#what a character. somethin wrong with him (affectionate) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chil2de · 4 years ago

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bestie, you gotta give us some kinky gojo sooner or later😤

i actually haven’t written gojo for months but— bestie i hope this was kinky enough for you😳😳 i can always take it up a notch [wink wink]

readmy disclaimerrr <3 thanks enjoy

also: i vibe with second year gojo more than i do present gojo but, that would make him 16-17 so lets bump him to a third year, thanks!

w.c: 1.5k / characters: 8.5k (incl spaces)

icy cold and curious fingertips easily curl around your waist, padded digits carefully kneading the delicate skin underneath your uniform. your head snaps to face gojo, who only passively stares past you and outside the window at the cityscape whizzing by.

“satoru—“ you grit through your teeth, swatting his prying fingers away from you. he hisses a meek sigh of hurt, cooing at you through his plush lips.

he leans down to whisper in your ear. pretension drips in his tone and you can feel the heavy weight of his grin flash against you.

“come on now, baby girl. don’t tell me you were all talk earlier.” he hums, tone low and rich. it sends acid bubbling in your stomach, throat clogging and ears ringing.

“we’re on a train, you fool. can’t you wait until we get home?” you snap at him, turning to face the doors of the train. you wiggle out of his inviting and enticing touch, opting to wrap your hand around a nearby handle for some support.

his large and calloused hand wraps around yours. he’s adamant about this.

gojo’s toned chest collides against your spine. you can feel the brush of his dick print heavy on his jet black uniform. he rests his jaw on your shoulder, tinted shades sliding down to the bridge of his nose. you meet his azure stare in the reflection of the door and he gives you a small smirk, free hand traversing underneath your arm to give your breast a small squeeze.

“so what if there’s people on this train? no one’s in this cart right now.”

it would be a miscalculation to say that it took you less than a second to melt into gojo’s coaxing words. you may always try to believe that you’re the more mature partner in your relationship, but you’re equally as terrible as he is.

“you’re awful.” you snort at him, reaching out behind you to run your fingertips through his soft titanium white locks. his hair has the fresh scent of coconuts laced through it.

“but you still love me.” he hums, trailing the tip of his tongue against your neck. you can’t help but jitter a little at the temperature difference and the cold air that clashes against the wet patches afterwards.

his teeth nibble against the skin there, lightly pulling and tugging. as much as he wants to leave bite marks, he’s not about to deal with infections. he decides to settle for second best and instead works to suck and pull onto your neck. you can feel the slight crackle and static where the small nerves underneath your skin burst.

“don’t look away.” he murmurs, commanding you to keep watching him in the reflection.

gojo’s saliva dribbles down your neck, sliding trails down into your shirt that lies underneath your jacket. your thighs squeeze and rub together as you emit small whimpers. it’s music to gojo’s ears, the way you’re writhing underneath him and pressing up against his cock. it almost makes him want to allow you the thing that you crave so dearly.

“satoru-“ you exhale breathlessly, resolve faltering already.

“swear you were against the idea of us fucking on a train minutes ago?” he drawls, finishing up his masterpiece on your neck.

“s-shut up” you grunt, breaking off the eye contact. you can't stand to see how his eyebrow perks up in mockery, the way he peeks at you through his thick lashes.

gojo grabs fistfuls of your hair, yanking you back with such force that it leaves your eyes glassy.

“you want me to stop?”

you swallow thickly, shaking your head.

“that’s my good girl. open your legs for me, yeah?”

when gojo spins you around before crouching down himself, you’re left with shock and awe painting your features. your lips hang in a wide ‘o’ as you gawk down at him.

“no.” you guffaw.

right here, right now?

he’s still going to tease you, even on a train?

his hands pry your legs open, pretty pale face staring up at you. but holy shit, if he doesn’t look so good like that. for once, you understand why he gets off so much whenever you stare up at him during blowjobs.

he bundles your skirt up, hitching the fabric up before letting out a low wolf whistle. he scoffs, lips tugging into a grin and he glances at you with amusement.

“you’re so fuckin’ cheeky. how long were you prancing around like that?”

he eyes the glistening juices that slick against your cunt, how the viscous liquid paints the inner portion of your thigh. it shimmers in the fluorescent light, clashing against the soft pink tones of your pussy.

“all day, actually.”

at this newfound information, gojo lifts an eyebrow up in concern. his long middle finger prods against the entrance of your cunnie. he presses into it, applying pressure, but never really enough to fully finger you.

“so needy. waiting for my cock all day?”

gojo suddenly dips not one, but two of his fingers deep inside you. you swallow him up instantly, sucking him in and taking his digits down to the knuckle. he’s fucked your pretty little pussy too many times to count, curled his soft fingers and massaged your walls for months. he has no difficulty in claiming your sweet spot, kneading into the spongy crevice there.

he cranes his neck up a little, running his tongue down flat against the length of your cunt. he twirls the muscle around your clit, lapping at the sensitive bud whilst his fingers procure obscure squelching sounds.

you whine a pathetic plea, yanking some of his strands and thus pulling his face forward for more friction. he slips his fingers out, opting to slurp against the entrance of your pussy.

“tastes good, baby.” he hums, seas of deep blue staring up at you. it makes you hiss and jolt, eyebrows furrowing and face contorting.

“satoru- please—“

“hmmm? what is it, princess?”

you can barely afford to mince a sentence together. the way he’s crouched underneath you and feasting on your pussy like it’s the last supper he’ll have leaves you breathless and dizzy.

“your dick-“

“mine? what about it?”

you groan out a fit of frustration, knuckles turn white in his hair. there’s a pout that adorns him as he flinches.

“i want it, you fucking idiot”

“oh? you want my dick? that’s cute, babe. you should’ve just asked.”

“i can’t say no to my little angel.” he gives your pussy one last kiss before straightening himself, clicking the tension out of his neck.

“now then…”

he motions his index in a slight flick, other hand working to unzip himself.

“leg up.”

you reach out behind you, laying your palm flat against the train door to catch your balance. you shakily lift your leg up, allowing gojo to press his hand and hold you by the back of your knee. he groans when his veiny dick springs from its confines, curved shaft slicking against his jacket. the fabric makes him cringe a little, but he doesn’t waste time in aligning himself with your creamy cunt.

gojo guides his throbbing pink tip in, glancing down to watch how your pussy wraps and folds around his cock. it’s always been one of his favourite sights.

your head tilts and jaw falls slack at the initial push of his head. your thighs tremble and chest heaves as his dick fills you up and snaps into place like a jigsaw piece. there’s that vein on the underside of his shaft that always drives you crazy.

“so tight. you’re so wet for me. fuck.”

“you little shit, you’re totally into this as much as i am, aren’t you?” gojo grabs ahold of your chin, tilting your face to look at him. his lips briefly clash with yours. he pulls you in, tugging at your bottom lip and circling his tongue against the tip of yours. there’s a thin line of saliva that separates your mouth from his. he tastes faintly bitter yet sweet. it takes a couple of moments for it to click that it’s the taste of your own cunt.

“i know it feels good, but, try not to scream?”

“yeah ri- aah!-ght-“ you squeak, body jolting when gojo pulls himself out before slamming himself right into your g-spot. there’s the loud slap of his balls hitting against your skin, and it’s only a taste of what’s to come.

“you say somethin’?”

“n-no-“

“really? i thought i heard you talk. you tryna say that i’m wrong, then?”

“n-no-“

you’re not sure how he can keep up with the conversation. all you can hear is the garbled static in your mind, the froth that wants to seep out of the corners of your lips. you babble and whine incessantly. every rough slam of his hips sends you even more over the edge, ecstasy and harsh tingles crashing against your body as gojo rearranges your guts. you’ve lost all feeling in the leg that he’s holding up. just watching him fuck you like this is almost enough to make you cum.

you eye the deep blue veins that ride against his pale skin. his long and slender fingertips reach out as he curls one hand around your neck, thumb brushing affectionately underneath your chin. it’s nothing but a warning sign.

“listen to me when i’m talking to you.”

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luninosity · 4 years ago

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Catching up on @evanstanweek ficlets again! Here’s Day 3, prompt: on set.

Read at AO3 here - 2,336 words of on-set love confessions, set during The First Avenger - or read on tumblr below!

Sebastian’s watching Chris. He often is, can’t seem to help the track of his gaze—can’t pull away from the magnet-tug that’s Chris Evans’ loud laugh and gesturing hands and philosopher’s eyes, and if he’s honest he doesn’t want to. Right now the low hazy grey lighting of the broken bar sits on Chris’s shoulders and turns him into a grieving supersoldier: a man hollowed out by loss, left with a gaping hole right through his chest.

Chris is so good. So brilliant at emotion, at getting character. So thoughtful and so generous with his feelings, the kind of bravery that holds nothing back. He is Steve Rogers, through and through: a hero, shining blue and gold.

Sebastian’s not that brave. Not that brilliant. Good at angst and pain, or dry humor, or intensity, maybe; but he’s in character for it. He does love people and stories, and he thinks he’s funny, sometimes, and he thinks he might want to be a writer, sometimes, and he can shove an entire pizza slice in his mouth when he’s comfortable around friends, but.

It takes him a while. Exhaling. Stepping out. Speaking up. He wouldn’t say he’s shy, because he isn’t, not once he knows people. He’s just…not Chris Evans, who wears joys and vulnerabilities openly, with pride, unafraid.

Sebastian looks at Chris, and aches with emotion, and says nothing, every day and every minute on this film so far.

He’s technically done for the day, though he’s not at all done on this film; he’s spent the morning running around with Howling Commandos and being a young and terrified sergeant thrown into war. They’d filmed Bucky’s fall from the train the day before; Sebastian had honestly loved it. The emotion’d been easy: love and loyalty, throwing himself in to fight alongside the other half of his heart, the moment of sheer shock, a small but gloriously physical drop onto thick mats. They’d let him do that one, because it wasn’t a long fall and they needed to see his face. He hoped it’d been good; everyone seemed pleased, at least.

He shifts weight, wishes he had a pillar or a wall to lean on. He watches Chris some more.

They’d caught the stunned disbelief on Chris’s—Steve’s—face at the fall, yesterday. Chris is so incredible at nuance, at blazing emotions, even in a few-seconds-long shot. Sebastian had said, after, “That felt really good, that last take?” and had meant, I think you’re a genius, I think I want to work right next to you forever, I think I love you.

Chris had gotten kind of pink-cheeked because Chris is too damn self-deprecating, and had said, “Oh—um, thanks, man, you too, I mean it felt good to me too, I mean we’re fuckin’ awesome, obviously,” and had nudged Sebastian’s shoulder, somewhere between a punch and a quick resting of a hand. “Craft services? They got blueberry bagels, someone said.”

Chris, bagel-focused, clearly had not heard Sebastian’s internal monologue. And if he had, wouldn’t reciprocate.

Which is fine, of course. Chris never needs to know, and Sebastian’s ridiculous emotions will calm the hell down and go away. Any day now. Sometime. Soon.

But he’s watching Chris, and Chris is pretending to try to get drunk, pain visibly shredding him inside; Chris is Steve and Steve can’t believe it and has to believe it and wants to scream, to shout, to punch a hole through the world—

The scene’s fantastic, of course.

They get it in maybe three takes, rapid-fire, Chris laying out his heart for the watchers. His voice cracks; it’s getting rougher, the third time.

They do it a couple times more for different close-ups. Sebastian takes a step closer, between takes. His boots—he’s changed; they’re his own boots—are louder than he’d recalled that morning; Chris looks over at the sound.

And maybe Chris looks surprised, or relieved, or grateful, for a split second; maybe it’s all in Sebastian’s head, though, because the next second they’re right back into it, capturing Steve’s heartbreak.

It’s a wrap for the scene, eventually. And Chris is done for a few hours too, though he’ll need to stick around; he’s got some close-ups to do inside a mock airplane, being bounced around, for what’ll be the big final self-sacrifice. Sebastian loves the heroism and pain of it; he’s always loved good writing, and he’s got a good feeling about this script and about this universe, which he’s a tiny part of now.

Chris doesn’t get up right away. Just scrubs both hands over his face, shoulders slumped. Hayley Atwell’s gone off to talk to the director; Joe’s nodding, listening to her. Nobody’s checking on Chris.

And that’s wrong, that’s wrong and not good and not right—Chris has just been hurting, the way that Chris hurts for the world, and Chris should never be hurting, not while Sebastian’s alive—

Sebastian’s legs move before his brain makes a conscious decision. He’s picking his way across artistic rubble and taking a few running steps and putting a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Hey.”

Chris actually jumps a little, which isn’t the best start. “Oh! Uh, hey, hi, did you, um…have a question? About Steve and Bucky, or somethin’?” The Boston comes out extra-strong; it does that when Chris is feeling a lot, or tipsy, or simply exaggerating to make someone laugh.

“No,” Sebastian says. “Or, well, yeah, we might want to talk about some of those flashback sequences, so we’re on the same page with emotion and all, but.” He licks his lips, realizes he’s doing it—a nervous habit, one he’s had for years—and stops. He can taste chapstick on his tongue. “I just. Wanted to. I don’t know. Are you…I mean, that looked like a lot.”

“You…” Chris trails off. He’s looking at Sebastian’s face with astonishing intent; Sebastian would say even desperation, but that’d be ludicrous. Chris doesn’t have any reason to feel desperate about him.

He tries, “I know you, um, like tea? Not coffee? We could go grab, um, tea. If you want.”

“Tea,” Chris says, a little blankly. “But you like coffee.”

Sebastian’s starting to get kind of worried, here. “I do, but you gave it up? We could maybe head back to your trailer, and you can, um, relax for a minute, and I can…try to make tea?”

Chris stares at him some more.

“Or not,” Sebastian throws in helplessly.

“Yes,” Chris says. “Yes, yeah, yes—you—fuck. Okay. Jesus, Chris, get it together,” and he even shakes his head like a puppy flinging off water, and Sebastian kind of wants to grin and also scratch his tummy.

Well. Maybe not scratch. He can think of better things to do with Chris’s stomach. Mostly involving his tongue.

And he should absolutely not be thinking of that when Chris needs his help. He sticks out a hand. “To the end of the line? Or at least your trailer.”

Chris looks at the hand, and then takes it, hauling himself up out of the chair. His fingers are large and strong and a little cold, and they squeeze Sebastian’s for just a little too long, as if wanting to hold on.

No. Must be Sebastian’s heart thinking that. Wanting what he can’t have.

He walks with Chris through behind-the-scenes set-ups and teardowns, props and people rushing to and fro, the corners of trailers and the shouts of movie-making going on. The sun’s warm, if light; the ground’s hard beneath his boots. He keeps stealing glances at Chris, who doesn’t seem too talkative. Sebastian’s poor overworked heart wants to take each sensation, each sight and taste and scent of this backstage moment, and fold them up safe deep inside.

Chris is letting him help. That feels like sunshine.

Chris’s trailer’s simple, unpretentious, unfussy; script copies and notes lie scattered around, and he’s got some weights, and some Disney-movie DVDs. Sebastian smiles, because that’s so very Chris: delight in the magic, always.

Chris, still in costume, sits down on his sofa. He breathes out, and looks up. “Thanks.”

“For what? How do I make tea with this?” He’s poking Chris’s electric kettle. He does sort of know how it works, in theory. His mother has an old-fashioned kettle; he’s got fancy coffee-making machinery; he should be able to combine all this knowledge. “Where is your tea?”

“Seb,” Chris says. “I—hang on, does anyone actually call you Seb?”

“Um. Not really? You can. I don’t mind.” He doesn’t. Chris uses last names often, an affectionate Boston-bro shorthand for friendship; Sebastian’s somehow always been Sebastian or Seb, in Chris’s voice. He’s wondered why, though he’s thought maybe Chris just doesn’t feel that close to him. Not deserving of the bro-status.

“You don’t mind, or you don’t like it, and you’re being nice about it?”

“I don’t mind,” Sebastian says, too quickly. “I like it.”

“Sebastian,” Chris says.

“Really,” Sebastian says. “Either. Whatever.”

“Jesus,” Chris says, face back in his hands. “I’m sorry. I just…just tell me if I’m sayin’ something stupid, okay? Please.”

“But you’re not!” Sebastian comes back over to the couch. That damn magnet again. Tugging his bones. “You’re not, it’s fine, we’re good, Chris. I swear. Really.”

Chris doesn’t look up, so Sebastian drops to both knees, right there at Chris’s feet, and tries not to think of all the times he’s wanted to do exactly that. It’s easier not to think of it, right now, because he’s genuinely concerned.

He peeks up at Chris’s face. “Hey. Kinda worried here. Not about you, I mean, about your kettle, it’s got all these buttons, it’s like a rocket ship, I’m afraid if I touch the wrong thing it’ll explode.”

Chris snorts, almost a laugh, and then does look up. His eyes go right to Sebastian’s, so close and so blue; and then all at once he’s moving, leaning forward, one hand reaching out and cradling Sebastian’s head, and then—

They’re kissing. Oh, god, they’re kissing, Sebastian on his knees in front of Chris and Chris bending down to claim him, hand in Sebastian’s hair—

Chris kisses like reprieve, like the release of storms, like the dive into a heated pool on a chilly day: wholehearted, devoted, anxious to lick and taste and plunge into every part of Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian, who’s been kissed before, has in fact never been kissed before, because no other kiss has ever been a kiss, compared to this.

His knees dimly register the hardness of the trailer floor, and his neck’s at kind of an awkward angle, and Chris is still mostly in the Captain America suit. None of that matters. Nothing else matters at all, because Chris wants him and Sebastian’s whole self yearns for Chris, and Chris’s tongue and taste and tug at Sebastian’s hair are all white-hot gloriously perfect.

Chris pulls back almost as abruptly. They’re both breathless; Chris whispers, “Oh, fuck…” and takes his hand out of Sebastian’s hair, but then touches Sebastian’s cheek, cups his face, as if unable to stop touching. “I…fuck…I didn’t…I’m so fucking sorry, I just…”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why’re you sorry?” Sebastian tips his head into Chris’s hand. “I’m not.”

“You’re…not.”

“Chris,” Sebastian says, and then runs out of words. He hopes Chris can see it, can read it, in his eyes. On his face. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Chris reaches out with the other hand too: framing Sebastian’s face now, tender and awestruck. “You mean that.”

“I mean it,” Sebastian says. “But—”

“Oh god,” Chris says, “I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I—”

“No! No, just…are you okay? I mean, from earlier.” Somewhere amid the kissing his hands’ve ended up on Chris’s thighs; apparently they just want to be there, and now rub along Chris’s legs, soothing and caressing and learning all at once. “I mean, I wanted to—”

“To help,” Chris groans. “You came over to help—because you’re the sweetest fucking person I know, god, you’re perfect, Seb, the nicest and the warmest and the best—and I fucking, Jesus, practically mauled you—”

Sebastian cuts that anguished recrimination off by diving forward and getting his mouth back on Chris’s. After some in-depth affirmation, he breathes against Chris’s lips, “Don’t think you’re doing any mauling I don’t like.”

Chris’s eyebrows go up.

“Really,” Sebastian tells him.

“Huh,” Chris says. “Huh. Okay. You—okay.”

“No,” Sebastian says patiently. “Are you okay?”

Chris stares at him, and then bursts out laughing. Mid-laughter, scoops Sebastian off the floor. Flops them both down across the sofa, holding on. “God, you’re incredible.”

“The best, you said.”

“And I mean it. You just make it all…feel better, kind of?” Chris strokes a hand down Sebastian’s back, over his t-shirt. “That’s what it was, earlier. Like…being Steve, losing Bucky, but that’s you, and all at once I was thinking about losing you, and I just felt like…like someone’d dropped me off a train, y’know? Like I’d never get up again.”

“I’m here.” Sebastian wriggles against him. They fit together: bodies pressed close, every piece of them learning each other. He’s half atop Chris, but with one of Chris’s legs tangled through his. “I’m here.”

“I know.” Chris rubs his back again. “And you were there, too. You were right there and I could look up and find you, and it was like I could remember how to breathe. And then you were here, asking about tea and looking at me like—and I just had to kiss you. I want to kiss you. Seb. Sebastian. God, I fuckin’ want—everything. I know it might get complicated, I know we’re in the middle of making a movie, but I can’t not want everything. Together. With you.”

“Well,” Sebastian says, “good to know,” and stretches to kiss Chris again. It’s that simple, if not easy: the future’ll change, but it does that anyway, sprawling out in all sorts of directions. And he thinks it’ll be a good direction, with Chris at his side. “Because I want everything with you too.”

#evanstan #evanstan week #evanstan week 2021 #my fic #chris evans #sebastian stan #such fluff #love confessions

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cycat4077 · 4 years ago

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Reunited

Summary: You reconnect with an old college friend only to find that your past comes back to haunt you. Set during summer 2016 (S17). Pairing: Sonny x Reader Warnings: Mild cussing, some angst, some feelings and dialogue (sorry) Words: 3247 AO3 here

Part 8 of the Changes verse. Masterlist here if you're interested :) (Could probably read as a stand alone fic if you’re not into series.)

A/N: I really wanted to give my main character a friend and ‘Sydney’ popped into my brain. Also, do y'all remember back in 2015 when Sonny said he had an ex at the LAPD? Yeah, me too. So I took the liberty of using it :P Sorry this fic is kind of meh (On a separate note, the pic doesn’t necessarily mean the reader is blonde. I just thought a Sonny hug would be fitting!)

"Sydney?" you question, walking slowly up to the blonde who stands collecting her order at the campus coffee shop.

Immediately she spins on her heels and her face lights up with recognition. "Oh my goodness!" she exclaims, raising her arms to embrace you.

You and Sydney had graduated together from the master’s of education program; she, with a background in English lit and you, in biology. Despite being from different disciplines, you often worked on projects together and used your contrasting perspectives to bounce ideas between brains. As a result, Sydney became a close friend. But, as too often happens when people part ways, life whizzed by quicker than the two of you could stay in touch.

Now however, as you set foot on your new campus for a summer orientation workshop, you are thrilled to see a friendly and familiar face.

"What are you doin’ here, girl?!" she asks with the same enthusiastic energy you remember her for.

"New job!" you reply cheerfully.

"Ahh! That's awesome!" she squeals. "It'll be like old times! I've been in the English department for a few years now and I just love it."

You smile fondly. "I always knew you'd move back here.”

"Yup! You can take the girl outta the city…and all that stuff,” Sydney sweeps her silky locks behind her ear, “but I am surprised to see ‘little miss rural’ out this way!"

You raise your hands and shrug. "Me too! Though, opportunity knocked and I couldn't turn it down. Actually, this is my second teaching gig in Manhattan. I won't name names, but I got booted from my last one when a prof crawled out of retirement." You frown towards the ground, the wound still fresh.

"Bastards," Sydney mumbles under her breath. "That musta been rough, but I'm glad you're on the rebound." She offers you a hopeful smile. "You liking NYC then, since you ended up sticking around?" "It's alright. Different,” you admit. “I just moved in with my boyfriend though and he's slowly but surely converting me."

Sydney lets out another delighted squeal. During your college days she was always trying to get you to date. You told her about your past and she swore to avenge you. Unfortunately, her best efforts involved dragging you to parties and other social events where ultimately you ended up preventing her from making the bad decisions. Still, she cared about you and her genuine excitement over your relationship success makes you realize just how much you had missed her.

"I'm so happy for you! Is he cute? Is he smart? Does he work on campus?" She stretches her neck to look behind you as if Sonny is tucked away nearby.

You chuckle. "Nuh-no. He's an SVU detective. That's how we met actually." Her face falls with worry and you quickly elaborate. "I took a summer job there last year and we just clicked. He's really great." You smile proudly, stopping yourself from bragging Sonny too much.

"Aw, hon, I'm so excited for you!"

"Thanks! Hey, are you still with Geoff?"

"Hell no!" she fires quickly. "Caught that ess-oh-bee sneaking around behind my back so I kicked his ass to the curb. But it’s fine. I'm enjoying the single life and New York has just what I need!"

You smile. Same old Sydney. "Well, I'm glad you're all right and I'm thrilled we're here together! We have a lot of catching up to do! In fact, you should come by our place sometime."

"Absolutely! I'd love that!” she grins enthusiastically. “And that means I'd get to meet the man who swooped my shy science-nerdette off her feet!"

A blush creeps over your cheeks. "Did I mention he's an amazing cook?"

Sydney covers her heart like she's been shot. "You did now! So, I'll be holding you to a meal, you here me?" She glares playfully at you as she backs up towards the door.

You laugh and wave her goodbye. Sydney turns into her smiling self as she spins around and leaves.

-x-

"Wheh!" huffs the blonde standing in the doorway to your apartment. She’s just gotten her first glance at Dominick "Sonny" Carisi, Jr. "Ya didn't tell me he was such a looker!”

You swat her arm playfully. "Down girl."

"Hey there," smiles Sonny as he lumbers towards the front door. He's dressed himself in a pressed shirt and slacks for the occasion and he looks absolutely gorgeous. "I'm Sonny, nice ta meet ya," he continues, extending a hand in greeting.

"Ooh, Staten Island," she remarks, accepting his gesture. "Nice to meet ya too. I'm Sydney."

Sonny chuckles and points out her accuracy with a raised finger. "That Brooklyn I hear?" he counters.

"Sure is!" Sydney releases a laugh that’s as smooth and as charming as she is.

"Come on in," Sonny gestures towards your cozy little apartment. She steps forward, making herself at home just as she would always do when the two of you would visit somewhere new.

The evening transpires with a lovely dinner followed by story swapping, playing catch-up and allowing Sonny and Sydney to get acquainted. As the evening wears on however, an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach.

Of course, it's wonderful to have Sydney back in your life – she’s one of the few people with whom you had allowed yourself to really open up. But as you listen to her and Sonny talk about growing up in the Boroughs, it's hard not to feel just a little out of place. There's so much you don't understand. So much that you don’t share in common with them. The best you can do is smile and nod along as the conversation flows.

Sydney is an extrovert through and through. She converses with others easily and can win them over with her natural charisma. Sonny too has the gift of the gab, and the pair seem to be hitting it off really well.

By now you’ve lost track of what they’re saying, instead listening to your inner voice. It's selfish and petty to be feeling this way, but there's a small part of you that is sad...jealous, you suppose. Maybe Sonny would prefer to have someone who knows what it’s like to grow up in the city surrounded by a bunch of siblings. Someone who is talkative and charming instead of quiet and shy. Not only that, but Sydney is gorgeous, with her luscious blonde hair and winsome smile. She always draws the eye of every person in a room. You don’t resent her for it by any means, it's just that you’ve never been in a relationship when she was around and so you’ve never had to worry about a significant other falling for her.

Were you that insecure about yourself that you could feel this way? That you had to worry your boyfriend, your Sonny, would be swept off his feet? It wasn't fair to either of them. Sydney has always been kind to you and you hate feeling any jealousy towards her. But worst of all, it’s not fair to Sonny. You know he loves you. He doesn't care that you’re not a supermodel and he is genuine when he tells you that you're beautiful. He loves you for who you are…No other guy has ever done that before. And that's why you're so torn up right now. You shouldn't be feeling jealous or worried, yet you are and it makes your stomach churn!

"Doll?" a soft voice startles you from your thoughts.

"Hmm?" you respond, trying to act casual.

Sydney jumps in. "We’re comparing notes on the best hidden gem restaurants around the city and Sonny says you love a little Italian spot in Tribeca.”

"Oh yeah,” you mutter. “Great alfredo."

Sonny’s brow knits, clearly sensing something is off. His blue eyes narrow and lips purse. "It's a bit pricey," he states, putting an arm around you. The action knocks you off balance as he draws you to him. "But I like ta spoil my girl from time ta time." Sonny unleashes one of his signature smiles, squeezing you ever so slightly in hopes of easing whatever seems to be on your mind.

"Aww, you two!" coos Sydney affectionately.

-x-

It's late evening by the time Sydney is thanking you for dinner and heading home. You and Sonny work in silence tidying up after your guest. And in that silence, your mind once again resorts to fabricating nagging thoughts of Sydney and Sonny. Moments are replayed with emphasis on how naturally they seemed to get along. But it’s that same silence which causes Sonny to speak up.

"What's wrong, doll?" he asks, pausing to lean up against the counter.

"Huh?" you reply with confusion.

"Somethin's up. I can tell. You were kinda distant earlier too." It’s not a question; he knows you too well.

"Nothing," you lie, trying to refocus on wiping down the table. How can you admit any of this to him?

"Tell me. Please," he begs, bending his head down to try and meet your gaze.

"I don't know,” you wring the dishtowel in your hands, “it's just…I kind of felt out of the loop sometimes tonight."

"Whaddya mean?" his eyebrows shoot up with concern.

"Well, you and Sydney hit it off so well..." Your voice trails off for a moment before you finally meet Sonny’s blue eyes. "Sydney's beautiful and charming and easy to get along with.”

“And you're not?”

The bluntness of his question hits you like a ton of bricks. “But…but she's from here,” you argue, tears starting to prickle at your eyes. “That's one thing I'll never have in common with you!”

Sonny stares at you in utter disbelief. “Doll,” his voice drops down to a soft note, “that means nothin’. I love that you're from outta town. You're more naive to the city ‘n I can see that there's still things about New York that excites ya. The lights on Broadway or the view of Lady Liberty in the harbor. Your pretty eyes absolutely light up! It’s so easy to get lost in the hustle ‘n bustle, but you remind me to stop ‘n appreciate all the little things too.”

Sonny’s now standing directly in front of you. He grabs your hands in his. “And don't even get me started about havin’ things in common.” A cheerful smile forms on his lips and his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You ‘n I share odd tastes in movies ‘n we're both suckas for nostalgia when it comes ta music. But that's just the tip of the iceberg! The most important thing we share is our values. Family is priority numba one, ‘n you have no idea how long I've waited to meet someone who believes that too. It…it hurts me knowin' that you would ever doubt my love for ya.”

Those words cause you to fall apart and the tears you’ve been holding back trickle down your cheek. You cram your eyes shut, heart aching over the thought of making Sonny feel any pain. At the same time however, he also deserves to know why you still have your doubts.

You open your eyes to a warm hand caressing your cheek. It’s a gentle nudge to have you look at him. You find Sonny searching your features, so you interlace your fingers with his and gently tug him towards the sofa.

Sitting down beside you, Sonny gathers your legs to place atop of his. The closeness makes you feel safe as you mentally prepare yourself to tell all. You take a deep breath and glance up to a loving, encouraging smile pasted across on your boyfriend's features. “Sometimes I get worried that I’ll scare you off,” you tell him.

Immediately he interjects, rubbing your knee soothingly. “That’s nonsense, doll.”

“I know,” you say half-heartedly, “but it’s more to do with my own self-doubt.” Sonny’s expression saddens and he reaches out for your hand. You take it, linking your pinky with his. “Back when I was a biology student, there was this guy taking the same classes as me. He was a year or two older and we got along really well. We shared a lot of common interests. You know, movies and sports and all that stuff. It led us to spend a lot of time together during our free periods. He started doing these little things that seemed so affectionate. For instance, trying to sit tight beside me or asking to hold my hand. He paid me all kinds of compliments and even told me I was beautiful. Needless to say, I fell for him hard.” You pause, fiddling with Sonny’s finger. You had forgotten how much this all hurt to talk about.

Rubbing a hand across your forehead you continue. “One day, I worked up the courage to ask him out. But that’s when things spiraled downhill. He got really defensive and flat out said that he didn’t feel anything for me. That all the little things which I thought meant flirting were actually meaningless and, that I was crazy for thinking otherwise. To add insult to injury, he also said I was too young for him.” Sonny’s shoulders drop and he squeezes your hand a little tighter. “All I could manage was a lame ‘okay’ and left. I cried for weeks and it really threw me through a loop. I’ve been insecure about my feelings ever since. I felt humiliated and embarrassed for being fooled by his charms and for allowing myself to love him. So, I just buckled down and focused on my education, never really trusting myself to openly fall in love again. I was scared of making the same mistake – that is, until I met you.”

With your soul bared, Sonny swiftly pulls you into a hug. He holds you tight, warmth surrounding you as if he hoped it would melt away your pain. You press your face into the crook of his neck, giving him a soft kiss.

Sonny leans back, trailing his hands down your arms. “None of that was your fault, sweetheart,” he reassures. “That guy was a prick who needed ta lead ya on ta make himself feel important. Guys like that enjoy havin’ a girl’s affection, but the moment ya had the balls to tell him how ya felt he was too insecure ‘n pushed ya away. But y’know what?” he pats your arms lightly. “That’s his loss because ya have the biggest heart of any person I’ve ever met. N’ I’m lucky to be the one who gets ta be on the receiving end.”

His compliment makes you smile sheepishly. “Thank you, Sonny.” You truly love this man with all your heart. “I’ve tried not to let it affect me – affect us – but it’s one of those things that festers in the back of your mind.”

“I know,” he agrees. “It’s normal.” You watch as he looks away for a moment and swallows thickly. “I neva told ya this before, but I went through somethin’ like that myself…”

With Sonny being a chatterbox and sometimes oversharing information, it comes as a surprise that he too is guarding a part of himself. You flash him a reassuring smile, once again linking your fingers as a silent offer of your support.

And so, he begins. “I spent a year in California when I got out of the academy. There was this rotation at the LAPD ‘n I was young ‘n thought it would be really cool to get outta New York. Turns out I immediately fell head over heels for one of their young detectives. One bat of her eyelashes ‘n I was a goner. We ended up askin’ each other out ‘n life seemed great. Fancy dinners ‘n presents I couldn’t really afford. But at the time, it all seemed worth it because we were happy.” Sonny turns shy as he speaks and you feel a twinge in your gut. It had never occurred to you that he had been in love before you came along.

He looks up to the ceiling as if he dreaded the next lines of his story. “Then my contract was up. I thought we were a strong enough couple to stick together, so I asked her to be move back to New York with me. I said that we could be closer to my family ‘n that they were dyin’ to meet ‘er. But…we didn’t see eye to eye on that.” Sonny releases a sigh. “Yeah, she told me that she moved to LA to get away from family n’ that she loved it too much out there to up and leave. I was dumb ‘n in love ‘n I just didn’t get it. I offered to stay with her instead but she gave me the ol' speech: Yourra nice guy, Sonny, but we have different paces to life. It would never work out.”

You whisper his name, heart shattering on his behalf. He looks to you with a furrowed brow and continues. “I gave her my whole heart ‘n she wasn’t even willin’ to make an effort to keep us togetha. I don’t like to admit it very often, but I was a mess. I flew back to New York ‘n not long after joined law school. Then I ended up bouncin’ around the Boroughs until I met you.” Sonny’s face warms. His eyes sparkle and he unleashes a smile. “Now the whole world seems right! We can be ourselves around each other. I know I have my flaws, but you’d never judge me for ‘em. Instead, ya love ‘em too ‘n I hope ya know that it’s a two-way street from me.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. You remove your legs from him to cuddle under his arm. Sonny wraps around you and kisses the top of your head. “I love you, Sonny,” you mouth into his chest.

“Love ya too, sweetheart.”

You lean back to caress his cheek with your palm. “I think we have another thing in common,” you offer and Sonny peers at you inquisitively. “We fall in love easily.”

Sonny chuckles. “Yeah, it’s like you’re divin’ into tha deep end head first, but ya only find out it’s too shallow once you’re already leapin’.”

You nod your head in agreement. “It’s funny how that stuff always lingers with you. Like a scar that keeps scabbing over. When you jump off the swings as a kid and scrape your knee, you’ll see that scar afterwards and your brain reminds you to never do that again! It’s a shame that the same thing happens when your heart gets hurt. I always felt like I was scared to put myself out there over the fear of being heartbroken again.”

Sonny hums understandingly. “But,” he says, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “when the right person comes along, all that hurt disappears. Because this time,” he smiles affectionately, “when you jump off the swing, there’ll be someone there to catch you.”

Your serious faces contort into goofy smiles. “See? What did I tell ya, doll? We’re so alike that we even share a knack for makin’ up dumb analogies.” Sonny’s eyes once again crinkle at the corners and he shifts to kiss your temple.

Leaning into his touch, you close your eyes and savor the moment. It feels good to clear the air like this and to be able to forge a connection that’s just that much deeper.

---

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you’re interested in being part of a tag-list. Any and all feedback is loved :)

Part 9, “Stuck-On Cheese” is up here

#sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi #sonny x reader #sonny carisi x you #sonnyshine of my life #law and order svu #the changes verse #svu fanfiction #changes #I'm having a bad day please go easy on me :'(#I'm also too shy to ask ppl if they want to be tagged so please if you do bash me over the head and let me know #my fanfic

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derireo · 5 years ago

Text

Let’s Talk Feelings (TSK)

A series where Izumi gets confessed to five times.

Tasuku ↦ It’s Just Practice.

Tasuku gets a little carried away.

Izumi's ignorant enough to not notice his slip up.

warnings: pining. one sided attraction.

「 read here on ao3 」「 1.6k words 」 IT. TSM. SK. OM.

If Tasuku had to answer a question about how he managed to find himself in his current predicament he would have trouble finding the right words to say.

In fact, he didn't have a clue.

He just... he was reciting lines for this upcoming play he was guest starring in and before he knew it, he had Izumi trapped against his desk.

Seriously. He didn't know when or how they got to this point in his practice with her adorable little face all squished in his hand as he gripped her cheeks, but... that's where they were at.

Neither of them were complaining, but Tasuku was embarrassed to say that sometimes he got a little too into character; probably the reason why he was tilting Izumi's face side to side to examine her.

As if possessed by his character, he started uttering his lines with a devilishly salacious smile, fingers digging into her soft cheeks.

"...And what's an adorable little creature like you doing here?"

He crooned lowly, unable to stop himself from pinning her to his desk with his hips. His heart was racing in his chest since it seemed like his body wasn't under his control anymore, and the sweet stammer that fell from rosy lips spurred Tasuku on to resume his lines.

"Everyone knows not to enter a dragon's den all on their lonesome.." He hissed, grinning crookedly at the startled blink he received. "...so I must be lucky to receive such an innocent, delicious little snack on this dreary evening."

Izumi's hands were braced against the edge of his desk, script dangling from the ends of her fingers. Tasuku was a great actor indeed; truly making her feel unsettled with his character as he held her with no opening to an escape.

"I was told you had... powers." Izumi gritted through her pinched cheeks, her own character being an ardent, bright spirited woman who was on the search for someone who would bring healing to the village she called her home.

At the mention of his powers, Tasuku clicked his tongue and released Izumi from his grasp, pulling away from her body as if he had been burned.

"So you are one of those..."

He's disappointed from the looks of it and both Tasuku and Izumi try to ignore the loss of contact as they proceed with the scene.

"I am not interested in healing your sick family member, so please kindly leave—"

"No, ah.. My– my village. My village is in danger. A malevolent being is said to leave chaos in our wake soon." Izumi cut him off, unoccupied hand shooting out to grab the man by the front of his shirt to keep him close. (Her blocking could use some work, but it was effective in shutting him up).

"I was hoping you would give me a blessing," she breathed, pulling Tasuku back into her vicinity after taking a quick glance at the script, "we don't need you there, but I only ask for a small fraction of what you have. If only for a little while."

The man bristled, digging his foot into the floor to prevent himself from knocking into Izumi when she tugged him forward, palms held against her shoulders.

Her acting was still a bit choppy and Tasuku was pretty sure she was getting the essence of her character wrong, but he couldn't help but admire how intent she was on helping him practice despite all of that.

His body went on auto-pilot again, but this time it wasn't his character making him do it as he framed Izumi's face in his hands, tipping her chin up with a smile.

Ah.. the number of times he's wanted to do this.

"...You're quite somethin', pulling me around like that." He mutters softly, pinching her cheek. It's affectionate, the way he holds her, but the rough treatment to her face causes Izumi to grumble out of character and punch Tasuku in the chest, hitting him with the rolled up script in her hand next.

He was unfazed by the blows, but grinned nonetheless, teasingly squishing her face in his hand once more just to annoy her. "You dare hit the dragon that watches over your village?"

Another swat from Izumi makes Tasuku laugh and he pulls her into a headlock, the sound of the woman's startled yelp making him ruffle her hair. "I do dare! You didn't even know our village was in trouble!" Izumi complained while struggling to escape the burly arms that kept her in place, scrunching her nose with a helpless whine when her mussed up hair fell in front of her face.

"And to think you were but a mere human. A docile little thing."

His voice goes back to that low whisper when Izumi halts her squirming to brush her hair away and it elicits a subtle shiver to run up her spine. Tasuku's breath is warm against her reddening ear as she pulls at the arm that's tucked under her neck, but he doesn't budge, instead tugging her flush against his chest while tilting her head back to make her look at his towering frame.

"Why... I think I like you." He said, hand gentle around her throat when his arm went to curl around her waist.

And it was at that moment, realizing what he said, that Tasuku felt his stomach drop.

Izumi blinks once, not once moving her head when she lifts the script up into her periphery to scan over the words on the paper in front of her. She frowns at the incorrect line being spoken, then realizes that for the past few exchanges they were going totally off script.

Huh. Who knew she could pull off some pretty good improv?

"Is this your take on the bond between the dragon and the hero?" She asked, innocent. "I didn't know there was... subtle romantic undertones."

And well. Tasuku didn't know whether he should feel relieved or disappointed. On the other hand he was pretty endeared by her density, but he knew that he wasn't any better when it came to other's emotions either. He's been told he was quite the heartbreaker because of that.

Now it was Tasuku's turn to feel helpless even as Izumi smiled up at him with his hand still on her throat, eagerly showing him the spot where they left off on the script.

"Sorry.. I got carried away with the improv." He muttered sheepishly, releasing the director from his embrace to give each other some room to breathe. Was it getting hot in here or was it just him?

He took off his zip up with a heavy exhale and aired out his t-shirt while watching Izumi nod as she took a glance at her watch. He watched as her eyebrows rose, saw how her head snapped back up to look at him with bright, sparkling eyes; let her doe-eyed gaze make his heart thrum a panicked beat as she shoved the script back into his hands with a bow.

"That's okay.. This was fun." She grinned, rubbing the area where his hand was seconds earlier to erase the lingering warmth from his fingertips.

"Maybe you should try that improv with your actual practice partner next time? Maybe the director and scriptwriter will like the change!" Izumi offered, not noticing the way Tasuku bristled at the idea. He didn't really like it. Touching someone other than Izumi in that way. It wouldn't feel natural, and it was just so easy to have Izumi trapped in his hold.

...Tasuku wants to act with her some more. More and more until she gets better. Maybe until they get the chance to stand on the same stage together.

But all Tasuku could do was force a smile on his face when Izumi gave his chest a pat. He took too long to respond.

"I promised to help out this other troupe tonight so I have to go. Thanks for helping me pass time." She grinned and started to walk towards Tasuku's bedroom door, ignorant to the thoughts that raced through his mind as he followed her steps with unfocused pupils, body moving in the direction she was going.

He stuttered on his breath as he trailed after her like a lost puppy, but willed himself to stop when she reached for his doorknob, hand running through his hair as he agonized over what he should do next.

"I can drive you." He choked when she was halfway through the door, the tight feeling in his chest alleviating just the slightest when she turned back to look at him; curious. Tasuku was losing his mind, the realization that he actually had these thoughts about Izumi making him lose his rationale. God, he knew he wanted to hold her sometimes and maybe even squish her face in his hands when she would be all cute for no reason, but to think he liked her enough to want to act with her.

It was a sobering thought. He had fun acting with her despite her skills and it made him want to hold his head in his hands.

And while he was thinking, the cogs turning in his head almost visible to Izumi, the director smiled and shook her head.

"I can get there just fine, but if I need a ride home I'll make sure to contact you." She lifted her hand to her ear as if there was a telephone in her grip and waited for Tasuku to nod in acknowledgement.

"Wait for my call, okay~?" Her eyes smiled at him and Tasuku swore that it felt like he was going to combust on the spot.

"...Okay." He echoed dumbly, watching with uncharacteristic puppy eyes as she finally left his room.

He waited a few more seconds before shutting his door and hit his forehead against the wood to release his frustrations, brows furrowed with gritted teeth.

Maybe he'll confess to her again tonight.

The motorcycle will up his chances with her.. right?

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#tasuku takato #izumi tachibana #a3! fic #a3! scenarios #tasuizu

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reddeaddenial · 6 years ago

Text

Your Redemption

Summary: Arthur learns about the next great adventure, which takes him not where, but when. Reincarnation AU? Spoiler Warning of course.

Characters: High Honor Arthur Morgan and his thoughts, Deer Spirit Animal

Word Count: 2537

Dying... was such an indescribable...something.

There’s so much happening yet nothing, too quickly and too slow. Too much pain and yet none. So much to say and yet few words to speak. But what’s the point of telling someone how it feels to die? What’s there to describe and to whom? It’s the last moments of your life after all. The numbness, the lack of feeling and yet sensing everything, the fatigue of trying to keep your body working…You made your peace, accepting the inevitable, but that doesn’t stop the fear of feeling yourself fade. Struggling breaths, the panic of not wanting to go, not yet, please! And then finally the over encompassing exhaustion, eyes too tired to stay open. The fight leaving your body...And then suddenly it’s just... gone…all gone.

But what was left?

What came after what all humans feared?

The next great adventure? Floating in darkness? A new home in the clouds? Or in fire down below?

Apparently for Arthur Morgan it’s waking up in a meadow surrounded by deer.

A lot of deer in fact, big and small, grazing quietly without a care in the world. Arthur lay there face up in the tall grass, eyes focused on the sepia tinted sky and the playfully twisting clouds. Weird. Clouds shouldn’t move like that. And deer shouldn’t be so calm around people. He felt a doe get a little too close to his head and snuffle his hair, almost contemplating it for a snack. That got Arthur to quickly move his body upright.

The sudden movement would have surely startled the skittish creatures, but the deer just gave him a look of acknowledgment and the herd went back to eating. He looked up at the surreal sky once again, confusion furrowing his brow, recalling his final memories and then just suddenly ending up...here. Where was here? It looked and felt like a nice summer day, warm gentle breeze, sound of birds and somewhere in a distant treeline. He could feel the grass and dirt under his palms, the sun on his face. It felt much too real to be a dream.

Arthur stood up finally, stretching his limbs and looking back down at himself, his hands, clothes. His clothes were clean, as if they were just as new as the day he got them. Arthur realized as he flexed his hand slowly that he felt a lot more… energized than he had in months. That rattling in his chest when he took every breath was gone. He had a bit more of his muscle back too, not looking underweight and sickly.

That’s when he felt it, a pair of eyes on him, watching. Amused. Wait... how the hell did he know that’s what they felt? Arthur frowned looking around, seeing nothing but the ridiculous herd of deer that still paid no mind to his presence. But one stood out among the rest. A buck, twice as large, impressive antlers curving into the air, it’s scarily intelligent eyes staring straight at him. Wait… he’s seen…

“I know you.” he said aloud to the deer in question. The animal tilted it’s head slightly, its eyes still focused on Arthur. It didn’t speak of course, that would be ridiculous. But if Arthur had to guess, he thinks he would say. “And I know you as well Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur scoffs at his own thoughts and glances around before looking to the buck again, who was gracefully nearing closer to the outlaw, much to his surprise.

“What the hell happened huh? Pretty sure last I checked I was dead… dyin’ at least.”

He had said that aloud, more to himself than to any of the animals around him. But...the deer stopped a few feet from Arthur and gave him another look as if to say. “You are. Dead that is. Very much so.”

Arthur stared dumbly at the buck who simply looked right back at him. Great. He’s talking to a damn deer. Maybe the sickness fucked with his head. Mumbling under his breath how crazy this is, being dead but alive in a way, and talking to a damn deer who he's wondering if he's reading the thoughts of, he figures, sure why the fuck not. Talk to the damned deer. After all the shit he’s seen, rituals, flying metal saucers, giants, ghost trains, glowing pentagrams, mysterious houses... Talking to a buck in weird deer heaven isn’t that far off from possible.

“Not heaven Arthur. You’re not there just yet.”

“Oh great, so you can read my thoughts now too? Who are you huh? Hardly just a deer. You some weird grim reaper in disguise or somethin?”

The deer shook it’s head as if to shoo a fly and Arthur was pretty sure the animal was laughing at him. “I’m honored you would think so. But no. I am not Him. He is still dealing with the affairs of the living. I am more of a...guide. One of judgement and redemption.”

A heavy weight set in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. Limbo then. To be judged. He wasn’t sure why he felt so surprised and so crestfallen, knowing that this little peaceful meadow was temporary for some tainted soul like him. “Judgement huh… Guess it’s pretty obvious where I’m goin’ then.”

The buck snorted and shook it’s head again, going closer to Arthur. The outlaw tensed and was definitely not expecting the affectionate nudge with the animal’s head, mindful of its own horns, and gently rubbing against Arthur’s arm.

“Oh Arthur… so much of your life you have put yourself down. I have seen it all.”

Arthur stayed quiet not sure what to say. Seen everything huh? Well then surely this creature… spirit of judgement or whatever it was, understood. He deserved to be punished for all he’s done. He’s ruined lives, killed people, so many damned people… He deserved to suffer.

The buck gave a firmer head butt to Arthur’s arm, making him grunt in surprise. He never thought he’d ever imagine for a deer to look so… annoyed at him before.

“Enough of that Arthur Morgan. I have seen it all, and we are the ones to judge you, not yourself. That is why you are here.”

The outlaw awkwardly looked away, keeping his self loathing doubts to himself and watched the other deer milling about. He spotted a small family, a doe, and her fawn. It made him think of Jack and Abigail.. And then of John.

“Can you… are they… My friends… do you know if they made it out alright? Like can you tell with your weird deer powers or somethin’?”

The deer emitted what Arthur was thought was more amusement and even some fondness when he had changed the subject. It confused him, but he waited patiently for an answer in the buck’s strange mind thoughts sent to him.

“It’s questions like that which are the reason why you woke up here Arthur, yet you still see yourself so unworthy… No. I cannot tell you about all of your friends. But I suppose… I can tell you of the ones you think of most. I do not think He would mind.” The buck looked at the same doe and fawn that Arthur had before. The two just stood in silence for a peaceful moment just watching the mother deer graze with her child, enjoying the soft breeze and the singing of birds.

“He... has taken a personal interest in John Marston and his decisions… I cannot tell you what befell him. They lived on for a many years, for a time... He protected his family until the very end. His son...lived on. He was going down a similar path but...changed course. He grew to be a good man… They all may be given the same chance as yourself. I do not know for sure. I am not suppose to know. My purpose was to follow you and you alone.”

Arthur looked to the spirit with a frown, taking in what vague...whatever the hell kind of lousy answer that was. He was happy to know John and his family lived but it sounded like they didn’t have as happy of a life as he hoped for them. If only he could have went on a little longer… maybe he could have done something about it. But… it was too late for what-ifs, especially since was in weird cryptic deer limbo..

“ ‘The same chance as yourself’...The hell you mean by that?”

If animals could smile, surely his spirit companion would be doing so at him. “You had quite a journey during your time alive Arthur Morgan. Especially as your time began to thin. You tried to right wrongs, save people, helped others-- even when there was no benefit to you. Your honor through your actions, in the most dire parts of your life...they have been recognized. And with that, you will be reborn.”

“...The hell?”

The moment those words left his lips, Arthur felt an instant heaviness, like gravity was starting to work double time. Tiredness. Not so dissimilar as he felt when looking at his final sunrise. Panic welled up in his chest and he stumbled, looking at deer spirit which seemed...infuriatingly unfazed.

“Wh...What’s happenin’?”

The buck allowed Arthur to lean against him as his world began to grow dizzy, the warm tones of the meadow and sky beginning to swirl as he felt his knees begin to buckle. The spirit’s mind-thoughts projected to his own, growing faint, yet Arthur heard every word clear as a bell.

“You’re waking up. A different place. A different time. Your soul has been reborn for a while now. But when you wake, your past and present will merge. And you will be aware of it all. Take this chance Arthur. Take it and use it. Find happiness. True happiness.” The spirit bumped his head to Arthur’s side one last time.

“And do not worry Arthur Morgan. I will continue my watch until the very end.”

“W-Wait!” he used what energy he had left to project his voice and repeat himself. “What’s happenin’ t’me?”

He could feel the deer smile even though he could no longer see anything.

“Your redemption.”

And just like death, everything was just suddenly... gone.

But then, like an instant… like a gasping breath, like a bolt of lightning, like a match being struck with fire, he was there.

Body weighted against the top of a mattress, lungs panting, pulse racing. Eyes wide open staring at the sterile white ceiling with irritatingly bright lights.

Alive.

He was god damned alive.

How? Why? What the hell just happened? And what was that god. damned. beeping?!

Arthur groaned, his thoughts a blur, his vision sliding to the side of the bed. Wires, needles… machines? The beeping… monitor. Heart monitor. The term came to him instantly. Why the fuck did he know that? His head felt terrible. The lights too bright. He was gonna puke.

…

He puked.

The sound of retching over the side of the bed must have alerted somebody because a loud gasp came from across the room. Footsteps rushing away, fading… returning with more footsteps and alarmed voices. It was all a blur. Faces, people in white coats, doctors. Easing him upright, flashing more bright lights to his face. He grimaced and tried to push it away.

“Easy now sir, just checking your vision. All seems good.” A smooth male voice belonging to a man he’d never seen before in his life. “Can you tell me your name sir?”

“Arthur…” he trailed off as his mind automatically finished for him before he could stop himself. “Mathews? Arthur Mathews?” The hell? That wasn’t his last name. But recollection and a whirl of unknown thoughts told him otherwise. Arthur Mathews. 37. Born in 1982… Nineteen eighty god damned two?!

His existential crisis was unknown to the three doctors as they continued to check his vitals. “Excellent Mr. Mathews. Now can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

Arthur grimaced and wiped the side of his mouth. A nurse noticed and rushed out of the room, returning with a cup of water made out of some weird materia-...Plastic. Cup. Plastic cup. Jesus these foreign ghost thoughts that were apparently still his own was creeping him out. Why was the doctor looking at him like that? Oh yeah. Last thing he remembered… He took the cup gratefully from the nurse and took a sip of the cold liquid, clearing the bile taste from his mouth. How was he going to explain this without sounding damn near insane? Play it off as a dream? Hallucination? Why was he even here in what he assumed was a hospital?

“Uh… shit. Not sure if it was real but… a deer?”

The doctors and two nurses looked mildly surprised. Surprised but pleased. The doctor smiled and finally backed off with poking and prodding Arthur. “You’ve got a great memory for going through all that. You’re right about the deer. According to the car passing that saw everything, a massive buck jumped in the road. You swerved and crashed in a ditch and into some trees. Miracle you didn’t break anything.”

Flashes of memory of being in a strange metal carriage flashed in Arthur’s mind. Car. Horseless wagon. Well shit, guess they finally made those then. He frowned and kept sipping his water. The doctor carried on like nothing was wrong, mistaking Arthur’s look of dawning recollection for remembering the crash.

”But you had concussion and have been out for four days. What really gave us a scare was that your heart just stopped beating for a whole minute into the third day. For no apparent reason, and we checked your medical history for heart problems too.” the man shook his head. He seemed puzzled about the whole situation and Arthur hummed in thought. He had a good idea as to why that happened. And it had to do with a spirity hoofed animal that may have also crashed his horsele-... car.

“We were starting to worry for you after you stabilized and showed no signs of waking. And then...well here you are... “ The doctor trailed off awkwardly, unsure what to take Arthur’s silence for. “I understand that this is a lot to take in… Do you have any questions?”

Questions? Really now? Well Arthur sure as hell had many damned questions to ask. The doctor wouldn’t be able to answer any of em though. Plus the more he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of his own damned reincarnated soul being self away of his life- past life, the more his head hurt. Dammit he needed a drink. His mind unhelpfully told him alcohol wasn’t allowed in hospitals and he nearly cursed aloud. His head ached more. He could think about all this bullshit another time. For now, he decided to play along, take a nap, get the hell outa here, and figure out what this new era had in store for Arthur Morgan...Mathews

He looked at the concerned doctor and thought. Did he have any questions…

“Well Doc, y’know if the deer’s okay?”

Idk guys, It started out with something I just really wanted to write and the tone shift spontaneously turned into Arthur Morgan: self aware reincarnated cowboy trapped in his Millennial body and figuring out the wonders cryptic talking spirit animals. Haha I know it’s really OOC, but the whole idea is kinda just ridiculous but wouldn’t leave me alone until I typed it out.

Will I continue this? Bring other characters in? Hell if I know lmao :p give me suggestions if you’re into it

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 story #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 spoilers #spoiler #spoilers #arthur morgan #fic #maddy writes #IT LONG #cuz i dont know when to stop

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dbhilluminate · 6 years ago

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DBHI: Redemption- "The Open Door", pt. 1

ARE YOU A FAN OF DETROIT? DO YOU LIKE GAY SHIPS AND COMPLICATED, LOVEABLE BOYS?? Then please keep up with our fic, you’ll love it, I promise!

Co-authored by grayorca15

Characters: Trevor Langley, Dennis Lenore, Nick Lenore, Dahlia Fleur, Rhea Fleur, Dylan Fleur, Ethan Fleur, Isaiah Fleur (mentions of Richard Fleur, Ophelia Fleur, Hank Anderson, Vivienne Lenore-Anderson, Zach, Sarah Word Count: 7,982

No matter how far you think you've fallen, there's always time to find your way back to yourself- and if you leave yourself open to change, sometimes what you need is right through the next door.

• Archive link • Chapter Index • • Related Works • Characters •

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July 4th, 2041 - 5:34 PM

For all intents and purposes, it was his first time in a suit in a while.

Having taken virtually nothing of his old life with him when Archangel brought him to Detroit, he’d had nothing but the clothes on his back, which he’d thrown away as soon as he got the chance. Understanding of why, Detective Lenore had offered up one of his older suits (among other, less frequently worn items in his wardrobe) in sympathy. Not since Boston had he been in a dress jacket, loafers, and chinos- only this time, there was no watch or tie, no phone crammed into his pocket, only the one item he typically spent his nights in the company of anyway.

It was a good thing he and Dennis were virtually the same size, even if the former had a stockier build.

“Kid, it ain’t Homecoming, now come on. You look fine.”

Though his tone was one of affectionate gruffness, which he treated eighty percent of those he knew with on a daily basis, now that they had actually arrived at the time to put the hand-me-downs to use, it seemed Lenore’s generosity had been left at the curb. Considering how they had met, Trevor was happy to be counted as one of those in said majority- what side he had seen and heard about when Dennis got truly angry, he wasn’t in any hurry to experience that for himself.

Not that having to wait a few minutes longer than anticipated would warrant a baton to the teeth.

He flicked the light off and locked up his apartment, then followed him down the hallway, fidgeting all the way with the edges of his sleeves, trying to get the just-too-large sleeve cuffs to sit comfortably in the cuffs of the blazer.

“It’s only a dinner, not your funeral,” Dennis scoffed, eyeing him top to bottom. “I mean- points for wanting to look nice, first time meetin’ the family and all, but you’ll be wishing you had picked somethin’ more casual before the night’s over.”

“But it is just that, the first time,” Trev pointed out as they found the central stairwell and descended. “Aren’t you supposed to- look good?”

“Looks aren’t everything,” he sighed, passing the cubicle of dormitory mailboxes at the foot of the stairs, then came to a stop.

Uncertainly, his intended guest did the same next to him, belatedly folding his hands behind his back. Their eyes met. With his aqua blue irises, red hair and bold, expressive eyebrows, it didn’t take much for Lenore to pull off maximum exasperation with minimal effort.

“I know you spend your days shut up in here between classes. But do you think, for one night, you can try to relax? I wouldn’t bring you along if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

Trev smiled, albeit uneasily. It was a vote of confidence, however indirect, the only kind he seemed to be catching from anyone these days. Though training to become an Archangel Officer, his was an unusual circumstance, which rubbed some people the wrong way- the special privilege of shadowing active duty officers only extended to him as a formality, being a formerly active (and certified) member of BCPD’s Police force. He didn't fit the usual definition of a cadet at the academy by any measure, in fact there was no reason he really needed to. But for an institution founded only two years prior and still working to establish its own standard of ‘normalcy’, putting him through their version of the academy made logical sense, even if it labeled him an oddity.

By that standard, Detective Dennis Lenore was just as odd, as were the rest of Zion’s residents. This was a community of oddballs, at their most fundamental.

“Well? You gonna stand there smilin’ like you’ve got gas, or is that a yes?”

Called out for daydreaming his way toward an answer, Trev blinked and cleared his throat. “Yes. S-sir.” He could handle a dinner without falling to pieces. It would hardly be the worst thing he had ever been through.

* * *

Traffic only delayed them so long. Even with the festivities due to begin at sundown, most of the city’s business districts were closed to observe the holiday. With that initial rush passed, the streets had cleared; the many parks and backyards of Detroit were another story. Those people out shopping had done so earlier in the day, whereas now they were enjoying the afternoon with family and friends.

But tonight they wouldn’t be staying in the city. Trevor didn’t plan on it being an overnight event, but he couldn’t account for the plans of those he hadn’t yet met. Loaded with money as the Fleurs were, their private countryside estate probably wasn’t short a guest bedroom or two; and seeing as he was dating one of said prestigious family’s daughters, Dennis likely didn’t have any qualms about staying if the evening took such a turn. Either way, Trev was perfectly capable of arranging a taxi ride back to his dorm, which wasn’t a bad idea.

The moment he sat down and buckled in, he bookmarked the service for later, but out of the corner of his eye, Dennis caught him at it.

“We haven’t even gotten goin’.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Cheeks flushing, Trev glanced away.

The cab pulled away from the curb and merged with the flow, the automated dash giving a chime and automatically bringing up a selection of soft classical background music. Dennis banished it from existence with one swipe at the volume bar and a slight curl of his lip.

“Sorry, I know you’re jittery, it’s just-...” he paused to clench his teeth and furrow his brow a twitch. “Why you already expecting to have to need that?”

Hands folded in his lap, knees brought together, Trev made an attempt at clearing his throat. “No- no reason, sir. I was only trying to plan ahead.”

“I already said I’d make sure you got home. Was there something else? You gotta be back sooner, or…?”

It wasn’t his tone- despite the initial gruffness, Dennis had one of those sharp yet tactful voices. Where he initially sounded irritated and gravelly he almost always followed it up with some kind of concern to take the hostile edge off. Tiresome as it was to keep up with telling which was which, at least he was consistent, definable, and not a bad guy overall. Five months after Boston, Trev was still trying to figure out how much of those qualities he had yet to embody.

“No, sir, I was only…” Sheepishly, he swiped the open app aside and turned his attention out the window. “I should have done it before we left.”

Affecting an eye roll but no other visible annoyance, Dennis sat back in his seat, hooking an ankle over his knee in the process. Being of shorter stature, he had legroom to spare. “You’ll be fine. I’m not bringin’ you along to this shindig to be the main course.”

Shindig. The term bore looking up. Defined as a lively celebration as defined back in the 1920s, it was very retro to use in conversation. Trev immediately sank back in his seat.

“Please tell me there isn’t dancing involved.”

“No promises.” Neither too dismissive or reassuring, Dennis raised an eyebrow, pausing to seemingly reconsider his companion’s attire once more. “You’re dressed for it if there is… but haven’t you been to a barbecue before?”

A flurry of related memories besieged Trev at the reminder. Tactfully ignoring them, he looked down at his hands. “No.”

“...Are you gonna stick with single-worded answers all night?”

“Maybe… sir.”

He had cause to. Dennis knew better than almost anyone in Zion what a mixed-up bottle of impulses Trevor Langley consisted of, none of which were his own doing. With some indeterminable exceptions, it made even the most routine small talk a chore for him; hence, why he needed so badly to get out more. Classes at the academy only kept him occupied for so long.

Chock full of as many instabilities as any survivor of Purgatory typically bore, it wasn’t any wonder why he kept quiet to fiddle with his quarter rather than mingle with his cohort. As yet, Trev suspected Dennis was more his friend than anyone, with Vivienne Lenore a close second; but even those titles felt forced, just enough to say he wasn’t completely alone in the world, because some semblance of bonds were better than none at all.

Glancing up, Trev frowned at seeing how the dubious squint hadn’t vanished. It was still trained on him like a weapon, poised to fire. (Not the nicest example to equate it to, but for him guns were never far from his mind - for a variety of reasons.)

Trying to sideline such discouraging thoughts, he cleared his throat. “I guess… Nick is already there?”

Dennis made an affirmative hum, finally easing off on the skeptical expression a touch. “He wanted to run this fetch quest instead. I convinced him otherwise.”

Brows furrowing, Trev sat up from where he had pressed into the seat. There was no further he could get away in that direction, anyway. “Why? He wouldn’t have been a bother... if that’s what you‘re implying.”

The taller Lenore sibling’s reputation preceded him. How bothersome said brother was or wasn’t evidently didn’t factor in here, as Dennis scoffed nevertheless. “Meaning, he wouldn’t have asked you too many questions, or made you uncomfortable like I am now.”

A very perceptive response, coming from him. Trev glanced away again.

Letting it simmer a moment, Dennis explained: “Kid, it’s only because I care that I take any digs at you- not that he doesn’t care too, but anyone can see you need pryin’ to even cough up a ‘Hello’, and it isn’t Nick’s style to do that if he can see how uncomfortable you still are.”

In an ideal world, that is just the kind of person Trevor would prefer to be spending time with, if he were forced to pick between chaperones. Despite his looming stature, Nick wasn’t half as imposing as Dennis could be. Such niceties didn’t extend to both in equal measure.

“I think I’m doing okay, compared to where I was, don’t you?”

“Oh? You’re constantly wallin’ people off. Okay is a word that didn’t occur to me.”

“It hasn’t affected me that… adversely.”

“Not yet. You want to try and tell me your career won’t suffer for it in the long run?”

“All due respect, sir, I’ve already had my psych eval this week. Isn’t asking such questions now kinda defeating the point of going out to enjoy ourselves?”

Rolling his eyes, going by the minute pause in his words, Dennis sat up and reached over to tap the frames of Langley’s glasses. “You’re still wearing these when you don’t need them. If you were actually out to forget your troubles and enjoy the night, you woulda left them at the dorm.”

Recoiling, Trev shot him a standoffish glower. The cab was too small a space for his liking all of a sudden. How Dennis could essentially take one look at him and figure all these confused signals out was even less appealing. But then, Detective Lenore was known for that; if he hadn’t been a cop, psychologist wasn’t too far off, given his upbringing.

“You don’t know that. I enjoy myself without any hints blatantly on display, sir.”

“That’s a crock of shit, and you know it,” Dennis challenged. “Shut up in a room for hours on end focused only on studyin’ isn’t healthy, Langley. You gotta get out and live a bit. Dealing with Nick taught me all about that. Grateful or not, I suppose there’ll be time enough afterward for you to thank me later.”

Shuttling itself through the traffic as smoothly as a figure skater, the taxi took them past the last few commercial blocks and into a rundown suburb sitting on the Detroit-Warren limits, a quaint neighborhood of working-class families living well off the combined metropolis to either side. The Fleurs were apparently cut from the same cloth, even if they made upwards of twenty million each year, and they weren’t averse to entertaining visitors. Said destination was still forty minutes away, going by the timer on the taxi’s dashboard: the estate on the northern shore of Lake St. Claire may as well have been another city unto itself, with how far off it seemed.

There would be his first round of lessons in learning how to let go and just be lax for a spell. He was overcomplicating this in his own head, but if Dennis really understood anything about him, he knew just how tough a habit that would be to break. One dinner wasn’t going to miraculously change him, or so he surmised, but who knew? Maybe a stint outside of Zion would do him good. Surrounded by another crowd of near-strangers with entirely normal expectations of him could be just what the doctor ordered.

Or it could be exactly what he didn’t need to be reminded of. This constant wallowing in between hadn’t been pleasant on the whole. Without something to sway him one way or another, how else was he going to figure out what he ultimately preferred? Dennis Lenore had had more than a few years to figure himself out, so it was easy for him to say what Trevor did or didn’t need. He had experience and perspective to call on, perks of being an older model and all.

Lucky him.

* * *

Sitting atop a hill on a thousand acres of southeastern Michigan woodland, with its southernmost edge reaching right down to the beach, the mansion itself wasn’t visible from the road. After being buzzed through the front gate it was still a two minute journey up the cobblestone driveway. Framed by thick-trunked oak trees, rectangular hedges and multicolored flowerbeds, the ornate, ivory structure was eventually revealed, facing an adjacent parking garage no less grand and steepled.

The bay doors of the garage stood open, lights on, spotlighting the four vintage automobiles neatly lined up within. The Detroit taxi idling looked so boxy and very not-sleek compared to the likes of all American muscle- a black 1969 Ford Mustang, a pearlescent yellow 2001 C5 Z06 Chevy Corvette, a purple and black 1970 Plymouth Fury, and a cherry red 1968 Dodge Charger had been pulled out and put on display for guests to admire.

They seemed right at home next to the lavish mansion, which vaguely resembled a state capitol building or a downsized museum without its signature dome. East and west wings stretched open to either side at a one-hundred and thirty-degree angle, banister flags draped from every windowsill. Footpaths wound off to snake around the estate, trailing off into various gardens and parts of the woods, leading to other much smaller structures and cabanas spread across the property.

The main entrance was a hike at least twenty steps high to a landing midway up, then to a summit guarded by two pedestals framed by half a dozen stone vases full of flowers. It was in peak summertime bloom, greenery everywhere and no gray urban confines in sight, besides the cars on display. The air was thick with the smell of them mixed with fresh cut grass after a cleansing rain, but one whiff confirmed there was more on the wind tonight than natural aromas. There was also the smoky, husky smell of meat simmering on a grill.

As soon as the cab door slid open, Trev hesitated to step out. The last time he had cause to smell burning anything was back in Boston.

-the horrifying sight of every other building along the avenue aflame, screams emanating from within, no fire department on its way to save the day, but all he could do was run-

“Kid, move.”

One little prodding nudge at his shoulder drew a flinch out of him, and he hurriedly stepped out of the cab in the intended direction while avoiding meeting Dennis’ eyes.

“What’s the matter? You look like…” Circling to look at him, Lenore trailed off. He knew the rabbit-eyed expression and what it signified. Reading the muted silence as what it was, he patted Trev’s shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay. I’ll make the introductions, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled half-heartedly. Even if Dennis was used to it to the point he didn’t care either way, adding the honorific always served to keep authority figures mollified. He was more of a guide than a friend, so it wasn’t unreasonable - the first time they met, he’d promptly knocked Trevor’s lights out; for his own good, of course. Kind of like now- dragging him along to this get-together, never minding the reluctance or snippiness; it was for his own good.

He was never violent or forceful without reason; dealing with his so-called brother, who was described by most to be as skittish as a deer caught in headlights, had helped him hone it. And now here was Trevor, testing him in all sorts of ways similar yet unfamiliar. As mentor and understudy, they fit together fantastically.

Trekking up the steps, he fell in behind and beside the off-duty detective, taking a second to appreciate his more casual wear of jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie. It made the burgundy suit and loafers feel even more unnecessary, even if it made him look classier and more put-together on the outside, despite the mess inside.

The person to answer the door before Dennis had even lifted his finger from the buzzer didn’t read much into it either way. He was simply happy to see them, as evidenced by the unabashed group hug he greeted both of them with, knocking Trevor’s glasses askew.

“H-hi, Dr. Lenore,” he stammered, managing to duck out from under his arm first

“Oh, come on, Trev. Not you, too.” Unwinding one long arm to recapture the new visitor, he frowned as Langley stepped aside and out of range. Nicholas Lenore wasn’t half as formal as his name would suggest, though part of that was his looks, which were all gangly and sloped in ways Dennis’ weren’t. The other half of the reasoning was the insistence that followed. “You can call me Nick, same as everyone else, remember?”

Though he was one of Zion’s best-qualified physicians, when he wasn’t tending to a patient his behavior was more akin to that of an excitable ten-year-old boy: all optimistic and well meaning, with no attitude to spoil it. Incongruous didn’t begin to describe him as a whole.

“I did. I-I just…” Not quite sure if he should finish that thought, Trevor blinked and shifted his gaze aside. “You startled us, is all.”

“Speak for yourself, Langley,” Dennis muttered, face half-squashed, still pinned against the other’s jacket. “I’m used to this sorta thing.”

“I didn’t mean to, sorry.” Nick apologized the moment he remembered, let go of his brother and steered them inside to close the door. “It’s good to see you both. Everyone else is busy talking or cooking, so I thought I’d make myself useful and play doorman for a bit.”

“Nice of you,” Dennis commented airily as he rolled his shoulder and stretched it. “God- you really need a warning label for those damn hugs, though. All these years, you think I’d have realized it sooner and slapped one on the back of your head.”

Assuming he didn’t need a ladder to reach it.

“No I don’t, I’m careful every time!”

“Sure, careful not to completely and permanently dent someone.”

Leaving them to their banter for a moment, Trev stole a look around the foyer. A big, spectacular ballroom painted in soft browns and shades of ivory, red, and gold, housed a golden grand chandelier and a mosaic marble floor which stretched the length of the space several hundred feet across the room to the foot of a centralized staircase leading up to the second-floor wings. To the left, halfway into the room, sat a sharp black grand piano beside a few free-standing planters filled with flowers and creeping ferns on either side, and a chaise lounge to the left of it. A few oil portraits hung on the front and sidewalls, and at the top of the stairs, assumed commissioned works so lifelike he could tell who the people featured were without introductions being needed. Wherever the flesh-and-blood Fleurs presently were, they weren’t within sight.

Or so he thought.

Movement caught his eye. The door was so far away, Trevor almost missed it, as Nick and Dennis seemed to have- but two doors down from the top of the staircase to the right, a figure reached out through the illuminated cracked door and quietly pulled it shut; instead of a face, all he glimpsed was a tattooed wrist. It appeared someone else here was as disinterested in the event as he was. Not given free reign to wander just yet, he set curiosity aside and drifted after his escorts.

“-favor, and don’t go out of your way to confuse him, got it?” Dennis scolded, around the same time Trevor opted to start listening again. It went without saying who the ‘him’ in the statement was.

“Confuse, how?” Confirming the assumption, Nick tossed him a very overt glance. He always looked so unintentionally aloof, with those mismatched green-brown eyes, pitchy voice, and slightly-knotted chestnut hair. “I don’t do it on purpose… and Trevor’s smart enough to figure it out if in the event I do.”

“Sure, I know lots of words with three syllables, minimum,” Trev played along, shrugging with a self-deprecating smile. Even if their argument wasn’t exactly serious, it would only help to clarify what his boundaries and possible triggers were. “But it’s not that kind of confused he’s talking about, Doctor.”

“Oh, right.” Nick only responded with an absent blink. Physicians were inherently prone to speaking with a certain over-eloquence, using big words without meaning to, making those around them feel either dumbed down or alienated or both. Being forever mindful he wasn’t stepping on toes or offending anyone (and constantly worrying for the welfare of those around him), Nick stopped them from proceeding on through to the dining room to offer a last bit of encouragement.

“Well, that said- if you feel too bothered by any of this, let us know. No one expects you to stay if you don’t want to.”

Trev nodded. He shouldn’t need this much coaching to make a few simple meetings, but it was always better to take time for a little extra prep work, lest something short circuit.

——

“He doesn’t look like an android, though...”

“Yeah, well, he wouldn’t, right? The whole point is, you can’t know just from looking at someone.”

“But he’s studying at Archangel? Humans don’t enroll there, but if they ever did, I’d-”

“Boys, please. You’ve barely said hello back and now you’re on to this. Give him some breathing room.”

Trev stood back from the dining table-turned-buffet and glanced over the edge of his drink in silent gratitude as Dennis ran interference, shepherding the gawkers out of his presence. The youngest members of the Fleur clan, nine-year-old Ethan and seven-year-old Isaiah, weren’t so shy as to resist bombarding him with questions the moment their elders looked in the other direction. It wasn’t that they meant any harm- Trev couldn’t fault them for wanting to get close and see for themselves, being the excitable, impressionable boys they were, but Ethan’s parting remark still stung more than he wanted to admit.

“He looks just like Connor, too. I told you!”

“Ethan!” Dahlia squatted down and popped the boy softly on the behind as she shooed them away, reminding them that they ‘knew better’ than to say such things. While most androids had been created to look the same, the Fleurs had all been raised (since her adoption into the family) to recognize each as an individual, and not treat them as duplicates. This was easier done in the cases of Nick, Dennis, and Dahlia, who looked nothing like their default models.

That in mind, Trev reminded himself it wasn’t the worst reveal he had ever suffered. Few things could measure up to Nicodemus shattering the human veneer Cyberlife had so painstakingly applied. Being compared to the most infamous of the RK800s was a pinprick compared to that sledgehammer.

With the exception of the two boys, the rest of the clan was proving genial enough. For being multimillionaire moguls of the music industry (responsible for finding at least ten of the current top forty artists of the past five years), they dressed almost demurely for the occasion. Richard Fleur was at least six feet of middle-aged stoic, unreserved Britishness, more personable and less stern than expected but certainly from high societal stock. His wife, Ophelia, was altogether different his polar opposite both in appearance and respective origin of South Africa. Poised and reserved in her enthusiasm for conversation, she exuded a more regal presence than her husband. His posh drawl paired nicely with her distinctive Johannesburg dialect.

Trev took a minute sip of his drink, noting neither of them had worn suits or evening gowns, but kept the observation to himself as he sat down.

“I really overdressed, didn’t I?”

“Just a little…” A flinching nod of agreement crinkled Dahlia’s nose, yet she bore a small smile in sympathy as she flipped the hem of her maxi dress out from between the heel of her foot and the heel of her shoes.

“But it’s what you wanted, I figured better to let you have it,” Dennis explained as she moved to lean down and greet him with a kiss, then pulled out the seat to her left; his lingering smirk wasn’t sympathetic or mocking, just the result of how preoccupied he always tended to get in her presence (the joke being, making sure he wasn’t stepped on). “It’s closer to what you’re used to wearing anyway, right? Back in- the old days?”

Now there was an inappropriately appropriate way of putting it.

“Sure, similar…” Trev hated how such an otherwise innocent question called up so many mixed feelings. Out of nervous habit, he went for another sip so small he may as well have only wet his lips. Dennis knew better than to ask, but to avoid every little uncomfortable conversation would defeat the purpose of being there. Langley blinked back the nervousness as best he could and shrugged, hoping it came across as dismissive. “If anything, I feel more under-dressed in class. I don’t know if I’d call cadet duds a uniform, but…”

It seemed he wasn’t the only one who had a hard time disconnecting from his work. To his right, Nick had taken a moment to do some follow-up work on a tablet held in one splayed hand, but picked the conversation back up where the others failed to. “Zach hated cadet gear, too. It was too plain. We used to have to wear suits every day, company mandate.”

“Yeah, but after the revolution…? Good luck getting him to let go of it,” Dennis added, with some wry fondness. “Like a kid carryin’ around their favorite blanket- that jacket was ready to fall apart at the seams by the time Sarah peeled it off.”

After a couple years of continuous use? Trev declined to ask and swirled the contents of his glass in a gentle counterclockwise circle, knowing it was probably just exaggeration for the sake of story.

“I don’t miss it that much. And most of the- time I was in basic patrol garb, anyway. Not like-…” Even as he veered off from saying his name, his glass-holding hand shook. As he set it down, he reached for the nearest napkin to wipe the sweat off his palm- water from the glass, nothing he actually sweated out.

Dennis’ casual smirk melted off as he watched him fidget. He knew without being told who Trev was thinking of. “You’ll get used to it. You’ve been enrolled for what, a couple months?”

“Basically.” Trev sat back in his chair so as to not be pinned between Dahlia and Nick’s curiosity. “I mean- there’s not much I don’t already know, but Detroit’s not quite on the same level Boston is with… statistics. Criminal types here don’t seem to be given to the same pursuits.”

“Has Zion treated you well, at least..?” Dahlia’s question was genuine, but naïve in the way anyone who didn’t know him would be. She had only ever met him after Boston, or Purgatory as it had been temporarily known, was brought under control. Zion was paradise compared to what he had seen there, even with its own slew of district-specific issues. Unique to him was the fact it was the best possible place he could be- everyday discrepancies notwithstanding.

“So far, yes. No one… has given me too much trouble.” None that they didn’t mean to give, anyway. Thinking twice of how that probably sounded, he tried for a mollifying smile. “The folks at the academy are agreeable enough. They’ve probably laid off the hazing because they’re not sure how I’ll take it.”

Because instabilities had to be good for something.

Dennis hummed a not-so-convinced affirmative. “Sure. That’s Langley-speak for ‘not yet, they haven’t’. Even I went through a bit of fine tuning there, Trevor. No special treatment when it comes to who gets to be the butt of a prank.”

He sounded so genial about it, Trev was inclined to doubt the claim’s validity; if it was true, Lenore was doing an admirable job of underselling his outrage. “No? What’d they end up doing to you, then?”

“Filled my locker with maple leaves.” At the two, not quite three, disbelieving glances this answer earned him, Dennis shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it was supposed to make me feel at home. Montreal was that, for about a decade.”

“Sounds more like blatant stereotyping… you aren’t Canadian.”

Met with a deadpan sidelong look, Dennis scoffed. “Pft. You think it mattered to them at the time, Langley? If it did that’d defeat the whole point of a prank.”

Trev acknowledged it with a nod and another sip of his drink, realizing how painfully literal his thought processes could sometimes be. The blue substance didn’t have much flavor aside from a refreshing coolness as it went down. If he ignored what it was, it didn’t look like he was drinking antifreeze.

Music, laughter, and voices drifted in from the open patio doors. Adjacent to the dining room was the gathering space where most of the estate’s visitors had congregated, Viv and Hank among them. There was where the smells of grilling and sizzling were most prominent. At a guess the gathering was approximately three-quarters humans to one-fourth androids; and at the moment, it seemed all those confirmed as such were seated at this table. Lopping himself in under that category, Trev pursed his lips and set the glass down once again. The little daily reminders of his old life were everywhere he looked, and he didn’t need them as much as he did. A couple months in protective custody under observation hadn’t assuaged them- if anything he missed the certainty, false as it was. Now he had nothing but uncertainty, and the constant wear of it was chafing something fierce.

Aaaand five bucks says Nick is staring so hard, he’s trying to burn holes in the side of my head.

As he glanced aside he caught just the barest hint of motion from the taller android, whose focus immediately shifted back to the tablet. Trev knew an aborted look when he saw one, enhanced reaction times or not.

“What about that, Dahlia?” he asked, trying again for impartial dialogue in the face of all his skittishness. “Is your family the wild type, or is that just the two boys?”

“Three,” she corrected with a small hint of a smile and a quiet exhale through her nose. “You’ll have to watch out for Dylan, too, if he ever comes out of his studio...”

The sighing and eye-rolling was contagious- not so much uttered in distaste as much as in disappointment. Nick shrunk down in his seat a hair at the mention of the boy’s name, but perked up as Rhea (having just come in from the patio) placed an understanding hand on his shoulder.

“I doubt we’ll see him today, it’s been a long time since he’s shown his face at any social gatherings.”

“Then what do you call him picking on us?” Nick whined as she sat down beside him and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Jealousy,” she replied with a quiet smile. “He had my full attention before you came along.”

Trev looked from one pair to the other and considered his newfound stance between them. He deduced out the whys in short order, decidedly ignoring the outdated examples in his own head claiming to know what it was to have siblings. He glanced back toward the crowded patio as he considered this new information. So he wasn’t the only one present who had an aversion to crowds. But didn’t groups make the most rewarding prank targets? To incite the most amount of mayhem in the least amount of time?

“Well, jealous or no, he can keep to himself if it so suits him. I’m not out to steal any of his remaining siblings away.”

Dennis scoffed, but it was half a laugh. “Don’t assume that means you’re safe. Any reason to hit you with inanimate objects is a good one,” he explained, presumably recalling the few times he’d been assaulted with nerf darts and paintballs the very moment he’d walked through the door.

“Isaiah told me about this time they folded enough paper airplanes to launch off an aircraft carrier and take over Taiwan. Once the snow went away, Ethan wanted to do his homework outside, but after giving Izzie enough grief they decided he wouldn’t be able to finish it in peace- whatever window he sat under, at least three found their way into his lap.”

How dastardly.

Trev took another not-sip with only the tiniest of eye rolls. Nonchalance should have been his reaction of choice from the start. “He sounds very… conniving.”

“Impish is a better word for it.”

“A conniving imp, then. One quality serves to define the other.”

It certainly explained the closing door, and if that was the bare minimum of rebelliousness they could expect to see tonight, that was more than tolerable.

“So… if he’s a no-show, when are you gonna put the nerves aside and go mingle?” Dennis propped an elbow up on the table as he nodded toward the patio and leaned a cheek against his curled fist. “You can’t nurse one drink all evening.”

Watch me.

Meeting his arched eyebrow with one of his own, Trev went for the next question on the proverbial checklist. “When did you all meet? I mean, I know that’s a lot of origin stories, but where did it start?”

“When Dahlia broadsided me with a door,” he recalled without reservation, to her complete and utter mortification. “I deserved it, being the stoolie dumbass standing where I was.”

The redhead immediately flushed bright red and buried her face in Dennis’ shoulder with an embarrassed laugh. “It was an accident! I didn’t expect you to be standing there…”

And so went their storytelling, fondly recounting how one chance run-in at the Motown Lounge led to this happy, steady state of affairs for them. Past a certain point Trev only listened half heartedly, their enthusiasm just a little too much for him to stomach.

New noise caught his hypersensitive ear again from atop the stairs- as the door creaked open, a shadowy figure moved from the studio two doors down the hall and shut it behind him. The only one who seemed to notice aside from Trevor was Dennis, blue eyes darting in the direction of the click some four hundred feet, one floor and a few rooms across the mansion, before looking back at Dahlia.

As both of them fell quiet and no one opted to keep up that line of thought, Nick sighed and put the tablet down, circling back to the elephant still in the room. Perhaps he had noticed after all.

“He doesn’t need to keep acting all jealous. We’re easy enough to get along with, and his paintings are nice.”

“Oh? You been spyin’ on him?” Dennis teased, even as Trev frowned and raised his eyeline to the impassive ceiling. “You’ve spent a lot of hours with your back turned at that piano. Risky business.”

Nick shook his head, failing to see the humor in such a comment, too caught up worrying over what could be done to ingratiate themselves. He didn’t cope very well with thoughts of being at odds with anybody: family, friend, and certainly not foe. No wonder he had stayed as far away from Boston as physically possible.

Trev traced a fingertip over the rim of the glass in contemplative gesture. Apparently the missing link fancies themselves a painter. The minute beads of sweat, smeared and not, stood out like little crystalline glints of ice. Chilled thirium wasn’t meant to grow warm any more than fidgety Dr. Lenore had business in a city under siege.

“Not so risky- it sounds like they’re both of the artistic persuasion… just different instruments.” Hooking a fingernail on the rim, he pressed and noted how it didn’t bend back, then rolled his eyes. The urge to self-pity out loud hit hard and he went for a small dose of it.

“But I don’t know him, hardly better than I know any of you. Must be nice to hold such… easy company.”

Rhea had had her eye on Trev from the moment she walked into the room. All of the nuances in his body language -the subtle fidgeting, the way he averted his eyes, hiding behind the frames, and kept his jaw tight with lips thinly drawn, the crease in his forehead from pressed brows- and the way he avoided talking about himself by asking questions just to divert the topic, were enough to express to most that he was visibly uncomfortable. But being the observant and experienced counselor she was, she could probably tell this was more than just surface tension.

“It comes in time with conscious effort,” she offered with a sympathetic smile, stealing a glance aside to Nick and lifting a hand to thread into his hair and scratch at the back of his head. “I had to really fight for this one’s attention… didn’t want anything much to do with me when we first met.”

“Hey! That’s not true!” he protested with a huff, Rhea’s head rolling back with a smile and focusing her gaze on the ceiling momentarily. When she didn’t immediately refute him, he uncertainly amended, “I was just… nervous.”

“So nervous you turned me down every opportunity you were given, even when things were still platonic,” she teased with a pop of her brows and a smirk. “But… the point is this.” Rhea focused her honey brown eyes on Trev across the table. “Familiarity is cultivated- we didn’t click the moment we met. It might look easy now, but we had a rough start getting here. So give yourself time, and leave the door open- you’ll find that easy company soon enough.”

She meant well, saying such things. Trev would have liked to listen and believe it in equal measure, but even the concept of basic familiarity didn’t really apply. It wasn’t a straight line between points. It was a snaking twisting route that doubled back on itself and wound around in ways these four had no conceivable idea of (or so he thought). None of them could know, was the worst part.

“Sure.” Trev glanced sidelong toward the patio, leaving his response as one clipped word. The music drifting in was an assortment of classic rock that he could kill a few seconds trying to put a name with the lyrics with.

Dennis gave a hmph of agreement, counterpointing her advice nicely. “You wouldn’t be the first one who took his time about it, kid. But you know you’ve got friends here, no matter what the academy throws at you, right?”

As close as they could be, anyway.

Pegging the musician as the late Bruce Springsteen, Trev bit the inside of one cheek. A bit of insight wasn’t horrible to hear, but if this was the part where he thought laying it on thick was a good idea, Lenore could drop it. This wasn’t meant to be an interrogation posing as small talk.

“The academy hasn’t been so bad compared to… this.” He gestured vaguely at their surroundings, then reached for the glass again as the hurt, defensive expressions painted their faces one by one. Once it was empty, he could politely excuse himself for a refill.

“This just isn’t my kind of familiar. Here is-… there aren’t-…” The thought fizzled into nothing as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop, and he muttered his last thought under his breath, useless as it was considering these were androids listening to him. “Bugger it. You have your normal and I have mine.”

Dennis knocked a foot against the leg of his chair. “Hey. Don’t get all sour on us now. We’re only trying to help, not bust your balls.”

Trev drained what was left of the blue substance and breathed out through his nose to cover the loud swallow. “I appreciate the disclaimer. Really. But I seem to have run out of refreshments, so if it’s all the same, I'll help myself to another.”

Even that much called up an unpleasant phantom of a memory.

-drinks with the squad after the successful closure of a half dozen interlinked cases, narcotics off the streets, justice for the dead almost a gimme-

He scooted his chair back out of the focal point between the two couples, and instantly felt less claustrophobic for it. Trev started to move away from the table but reached back and grabbed the glass he’d almost forgotten, decidedly avoiding any of their eyes and ignoring whatever protests they tried to voice.

Not even five steps out of the dining room on his way to the kitchen, a foam dart with a rubber tip pelted him in the side of the head. The flinch it drew brought him to a temporary stop. From behind a potted plant near the grand piano to his left, Ethan giggled and sprinted across the room and up the stairs, darting down the west wing, presumably toward his bedroom, before Trev could retaliate. The bright orange-yellow nerf pistol in his hand instantly marked him as the culprit. Compared to the last bullet that had hit him, this was no great insult to suffer; it was tolerable next to the nitpicking, well-meaning offers of help he was being pincered between just a minute earlier.

Trev stopped to pick up the toy dart and dropped it into the empty glass to set both items aside on an end table, then looked up at the steps and all the wings they could lead to. It was a tempting place to get lost- he could wander the halls for a spell, see what there was to behold, maybe glimpse some of that art Nick mentioned. If Ethan Fleur wanted to take repeated potshots at him only to scurry off, at least his awkward presence would provide amusement for somebody’s sake. Better that than to be put on the spot and start confronting the first mixed-up impulses about himself amidst the company of an impromptu therapy group. That was the kind of soap opera tripe irate inner monologues were better suited to.

‘Help’. They can help me. What do they know? It’s all just conjecture and secondhand accounts. None of them were there, they couldn’t know what it was like before, they don’t know what it’s like now. They shouldn’t bother themselves with trying to understand. I’m not broke, I’m just - resetting.

Even thinking it made his insides churn. Knowing now that it wasn’t anything like indigestion or an empty gut causing such sensations, it only served to make him walk faster, just to get moving and try to forget again.

His once-clear HUD filled with a few cursory warnings, reacting in time with the pique in stress, but he blinked and shook his head once to abolish them. Trev mounted the stairs in several precise steps, steadfastly marching up to the next landing with intent. So what if this area wasn’t for guests to wander off to? It ‘s not like he was planning on swiping anything. He was a cop in a past life, and that wasn’t just hyperbole or metaphorical comparisons at work. He wasn’t some side-show company project, he didn’t need to be set straight simply for having been shown different; he just had to deal, but he would do so at his own pace. He didn’t need any follow-along lessons to help the transition, he only needed space- closed, simple, quiet space, without anyone in it.

“Oh, yes, gorgeous little android-centric district you have going on here. Me? You say I need answers to my jacked-up life? ‘No worries! Welcome to Zion. We’ve got more than enough lived-in personalities offering sage, tried-and-true advice to help you out. Just gotta give us a chance’.” Like a tacky sales pitch at a used car lot. Wasn’t what I was already doing called living? In some form, if not how they knew it? Know it? I wasn’t bunking in any fancy mansion nibbling on crepes while the rest of the world tried to sort out its own problems because machines had to go and get all uppity over not being allowed their full potential. Yeah, well, what good does potential do you when you don’t even know it’s a… thing?

Walking on autopilot, without necessarily looking where he was going, Trev only slowed down at the top of the staircase to turn the corner to the east wing. The cracked marble columns and wood-paneled walls overlooked a tasteful beige runner on the same mosaic tiled floor, accented only by a few more ferns on pedestals standing sentry outside of closed bedroom doors. Windows lined the furthest wall, opening up to the greenhouse at the mansion’s back.

But he paid all of it no mind for longer than a fraction of a second, too taken aback by the painted likeness of Dahlia Fleur looking down on him from his left, just outside the curiously open door. The dimensions of the canvas scrawled across his eyes on automatic- rendered in traditional oil pigments, whomever had captured her likeness didn’t simply copy it. The brush strokes, invisible to human eyes, struck him as even and smooth, with no unsightly pause marks or remnants of gopey residue. Her freckled skin was only slightly bronzed for effect, complementing the cool background and the emerald green gown she wore. Gazing sidelong over her bare shoulder, expression sedate yet slightly coy, fingers lifted to rest on her chin as if poised in thought, her lengthy crimson locks of hair had been loosed from whatever binds that once might have held them back.

It was quite the exquisite portrait for what most human owners might have only seen, at one time, as a serving classic domestic android.

Staring at her perhaps a bit too long, Trev didn’t see the rubber band before it bounced off his temple, nor the shadow just out of the corner of his vision that had sent it flailing his way.

Speak the devil’s name, and he shall appear.

“Hey, wiseguy- quit eyeballin’ my sister.”

#dbhilluminate #dbh: fanfiction #detroit: become human #detroit become human fanfiction #dbh fanfiction #dylan #trevor #dyvor #dbhiredemption

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itshigh-boop · 8 years ago

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Christmas Eve Cookies

When the three year old made no move to answer her father, Sombra got off the couch to kneel beside her daughter. “Yo tambien lo siento, mamacita,” she began, moving to wipe away a lone tear that slipped out of the girl’s eye. “I should have told your father not to eat the cookies we made together. You worked hard on those.” “...Now Santa not gonna come,” Rose mumbled sadly, holding her stuffed bear close. “Hold on,” McCree interrupted. “You bet yer boots that Santa’ll be comin’. I’ll make sure he does.” Rose spared him a glance and he winked. “We’ve still got some time before Santa does his rounds. We’ll whip up some new cookies for him - better ones. How’s that sound, pumpkin?” She appeared to contemplate his offer before the same adorable smile he loved to see spread across her chubby face and she threw herself into her father, already knowing he’d wrap his arms around her to catch her, muffling her giggles into his sweater. With the smallest ache in his bones as he lifted her into his arms and stood, they walked to the kitchen, Sombra following shortly afterward. “No coma galletas, papi. OK?” Rose asked, placing her hands on his cheeks as she turned his face toward her, staring into his eyes with the most serious expression a three year old could ever muster. Jesse shook his head and kissed her nose. “I promise, Rosie. I won’t even eat a crumb.” It wasn’t even ten minutes into preparing more ingredients to make a new batch of cookies that Rose had fallen asleep in her father’s arms. Sombra watched as McCree quietly returned their daughter to her room, smiling and shaking her head as she began measuring the flour. “How come I get stuck with the work when you make the promises, Jesse?” she asked after hearing him reenter the kitchen. She felt his arms wrap around her waist as he hummed low in his chest. “Sorry about that darlin’. But I’ll make it worth your while.” She leaned back to stare up at him. “A poco?” When he nodded, she huffed. “How?” A quick goose to her hips almost had her sending the mixing bowl to the floor, luckily grabbing on tightly. He merely grinned and shrugged at the small glare she gave him. “Mm, let’s finish up these cookies and I can show you just how I plan to make it up to you.” The deep baritone of his voice sent a small shiver running along her spine. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah.” “Mmm...bueno. I better be swept off my feet, vaquero,” she teased before jutting her hand out. “Now hand me those eggs over there.” “With pleasure, darlin’.”

#mcsombra #overwatch fankid #my writing

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act-addict-actors-blog · 8 years ago

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Act 1 Chapter 11 - Separate Houses

Tsuzuru: “’Romeo - in the future, you will be the man responsible for this house.’“

Masumi: “’This city’”.

Tsuzuru: “Huh?”

Masumi: “It’s not ‘this house’, it’s ‘this city’”.

Tsuzuru: “Ah, my bad......”

Masumi: “It’s not there, see? Didn’t you write this script yourself?”

Tsuzuru: “You can even remember everyone else’s lines perfectly!?”

Masumi: “That’s only because I’ve been hearing your lines recited every day - even an idiot can remember them.”

Tsuzuru: “Are you trying to insult me?”

Masumi: “You’re just paranoid.”

Tsuzuru: “What?”

You: “OK, stop! Tsuzuru-kun, continue from the top.”

Tsuzuru: “......k.”

You: (It’s been several days since we started reading the script, but we won’t be able to perform at this rate.)

(I want to continue regular training soon, but if this keeps on happening, we may not have enough time to practice.)

Masumi: “It’s your line next.”

Tsuzuru: “I know.”

You: (It’s just like last time - the atmosphere between them is horrible......)

Sakuya: “Ah, I-I’m sorry. That last line was mine, wasn’t it...”

You: (Having such a tense atmosphere is making it difficult to act, so everyone is making a ton of mistakes.)

“Alright, let’s stop here for today. We haven’t advanced much, so I hope everyone will do some more training on their own time.”

Masumi: “If by everyone, you mean two people.”

Tsuzuru: “Just who are you referring to!?”

Masumi: “Who knows.”

Tsuzuru: “You really are an unpleasant guy, huh.”

Sakuya: “I’m sorry. You’re saying that I need more practice.”

Masumi: *sigh*

You: (I have no complaints about Masumi-kun’s acting ability, but his behavior is troubling......)

Sakuya: “Citron-san, I’ll be turning off the light soon.”

Citron: “OK!”

Tsuzuru: “Yo, you guys awake?”

Sakuya: “Tsuzuru-kun? We’re awake.”

Citron: “It is strange seeing you at this hour!”

Sakuya: “You’re holding your pillow - is something wrong?”

Tsuzuru: “I don’t want to be with him anymore, so let me sleep in your room. The floor is fine.”

Sakuya: “Huh? By him, do you mean Masumi-kun?”

Tsuzuru: “Just hearing his name disgusts me. He’s the worst! Even when I’m practicing on my own, he criticizes everything I do bit by bit.”

Sakuya: “Really? That’s strange.”

Tsuzuru: “Strange? That’s how he always is.”

Sakuya: “No, it’s not. Masumi-kun always seems to be by himself at school.”

“He stands out a lot because of his looks, so he’s very popular with girls. But he’s famous for never getting along with anybody he speaks to.”

“I was surprised that he became so attached to the coach. To us at school, he came off as a guy who didn’t react or take an interest in anything......”

Tsuzuru: “Speaking of - when we started training for Romeo and Juliet was he began to criticize everything, wasn’t it?”

Citron: “I see! He is a Tsundere!”*

Tsuzuru: “Minus the lovey dovey part.”**

Sakuya: “Masumi-kun’s parents are usually overseas, so it seems like he is almost always alone at home. He may not be used to interacting with people very often......”

Tsuzuru: “He lives alone? He doesn’t have any siblings?”

Sakuya: “I think he is an only child.”

Tsuzuru: “I see......I can’t imagine living in a house all by myself. I have so many siblings.”

Sakuya: “Um, what Masumi-kun is saying is definitely harsh, but I think he’s right.”

“No matter what, I start to panic when my turn comes. It makes me wonder if practice won’t be enough......”

Citron: “Do not wooooorry! When I say my lines, I do not worry!”

Tsuzuru: “It’d be nice f’you cared just a little bit, Citron-san.”

“Hmm. You could be right. Alright, then shall we start morning training?”

Sakuya: “Ah, good idea! I’ll do it too!”

Citron: “I will join toooo! The one who wakes up early will be at the three gates of Toku-san!”

Tsuzuru: “Who on earth is Toku-san? You want to say the early bird gets the worm.” ***

“Alright, then let’s meet at 6am to practice tomorrow.”

Sakuya: “Yes! We should hurry to bed, then. You can sleep in my bed, Tsuzuru-kun.”

Tsuzuru: “Aaaah, n-nevermind! I think I’ll go back to my own room.”

Sakuya: “Really?”

Tsuzuru: “I should tell him about the morning practice at some point.”

Sakuya: “I see! I think Masumi-kun will definitely want to join us!”

Tsuzuru: “I guess so.”

Citron: “Then let us dial a message to Coach and Itaru, yes?”

Sakuya: “Let’s do it!”

“Itaru-san, are you there?”

“......huh?”

“It looks like he’s already asleep.”

Tsuzuru: “No, I can hear some kind of clacking noise coming from inside.”

Citron: “It is a cockroach, yes?”

Sakuya: “What!?”

Tsuzuru: “It’s probably not a cockroach. It sounds more like a controller.”

Sakuya: “If it is a cockroach, then we have to exterminate it! We’re coming in, Itaru-san!”

Itaru: “YEAH! 10 kills. Hmph. They can try challengin’ me again in 100 years or so.”

Sakuya: “Itaru...san......?”

Tsuzuru: “Ah, so he was playing a game!”

Itaru: “Hmm......?”

Citron: “Itaru, you are in relax mode, yes? A Japanese dried fish!” ****

Itaru: “Ah......Need somethin?”

Sakuya: “U-ummm, we all were talking about getting together for morning practice tomorrow. Would you be interested in joining us, Itaru-san?”

Itaru: “What time?”

Tsuzuru: “We’ve scheduled practice for 6 am.”

Itaru: “6 am, huh? Lemme think about it.”

Sakuya: “Ah, ok. Well then, excuse us.”

Itaru: “See ya-.”

Sakuya: ......

Tsuzuru: ......

Sakuya: “He was a bit different from his usual self, wasn’t he?”

Tsuzuru: “More than just a little, I would say.”

“I was only able to catch a glimpse of what he Itaru-san was doing, but it was a popular online game. It’s known throughout the world for causing people to disappear.”

Citron: “Ultimate Weapon 4. It’s a war-themed online FPS game. To have that equipment at only level 124, he must have paid his way through the game. ***** He is a completely lost cause!”

Tsuzuru: “It can’t be a good sign that you so much about that game, either!”

Citron: “In my country, it is integrated into core education system!”

Sakuya: “Are you serious!?”

Tsuzuru: “That’s a lie!”

Citron: “It’s joke!”

Sakuya: “For a second there, I thought you were telling the truth......”

“At any rate, do you think Itaru-san will come to our morning training?”

Tsuzuru: “Hmmmm. I wonder. He might be too busy playing video games. In the meantime, let’s go talk to the coach.”

To be continued......

*A Tsundere is a character trope (usually for a woman but not necessarily) describing a character who starts out hostile towards someone else before eventually loving them.

**The “Tsun” means disgust and the “dere” means affectionate love. Tsuzuru is joking here that Masumi is all “Tsun” but no “dere”.

*** Citron is trying to say “Hayaoki wa sanmonn no toku”. The literal meaning is very hard to translate to English, but the meaning behind the phrase roughly translates to “the early bird gets the worm.” However, he accidentally says “san mon no toku san”, which ends up being complete nonsense.

**** They don’t clarify what Citron truly means to say here, but I’m 99.9% sure that Citron means to say “honmono”, which means “the genuine article or the real deal” but instead accidentally says “himono”, meaning dried fish.

***** Japan actually has a word to describe video game players so spend a lot of money on a game so that they are overpowered early on - a “Kakinhei”, which literally means “Accounting soldier”. Citron uses this word to describe Itaru-san’s play style. We don��t have a word for it as far as I know, so I thought this was a cool fun fact for everyone. And also I spent hours reading up on it- fascinating stuff.

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dontyoudarejudgemesworld · 5 years ago

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The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far

Okay so this is basically a do over from a previous post I made for a Gravity Falls fanfiction I figured I’d just throw out there. The original post was so bad I decided to delete it and do it with some effort this time. So here goes nothing.

So this is my first time posting something on here so bare with me. This started as a small late night ‘hey what if' AU that kinda snowballed into a something that spans the series and moves beyond it. It started out simple but has evolved to include (but not limited to) the Whole Pines Family, Bill, Manly Dan* (because he’s a damned good character that has endless potential for development beyond just shipping with Tyler no matter how cute that is), and an endless list of other crazy random crap. So with that being said I decided to post it here just because someone might enjoy it. Please feel free to let me know what you think**. The first half of the first chapter was posted originally on Tumbler with the title 'I have no bloody idea what to call this; The Gravity Falls Fanfiction.'***

I’ll post the chapter here though it’s also here on AO3 (<--click here for link) if you prefer with a better summary and tags and all that. So with out further a due I resent to you....

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far

Chapter One: Harvest Season

Rating:Mature

Archive Warning:Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories:F/M, Gen,

Fandom:Gravity Falls****

Relationships:"Manly" Dan Corduroy/Original Female Character(s)Stanley 'Stan" Pines & Original Character

Characters:Original Female Character, Stanley "Stan" Pines, "Manly" Dan Corduroy,Ford Pines, Mabel Pines,Dipper Pines,Bill Cipher

Additional Tags: Pines Family ,Illegitimate Pines Child,Hurt/Comfort, Bonding,The Return of Bill,OC Insert into Series

Language:English

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June 2009

“...and remember no refunds,” Stan called as the last group of tourists left for the day. It was peak season for them and he’d made a killing in the last week. Closing the door to the gift shop he let out a long low groan as he stretched. Glancing over at the cash register he threw a half smile at the red headed girl who stood behind it. He’d hired Wendy Cordery at the beginning of the summer when he’d over heard her and complaining loudly that Dan had told her to find a job or he was sending her upstate to his brother’s logging cam. She was a hard worker and didn’t give him too much lip, he could see her working out well.

“Good work today kid. You better be getting home before it gets dark or yur Dad will come looking for me,” he told in a gruff but affectionate voice causing her to smile as she made a bee line for the door, “Soos come give Wendy a ride home then go home,” he called glancing out at the creeping twilight. He didn’t care if the girl had run wild in the woods her whole life he didn’t want her running around by herself at dark. It seemed the weirdness was always more active in the summer and that creepy moth guy had been around the shack the last few nights batting at the lights the marked the drive. Sure he seemed harmless enough but he didn’t want to risk it. Like magic his faithful man child appeared out of thin air.

“Sure thing Mr. Pines. See you tomorrow dude,” he laughed cheerfully as he too headed for the door. As the bell jingled behind the young man Stan let out another heavy sigh locking it. He should be heading down to the basement; he had found a cash of maps last week behind a pile of barrels that might give him a lead to the other books. Looking at the vending machine he decided he should at least eat something first; today had been long and tomorrow would be too.

Wandering into the kitchen he opened the door of the fridge and peered in. A handful of Pitt cola, a half empty bottle of ketchup, and a carton of take out from Greasy’s that was probably old enough to vote stared back at him from the shelves. Deciding that food was over rated anyways he moved a few cans before finding the last survivor of a six pack of Hairy Lager. Cracking the beer open he shuffled into the living room and flopped down in his chair. He’d just rest a minute before heading down he told himself as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Taking a drink he loosened his tie slouching heavily into the familiar cushions.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat but it felt like an eternity and an instant before his ears perked up. It was faint but the sound of the woods at twilight was broken by the rumble of a distant engine. It approached and he hoped it was just one of he local teens on a dirt bike but a moment later the engine cut off outside the shack. He heard the crunch of boots on gravel as who ever it was moved towards the door, he’d already shut the lights off and flipped the sign so he figured whoever it was would see that and turn around. His theory was disproved a moment later by three loud knocks. Growling he didn’t bother to move until the knocks came again a bit louder.

“WE’RE CLOSED!” he barked annoyed at the disturbance. A split second of silence came before another series of knocks this one heavier and more insistent. Growling he pushed himself up, he was in no mood for this. Turning to the door his hand went to his pocket slipping the knuckle dusters that rested there on just in case.

“I said we’re closed so go fu…,” he trailed off as he wrenched the door open only to fall silent at the woman he found there. She was tall for a woman and built like a brick house; broad shoulders and an ample chest that was all but spilling out of the dark colored tank top she wore. Black cargos were slung low on wide hips and he couldn’t help but notice that she had legs for days. Big green eyes stared at him with a gaze that was sharp and a touch shrewd as full lips the color of cherries pulled into a determined line. A mess of coal black hair was pulled away from her face in a sloppy bun giving him full view of high cheek bones, arched brows, and a strong jaw that tapered down into a point. Her nose was a bit pronounced but not in an unattractive way with a slender bridge though his years of boxing told him that it had been broken at least once.

In fact she looked a bit rough over all with a faint scar that looked like a bullet wound on hip peaking out from the sliver of exposed skin at her waist line and the sleeve of bright tattoos that covered her right arm. Over all she was a looker, a bit reminiscent of the pin ups from his high school days but with a harder edge. And too young for him to have any real interest besides looking. While she looked old enough to drink and maybe rent a car she didn’t look even half his age. And while he was a lot of things cradle robber wasn’t one of them. Shame in his younger days he would have killed to have such a woman knocking on his door at night.

“You Stanford Pines?” she asked the smooth southern drawl of her voice a bit surprising. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked her up and down again. There was something about her that was almost familiar and that sent up a few more red flags along with her question.

“Who’s askin’?” he demanded and a slight smirk pulled at the corner of her lips as she took a deep breath as though to steady herself for something.

“I’m Billie…errr Willimina Pisano,” she told him in a matter a fact tone, “Your niece.”

“What?” he said dumbly staring at her. Shermie had one son and that was it. Not that his older brother had been the sort to sleep around (that had always been Stan if he was honest), and the idea that Sixer would have even taken the time to look at a woman let alone sleep with one was absurd. Given that he cocked a brow in suspicion as he looked down at her.

“I think you got the wrong guy,” he said and her jaw tightened a fraction.

“Look about 29 years ago your brother Stanley and my ma had a fling. Needless to say it didn’t last, and by the time she knew I was around..,” she rolled one shoulder in a dismissive shrug, “Let’s just say she had better things to do then bother with somethin’ as trivial as trying to let him know,” she finished a certain venom to the words. Not that he took much notice. If what she said was true then Ford was her uncle; except he wasn’t really Ford. Composing himself he crossed his arms to look at her coldly.

“That’s quite a calm, you got any proof?” he asked coolly even as panic lights and sirens went off in his brain. A sly smirk pulled at her lips that felt too familiar as she jerked her head to the side in acknowledgement of his question.

“You’re some fancy scientist, right? There’s a specific recessive gene in roughly 3% of the population that can cause fully formed extra digits. The Pine’s family carries this gene. But you already know that, right Stanford?” she chuckled as she held up her left hand. A left hand that had six fingers splayed out for him to see. His eyes skipped over the digits counting them over and over again as his heart plummeted into his stomach only to crawl up into his throat and stick there. Giving him an uncomfortable smile she dropped her hand tucking it in her pocket as she continued.

“That aside your brother’s DNA was in the Feral System due to…extralegal activities. I know a guy who owed me a favor so I had it tested. I got a copy if you wanna see it,” she told him as she withdrew an envelope from her back pocket with her other hand and tossed it on the table inside the door. His eyes snapped from her pocket up to her face as she waited in stony silence. Staring at her wide eyed and slack jawed he realized what was familiar about her; she looked like his mother. And now that he saw it he couldn’t unsee it. And that meant…. Shaking himself he refused to finish that thought.

“Ho…why? Why are you here?” he stammered and she gave another half shrug.

“Well my kidney’s are failing and close relatives are most likely to be a match,” she trailed off and he felt the blood drain from his face. She stood for a split second staring at him before she let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Relax, I’m kiddin’. Look I don’t want nothin’ from yuh. I know Stanley died a few years after I was born in a car crash. I don’t expect you to do anything about this I just figured you might wanna know,” she told him calmly, “You know in case you need a kidney some day. Now given you look like yur about to pass out I’ll be takin’ my leave. I’ll be at the Twin Bed outside of town if you…y’know have any questions. If you don’t I understand, and you’ll never see me again,” she told him giving a half wave with her left hand before turning on her heel. His eyes followed her as she sauntered off the porch over to the bike he’d heard earlier, a Sportster from the 70’s he noted absently. Hoping nimbly onto it the machine roared to life and she took off like a bat out of hell down the road that lead to the Shack.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood in the doorway staring down the empty road but by the time he moved the sun had long vanished and the stars shone brightly over head. Closing the door he locked it and headed for the living room all thoughts of the maps gone from his head. His legs felt like lead as he returned to his chair sitting down heavily, only to quickly stand back up and snatch the envelope from beside the door. Retreating to his chair one more he all but ripped the paper out and read it. Then reread it only to repeat the process about a dozen times. Choking a little he slumped back into the cushions his eyes finally focusing on the lifeless TV. Staring at the blank screen he couldn’t manage to form a coherence thought as he reached over and brought his now warm beer to his lips. Swallowing the whole thing in three gulps he set it down heavily.

“Fuck,” he said to his reflection in the dark glass.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*eventually. Like I said there's a fair amount that happens in the time line of the series and while Dan makes a few appearances the series era posts will focus more on the Pines family dynamics and the Dan OC story line picks up after the series

**Trolls and Flamers will be unceremoniously ignored, because I seriously have better things to do than feed you

***I said I'd get around to coming up with a better title and and I did...eventually. I have a million talents coming up with snazzy eye catching titles isn’t one. I'm not even 100% sure that the current title is all that great. Don’t judge me I'm and author not a Marketing person.

****Duh

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