you just talked to.

But he shifted.

Now much bigger, the yarn that once composed him has become a finely molded pattern over a much more humanoid form that shifts and moves exactly like your own. An amused, definitely mischievous smile creases the edges of his soft cheeks, covering up a bit of those button eyes- Surprisingly expressive for a thing that's supposed to have a fixed expression. It's extremely odd to admit this, but the more you look at him, the more weirdly attractive he becomes in spite of his strange fabric-based biology. Part of you almost wants to reach out and touch him.

Mild apprehension doesn't allow you to.

These creatures only shift into bigger forms of themselves when there's a good reason for such. Like imminent danger, intruders, tasks that require more refined figures. Most of the time, from what you recall being told, they're content to ragdoll and observe things or simply become inactive. So why is this one so active? Does he think you're going to try to escape? Yeah right, no amount of luck could make it happen.

" ... Buddy? "

The plush monster perks up, and when the ringing of tiny bells hits your ears, you realize he's wagging his tail happily. Not a second later, the yarn entity has climbed atop the bed and looms over your form with great stitched glee in its face. You don't even get to ask him what's happening before the pink thing sinks to snuggle against you in a warm hug.

He's so bizarrely soft.

As the monster silently rubs and nuzzles his head everywhere on your neck, chest and cheek, you can only marvel at the almost unbelievable smoothness of his... Skin? Not really. The sensation is so new that you don't even deign to think too much about what's happening, happily giggling when you bury your own face in the pleasant pink fuzz of his of his head. Okay then, he's just feeling affectionate, you can deal with that. In spite of the plush texture, experimentally grabbing at his arms reveals that there isn't as much give to him as you'd expect, like something more solid lurks beneath that friendly and deceitfully fragile exterior.

You toy with his bow a little, twirling the ends as you sigh.

" I'm not leaving, you know? I can't. "

He nods under your chin, face dipping towards your cleavage as smooth claws edge up the length of your legs. And while you allow it to happen, the gears start turning in your head. They're not really supposed to do that, are they?

You've seen many of the dolls shift, seen them perform a couple of menial tasks, asking for attention, but you never saw them... Being so bold. Sexual even. Are they capable of that? You'd like to think you're not a pervert, but built so well as this one is, maybe this is his function. You have caught the King with pillows and stuffed bedmates between his legs before- It wouldn't be that surprising if they're meant to do this from time to time.

But then... The one currently groping your thighs... If you let him continue, would you be cheating on the demonlord? No. Surely not, right? He uses them for pleasure too, it would be hypocritical of Zizz to become upset over something like this. You hope, at least. Still, you're not sure how to feel about it.

As you lie there still, deliberating on the situation unfolding, his shiver-inducing dance over your legs reaches your thighs. He's gentle, massaging from the outside, upwards, gripping your hips, then following the line of your panties back down to your inner thighs, a sensual and slow stroke that has you relaxing and sighing in pleasure. You recognize the motions, these are gestures Zizz likes to use on you, to hear you softly moan and smile, spreading your legs for him further. It shouldn't surprise you that some -Or all- Of his plushies would know how to touch you too. They're constant observers.

He looks content to have you so pliant beneath him, and you're sure the monster would be rumbling like its master if it was capable of making sounds. The frequent jingling of his swatting tail is evidence enough of his approval. Yet, as pleasant as this is all being, you reach for those pink wrists when a claw tries to slide your undergarments aside.

" Hey. " You start, having to squeeze a little so he puts his whole attention on your face. The doll monster tilts his head. " I'm... We shouldn't do anything, Zizz isn't here... "

The entity tilts his head more, as if not really understanding where you're coming from, silence stretches on for a small eternity between you, your heart pounding in your chest.

You can admit to yourself that it's more than a little thrilling to give this a shot. To see what it's like to bed one of the King's stuffed dolls. After all, there must be a reason he likes them so much... But you don't want to go too far. Not without knowing more.

" We can't- Uhm, we can't have sex, okay? " Gods you've never cringed at yourself so hard.

The doll seems to flinch at the mention of sex, horned head shaking frantically as he quickly removes his featherlite fingers off your figure entirely. Though a smile stretches his yarned cheeks when he wags a finger at you, proceeding to use both hands to frame... His slit.

Because it can only be that between his legs. It's the same exact color as the rest of his body, blending together amidst all the rounds of fabric that compose his body. You can't be blamed for having missed it at first. More important however, is the strand of white yarn stitched over said area, in the same way you'd sew someone's wounds, though with a small bow at the bottom.

It takes a bit for you to piece what it means together.

The monster reaches to try and slip a finger under the yarn, trying to dislodge it off him, but it seems to be well secured. He then casually taps your groin, then his, shaking his head again.

Ah.

" Oh! " Your eyes widen. " So you can't... It doesn't come off? " Penetration is not on the table.

The pink doll nods. Honestly, you have no idea what kind of cock this type of being can have...

" O- Okay. " That does make you feel better about things for now. Though it begs the question. " Did Zizz put that on you? "

Another nod.

His brows furrow as he seems to be thinking of something for a few quiet moments. Then, a tad suddenly, the doll moves off you to thump soundlessly beside you on the bed. He spreads his legs some and makes an eager beckoning gesture towards you.

Not really understanding but too curious to deny him, you do as told, getting the picture when he slides one of your legs over his right one, making you straddle it. This time, when he looks at your face and slowly slides your panties to the side, there's no misunderstanding between you.

Not that your face isn't heating up at the implication.

The monster's chest shifts and his mouth parts like he's mutely lauging. And it makes sense, the doll has probably seen you and Zizz get up to some pretty shameless stuff in this very room, he likely thinks it's hilarious that you're hesitating to do something as simple as ride his thigh.

" Oh shush. "

Soft claws rub down your back, cupping the globes of your ass underneath your gown and starting a slow, luscious rhythm on his leg. The monster happily allows you to adjust, learn what angle provides the best friction on your clit while he kneads and gropes greedily at your cushion.

You don't really consider yourself to be much of a humper.

Of course, you've done it before a couple of times, the difference here being that none of the things you used would stare knowingly at you, would smirk when you shuddered in pleasure or even minutely push back against your movements. They wouldn't squeeze approvingly at your hips and waist, reach to fondle the peaks of your tits- To say that a plush lusts after you would be madness. At least until today.

Restless thighs clench around his own as you speed up, rocking harder, grinding yourself, soaking his fabric in your own chase for a peak that you didn't even know you were craving so bad up until now. Distantly, you wonder how many are watching now, if they feel any jealousy towards the brave and lucky plush that dared make a move.

Unfortunately, you're having trouble getting there on your own, cursing underneath your breath while your body tenses and coils but never enough to trigger that sweet release. There's no way he doesn't see you struggling and sweating on him, the little bastard's likely just enjoying the show. Ugh.

" Mm- Finger me, please. "

And yet, no matter how sweet your tone was, how you used manners, he didn't budge, smile climbing further up his rosy face as he shook his head, tail thumping on the sheets. The blatant denial makes you halt entirely, frowning.

" Wh- What do you mean no?! " That sounded a lot more aggressive than you meant it to be.

But still, these monsters are servants, their purpose to fulfill the royalty's orders, that's what they strive for. If you tell one to touch you a certain way, surely they'd be more than happy to do so, right?

The entity merely shakes his head again. You're getting a little annoyed by that gesture, even if it's one of the few ways he can actually communicate with you coherently.

Your arms cross beneath your chest, not so much mad as you are confused. " Aren't you technically supposed to obey me? "

The doll shakes with laughter again, and part of you almost wants to push him right off the bed, hormones still jumping in your system. He wags an index again, then wiggles his fingers above his head, between his horns.

As he repeats the motion, you can finally focus enough to make sense of it. He's trying to imitate the blob of energy that his master sports between his own horns. That little thing you've tried to grab before even though it's touch averse, slipping between your digits right at the moment you think you've got it.

The message is clear- He obeys to Zizz specifically.

You make a 'tsk', rolling your eyes at the monster. " So you're not going to help me? "

Another shake.

" Not even a liiittle bit? " And you reach a hand beneath the silk of his dark bow, scratching at his chin.

The contact has him leaning instantly, attitude faltering, his response coming in a clumsy shrug. A sort of "We'll see".

Fine.

Undettered, you offer him no more sweet talk when you resume the previous pace, caring none for his comfort as you steady yourself on his abdomen to harshly thrust your hips on his leg, almost jostling him for a second. The plush monster's tail wags near violently, apparently loving this newfound roughness.

You're not sure what has him so enthusiastic out of nowhere, but any suspicion drops immediately at the first hint of the bumping and grinding his own leg against your twitching cunt, hands eagerly helping you spread yourself. He practically fucks you onto him, seeming to shiver in his own weird manner at the high and whiny noises you belt out.

When your orgasm crashes upon you, the pink creature doesn't slow down, making sure to milk it as hard as he can, he himself enjoying getting humped while you finish, soaking him further in your arousal. Your legs are still rocking gently, the first aftershocks settling in when-

" I'm glad you were able to entertain yourself. "

The way you jump off the monster nearly has your soul leaping out of your throat when you whirl around to find none other than Zizz sitting by the edge of the bed, chin framed by his palms as if he were watching a movie unfurl.

" D- Did-? " How long was he actually here for? How come he manages to be as silent as a mouse when he's so huge?! " I'm so sorry- "

The demonlord huffs. " For... What exactly? "

" I- Well- Your-...? " You glance beneath yourself to the plush monster still laying beneath you with a slightly smug smirk on his face.

Zizz nudges you off the doll carefully, tugging him down closer with a lot less care as he removes his veil. Wide eyes blink in panic, you assume he's going to maybe hurt the entity or chastise you for making a mess of his treasured collection piece- But surprisingly, he clutches the toy's leg and casually licks the slick of your climax that wasn't rapidly absorbed by yarn.

O-Oh okay.

The other seems to like this well enough, letting himself ragdoll, once again wagging that jingling appendage.

" ... He was only doing his job. "

The King releases his minion, sparing you a lidded look.

" You can use me now. "

(As a bonus, here's what the ""doll"" looks like.)

#Zizz oc #pinnie's art #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #terato tag #monsterfucker #not sfw #minors dni

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thefirstknife · 5 months ago

Note

I haven't been able to play the latest update yet so I gotta ask. With all this talk of the winnower, have we found out that its a separate entity to The Witness, or are we just finding out more about how the Witness operated?

It's confirmed now that it is a separate entity! It is identified as a speaker on the seasonal artifact. Like it straight up says "The Winnower" after a quote.

I've always believed them to be separate, my only issue was that we had no solid proof that the Winnower is even a real thing, since the only indications of it were various religious texts and other people's beliefs and unreliable narrators. Even the stuff in Books of Sorrow where something spoke to Oryx, it was really difficult to find genuine proof of what it is. Could've been the Witness adopting a persona to trick Oryx, could've been just various Books of Sorrow lies or unreliable information, could've been Savathun scribbling lies, or something completely different. Books of Sorrow are such an old and biased text in general, with many different narrators.

Unveiling was another contentious text, mostly because of the same things. It was left for us in the Pyramid after we spoke to a clone of ourselves made by the Witness and it was clearly a propaganda text to make us join the Witness, but also it did imply that the text was written by an entity called the "Winnower." However, that could, once again, haven been the Witness. I might still be more in the camp that Unveiling was the Witness' attempt to emulate the higher power it believed in (the Winnower) and using that to sway us to its side, but we don't really know now. The Witness further said (in TFS, largely in the raid) that it believed in the Winnower and considered itself to be its "first knife," but then when we got Nacre, the Winnower (more or less confirmed now) said that it didn't really care for the Witness. Or, at the very least, that the Winnower is not exactly a thing that deliberately sends out others to do its bidding; it kinda relies on people simply choosing to do so by themselves:

This great, beloved cosmos. Always decaying, always finding that same old lovely pattern, despite every candle-flame burning amid the flowers. A billion electrons taking the path of least resistance. In Darkness or in Light, someone is always making my choice. Be seeing you.

An interesting piece of Nacre that caught my eye originally was that the narrator claimed that it "never much cared for the change of the rules," but in Unveiling it very much did. So either Unveiling was written by someone merely interpreting the Winnower who got it wrong, or possibly something else. And one of the lore tabs from the new grimoire (that currently isn't in the game), has this:

The rules changed - a little. The pattern altered - but a micron. I got used to it, as they say. People can get used to anything, and the same holds true for concepts that have existed before and after time itself, though it may take an eon or twenty.

This implies that the Winnower changed its mind which means that Unveiling may still be written by it. Or not! It's intriguing. As I said many times, the unreliability of Unveiling is actually one of my favourite parts of the whole lore book and why it's my fave. I don't think that getting this explained would really "ruin" it or anything, but the unreliability is a part of the charm for sure.

Note also another one of my fave things about the Winnower and that's the bit where it calls itself a "concept that has existed before and after time itself." This, combined with the Heresy artifact, gives us a bit more information to work with while also fully confirming that it exists; even if it exists just as a concept.

But now that the Winnower has been explicitly stated as a speaker in lore without any ambiguity:

"The world is not built on the laws they love… Not with peace, but by victory at any means." —The Winnower

... Now a lot of stuff is much different when discussing it all. I'm actually now more inclined to believe that Oryx spoke to the Winnower then, rather than the Witness, now that we have proof the Winnower can communicate directly and would have an interest in doing so. Obviously the tone of voice of the speaker in Books of Sorrow always matched the Winnower, but it was never outside of the possibility that it was just the Witness mimicking what it essentially viewed as its deity.

At one point, especially after the writers heavily implied that Unveiling was a deliberate propaganda text written and given to us by the Witness, I thought that it was settled and that they decided to consolidate it all with the Witness, including the Books of Sorrow bits, but now that they're expanding it to the Winnower, I do think that Oryx and Unveiling were Winnower; even if the Witness may have been involved somehow, maybe as a delivery mechanism, especially for Unveiling. I like the idea of the Witness having somehow encountered the Winnower at some point, maybe like Oryx, and used that experience to essentially claim to be "the first knife" and write the text for us to make us believe in this philosophy like it was convinced. The Witness definitely believed itself to be important to the Winnower, enacting its will and philosophy across the universe as its "first knife." Even if the Winnower didn't really directly order that or care about it, other than just using it as proof that "someone is always making my choice."

I'm assuming we'll learn more during Heresy. I personally don't want the Winnower to become an enemy we fight one day, as I prefer this idea of an ambiguous observer from outside of the universe who is patiently waiting to see how "the game" unfolds; both "the game" as what it likes to call this version of the universe and also "the game" as in the 4th wall breaking sense. We'll see though! I do think it's settled beyond doubt now that the Winnower is its own thing, we just don't really know what it is. I am very interested to know more about its relationship to the Witness though, if we ever get more on that, because I'd love to hear more about it from the Winnower itself. The Witness was obviously biased and had many claims that I find dubious in nature.

Exciting situation overall! Really loved the proper confirmation for the Winnower being the speaker for the artifact because as much as I was always intrigued by the Winnower, I found it hard to talk about it like it's some confirmed character/entity. Speculation aside, we truly had no solid evidence until now, but now we do and that's really cool.

#destiny 2 #winnower #ask #long post #wondering if we'll get more specifically because we'll be dealing with oryx in heresy #and he may actually be able or willing to clarify for whatever reason #possible also that the winnower may be poking things now that the witness is gone #at least in the sense of looking for whoever will be the next one to 'make its choice'#or just like. being interested in where 'the game' is going next #which would be a fitting wrap on the light and darkness saga before moving on into frontiers

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ageingfangirl2 · 27 days ago

Text

Sewing Collaboration! Takashi Mitsuya (Tokyo Revengers)

You recently joined the school sewing club, but you keep to yourself. Until one day you catch the eye of Mitsuya, who notices your talent while you shy away from any sort of attention. Friendship and jealousy arise, but you gain a friend and future sewing collaborator.

The quiet hum of sewing machines filled the fabric-scented air of the sewing clubroom. Mitsuya glanced up from his project, eyes finding you, who were sitting at the far table, new, quiet, always sitting with your shoulders slightly hunched, your hands moving delicately over the fabric like it might break if you press too hard.

He stood and made his way over, curiosity piqued, 'Hey,' he said with a warm smile, 'You’re new, right? Mind if I take a look?'

You startle slightly, glancing up at him with wide eyes before hesitantly turning the sketchbook toward him.

Mitsuya blinked in surprise. The designs were intricate—soft lines, layered textures, tiny notes scribbled in the margins about fabric choices, 'Wow…These are amazing,' he said sincerely, 'You’ve got a real eye for detail.'

You duck your head, ears turning pink, 'I-I… um, thank you…'

Mitsuya chuckled, 'Seriously. You should show these to the others. I bet they’d be impressed.'

You shake your head quickly, 'N-No way…You’re much better. Your work is like…actual fashion.'

'And yours is like something I’d see on a runway,' he said gently, nudging your sketchbook back toward you, 'Don't sell yourself short.'

Your fingers fidget with the edge of the page, 'I-I just do this for fun… I didn’t think anyone would notice…'

Mitsuya leaned on the table, his voice softer now, 'Well, I did. And I think we could learn from each other. Want to work next to me next time?'

You glance up, eyes wide again—but this time, you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Mitsuya grinned, 'Great. It’s a deal.'

ONE WEEK LATER

The clubroom buzzed with its usual after-school chatter, but today had a different kind of energy. The sewing tables were pushed together for a group project, and Mitsuya sat beside you, now less hunched and a little more comfortable around him. You two had been working on a joint piece for the past week: a soft, flowing dress with delicate embroidery along the hem, a blend of your dreamy style and his crisp lines.

'You really brought this to life,' Mitsuya said, adjusting a pin, 'I just followed your lead.'

You shake your head, smiling shyly, 'I-I couldn’t have done it without you…'

But when the two of you returned from a short break, something felt off.

The fabric you'd been working on lay in a crumpled mess, threads yanked loose, embroidery torn halfway through. Your sketch, once neatly tucked under your notebook, was missing. A few girls across the room whispered behind cupped hands, one of them glancing over with a smirk.

You freeze. Your hands trembled as you picked up the fabric, staring in silence.

Mitsuya’s brow furrowed, 'Hey…What the hell?' He crouched beside you, gently taking the ruined piece from your hands, 'This didn’t happen on its own.'

You shake your head quickly, blinking fast, 'I-It’s okay, I-I probably just—'

'No,' he said firmly, not unkindly, 'You didn’t. Someone messed with it.'

Your lip trembles, and you turn your face slightly away.

He stood, casting a cool glance around the room. The girls who had been whispering quieted immediately under his gaze.

Mitsuya turned back to you and crouched down again, speaking low so only you could hear, 'This wasn’t your fault. And I won’t let it slide.'

You sniffle, eyes shining, 'B-But we worked so hard…'

'I know,' he said gently, 'And we’ll fix it. Together.'

He helped you gather the scraps, carefully and calmly, treating each torn piece as if it were still something beautiful. When you look at him, really look at him, something new appears in your eyes. A flicker of trust.

'Next time,' he said, giving you a soft smile, 'we’ll lock the pattern drawer. And maybe start sewing at my place. My sisters are better company anyway.'

That got a tiny laugh out of you. And just like that, you nodded. Anywhere was better than this club room.

A FEW DAYS LATER

The dress took a few afternoons to mend. You work side by side at Mitsuya’s house, surrounded by the chatter of his younger sisters and the soft scent of fabric softener lingering in the air. His sisters had immediately taken to you, offering you snacks, asking about your favourite colours, even braiding little pieces of your hair as you stitched.

By the end of the fourth evening, the dress was whole again. Maybe even better than before.

'It’s ready,' Mitsuya said, brushing his hands off. 'You should try it on.'

You hesitate, glancing down at the flowing pale fabric, 'I-I don’t know if it’ll look good on me…'

'It’ll look perfect,' he said without missing a beat.

Ten minutes later, you step out of the bathroom, smoothing the hem nervously. The soft fabric clung just right, the embroidered accents catching the light as you move. You keep your eyes low, bracing yourself for some kind of critique.

But Mitsuya was silent. You glance up and blink.

He was staring at you, lips parted slightly, a faint pink creeping up the tips of his ears and into his cheeks. He looked…stunned.

'Is something wrong?' you ask softly.

Mitsuya blinked like he’d just snapped out of a daze, 'No! No, not at all. It’s just…You look stunning.'

Your breath catches, 'O-Oh…'

You look down quickly, your own face flushing deep red as your fingers twist in the hem of the dress, 'T-Thank you…I—I mean, it was your design too, so…'

He chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck, 'Still. You bring it to life in a way no mannequin ever could.'

Your heart does a little flip. You look at him shyly, a hopeful glint in your eyes, 'Do you…wanna collaborate more? I-I mean—only if you want to.'

Mitsuya smiled, the kind of warm, sincere smile that melted all the nerves in the room. 'Yeah,' he said gently, 'I’d really like that.'

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mingtinys · 2 years ago

Text

Spiced Caramel and Rosemary

pairing : jeon wonwoo x gn!reader

fluff , humor , mutual pining , coffee shop !au , college!au , meet cute

warnings : language

word count : 2.7 k

requested ? no

a/n : i can't ever write oneshots in moderation. it's always 3k full standing fics. n e ways, dk best hype and wing man !!

Wonwoo has a routine. And while he doesn't consider himself to be a particularly rigid person, he doesn't often like to stray from it.

He isn't opposed to trying new things– the occasional night out with Seungcheol, karaoke at a bar downtown with Seungkwan, a new game with Chan; but he does find comfort in having a set schedule. Especially during weekdays. Wake up around nine. Go to classes until one. Grab lunch. Work out. And the most important part, be settled down with his laptop, textbooks, and notes by three, locked away in his favorite coffee shop with a subpar dark caramel cold brew in hand. Sure, it's not an award-winning cup-of-Joe by any means, but Wonwoo's always been a tad sentimental and considers the small shop his own little haven.

So, understandably, he's a bit irked when Seokmin flat-out refuses to negotiate on a study spot. Suggesting his own favorite shop a bit further from campus to work on their project. No matter how much Wonwoo vouches for his regular shop, Seokmin won't be deterred, insisting it's the only place he can actually focus at.

Ultimately, Wonwoo decides a little disruption to his routine is worth it if it'll provoke his normally restless partner into being studious for an hour or two.

"I promise, you're gonna love it!" He boasts. Wonwoo just hums in response.

It's no wonder he's never tried Seokmin's favorite spot, much less heard of it. The shop, known as "Local Brew," is tucked away in one of the many alleys in the maze that is the outskirts of campus. Unnoticeable unless you're already looking for it.

The outside is... definitely charming. Chipped brick overrun by moss and the occasional piece of chewed gum frame the glass entrance. The windows of which are scribbled over in neat, pretty writing. Vibrant pinks and yellows showcasing low prices, catchy promotions, and flowery doodles. Seokmin plows right through, sounding the ring of a bell.

A honeyed voice greets him immediately. "Seokmin! It's nice to see you again. Should I get the usual started?"

Wonwoo knows that voice. And subsequently, Wonwoo knows this is the point in which he is, for lack of a better word, absolutely and irrevocably fucked.

Seokmin however, marches on, blissfully unaware of how his friend's heart is in desperate need of some jumper cables. "Yes please, oh, and extra sweet!"

"You're gonna rot your teeth out one of these days, but you got it."

"You're the best," he sings.

"I see you brought a friend this time. What can I– Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo knows it's his turn to speak. But his lips can only form shapes of empty words, like a fish out of water gasping for air. He tries shaking his head, hoping the action will knock a brain cell or two together so he can form a sentence that isn't wholly embarrassing. Though the effects are like that of an Etch A Sketch and he turns up empty-headed again.

He clears his throat and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, more of a nervous habit than an adjustment, and wings it. "Hi, Y/N, it's um, been a while."

It has in fact been two hours. Probably less.

Wonwoo's internally punching the walls right now. It's been a while? Is he serious? He literally saw you in class earlier. Honesty, could he sound more idiotic?

Your brow furrows and Wonwoo's just about to make a mad dash for the exit until your features soften and a grin tugs at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, I guess you could say so. Dr. Kang's class sure makes it feel that way, huh?"

Wonwoo forgets he's supposed to respond again, and the awkward stretch of silence that results is insufferable at best. He rushes out his next sentence. "I didn't know you worked here."

You happily nod. "Every Tuesday and Thursday. Sometimes weekends."

"I only come when Y/N's working," Seokmin reminds everyone of his presence. "They make the best coffee."

You visibly blush at that, "Ah, stop that. Seokmins easy to please, as long as it's sweet he's not too picky. I'd take his word with a grain of salt." Another pause. It's truly a wonder how Wonwoo manages to stay at the top of his class yet struggles to uphold a perfectly mundane conversation. He's stuck just marveling at you, cute and clad in your brown barista apron.

"So," you drawl out. "Were you looking to order anything?"

Right. He's at a coffee shop. He should order coffee. Wonwoo's eyes dart to the menu above your head, relieved he has an excuse to do something other than stand there like a deer in headlights.

"Sorry, it's his first time here." Seokmin whispers. Wonwoo is pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear it, but his friend has never been great with subtlety.

"No worries, if you have any questions feel free to ask."

Why do you have to be so... radiant? Sweet. Patient. Kind. You. Geez, Wonwoo is down. Bad. Has been since the first day of class when you asked to borrow a pen. Even more so the second day when you took the empty seat next to him to return the utensil and never bothered getting up.

He nearly died when you asked for his number the following week. Claiming you'd need at least one friend in class to get through an entire semester of high-level calculus. Wonwoo isn't used to receiving the amount of attention you've invested in him. Usually, he finds a seat on the aisle and keeps to himself for the few classes he doesn't share with a friend. But you seemed to have no problem claiming him as your "calculus buddy" as you liked to call it, despite the multitude of empty seats you had to choose from.

And as much as Wonwoo doesn't want to be the fool that falls in love with the first person to show the slightest interest in him, he can't help but get a little giddy on the days he has calculus. The odds are stacked against him when it comes to his feelings for you. It's been two months since you asked for that pen, yet he still finds your presence warmer than the sun itself.

Though, at least he knows when he'll see you for class and can mentally prepare himself to not say something completely and utterly embarrassing for the hour you're next to him. But he's never considered the possibility of running into you beyond the walls of the mathematics building. So you can imagine the inner turmoil in his brain as he tries to formulate a way to get through this interaction with his ego unscathed.

"Uh, Wonwoo, you're holding up the line, buddy." Seokmin nudges him.

The line in question is just an elderly couple who seem like they couldn't care less about the wait. Rather caught up in surveying the pastry selection.

"Just get whatever you do at that other place," Seokmin suggests. Which is a genius idea, except another quick scan of the menu reveals you don't offer it.

Wonwoo looks to his friend pleadingly, "What did you get?"

Luckily, Seokmin is as perceptive today as he is sociable and extends Wonwoo a lifeline. "Why don't you just surprise him?" He says, which seems to pique your interest. "You can trust Y/N, that's how I found my favorite drink here!"

"I can do that!" Wonwoo isn't one for surprises. Though the excitement that’s radiating from your person at the proposition has Wonwoo agreeing instantly. "Any allergies or preferences?"

"No, just nothing too sweet, iced if you can."

You nod and scribble something down on a clear cup.

Seokmin pays, and Wonwoo couldn't be happier to hide away in a booth in the furthest corner of the room. He lets his head fall into his hands, propped up on the table by his elbows. That couldn't have gone any worse. Wonwoo groans as someone shuffles into the seat across from him. He peeks through his fingers at who it is.

Seokmin's chin is rested in his palms, elbows propping him up all the way across the table to lean in way too close to Wonwoo. Judging by the wide, knowing grin on Seokmin's face, there's no escaping his friend's inevitable prying curiosity.

"Sooo... how do you know, Y/N?"

"We have calculus together," Wonwoo says shortly, hoping to curve Seokmin off the topic. It doesn't work, of course.

"I see, I see," his friend nods, pauses, then says, "And how long have you had a crush on them?"

The blunt question sends Wonwoo sputtering, drawing the attention of nearby patrons as he slaps his chest, trying to regain his composure and lung capacity. He mutters out apologies with pink-tinged cheeks to the surrounding tables. Clearing his throat once more, Wonwoo glares back at his instigator, who's wiggling his eyebrows, a little too happy with himself.

"That long, huh?"

"I'm never coming back here with you."

"Oh come on," Seokmin whines. "It wasn't that bad."

"I'm writing my Will tonight. You'll never see or hear from me again. I'm going to live in the woods far, far, away from any life on earth. Become a hermit and– what?" Wonwoo deadpans, giving his friend an incredulous look upon noticing his expression of wild bewilderment.

"Nothing," Seokmin put up his hands in surrender. "It's just weird seeing you like this. I mean, I've never seen your brain actually malfunction like that before. Like, you really—"

"I'm leaving."

"—Okay, okay, sorry." He grins sheepishly. "You're really worked up over them, huh? It's endearing. I feel like I've seen a new side to you Wonny!"

Wonwoo just sighs, giving up completely on trying to stop his friend's teasing. It's better if he just endures it until he eventually moves on to another topic.

"So, how do you plan on asking them out?"

"I'm not."

"What!?" Seokmin loudly exclaims, and Wonwoo shushes him as all attention falls on their table once more. He speaks again, though this time in a whisper. "Why not?"

Wonwoo shrugs, "I dunno, they're just so lively and outgoing and confident. I doubt I'm even their type." It's not that Wonwoo lacks any or all confidence in his character. Contrary to what others may think, he's quite content with himself. Hasn't ever felt a need to alter his personality or conform to those around him for the sake of making friends.

But people like you should really be with... well... people like you. Like Seokmin or Mingyu or hell, even Joshua.

It's Seokmin's turn to glare at Wonwoo now. "Wonwoo, my friend, my buddy, my pal. I say this to you with unwavering, trustworthy, unbiased—" Wonwoo doubts that "—factual, one hundred percent, certainty. You are like, the perfect boyfriend."

Wonwoo scrunches his face up at that.

"I'm serious!" Seokmin slaps his hands down on the wooden table, making it rattle, and starts listing off traits with his fingers. "Wonwoo, listen, your boyfriend-ability potential is through the roof. You're smart, built, super attentive, have great bone structure, and you've got that shy, quiet, mysterious, gamer-guy charm to you. People really dig that nowadays."

Wonwoo chews at his lip. As over-the-top and exaggerated as his friend's dazzling reviews of his supposed "boyfriend-ability" may be, it really does wonders to boost the morale. It has Wonwoo's confidence soaring, a newfound determination burning in his chest. Maybe he will ask you out.

Until the air around their table shifts and a fluttering presence eclipses any short-lived ambition.

"Sorry for the wait," You're smiling down at Wonwoo, two plastic cups in hand. "It took a while to figure out what you might like. But then I remembered you usually have something with caramel every time you come to class. Though if you hate it I'm more than happy to remake something for you!"

You're blushing madly, but all Wonwoo can focus on is the fact you pay him enough attention from day to day to know the contents of his coffee order.

You set the cup down in front of him, then hand Seokmin his. "I hope you enjoy!"

Wonwoo's useless brain fails him once more. "You too."

You're off and back behind the counter before Wonwoo registers his mistake. That's like strike twelve for him at this point.

"Ah, young love." Seokmin interrupts Wonwoo's sulking, biting down on his straw with the corner of his mouth.

"Shut up."

Wonwoo picks up his cup and examines its contents. It's noticeably darker and thinner than Seokmin's, but he still can't really tell what exactly it is. However, you'd think the coffee was brewed with holy water and magic fairytale beans by the way Seokmins already sucked down half of his.

Wonwoo rotates the cup, squinting at the scribbles of black sharpie on the side. Dark roast, spiced caramel, rosemary, oat milk.

"Rosemary?" He reads, shooting a look at his friend who stops slurping on his own to shrug. "That's an odd flavor."

"I've learned not to question Y/N's expertise long ago, they know what you like even if you don't. It's sort of creepy." He visibly shudders.

"What's yours?"

"Dark chocolate, cherry, vanilla, and whole milk, extra sweet."

"Fruit? In coffee? That doesn't sound like it'd be good." Wonwoo frowns, suddenly doubting the efficacy of his own beverage.

"Shall I go tell Y/N you think they're a terrible barista then?"

"No!" Wonwoo answers a little too quickly and a little too loud. He clears his throat. "—I mean, no, no it's fine. I'm merely saying it's unique, is all."

Seokmin places his hand over Wonwoo's wrist and physically shoves the cup toward his lips, causing the straw to jab into his skin. "Ow!" He complains, swatting at his arm.

"Oh my God, just drink it. I promise it'll be better than whatever boring, run-of-the-mill, bean-water, you get from that other place."

Wonwoo frowns and grumbles, "It's not boring." But he knows that's far true.

Hesitantly, he takes a sip. The spiced caramel hits his tongue first. It's a warm flavor, a pleasant contrast to the drink itself being cold. Then the rosemary edges in with a strong, yet not too overpowering taste. The oat milk blends everything together smoothly and leaves a nice aftertaste.

"Wow," the word slips out. Wonwoo pulls the drink back to examine it again, eyes wide. It's easily the best thing he's ever tasted, far better than, as Seokmin put it, his usual run-of-the-mill order. Wonwoo can't even fathom how your mind came up with a drink so addicting. If God is real, then Wonwoo's positive they have a dazzling smile and work at Seokmin's favorite coffee shop.

"Good, right?" Seokmin grins.

"Amazing."

"You know, if you asked Y/N out they'd probably make your coffee any time you asked~"

That's a pretty convincing argument.

Wonwoo likes his routine. And he's quite fond of his regular coffee shop, so he still frequents there to study.

Except for Tuesdays and Thursdays.

And sometimes weekends.

"Hi, Wonwoo," you greet with your usual bright smile. "Same as usual?"

"Yes, please." He matches your smile, having finally recovered from the catastrophe that was his first visit. Ever since Seokmin let it slip how you'd been gushing about Wonwoo to him ever since you discovered they were friends, he's been feeling a little more confident.

"You know, if you ever want to try something new, I won't be offended." You narrow your eyes at him. But Wonwoo just shakes his head at you, chuckling.

"Eh, I try not to stray from what I already know too much."

"Oh, so that's why you haven't gotten rid of me as your calculus buddy yet." You quip.

"Among other reasons." He shrugs, lips pulling back into a toothy grin. Wonwoo fishes into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet to thumb through his cards.

"It's okay, it's on the house today."

Wonwoo looks up, brows furrowed. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah! I always give my favorite customers free coffee on Sundays." By the way your eyes quickly dart back at your other coworkers, Wonwoo doubts the validity of that.

"Well, I'll have to pay you back somehow."

"Next week's homework would be great!" You grin cheekily.

"Hmm," Wonwoo thinks for a moment, readjusting his glasses. "I would, but I haven't started it yet. Could I offer to take you out instead?"

"I would like that very much."

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popponn · 1 year ago

Text

coincidences and flickers.

ii - blank papers.

notes: fem!burnout artist!reader x pro-player!isagi yoichi ; pro player / post canon au ; self-depreciating thoughts towards one's own work ; fluff, with slight angst (burnout) with a happy ending (a slight hurt/comfort) ; unreliable narrator. a.n. at the end; f!reader but could be read as gn.

summary: you never thought you would find yourself next to isagi yoichi again. yet, like a deja vu, it happened once more.

prev. ; series masterlist. ; next

Going outside, viewing a bright cheerful day filled with fresh air and sounds of laughter around you, several sayings crossed your mind before you finally stopped yourself upon a cafe. Sitting on one of the bar stools and facing yourself towards the people who passed by you from beyond the window, you sat quietly.

The first comment came from yourself, heavily uttered out in your mind, it said, “Ah. Shit. It’s going nowhere.”

Right in front of you, beside a half-empty cup of coffee, was your opened sketchbook filled with unfinished scribbles all over. In some parts, there were hastily drawn squares that illustrated the canvases you would use for your work. Inside those squares were sketches no longer visible, most of their parts were crossed out almost violently under a tangled mess of scratchy lines. Looking at this without your pencil touching the paper, you just wanted to slump down right on top of the table. Thankfully, however, you still remembered what it meant to be appropriate in the middle of a crowded public place.

The second was not quite a comment, actually. It was part of an old professor’s lecture from your student days, a memory that had aged by a few years already. It was said in an empty hall that would soon be used to exhibit students’ works within a few months, right in front of said students. Your professor resembled a smirking, merciless wolf ready to ruin and devour as he stood upright, dressed in black that was more suitable for a funeral than a class.

“The theme is ‘beauty’. Please remember to make it a worthwhile piece. Of course, how you interpret those themes is up in your decisions and angles,” he said. Somehow, those motivating words felt haunting. You remembered how most students paled as the tongue that had ruined so much self-esteem during its career as both a critique and a teacher went on.

“Feel free to show off with size and numbers as much as your space and creativity allow it. I do have high hopes for each of you. After all, ‘beauty’ is one of the most attractive things for an artist, no?”

—sitting at the cafe, years after graduation and even more after that exhibition, you could hardly remember what you drew. Did that professor also leave a scathing so bad your memory repressed it?

Then, the third comment came in the form of your friend, a few glasses behind from being a blackout drunk, but certainly a few glasses too much to still have a filter placed on his mouth. A thick accent laced his slurred voice as he continued his supposed lecture about art and career. “Don’t you get it?! We are artists, but we are human too! Love what you make everyone!!!” he said passionately while standing on top of the restaurant table half naked, his cartoon t-shirt nowhere in sight.

Everyone, just as drunk or a bit less, cheered and agreed with him simultaneously. The stench of fellow art graduates and victims of capitalism’s passions, or perhaps repressed stress, filled the room. From your seat, as the unfortunate yet responsible sober friend of that night’s reunion—chosen via a rigged game of rock paper scissors—could only watch in amusement. Shouting again, your friend stated, “Art is rooted in our emotions as a human! It’s the heart—the heart! Don’t forget that! Express yourself!!!”

Afterward, it spiraled down into even more of a jumbled oration that you couldn’t quite remember. But, certainly, you would wonder if your current self was the one seated there that night. What would this version of you think of those sentences?

Your answer came immediately in the form of a scoff that escaped your mouth bitterly.

“Beautiful things, love, and emotion… huh?” you repeated while staring down at your sketchbook once again. Letting go of your pencil, you buried your face in your palms,“…what am I doing right now then?”

Is there a point for an ‘artist’ who felt nothing when doing something they were supposed to feel so much emotion for?

Is it even okay for someone to make something even when it is not even worthwhile?

“Ugh,” you groaned hoarsely into your hand. Lifting up your face you heaved out one long sigh. As of the moment, you should try again to brainstorm a concept for the needed pieces. Also, you still had illustration work to do. There was no time to whine and feel down. It felt immature, truthfully.

You glared down at the messy, filled-up page of yours. This was the product of your choice, so you had to go on. If the worst comes to worst, you would just consult your client and draw it out as needed. It felt almost like a chokehold that dug itself right inside your trachea, but you reminded yourself once again. “It is work,” you whispered to yourself, “you just have to—”

“Excuse me,” a voice stopped your mutterings right on its track, asking, “is this seat taken?”

You spared a second to berate yourself, once again reminding yourself you were in public that going out was probably the wrong choice for that moment. Then, you faced to your right, answering the voice with a smile, “It is not, please feel free—”

Then, in a manner of a dramatic deja vu, you found the very familiar face of Isagi Yoichi, dressed in casual boyish clothing, right next to you. He paused as he too realized who you were, freezing just as he was about to sit on the stool beside you with a cup of cold drink in his hand.

“Ah.”

“Oh.”

Like a pair of two surprised barely-acquaintances you were, you and Isagi stared at each other in a mix of surprise and recognition. His eyes looked a few shades darker under the shadow of his black cap, however, through tresses that peeked out from under there, you noticed how the bluish tone of his hair got accentuated even further. Dressed in a casual white sweater and grey pants, those hues of his stood out even further.

He looked slightly different compared to the man you met that night, shying away from the party and leaning against the wall. But, even more so, he looked different from the ‘him’ you viewed through the screen three days ago.

A player who truly deserved the titles of ‘Ace’ and ‘Star’ in his name. Someone who without a doubt carried so much passion for what he loves that it couldn’t help but steal your breath away for numerous reasons. It was hilarious in a way, how replaying that one of many matches where Isagi Yoichi played–out of curiosity and a slight remembrance of his name–ended up with your heart thumping almost wildly in your studio.

It was supposed to be a background voice, yet you watched that match with too much enthusiasm, feeling both envious and wishful every time Isagi Yoichi’s face came onto the screen.

Ah–you took in an inconspicuous deep breath–this is no time to think of some soccer match.

Reverting your focus back to the matter at hand, you silently took comfort in the fact that most customers surrounding you either had their ears plugged or were too into their own conversations to care about two people gawking at each other. Forcing your bewilderment within a tidy gulp, you immediately put on your best pleasantry. “What…a surprise to see you here, Isagi. And as I was saying, it is not occupied. Please feel free to have it.”

Quickly enough, the male in front of you followed your cue. Pulling the chair and sitting himself beside you, Isagi offered you a nod that could pass as a half bow as he greeted you by name. “I, uh… didn't expect to see you here too. It’s nice to see you again!”

You nodded back to him, albeit much more slowly, “Indeed, to think I will be able to meet and converse like this with a national soccer superstar, your fans must be seething.”

Isagi chuckled bashfully at your remark, the tense line on his shoulder loosening, “You talk as if you are no one yourself.”

“Having a few websites and prints displaying my name is certainly incomparable to you, please,” you shrugged, turning in your seat slightly to find a more comfortable position to converse with him, “though I am honored to have you know me.”

“Well, I did end up finding out a bit more about you after that party…” Isagi said as put down his iced drink. An iced tea of some kind, if its color was any indication. While your attention shifted slightly towards his drink, Isagi continued a tad bit too miserably, “…but to think you listen to my comments about your painting like that…”

Isagi’s smile crooked ever so slightly, a teasing tone mingled with one that said ‘How could you?’ as light as it should be for a small talk poking. You raised both of your eyebrows as a reply, smiling, “In my defense, you didn’t ask.”

“Hey, I think I did,” Isagi took a sip from his drink. His right cheek twitched. “I definitely did and you just answered vaguely.”

“Then, you probably asked just as vaguely,” you covered your grin with your hand, poorly playing up a faux misery to cover up your growing mirth, “after all, there is no way for a mere painter and illustrator like me to just brag in front of you, Ace Striker.”

“You are…” taking notice of your insistence, Isagi gave up with a sigh. Then, staring at his drink as if he was remembering that party, he continued, “Still that night…”

Hearing him trailing off, you too recalled the condemning comments you spat out that night. “I was… truthfully I just had some shame with that piece of mine. Pardon my manner,” you reasoned, truthfully unsure of how much of it was true.

“Ah, no, I don’t mean it like that, I mean!” Isagi hurriedly added, “I mean, yeah, that happened, but if I know it was your painting…”

Isagi seemed to hesitate to continue his words. You did wonder on what he wanted to say, but letting an awkwardness rise when the both of you still clearly wanted to sit in this spot would be in poor taste. Brushing it off with a wave, you attempted to finish the topic at hand with a good note. “As they say, what happened, happened. So, putting all those aside,” you turned your face fully towards Isagi, starting the conversation from the top once again. “What brings you here?”

If Isagi did notice the shift in conversation, he certainly didn’t bother to mask it. His eyes stayed on you for a moment, but after a brief, nearly unnoticeable moment of silence, Isagi replied to you as he took off his cap, putting it down on the table, “I, well, taking a drink, I guess? I’m supposed to meet up with a friend but…”

As your company furrowed his eyebrows despite holding his smile, you scoffed amiably, leaning your cheek on your palm. “Did they cancel out of the blue?” you asked, out of experience,

“Yeah, his girlfriend and something about an urgent matter,” Isagi said in a way that told you whoever this friend was, it wasn’t exactly a surprising thing for that person to pull. You attempted to cover up your pity at that. Isagi, with hair slightly disheveled by his cap, returned the same question back to you. The forced smile etched on his lips visibly softened as he asked, “How about you, though?”

You took one deep breath as you thought up a response. Answering honestly would just bring the two of you back to the very topic you attempted to run away from–your drawing. But, with a sketchbook being opened in broad daylight like this in front of you, lying would be plain stupid.

You held back a groan. Your headache was probably caused by a rotting mind rather than whatever you thought it was before. This conversation had turned into a devil’s loop.

However, still taking proper manners and such into account, you lightly tapped said sketchbook, “As you can see, work, in a way. I need a change of scenery to try and get new ideas. But, as of now… you could say I’m taking a little break.”

It certainly put so many things mildly, but that answer should do. The last thing you wanted to do would be to express your frustration once again and repeat that night with the same person. Therefore, calling ‘this’ a ‘break’ would suffice.

“Ah, I see,” Isagi’s eyes moved to your sketches. Then, they moved between you and those scribbles a more few times, before with a somewhat timid kind of curiosity, Isagi hummed, “Uh, you don’t have to but… mind if I take a look? At those drawings?”

How you wished you could snap that thing shut and run away.

“Sure,” you pushed it towards him. You hoped your hands didn’t shake. Keeping up your demeanor, you added in a joking manner, “But they are still very messy though–” they are a mess “–I hope you won’t mind.”

“I definitely won’t!” Isagi responded with a grin that carried with it a mysterious confidence. He sounded even more sure than you were. As he flipped the book back to its first page, you immediately bit your tongue. You reminded yourself to appear friendly. “I found some of your work online and I really like them!”

A light flutter touched you upon hearing his praise. It did sound genuine, even if you probably would have thought otherwise. Though, probably, if you looked at your older artworks, you could say that it was made with your whole heart at the very least. Unlike most things you had put out recently.

Idly tracing the pencil you had laid down, you replied, “I’m glad you like them.”

You managed to stop yourself from saying more, somehow, despite the bitter words already hanging at the exit of your mouth. Pushing those words aside, you eventually decided to continue to follow the lines on the pencil’s body once again, feeling the familiar and artificial smoothness on it.

“Woah,” Isagi gaped quietly, turning the pages slowly. You took notice that it was pages of still life studies you did. Just from the number of details on them alone, it was apparent they had been made some long time ago–before the overwhelming weight that made the task of simply opening your sketchbook unpleasant came into your days. There was no way you could muster enough will to put in that much effort.

You stared at those sketches deeply, wondering if you enjoyed making them then. Under your own breath, you murmured, ”Those stuffs, eh…”

“You really are amazing…” Isagi praises easily as he continues to flip through the pages, mouth agape slightly as if your drawings truly were masterpieces. “You are so good.”

Truthfully, the more praise you heard, the more you wondered how you should react. Donning on faux gratitude and humor felt wrong. It truly did lighten your heart to hear it. Hearing that someone spared even a second to appreciate something you make has always been nice. But, even so–

Those drawings were from a time when drawing was easy and filled with love. The you who had walked past that time and looked back at it with nothing but envy had no right to accept those praises. In a way, perhaps you never did deserve those praises.

Many people deserve that title of a ‘pro’ more. They who draw better than you could ever hope to be, they who love drawing much more deeply than you.

You, who dared to say you were in love with your craft once before falling silent this soon–

You have no right to accept those words.

Your fingers drew to a pause, you put a second of consideration before deciding to put that pencil back into your back. “You praise me too much,” you replied, thankful for his kind words nonetheless. However, still unwilling to dwell too much on your drawing, you tried to shift the focus towards Isagi once again, “Also, I’m a bit curious, but do you mind if I ask something?”

“Hm?” Isagi’s head lifted up slightly, removing his attention from your sketchbook for a moment. “Sure, I think. What is it?”

“I thought soccer practice is an everyday thing for pros like you. Are you on break?” you asked casually.

“You could say that,” Isagi said, “two weeks off for a bit before we go back to the usual.”

“I see…” you noted down. Then, the memory of a video you watched a few days ago came to the surface of your mind for the second time. It was a video you played to fill the background silence at your studio, however the cheers of crowds and the close-ups of Isagi Yoichi’s face were played enough times to have an impression of their own. “Still, seeing how hotblooded and passionate you are on the field, I would have thought you would be practicing alone instead of drinking coffee…”

“Wha–” Isagi, unexpectedly, spluttered at your sudden statement.

You blinked. Your hand flew to cover your mouth the moment you realized what you just muttered out loud, “Oh my–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude–”

“No, no! It’s fine!” Isagi shook both of his hands quickly. The two of you truly were lucky that no one paid attention to your interactions or it would be embarrassing–you noted, your face turning as if you just sucked on something sour. “I mean, I usually kind of do? It’s just, a break is necessary sometimes, you know–those stuffs. And really, it just surprised me for you to say that out of the blue so…aha ha ha…”

As the blue-haired male laughed bashfully, you couldn’t help but to follow it with a hesitant guffaw of your own. Letting the sudden jolt between the two of you dissipate, you soon added, “I truly do mean it as praise, though. Even someone who doesn’t know anything about soccer like me couldn’t help but admire you when you play.”

While you were very much aware of how you worded it out like mere flattery, you truly did mean every bit of your word. Even through a screen, watching a play of something that felt worlds away from yours, seeing someone putting on such a wide victorious grin and focused gaze was a ‘something’. Three days ago, seeing that replay in the silence of your own room, sitting right in front of a blank canvas, it truly was a sight.

“Your dedication and such… I will call you a talented genius, but it was definitely more than that…” you vividly remembered how his eyes shone within those footages. Even outside of the field, the glint that stole your breath that day still held itself across his blue eyes that were right in front of you. “...you are a sight to behold, Isagi Yoichi.”

Isagi’s mouth hung open. Nervously, he rubbed the back of his neck as it morphed into a bright smile–boyish, bashful, yet full of pride that you had come to associate with him after watching that match. And, you supposed, after watching the proof of his hard work, he truly deserved to feel that pride.

“Thanks,” Isagi said, saying your name quietly in gratitude. His eyes escaped towards your sketchbook for a moment, “I think I could say the same about you too, though, you know.”

You blinked. “...Huh?”

“That painting that night and all these sketches,” Isagi continued to flip through the sketchbook, finally arriving on the messiest page of all, yet still looking at it as if it was worthy of something beyond a series of unfinished scribbles and less, “I’m no expert at paintings and drawings too, but I could feel how much of your heart and seriousness you put in it.”

“... is… that so…?” you did not expect to hear such praise. Was it a praise?

Was trying to put your all enough when it amounted to nothing eventually?

When it turned out to be meaningless and–

“Your drawings–” Isagi faced towards you, leaning forward slightly as his eyes crescented, a genuine and sincere glimmer still carrying itself in them, “–I really like them!”

For once, you stilled as you listened to Isagi Yoichi’s compliment.

It was simple and, undoubtedly, very subjective. There was no praise on how he understood it nor on how he thought everything came together. You wondered if this was because you hadn’t heard or tried to seek any opinion of your drawings for a while. Or perhaps it was because you drowned every single one of them with your own comparison and sentiments. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. However, you knew that it stilled you because–

It was simply an ‘I like them’.

For once, however, you couldn’t feel any disgust towards yourself or your drawings coming up. Your brain couldn’t come up with any reason or anything–it stayed silent, as you could only nod and utter out a quiet acceptance. When push comes to shove, who were you to discredit a feeling of ‘liking’?

“...thank you, Isagi,” you nod, looking away back to the window across you with a smile you knew was too shaky and big, feeling lightheaded and flustered, “I’m glad you like them.”

The cafe was bustling and Isagi had returned to your drawings, smiling even as he replied to you with a relaxed manner, “Same to you!”

Yet again, you found yourself unable to reply to that. Letting the conversation died there somehow felt right, oddly enough. Your shoulder relaxed as you took a deep breath once more. In the back of your mind, the grating weight was still there and you knew it would come back much sooner than you hoped it to be. But, for that moment, it was enough.

Sitting next to Isagi Yoichi–whose fervor had gained your respect–who praised you with such sincerity, it was enough for you to think that at that very moment–

It is okay for you to draw, despite everything.

Isagi turned to the next page as you stayed silent, finding yourself only being able to stare blankly at the air between the two of you. “Ah,” Isagi came to a pair of blank pages, clean and unblemished by anything.

“It seems you reached the end, Isagi,” you lightly said, offering a hand to take back the book.

“Yeah,” Isagi closed it and took it to your hand with a satisfied look, “thanks! It was great!”

“...you really praise me too much,” you repeated once more, this time acknowledging how it felt lighter to say it. “However, thank you. I’m glad you like those studies and idea roughs.”

“...studies…? …roughs?” a pair of blue eyes looked at you in confusion, the owner clearly blurting those words out of question and unfamiliarity.

You couldn’t help but to laugh at that, “The drawings you have seen. They are studies and roughs. An observation drawn on paper and… a messy note of ideas in drawing form, I suppose.”

“Oh–I see, I think I got it!” Isagi said, brightly in understanding, before then shifting slightly in his seat and taking a sip from his drink. “I never heard of those terms before–or maybe I just forgot it after high school, haha…”

You chuckled in sympathy. “It’s okay. I barely remember any rules of soccer either. I do know you can’t use your hand unless you are a goalkeeper, but other than that, I don’t think I even know what offside is.”

With faces turned towards each other, you could clearly see Isagi’s eye crinkling in humor. It was a good look on him, you noted. The lines of laughter on someone’s face always have their own charm visually, you know after all these years, however, it truly suits his face.

“Then, should I tell you?” Isagi offered, quiet rhetorically as he didn’t miss a bit to continue, “So, basically it’s–”

VRRRRT–

Which he would if it wasn’t for the sudden sound of vibration coming from his pocket. Both you and Isagi glanced down. Isagi made an apologetic face that was jumbled along with a grimace and a subtle irritation, earning a nod and an amused smile from you.

Another deja vu. It seemed like that this meeting would end soon too, you thought silently, vacantly looking at the empty pages in your hand. It didn’t feel good. The empty pang where you knew excitement should thrum was still very much there. It still felt like a hole that was simply there to make you suffer.

But, for once, it didn’t feel as terrible as it usually was–you noted. Perhaps, you could fill those pages with something ‘likable’ soon enough.

“Hey, yeah. It’s me. What is it, man?” Isagi picked up the phone with a tone much more casual than the one he used with you. A bit rougher and clearly more impolite too, you realized. “Huh? What–suddenly? Dude. Come on you just dipped out on me–you can’t just–”

You looked away as Isagi seemed to get exasperated not long into the phone call. Remembering your empty cup of coffee, you wondered if you should order another drink or perhaps move on, either back home or somewhere for dinner. You would definitely have to turn back to your work, though, either way. Your teeth felt like biting your tongue ever so slightly at that reminder, though you probably should indeed go home.

However, before that, you did feel like you had to do something beforehand.

Peering over at the phone Isagi’s hand, you wondered how should you go over it.

“Um,” Isagi called out your name, breaking your trance, wearing a description of ‘feeling bad’ on the scrunch of his face, “I’m sorry but that friend of mine…uh, he kinda turns back with his girlfriend and needs me, so…”

“Take it easy, it’s okay,” you hummed in understanding. Isagi wore an obvious guilt on his face still, however, so you added, “Really. While I do pity that I won’t get an explanation from Master Ace Striker himself, I was grateful for our chat. Thank you for humoring me.”

He chuckled at that, “Come on, no need to be that formal. I enjoyed it all too–oh. Wait.”

As Isagi cut himself short, quickly clicking through his phone, you let him be for a moment. You took the chance to put your sketchbook in your bag and scanned over the table for any of your belongings left. From the corner of your eye, you saw a quirk placing itself on Isagi’s lips.

“But, since we already looked each other up,” relaxed and friendly he offered his phone to you, unlocked and displaying the contact screen, Isagi did what you felt like you should do in your stead. “Mind exchanging our number so I can explain about ‘offsides’ and other rules to you through text?”

You were very glad your head had cooled down, or it would be terrible. Is Isagi the friendly oblivious type who doesn’t realize this sort of thing could be translated as flirting? Or it is? Or perhaps, you were simply getting too many things over your head after a few praises.

“Sure, I was about to ask you for the same thing,” you took his offer gladly, admitting your prior intent easily. Accepting his phone, you punched your number in and quickly returned it. “I will look forward to that offside explanation and the other kinds of stuff too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Explain some art stuff to me too later, ‘kay?”

“Oh. An exchange of information? How transactional.”

“I don’t mean it like that! But… yeah?”

The two of you emitted a simultaneous small laugh, for some reason. Quieting the tickle in your mouth, you shook your head, “I’m joking. I will look forward to another talk with you. It was insightful.”

Isagi’s lips turned into a shape that spelled out amusement in its equal crooked and wry curve. However, just right before he was about to open his mouth, his smile slipped along with the resounding vibration from the device in his hand. Isagi let his mouth hang open for a moment, before finally grimacing, “...well, I should go.”

Never taking your eyes off him as Isagi stepped off his stool, you nodded. “You should. I will be off soon too. Be careful and good evening, Isagi.”

“Then… good evening to you too,” Isagi said as he took backward steps towards the exit, confident and controlled enough as if he could see what was behind him clearly, “I’ll see you around.”

You raised a little wave that was more of a jest than anything, bidding him a farewell, “See you.”

And with that, Isagi turned around swiftly, a slight bounce pushing his first step forward as he went for the door. You were about to take your eyes off him right as he stopped in his rush all of a sudden, turning towards you once again.

“Oh, also–” Isagi said, a bit louder and ignorant to a few glances thrown his way, “–good luck with the idea hunting. Don’t push yourself too hard, ‘kay?”

prev. ; series masterlist. ; next

a.n.: and the second chapter is done!!! it definitely took longer than i thought, haha. maybe i should publish the outtakes for giggles hoho;;; but things are finally moving and looking up. and as a disclaimer, i want to remind you that everyone's burnout is different & this fic will never be the perfect portrayal of those experiences. but, if you are in a slump or a burnout, i wish you a good time soon :3 thank you for @doobea for beta reading this too ;;; this thing wouldn't end up being as coherent as it is without u ily;;;; all in all, i hope you enjoyed this chapter :> please do look forward to the next one, i will look forward to any kinds of feedback & thoughts u may have hehe <3 once again, thank you for reading!

taglist: @doobea @mariyumemi @intheewrld @lazysublimeengineer @coquettemaiden @kreishin @yoisami @takotakigum @themigrainegirll **bolded and italicized means i cannot tag you. please do contact me in case you want to be added or taken out of the taglist :>

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see-arcane · 1 year ago

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I figured I should interrupt everyone's dash for some notes on current real life things.

This is a hefty one, so I'm tucking everything below:

A little good news. As of this writing, I’ve sold 74 copies of The Vampyres, in eBook and paperback! That’s 74 more than I thought I would ever sell! Thank you to everyone who picked up a copy or asked your library to grab some. Especially when I know I haven’t been the most stellar self-marketer. I can’t remember the last time I opened the septic tank formerly known as Twitter, so it’s all been down to this little corner here and a skinny appearance in Goodreads. Which means I owe any attention this short and sinister tale has received to you all and plain old word-of-mouth.

That said, thank you x100000 to you and any new readers yet to take a look. (And doubly so for those of you who go out of their way to leave comments and reviews around for me to reread ad infinitum.)

For those not in the know, all the info on The Vampyres can be found here, and all my author odds and ends can be found on my website here.

On a less heartening note…

As I’d already expected, the market for career writers is…rough. Copywriting—and writing in general—is technically a big open field (full of caveat descriptions about having to work with/teach AI programs to eventually swallow your job)! Tons of open positions! Most of which either pay you in pocket change while you’re working full time or expect you to singlehandedly run the entire marketing of a business for slightly more pocket change. Everything else is bloated with contract and/or freelance work*.

*Read: Gig economy schlock trying to pass for an actual job position with payment being a coin toss. I’ve also seen one too many listings on the job boards that are volunteer positions. Plenty of exposure to rake in though, right? Ha. Ha ha.

I’ve still been applying like clockwork, same as the rest of my fellow creators trying to get by in a field that seems to actively punish trying to be a professional in said field, and still no bites further than an interview. I have years of experience and a degree, but everyone’s chasing the same crumbs, so. Yeah. I’ve got to start padding things out.

Reminder that I do have a (barely peddled) Ko-Fi. It’s there for art commissions and chucking a few spare bucks at. Which is an increasingly big ask these days, I know. You can’t scroll two posts down without hitting someone else’s Ko-Fi, Patreon, GoFundMe, Kickstarter, et cetera. We’re drowning in arting starvists here. And although I have been asked before whether I would consider going full Freelance Storywriter on top of selling art, I’m still a little hesitant on it. I do occasionally send out story submissions and have even gotten published a few times, but I get nauseous thinking about:

1) Putting up a paywall on the scribbles that assail me like a baseball bat wielded by an unmerciful Muse. 2) Putting up a ‘Stories for Sale!’ sign only to wind up disappointing prospective buyers because I didn’t do their blorbos justice even after researching X background for the piece. 3) Getting duped into being a nonconsenting ghostwriter and discovering someone else has published my work under their own name.

So, still a bit iffy on that. I’ll chew on it. But what else is left?

Before you click the button!

Stop!

NOT YET!

Before you click, please know that I am being serious about this as something to potentially make 1) something of good quality and 2) earn more money than it loses. Looking around at the merch-making/selling options, there are fees involved with making an account just about anywhere in the online store game, give or take the price tweaking needed for shipping and manufacturing blah blah blah.

With that in mind, please do not automatically hit ‘yes’ because you want to be nice. I appreciate it, but this isn’t the same thing as the Ko-Fi where there’s no real loss in just leaving it up and drawing something once every few months. This will take new designs, another subscription to pay for, more logistics to untangle for quality and pricing and all the rest of the mess. Only hit ‘yes’ if you, personally, genuinely, would like to purchase some nefarious See Arcane wares beyond a book or a digital drawing.

#heaviest sigh #rolling back into my coffin #the vampyres #my art #my writing #ko-fi #merchandise #(in potentia)#dracula #polls

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homestuckreplay · 6 months ago

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Liberty. Reason. Justice. Civility. Edification. Perfection.

(page 1116-1128)

As it turns out, there’s no such thing as a DEAPPEARIFIER. Such a machine is actually called a SENDIFICATOR, and funding for this technology drastically improves the postal service’s ability to carry out their work, as gloriously demonstrated by PM. This machine is presumably why things keep appearing, as well as disappearing, around Jade’s house (p.770).

I shed a real tear when PM successfully delivered the package – it’s only been a few hundred pages since her first mail spiel (p.894-6), but AR’s erratic shooting and the clear danger of the current situation mean this still feels like an earned victory. There is a song called ‘The Courier’ by Richard Shindell that I’ve been obsessed with for years and this is PM’s theme song to me. I’m actually so taken with this broader theme of mail and with this drive to carry information and items between people even in a world that’s not set up for it, that I want to explore other media that has this theme, and maybe even base my next D&D character around this.

Thinking about AR’s characterization, they’re mad at themself for shooting incorrectly, bonking themself on the head for it (p.1119) meaning they are not above their own laws. This doesn’t make them less dangerous, but it makes their moral code more consistent. The same is true with their attraction to PM – AR has this urge towards forbidden romance with the opposing side, but isn’t going to make a legal exception even for this carapaced hottie. AR is also extremely stubborn and doggedly convinced of things that are factually untrue – for example, they ‘don’t give a shit about’ their weapon being magazine-fed and not clip-fed (p.1101), they think of themself as a ‘crack shot’ despite not landing a single bullet (p.1119), and they think Serenity is a ‘little blinking bee’ (p.1122).

I think black and white thinking, strict ideals and no mercy for those who disrupt them, have to be more traits programmed into all chess pieces (for all its intellectual complexity, chess does not have much nuance to its lore). So this next part might be a reach and might be confirmation bias, but I wonder if these folks have similarities to the kids they command. WV was socially inept at first, prone to flights of fancy, and not great at prioritizing, which are also some of John’s flaws. PM is focused on her delivery tasks to the point of putting herself in danger, and Jade is behaving similarly as she harpoons herself across the ruins and evades Bec’s protection to deliver the time bait as per Skaia’s will. AR’s stubbornness and refusal to question their own biased perspective could fit with either Dave or Rose, but their immediate resorting to violence is a better fit for Dave – the kid who was so mad about being named ‘insufferable prick’ that he destroyed the input box (p.310).

Pretty fucked up that WV just sacrifices one of his pawns. One of his beloved citizens, martyred for the cause. Pour one out for- shit nevermind wrong phrase.

One complaint: there is no possible way WV and PM have read Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff. Even if they could access it from their command terminals – and I do NOT believe Skaia has programmed that functionality – they do not exist in the right cultural moment to appreciate the humor. When the narrative text references SBAHJ during the kids’ sections (for example, p.915) it works for me, because it’s an actual thought they might be having. It doesn’t work for me here on pages 1123-4, because the narrator’s inserting it where it wouldn’t naturally fit, using SBAHJ to distract me from the much better comic I’m currently reading.

UNLESS. I have been interpreting the scribbly pages like 1118 and 1124 (above) as Jade’s understanding of events upon waking, the way a dream that seems perfectly crisp and clear while asleep becomes vague and blurry after waking up. Again likely a reach, but I could buy that the SBAHJ is Jade editorializing on her own visions as she creates this note and draws the map for WV and PM to follow. That feels neater to me, at least.

> AR: Shoot at bass guitar to repair elevator.

#homestuck #reaction #demons souls north american release october 6 2009 #file under: references ive wanted to make previously and not been able to #man i love pm so so so much #chrono #Spotify

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lilithxmoon · 4 months ago

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Because I got asked about the lore of my campaign…

Here is a bit of said lore

(Please note: I created this world and it’s lore all on my own for fun, I’m not a professional story-writer or anything :,) )

I guess it’s best to start at the very beginning, before jumping straight to somewhere within my currently running campaign…

So-

Here is my campaigns universe;

This is ‘Lactea’, or, also/more commonly known as ‘Point of Creation’.

They are the center of my campaign universe. (Side note: I run multiple campaigns and all worlds basically exist within this universe)

Lactea is less of a person/god and more of a concept… their appearance can change and is never set in stone… these drawings are just ways I like to imagine/depict them myself. (Side note number two: the first of two drawings were actually created together with two of my players! We just used a website in order to all draw together on one piece… I loved seeing their interpretation of Lactea, after seeing my drawings)

Because of that, I don’t really care what pronouns etc one uses for Lactea. I myself switch their pronouns up every now and then, because I can never really decide which ones I find most fitting lol.

—————

(Very old notes from when I first started conceptualizing my campaigns universe) (some ideas have slightly changed since then, but I thought it would be fun to include the beginnings)

(Please ignore any spelling mistakes, these notes where just ideas I scribbled down when I first got the idea)

Lactea is a being created from consuming all that came before them… It’s not really something they did/do by choice, this is just how they were formed.

In this universe, gods are stars. Once a god is created/someone would rise to godhood, they would become a star, watching over the planets and bestowing believers/followers with gifts, nurturing the planets etc…

When Lactea came into existence, they consumed everything around them. Every old world, every star. The stars around them (aka gods) were what they needed to consume to be born. To even fully come to existence.

Lactea was born after everything around them got consumed by them, they were born into an empty void basically… and while they were able to create new worlds and magic, they couldn’t create any new gods, as they would immediately get consumed by Lactea (this is something out of Lacteas control)

Lactea is a quiet observer if you will. They don’t interfere with the worlds they’ve created and don’t show themselves, even when giving spell-casters and other magically attuned creatures access to their magical powers.

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I guess that’s it for my first dnd lore post :)

Thank you to everyone who has read this far and thank you to all the kind comments and re-blogs! I’ve always been more of a quiet watcher on tumblr, than an active poster… so this is very new for me.

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Btw-

I’m also still working on fully fleshing out a language that is spoken across the planets within this universe (basically a replacement for ‘common’ as language)

It has its own grammar-rules and alphabet etc… (but like I said… it’s still a work in progress)

#digital art #dnd5e #dungeon master #dnd campaign #dungeons and dragons #my art #Lactea #the point of creation #lilithxmoon #dnd homebrew #hombrew campaign

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screamintoad · 7 months ago

Text

Lost Souls

Chapter Ten

A time long forgotten

A piece of a blue gemstone fell to the ground in front of a young girl. She gently picked it up and examined it in her hands. Her dark hair fell in front of her face but, a pale hand brushed it back behind her ear. “This is a weird rock, sir.” She stated. The girl turned to see a cloaked person sitting beside her. She blinked and there perched was a white crow. “It is not a rock, Laserie. It is one of the Gods Shards. That one in particular, can be used to speak to gods.” The crow explained.

Laserie’s eyes replicated the night sky as they widened with marvel. “That’s incredible. Do you speak to gods?” She wondered. The crow chuckled, its echoey voice replied, “Well, yes. Because I am one.” It shifted back to its more human appearance. It held out its hands to show off 5 more shards, each one a different bright color. Laserie pointed to them, “The stories say there are only 5 shards.” She said. The god nodded, “It is for the safety of this world, but as a founder it is you and your brother’s duty to know the ways of this world.” The girl pursed her lips, “Alius says that we have a duty as well, but…we’re still trying to figure out how this world works.” The god made the shards vanish, except for the one that Laserie was holding. “Who are you?” She asked. “They call me,”

“The Keeper and The Narrator.”

*****

The sun has finally risen. Émeric stood awake while Karissa rested under a tree. Wynter sat on a boulder not far away from them. Lying in his lap was a worn down journal. Its pages were yellowing and frayed, the leather bounding was starting to wear down, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to part with it.

The horse was still with them. It lowered its head down to sniff at Karissa’s hair. “Hey.” Émeric called to it, it raised its head to look at him, “Don’t look at me like that. That’s not food.” He chastised. Wynter chuckled at his poor attempt to talk to the animal.

Émeric side eyed him, “Was that a laugh? Were you laughing at me?” He directed to Wynter who was covering his mouth, “No no, I merely found the scene funny.” “Mhm.” Émeric hummed. He walked over to Wynter to see what he was writing. On the pages were scribbled notes of the details from the past few days. “You bring that journal everywhere with you.” Émeric pointed out. Wynter nodded, “I…don’t like forgetting things. I actually need to get or make a new one.” He closed the journal and held it up to show all the details on it. Émeric looked at it for a moment before walking off.

His sigils began illuminating a deep red as dual daggers materialized in his hands. He flipped them in his hands and started doing various movements. Wide swings, plenty of footwork, always shifting which side he struck the air with, it wasn’t textbook perfect work but it was enough for him. The sound of a flock of birds flying out of the trees made him pause. He looked at Wynter who was staring off worldly into the trees. “We need to go.” Wynter stated. Émeric nodded.

Wynter jumped to his feet and paced over to Karissa. He leaned down and shook her awake, trying to ignore the way his hands shook. She rubbed her eyes from being shaken awake, “Everything alright?” Her voice drawled from tiredness. “We need to get moving.” “Right…” Wynter helped her up to her feet as Émeric gathered up their belongings and the horse.

More hours passed but finally the group could see the mountain range that Arianrdom is located in. “Mountains…is Arianrdom close?” Karissa asked. She was riding the horse now while the other two walked. “In a way. It’s situated in those mountains but it’s not as close as it seems and getting in may be difficult.” Émeric explained. “Because of the location?” Karissa inquired. “And the people. They tend to be more organized than the nomads but they’re less open for discussion.” He replied. “Arianrdom is originally a military fortress from war-faring days, ‘The Unbreakable’, it was called. But it has grown to be a town and home for folk from many walks of life, primarily arial.” Wynter explained.

Karissa nodded along as they made their way down the hill. “Is that why you trusted Zyrian so quickly?” She wondered. Wynter shook his head, “I recognized him.” He answered flatly. Karissa used her hand to cover her eyes from the bright sun. “Open for discussion isn’t how I would describe the nomads.” She commented. Émeric shook his head, “That was nothing. I merely handled it poorly. If Lariat hasn’t let Arianrdom know of the plan then you might need to get in on your own in the beginning.” Karissa’s face dropped for a moment. She understood why, they were ghouls after all. But, nothing has gone right thus far so she hopes that this will at least go well.

Her curiosity won. “What is the commander like?” She wondered. She noticed the way that Wynter glanced at her before returning his gaze straight ahead. “Honestly? Tough, in a… caring way. She basically raised me, yet she has her position for a reason. She taught me everything I know, she’s like a mom to me.” Wynter explained. “Do people like her?” Wynter’s face twisted like he tasted something sour. “That…depends on who you ask. The ghouls in her military like her. Whereas pretty much everyone else, does not.” Karissa clumsily dismounted off the horse. “She sounds like an interesting person. Or actually just kinda scary.” She was caught by surprise when she heard the sound of a stifled laugh. “Are you laughing?” She asked. “No!” Wynter explained. “That was definitely a laugh.” Émeric joined in. “Nothing is funny.” Wynter attempted to defend himself. “But-“ “I didn’t laugh!”

*****

The land was gray and windless. “I have a proposal.” Desdemona’s dead voice spoke up. Below her lay a woman’s body. Its skin was a shade of blue, the black hair long and thin. “You don’t say!” A breathy voice rang out. “I can give you a second chance at life.” No reply came for a moment. “What is the cost?” The voice asked. “You work for me.” Desdemona replied simply. “Lend me your abilities and time when we ask. As well as…”

“Your life.”

*****

Rosary woke up in a cold sweat. She gasped and shot up in the bed. “Welcome back.” Lariat greeted her with a monotonous tone. “…Back.” Rosary mumbled, “Lariat. Did I…” she turned to see Lariat sitting on a chair across from the bed. The room was warmly lit from the various candles and lanterns around. “Get struck down by the Blood Reapers? Yes.” Lariat answered. “I died again.” Rosary muttered. “You did. Desdemona brought you back. We both knew that you alone wouldn’t have been enough to deal with them.” Rosary examined her hands, a hint of fear was in her eyes. “I can still be useful.” She stated. Lariat nodded, “You don’t get that choice. You WILL be useful.” She specified. Rosary’s laugh was raspy.

She looked down and noticed she was wearing a simple nightgown. “If my clothes didn’t make it then I highly doubt that my weapons did.” She commented. Lariat nodded again, “Be grateful, most come back without anything and are told to deal with it.” Rosary rolled her pearlescent eyes at the statement. She grazed her fingers along her forehead where she was shot by the arrow. She sighed, “If only there wasn’t such a nasty scar.”

The scar in question was in the shape of a jagged star and the flesh was a dark and murky shade. “Desdemona and Thornsdottir want a word with you.” “Of course.” Rosary retorted. She stood up, with a groan while she stretched. “One of them was your boy, correct?” She asked regarding the Blood Reapers. Lariat’s face hardened into a glare, “No.” a stern reply.

A knock at the door drew their attention. “Come in.” Lariat announced. The room went cold as Desdemona walked in, followed by Thornsdottir. Rosary’s heart dropped as she thought they were standing outside of the door listening in on them talking. “I see you’re finally up.” Desdemona commented. “About time as well. Many things have happened since you…went down.” Thorndottir interjected. Desdemona’s eyes sharpened, “Is this how you will present yourself to the Life Weaver?” She questioned with an accusatory tone. Rosary looked at her gown again before winking, “If it wants me to~” Desdemona glared and held up her hand as claws formed where her nails would be. Lariat rushed forward and smacked Rosary upside her head. “Alright that’s enough from you. Don’t worry, I’ll find her a proper outfit.” She assured her. Thornsdottir scoffed, “None of you are understanding how dire the situation is.” Lariat deadpanned, “You’re correct. You being at perfect kicking height is a dire situation.” Rosary clasped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. Desdemona’s mouth fell agape as Thornsdottir slowly turned more and more red. Fueled with anger he stomped out of the room.

*****

Red soul strings intertwined around Eskilea’s hands. Garnet lay on a cot unresponsive. His body was alive but, he wasn’t alive. Eskilea shook her head in defeat, “The strings are damaged. I can’t get him to respond. The body is stable but I don’t think he’ll be able to recover without…help.” Luca tsked as she listened. “You can use soul magic can’t you? Aren’t you meant to do miracles?!” She reprimanded. Eskilea remained straight faced, “You used a crystal umbra bullet. It’s meant to disrupt the strings, not the body. I can only heal the body.” She explained. Luca threw her arms in exasperation. “Well then, what can heal soul strings? If not you or something else?!”

Stood beside the makeshift door, gears began turning in Zyrian’s head. “Your umbra.” He spoke up, “Can you reverse it?” He wondered. “Reverse? I lost my eyes to be able to use soul magic. I am not a soul reaper, and even so I only know of one that’s capable of that. Where did you hear about it?” Eskilea asked. Zyrian avoided looking at her as he answered, “I…I read about it. In an old archive. Reversed umbra can repair actual soul strings, can it not?”

Eskilea struggled to find an answer. “Well-yes but it’s nearly impossible to-“ “Who’s the soul reaper that can?” Luca interrupted her, “The one who can do…whatever it is. Where can I find them?” She interrogated. Eskilea scoffed, “What don’t you understand? You CAN’T.”

“Where can I look for them?”

“Luca…” she spoke her name like a warning.

“You wouldn’t have mentioned it if you didn’t think there was a chance.” Luca’s lip quivered but she bit it. She exhaled then continued, “If this is the only way for me to get my father back, then tell me what I need to succeed.” She was almost pleading but she couldn’t show weakness. Especially not now. Eskilea sighed, “You won’t find him in Ru’an. But the mountain guard might have more information on his whereabouts.” She explained. “Arianrdom.” “Yes.” Luca didn’t take a second to answer, “Then that’s where I’m headed.” Zyrian cut in now, “Then I’ll go with you!” He offered her a toothy smile. She had an almost disgusted look, “Don’t slow me down. Don’t get in my way. Get ready to leave immediately.” Zyrian’s eyebrows creased. “Eh hem,” he coughed into his hand. “I believe that you’re forgetting something.” He held out his arms to show off his wings, “I can fly.” Luca looked at him up and down, the longer she looked the more nervous he got. “My points still stand.” She finally said. Zyrian clicked his tongue, “M’kay off we go, I guess.” It was at this point that he began thinking, he will probably regret everything leading up to this.

#lost souls #original story #original writing

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